The Rebel's Secret (Ride Hard Book 3)

by Zoe Blake

  CHAPTER 5

  M ichaela continued to sit before her cold plate of eggs, too stunned to eat. She couldn’t account for what had just occurred. One moment she was cursing the man to hell and back for tanning her hide and the next—well, the next—she blushed to even think on it. She wasn’t a completely green girl. Her time following her brother around the cavalry camp scrubbed the innocence off her long ago, or so she’d thought. She had witnessed more than her fair share of encounters between the men and the female camp followers, but it was nothing like what Major Brice had just done to her. It always seemed a rushed, fumbling mess. The man barely lowering his britches while the woman hiked her skirt up and wore a bored expression the whole time. It was one of the main reasons why Michaela could never understand why any woman would want to marry or fall for any man. As far as she could see, being with a man was nothing special… that was until this morning. The way he touched her… there! It was so… so overwhelming. It was like she was no longer in control of her own body. As if his touch could transcend all her feelings of hate and distrust. It actually made her forget he was the enemy… a Yankee. She must make sure never to put herself in that position again.

  Breaking into her musings, Brice returned with a matronly looking woman in tow.

  He took one look at her unfinished breakfast plate and frowned. Turning to the older woman, he said, “Mrs. Hastings, if you would be so kind to supervise the men outside with the tub?”

  “Of course, Major Brice.” With a quick curtsy, the woman quietly left the cabin.

  Striding toward Michaela, Brice stood, feet wide, arms crossed. She could feel his glare but refused to look up or acknowledge his presence. So, she was unprepared when he swooped down and lifted her into his arms. Spinning around, he sat on the chair with her on his lap.

  “What do you think you are doing?” she demanded.

  “I see now why the South lost. Their soldiers cannot be trusted to obey even the simplest commands,” he bit back.

  Michaela was so shocked at the affront all she could manage was a gurgled gasp. Taking advantage of her open mouth, Brice broke off a piece of bacon and placed it on her tongue. She had no choice but to chew and swallow.

  “I am perfectly capable of feeding myself,” she retorted.

  “All evidence to the contrary. I explicitly ordered you to eat your breakfast, and yet here it still lies on the plate.”

  “I’ll eat it now.”

  “Too late. Open your mouth.”

  Michaela stubbornly closed her lips tight, glaring daggers at him.

  Brice calmly put down the small piece of biscuit. Keeping his intense gaze trained on her own, he ran his knuckles down the front of her chest, skimming the delicate inside curve of one breast.

  Michaela’s eyes flickered, but inhaling deeply through her nose, she strengthened her resolve.

  With a wicked grin, Brice traced the underside of one luscious curve through the thin linen, the delicate contact causing her nipple to bud and tighten. Just like he had hoped. Taking his thumb and forefinger, he gently rolled the nipple before clamping ruthlessly down on the tender flesh.

  Michaela cried out as she tried to rise off his lap. His grip on her nipple prevented her from moving far.

  “Ow! Oh God! Let go!” she pleaded.

  “Open. Your. Mouth.”

  “Oh! Please! It hurts!”

  “Open. Your. Mouth.”

  With a sob, she opened her mouth and allowed him to place a piece of buttered biscuit within. It was hard to chew as she breathed heavily through the pain and gasping sobs.

  “Again,” he ordered without relinquishing her tortured flesh.

  With tears pooling in her eyes, Michaela opened her mouth and eagerly took the bite of eggs he offered from his own fingertips. Only then did he release her nipple.

  “Do I have to set an example with your other nipple, or can I trust you to finish the rest of your breakfast like a good girl?”

  “I’ll finish it,” sniffed Michaela.

  There was a long awkward pause. She was waiting for him to allow her to rise and take her own seat.

  “Now, Michaela,” he sternly commanded.

  “Can I… can I… sit over there?” she asked.

  “No.”

  With a sullen pout, she slowly spooned a mouthful of eggs into her mouth.

