by Vanessa Vale
Her daughter, perhaps seven or eight months old, sat on her lap happily chewing on a large crust of bread, drool dripping down her chin and onto her tiny dress.
"Yes," I replied. "I am from London, but attended school in Shropshire." Ellie diverted my attention; even a woman with my reserve couldn't help but soften at the sight of a baby. She had her mother's dark hair and pale blue eyes.
"I am married to Kane—" Emma began.
"And to me." A very brawny man came in the room then, eyes solely on the baby. He scooped her up into his arms and gave her a little nuzzle. "I am Ian and ye are welcome here. We were about to have our noon meal when ye arrived and I'm sure ye are hungry." He turned his warm gaze upon his wife. "Come lass, let's let her men tend to her."
Ian held out his hand and Emma took it. He led her from the room as he held the happy baby, but Emma offered one last glance back at me, and smiled.
I was quite unused to people being concerned for me. The boarding school I'd attended had not been a place of warmth or caring. Cecil had been kind and protective of me, however I only spent time with my brother for less than a month in London before we took our passage from England. Now he was gone, leaving me completely alone in the world.
I glanced down at my lap at that sad notion. Had he left me alone? I now had two husbands. One of the men shifted and broke me from my thoughts and I realized my hands were bare.
"Where are my gloves?" I asked, glancing down at my open palms. It was then I realized that the high collar of my dress was not quite as restrictive as it should be. A few of the buttons there had been undone. "My dress!" I brought my hand to my neck to hold the lace trimmed collar closed.
"Ye needed to breathe lass and ye didna need gloves. The fall weather is cool, but nae enough to warrant gloves indoors," Mr. McPherson said.
I glanced at the arm of the couch where my gloves rested. I relaxed just a fraction, knowing they did not intend to keep them from me.
"Ye are safe here, lass."
"I do not know you, even if you are my husband, and do not know if your words hold truth."
Mr. McPherson slowly stood at my words, uncoiling to his full height to stand shoulder to shoulder with Connor. "Aye, tis true ye dinna know me, Connor or anyone else here at Bridgewater. We are an honorable group. Connor and I will always tell ye the truth, always do what is in yer best interest whether ye like it or nae. We are honorable men and ye will nae question that again."
I felt my cheeks flush at the reprimand. Cecil had been honorable as well and I should have known his fellow soldiers were of a similar mind. I could only offer a small nod of my head in reply, for I had surely offended him.
"Come, the noon meal is getting cold." Mr. McPherson held out his hand to me. The scents of baked bread and seasoned meat filled the air and I was hungry. Quickly, I did up the few buttons at my throat before taking the proffered hand. His hold was gentle, his skin warm as he led me into the dining room, his eyes on me.
There were three open seats; clearly the others had added an extra place setting for me. It was quite astonishing at how easily—and without a hint of surprise—they added me into their fold. Did a woman show up often announcing they were married to one of the men? If this were England, I would have been considered some kind of harlot for having wed in secret, for hasty marriages only meant one thing. Shameful actions. I would have been shunned instead of being included without question.
As platters and bowls were passed, Connor offered introductions.
"Working around the table past me to the right is Andrew, Robert and their wife Ann." They offered their greeting, but when a baby that sat between them tossed a spoon on the floor, their attention shifted. "That's Christopher in the high chair. He's almost a year."
The small blond woman was married to both those men? A platter of chicken came to Connor and he offered the serving fork to me, breaking me from my thoughts.
I served myself as he continued. "After Robert is Cross, Simon, Olivia and Rhys."
The woman, Olivia, who sat directly across from me, smiled in a reassuring way. "I'm the latest addition to this unusual family, so I can easily imagine how you are feeling. I only came to Bridgewater from Helena, not as far as England. I found out, very late one night, I was to wed three men." I glanced at the men on either side of her, all who had looks of adoration and possessiveness. It was apparent she was not adverse to the arrangement. In fact, all four of the women around the table looked happy and content.
"Simon is my brother, if ye havena already guessed," Mr. McPherson added.