  Brice couldn’t resist stroking her back in soothing circles as she ate. He was coming to like the comforting weight of having her on his lap. His little rebel was a curious minx. It was apparent to him she was hungry, and yet she would stubbornly refuse to eat merely to thwart him. It was obvious she was desperately in need of a firm hand if she was so willing to disregard her own health and safety in such a cavalier fashion for such a trivial reason.

  “Can I have some coffee?” she asked shyly as she eyed the bag of Arbuckle’s coffee grounds by the kitchen washstand.

  “No. You may have some milk.”

  “Milk?” she repeated. Her disgust evident. “Why can’t I have coffee?”

  “Because it is a strong, nasty brew that a young lady should not have an appreciation for,” he responded coolly. At first he was even surprised she knew what coffee was; it wasn’t exactly standard fare among young women. He had to keep reminding himself that her last few years had been anything but typical. She had probably developed a taste for it following her brother around. He found himself immensely curious as to how she managed such a feat, but it would have to wait till he saw to his duties.

  Rising, he placed Michaela before him. Taking her chin in his hand, he raised her face high so she would meet his gaze. “I have asked Mrs. Hastings here to see to your needs today. I will return shortly. You are to give her none of your sass, or the thrashing you received earlier will be nothing compared to the punishment you will receive if I learn you misbehaved. Do you understand me?”

  Michaela held her tongue.

  Reaching for his belt, he began to unbuckle the brass plate. “Perhaps you need a reminder?”

  “No! I understand. I’ll behave,” Michaela rushed to assure him as her hand involuntarily moved to cover her bottom which still throbbed from his first punishment.

  “See that you do. Do not even attempt to leave the fort. When I return, we will discuss what is to become of you.”

  “Why can’t you just let me be on my way? No one got hurt. Clearly, I am a nuisance to you. Can’t you just give me my horse and let me go?” she pleaded.

  Brice looked down into her bright, beautiful eyes. In the morning light, they appeared like amethysts, such a striking color. Although he was already learning they turned a darker, bluish-purple hue when she was aroused.

  Brice grabbed her by the shoulders, determined to make her see reason. “It is a miracle you have survived this far alone as it is. I’ll be damned if I’m just going to turn a blind eye and turn you loose on the world again. Michaela do you not understand the dangers a woman like you faces out here in this lawless land?”

  “I can take care of myself. I’m not your responsibility.”

  “Well, that is where you are wrong. You are my responsibility, and I have no intention of allowing you to just carry on as before.”

  “You have no right!” she thundered as she tried to push away from his chest to break his hold on her.

  “I’m taking the right,” he roared back.

  Brice’s mouth crashed down on her own. Gripping her by the back of the neck, his other hand grasped her still sore bottom and squeezed, lifting her up on the toes, pushing her hips against his hard shaft as he forced his tongue into her mouth.

  Michaela could feel the press of his arousal against her stomach. The painful pressure of his hand on her sore bottom. The punishing possession of his mouth against her own. The way his hand on her head forced her closer and closer still. He tasted like coffee and tobacco. True to his military training, he gave no quarter, refusing to relent till he felt the soft release of her surrender. Only when she ceased to struggle and a
llowed the sweep of his tongue. Only when she mewed her assent as his fingers pressed between her thighs from behind. Only when her knees sagged so only his arms kept her upright. Only then did he break the kiss.

  Looking down, Brice sucked in great gulps of air as he felt a rush of masculine possession at the sight of her bruised and swollen lips. She was driving him to madness. Each time she defied him, no matter how small, it made him more determined to show his mastery over her. Never had a woman infuriated him so. His little rebel.

  Giving her a final hard look, he growled out one last warning. “Obey me, Michaela, or there will be consequences when I return.”

  “OH YOU POOR, POOR DEAR,” fussed Mrs. Hastings as she bustled into the cabin shortly after Brice’s departure. “Major Brice told me of your misfortune.”

  “My misfortune?” asked Michaela, still in a daze from his kiss.

  “Why yes, dear. How your wagon party was attacked by Apache and how you are now left with no family or possessions. Oh you poor, poor dear!”

  So Brice didn’t want to tell the sweet Mrs. Hastings she was actually a female masquerading as a former Confederate soldier who started a fight in a saloon last night only to be hauled off by him under the guise of being his prisoner? Interesting.

  Michaela wondered if it would benefit her to tell Mrs. Hastings the truth. Perhaps the woman would sympathize with her plight and help her escape.

  “I just adore that Major Brice. Such a fine, upstanding young man. One of the youngest majors in the Cavalry, you know. Distinguished himself during the war he did. I think of him quite like a son,” prattled Mrs. Hastings as she busied herself with clearing away the breakfast dishes.

  Or not, thought Michaela with a smirk.

  There was a discreet knock on the back door of the cabin.

  “Oh! Oh! Just a moment, men!” called out Mrs. Hastings. “Dear, you should go into the bedroom. We wouldn’t want the men to see you in your unmentionables! I will call you when all is ready.”

  Michaela swiped her saddlebag off the table before hurrying off to the bedroom. Ignoring the sounds of activity on the other side of the door, she carefully re-folded all her letters and telegrams and tucked them safely inside their oilskin wrap, but not before rereading each one. She needed to focus her thoughts on her true purpose.

  Revenge.

  She would not let Brice or anyone else deter her. She had waited too long for this moment. It had taken years to track down her scheming mother and that murdering bastard, Parcels. Countless leads that led nowhere. Countless letters to the Pinkerton’s, distant relatives of her mother’s and Parcels’, anyone she could think of who might have news. Then, finally, a break. Parcels had been caught cheating and run out of town. The woman didn’t match her mother’s description but that didn’t bother Michaela. She knew her mother had a penchant for hair dye and wigs. She could easily look altered since Michaela last saw her. It had been over five years.

  Five years.

  It was sad to think, despite her father’s death, and until Brandon’s death in battle, they were actually some of her happiest years. She had never experienced freedom as she did following her brother into battle. She was never in any real danger. When she joined him at the fort, he was as angry as she about their father’s murder. Duty kept him with his regiment. Like most Southerners, he assumed the whole thing would be decided with a quick battle or two, and he would then head home to deal with Mother and Parcels. Till then, given Mother’s plan to marry her to Parcels, it was decided she was safer with him. He found her some more boy’s clothing and she mainly stuck close to his tent.

  Then the days stretched into weeks… then months… then years.

  Eventually, his close friends, Mason and Horn, were taken into his confidence. They treated her like a little sister. Each making sure she was safe. She never actually saw a battle, always staying behind at the camps where it was safe. She was in more danger of seeing or learning too much of real life from living in the camps than war. There were also long stints spent at sympathetic plantations or other homesteads when the boys knew they wouldn’t be able to make a decent camp for a while or the fighting would be too severe.

  Michaela also quickly learned she was not the only female masquerading as a boy in the ranks. There were several, in fact. Although most of them were older women determined to join the actual fight. That was something Brandon was dead set against despite her skill with a gun. Eventually, though, she was allowed to help with the wounded. She suspected his superior officer knew she was female, but by then, no one cared. War was war and the South needed all the help she could get.

  Yet, through it all, she never lost sight of her true purpose. She would see her father’s killer punished. With her brother gone, it was up to her to see the task through. She was the only one. She owed it to her father and to her brother. She was an Armistead. The family honor was at stake.

  A soft knock on the door interrupted her maudlin musings.

  “Dear? You can come out now,” offered Mrs. Hastings.

  Michaela was greeted with the scent of lavender the moment she emerged from the bedroom. The scent brought a tear to her eye. It reminded her of home. In front of the fire was a crude, tin, hip bath, ribbons of steam rising from its surface.

  “It’s probably not as nice as you are used to, but I thought I would make it pleasant for you. I even shared some of my fancy soap from the East.”

  “It’s lovely, really. Thank you, Mrs. Hastings.”