Connor continued the introductions. "Beside Rhys are Mason, Laurel and Brody followed by Kane, Ian and Emma, who you've already met."
"While this is Kane and Ian's house, we eat our meals together here and take turns as cook and cleanup crew," Mr. McPherson added.
Everyone's plates were full and conversation ceased as everyone ate. I'd heard in town that Bridgewater was a well-run ranch, and it was obvious by the size of the men that they did not sit idly. I remained quiet for the remainder of the meal, for the one time I asked a question about his honor I'd made Mr. McPherson mad and I was still ashamed. I did not need the entire group angry with me within an hour of my arrival.
When the dessert dishes were cleared, Dash excused us. "I'm glad the cleanup chores fall to others, since I believe it is time we became acquainted with our bride."
Connor nodded his agreement and I swallowed down my trepidation and followed them outside. I'd never been alone with a man who was not a relative before. Actually, as I considered it, I'd only ever been alone with Cecil and that had been on our journey from England.
Going to my horse, Connor unwrapped the reins from the rail and led the animal over to me. Mr. McPherson grabbed me by the waist and lifted me up into the saddle easily enough. I was not a small woman, but he did it as if I weighed nothing. His large hands took no liberties, but I felt the touch deep down inside and that was daunting...and odd. I should not feel anything at a man's touch. It had been beaten into me, whether by switch or ruler, that frivolous desires or carnal thoughts were a sign of a loose woman who would be shunned by her husband. I did not want to be shunned, for then where would I go?
I glanced furtively at Mr. McPherson. He rode a horse as if born to it, the thick muscles of his thighs stretching his pants taut. His hands were large, his fingers blunt. His face was shadowed beneath the wide brim of his hat and yet I could see the square edge of his jaw easily enough. Would the skin there be shadowed by whiskers as Connor's was? I glanced at the Connor next—my other husband—and could readily see the dark beginnings of a beard on his tanned cheeks.
Connor readied his animal and climbed into the saddle. I had no choice but to steer my horse and follow. They flanked me on either side, just as they had at the dining table. I was surrounded and...protected. It was an odd sensation to feel that way, for I'd been alone my entire life.
There were a number of houses that dotted the prairie, set at various distances from each other and the central buildings of the ranch—the bar, stables and other smaller out-buildings. It was one of these houses that we rode up to.
It was not as large as the home of Ian, Kane and Emma, but it was impressive nonetheless. I'd envisioned sod houses, teepees described in the dime store novels sold in London. This sprawling home was one story with crisp white siding and a shingled roof, the front doorway at the center with windows symmetrically placed on either side. The finishes and details were comparable to finer homes in even less rustic settings.
Connor dismounted and came to the side of my horse. "I didna ask. You must have a trunk?"
He held up his hands and I had no choice but to let him lower me to the ground. His hold felt different than Mr. McPherson's. His hands were larger, the rough callouses catching on the smooth fabric of my dress and yet there was a reverence to his touch that was surprising.
"I do. When the owner of the boarding house discovered I was coming here, he offered to hold the
m for me until they could be retrieved."
Both men gave decisive nods. Mr. McPherson opened the front door and Connor led me there with his hand warm at the small of my back. Once at the doorway, Mr. McPherson picked me up in his arms and I cried out in surprise, one hand going to hold my hat, even though it was securely in pinned in place. "What...what are you doing?" I asked.
"Carrying my bride over the threshold," he replied. I looked up into his face and he was smiling, seemingly pleased with the act. I watched as his light eyes held mine, then dipped lower to my mouth. My heart was racing and I was breathing hard, as if I had carried him through the doorway.
Before I could question his action, he lowered his head and kissed me. I sucked in a breath with the shock of it; I'd never been kissed before and his lips were warm and soft against mine. His body, where it pressed into mine, was solid muscle, hard as rock, and warm as sin. I barely had time to even realize his action before he lifted his head. "Mr. McPherson—"
"Dash," he whispered, his eyes darker now and focused solely on my lips. "I am your husband and you may call me Dash."