  “I also have a nice, clean and pressed dress for you. Just a simple calico, but I think it will fit you nicely. In you go before all those poor boys’ hard work heating up this water is in vain.”

  Giggling, Michaela shed Brice’s linen shirt and gingerly stepped into the steaming water, sighing as she crouched down into its warm, comforting depths. True, it was not the large, ceramic tub of her home in Atlanta, where she could stretch out and wriggle her toes, but it still felt like heaven. Picking up a bathing linen, she sniffed the soap again before lathering it up to bathe herself.

  “Once you’ve had a bit of a wash, I will help you with your hair. It is so clever and bold of you to wear it so short like that. So much easier to take care of out here in the wilds, I’m sure. Course Mr. Hastings would probably pitch a fit if I ever tried such a thing,” chatted the sweet, older woman as she bustled about the cabin.

  Michaela closed her eyes and dreamed of home as she allowed the warm, scented water to soothe her.

  “MRS. HASTINGS! Come quick! Mary needs you! She says the babe is fussing real bad. She thinks something’s wrong!”

  The boy had burst in just as Michaela had finished dressing. It felt strange to have a dress on again. It had been so long. She thought it would feel oppressive, but unlike her heavy petticoats, brocade bodices and hoop skirts of the past, the calico dress was light and cool. Even the corset was just a simple piece of linen without the restrictive whalebone. Michaela twirled, loving the feel of the fabric as it twisted about her legs. She still had to wear her bulky riding boots underneath, but she didn’t care.

  “Oh dear! It’s Mary. She’s a new wife of one of the officers. Fussy little thing. This is her first baby. Poor dear frets when the baby belches,” explained Mrs. Hastings. Lifting her hand to her mouth, she murmured. “Oh dear. Major Brice said not to leave your side. I’m sure I don’t know what to do.”

  Sensing her chance, Michaela offered. “You really should go, Mrs. Hastings. I assure you. I will be fine.”

  “Are you sure, dear? Major Brice seemed most insistent.”

  “I’m sure he was just being a gentleman and trying to see to my needs.” Michaela pasted on a smile as she lied to the sweet old woman. “He is so good that way, but I am sure he wouldn’t want you to neglect poor Mary.”

  “You are right. He was probably just worrying needlessly. Besides, I won’t be more than an hour,” chirped Mrs. Hastings as she put on her bonnet and rushed out of the cabin.

  An hour is all I ne
ed thought Michaela.

  “OH, KIND SIR! KIND SIR!”

  Michaela waved down one of the younger looking enlisted men as he walked near the cabin.

  “Me, Miss?”

  “Oh yes, good kind sir. I am so very happy to see you. Why! I just don’t know what I am to do! I think I shall just cry!”

  Flustered, the private immediately ran to her side. “Oh please, Miss, don’t cry.”

  “Oh, it’s just too, too awful! Mama shall never forgive me. Oh how I wish I had a beau to help me. I’m sure a beau would know what to do.”

  Michaela buried her face in her hands, peeking at the private through her fingertips, pleased to see his expression change from worried to interested at her mention of a lack of a sweetheart.

  “Well, maybe I can be of assistance,” he offered, making sure to puff out his chest.

  Deepening her Southern accent, Michaela looked up at him with tears in her eyes, making sure to give her cheeks a quick pinch to give them a pretty flush of color. “Oh, I’m sure someone as big and strong as yourself would surely be able to help me.”

  The private gave her a patronizing pat on the cheek. “There now. Dry those tears and tell me how I can help.”

  “It’s my mama’s broach. It must have come unpinned from my dress when I was shopping earlier in town. I will be in ever so much trouble if she discovers it gone. It’s a family heirloom. I simply must find it.”

  The private fidgeted as he kicked some dirt with his feet. “I don’t know, Miss. Major Brice gave strict orders that no one was to leave the fort today.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he would understand if he knew you were on a mission of mercy, acting as a knight in shining armor to a poor damsel in distress. After all, isn’t that why you became a soldier? To help poor, defenseless women like me?”