He lowered his head again and this time the kiss wasn't so gentle. In fact, it was demanding. His mouth pressed against mine, then opened as his tongue licked along my lower lip. I gasped at the heat of the touch and he took the moment for his tongue to dip into my mouth. He tasted of the apple pie from lunch and of something dark and dangerous. I responded, but I wasn't sure how, for I knew not how to kiss.
"It's my turn." I heard the words through a haze as thick as London fog.
I'd completely forgotten that Connor stood behind us and I startled, pulling my mouth away. Mr. McPh—Dash's hands tightened about me. Connor had witnessed the kiss, the way my eyes had closed, the way I hadn't pushed Dash away. Dear Lord.
"Please, put me down," I said, but either they didn't hear me or didn't wish to do as asked, for I was passed from Dash to Connor. "I...I am not a parcel to be bandied about!"
Connor's hold was equally secure, but as I'd considered before, he felt different. His chest was broader and his scent, he smelled different. Where Dash was dark and spicy, Connor smelled more of the open prairie and leather. It was an odd combination, but it suited him.
What did not suit me was being held in his arms. "This isn't right," I insisted, pushing in vain against his chest. One dark brow went up as he looked at me.
"Oh? Ye mean I've waited too long to kiss ye? Tis all I thought about while we had lunch. Did ye know ye smell of vanilla?"
He grinned, then pulled me up and into a kiss that was completely different that Dash's. Connor's mouth was firmer, more insistent and he didn't keep his lips in one place, but nibbled—yes, nibbled!—his way to the corner of my mouth, then to the other.
"I can't be kissing you. We're...we're not married!" I said in a rush. I felt his warm breath on my cheek, my jaw. Everywhere.
Connor lifted his head and eyed me with confusion. "Aye. We are. Any woman married to Dash is married to me."
I shook my head. "No." I pushed at his chest and tried to get down, but he held me securely beneath my knees and behind my back. I wasn't going anywhere unless he decided it. "The marriage license, it solely says Dashiell McPherson. I can't go kissing you being married to him."
"Are ye asking my permission, sweetheart, to kiss Connor?" Dash asked from over Connor's shoulder.
I shook my head again. "I can't be one to go about kissing other men."
"We won't be just kissing," Connor added, his voice deep. I saw something in his eyes, something like heat and...desire there.
My mouth fell open at his words. "See? He thinks I am a...a loose woman."
"Loose woman? Have ye ever been kissed before?"
I felt my cheeks heat and that seemed to be answer enough for Dash.
"I thought so. Connor knows ye are my wife," Dash replied. "His wife, as well. It is the way it’s done here at Bridgewater. Ye dinna need to worry that anyone will judge ye. Tis what yer brother wanted for ye."
"Please, put me down," I pleaded, looking Connor squarely in the eyes. How could Cecil have intended this for me? I was hurt, crushed by the knowledge that he thought of me in such a way. Had he saved me from the arranged marriage my father had planned only to give me to two men? How he must have laughed at night thinking of his coup. He'd gotten even with the man by using me.
Connor must have heard my disappointment, for he moved to a chair that was by the door and sat down. Instead of letting me go, however, he held me about the waist and had me stand between his legs.
"You find my touch intolerable?" Connor asked. For such a large man, I heard a touch of insecurity in his words. If they'd been planning to share a bride for a long time, perhaps years, then my rejection of him would change their dynamic. Had Cecil used them as he had me?
"No," I answered. His touch wasn't intolerable. In fact, it was rather nice. But I shouldn't be finding two men's touches nice. "It's not that. Cecil, he...I was misled." I remembered my manners just in time, remembering not to share emotions or speak ill of the dead. However important it was not to complain, I had to speak up. "I will not fall so low as to be a wife to Dash and a mistress to you."
Both men remained quiet and I turned my head to look up at Dash, then back to look directly into Connor's eyes. He nodded. "I understand."
I sighed in relief.
"You do?" I asked.
"Yes, and it is easily remedied," Connor answered. I expected him to lift me from his lap and hand me off to Dash, my husband, but he didn't.
I furrowed my brow. "It is?"
"Aye." He set me back from him and stood. "We're going to town."
"Right now?" I asked.
I saw a look pass between the two men. They were of a friendship close enough where they did not seem to require speaking to communicate.
"Aye," Connor repeated.
"Why? I was there this morning."
"We are getting married." He tugged my hand and pulled me out the door.
CONNOR
Two hours later, we stood before the doors to the church in town. I spent the ride silently watching our new wife. Wife! It was either insanity having her appear over lunch, or serendipity. She was the loveliest—and primmest—thing I'd ever seen. Sure, Ann and Emma and the others were beautiful, but they weren’t mine. There was a difference when the woman before you—from the silky dark hair on her head to the snooty tilt of her chin to the perfect flare of her hip—belonged to you. Aye, I'd wager her spine was stiff and straight without the tight corset she wore, but it would be my pleasure, and hers, to fuck the starch right out of her.
Rebecca was less than pleased about my intention to wed her, but her upbringing obviously prevented her from complaining. She'd spent the ride to town worrying that plump lower lip with her teeth. She'd used the term loose woman. She was the complete opposite of a loose woman. There wasn't a woman alive that needed kissing and touching and fucking as much as she did. A few sweaty, powerful orgasms would do her a world of good. Unfortunately, she believed that even liking a kiss from both of us made her immoral. Clearly, her brother hadna prepared her for the both of us and now we had to fix this. It started with saying 'I do' in front of a man of God.
"I am married to Dash," she said. "I can not marry another. Surely the minister will know."
"When you stayed at the boarding house, did you tell anyone of your proxy marriage?" I asked. I had a fair idea of her answer.
"No."
"Because you were worried I would reject you?" Dash's words had her looking his way and I could see a hint of hurt in her eyes. After traveling halfway around the world, having her brother die in front of her, and then wed to a stranger, neither of us could blame her for that consideration. If she'd been rejected, she could turn around and leave town without anyone the wiser, although what she would have done then, I'm sure she didna know. We weren't rejecting her. Like bloody hell. We were giving her more husbands that she wanted and this was a problem she never consid
ered even in her wildest imaginings.
"Everyone in town, then, will know of your marriage to me," I said. "We," I pointed between the three of us, "will know you are legally wed to Dash and to me."
She frowned then. "Why...why do you need to do this? Even if I am married to Dash, I am yours anyway, as a mistress to use as you see fit." Her chin angled up a notch. Ah, I loved the hint of defiance in her even though I wanted to take her over my knee at her words.
I turned to her and gently held onto that upturned chin so she was forced to look at me. "Because I dinna want you as my mistress. Tis the second time ye've brought our honor into question. If I wanted to dally with a lass, I'd go to the brothel. I dinna want to dally, I want to fuck my wife and that is ye. To me, yer proxy marriage to Dash is enough to make ye mine, but if ye need to stand in front of a minister and God to know ye belong to me as well, to let me touch ye the way I wish, then so be it."
She tried to turn her head away, but I wouldna let her. I didna want her to hide her emotions, to hide what I could see readily in her eyes.
"The minister, surely he will know," she whispered.
Dash removed his hat, glanced left and right as if someone were nearby to overhear and shook his head. "I willna tell." He cocked an eyebrow. "Do ye plan to tell him ye are wed to another?"
She opened her mouth to reply, but closed it. We had her caught. Neither Dash nor I would tell the minister the truth behind our marriage; he may have some inkling to how marriage was viewed at Bridgewater, but never spoke of it. If Rebecca told the minister of our stance on marriage, then she would be complicit in our unusual customs. She had nay choice but to keep it to herself.
We could return to the ranch and be a family, Dash, Rebecca and I, but her staunch morals required the union in the marriage books, or whatever they were called in the Territory. If she needed to stand in front of a minister in order for me to touch her, to fuck her, to make her mine with as much right as Dash, then so be it.
