Their Accidental Bride (Bridgewater Brides)

by Kelly Dawson

  “Run to Emma’s!” I told her. “Go!” She turned away. “Wait!” I took her face in my hands, held steady in my palms, and looked deeply into her eyes. I pressed my mouth to her lips in a passionate kiss, trying to show her that already, I loved her.

  She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me back just as passionately and I smiled. She knew.

  “Now go!” I cried. “But stay safe! Help Emma with the children and stay out of the way of the fire! We’ll be back to get you when it’s safe. Run!”

  I watched her for just a second as she turned and fled, but I couldn’t watch her for long. I had to quickly sort out my horse, then I had to help the men.

  12

  ELISE

  * * *

  I ran towards Emma’s house as fast as I could, holding up my skirts so I wouldn’t trip. My heart pounded in fear. Roscoe hadn’t let me get close enough to the fire to see, but it looked to be well engulfed. Smoke muddied the air, making me cough. I kept running.

  Just up ahead I could see children, women, all milling around. Was that Emma I could see, shepherding children inside, or was it someone else? A bonnet obscured her face and I couldn’t tell. I was about to call out to her when I was tackled from behind and I went flying, landing heavily, rolling. Something, or someone, was holding my arms, pinning me down. I struggled to get away but they were too strong for me.

  “Mr. Yates is waiting for you,” a deep voice that I didn’t recognize, rasped. Before I could tell him that he was too late, that I was already married, he pressed the muzzle of a gun against the side of my head. I froze, terrified, but he didn’t pull the trigger. Instead, he spoke quietly, evil words that filled me with dread. “You’re just going to have a little sleep,” he said. He rolled me over to face the sky and held a cloth to my face, pressing down on my nose and mouth. An unfamiliar sweet smell filled my nostrils. I panicked, fighting with everything I had, but he was too strong and still, he kept the cloth pressed to my face.

  Help! I screamed in my mind but I knew no one could hear me. It was unlikely anyone would see me either, with a barn between us and the fire, and our cabin blocking the view to Emma’s house. This criminal had chosen his spot well. My fights grew weaker and weaker and finally, everything went black.

  I’m not sure how long I was asleep for, but when I came to I was facedown over the back of a horse. My body rocked in time with the plodding of the horse. My captor wasn’t in any rush, which made me suspect we had left Bridgewater far behind. I squinted, my vision blurred, trying to make out where I was but I couldn’t move for my wrists and legs were tied and I was afraid to lift my head too far for fear my captor would see I was now awake. I didn’t know what he would do to me so I stayed quiet and as still as I could while I tried to gather my wits. I didn’t recognize the little I could see of the surrounding landscape but then I wouldn’t; I’d only been in the Montana Territory for such a short time.

  My brain was foggy and my mouth was dry but I didn’t dare ask for a sip of water to quench my thirst. It was much better to feign sleep, until I knew what kind of a man I was dealing with. No man who would kidnap a woman was likely to be kind, I knew that much. Mr. Yates is waiting for you echoed in my head, in time to the beat of the hooves beneath me, and the words filled me with fear. I’d thought I would be safe, this far from Philadelphia. I had no idea that he would want me bad enough to track me clear across the country. How on earth had he found me? I had left no trace…

  Panic welled up within me but I pushed it away. It would do no good to give in to terror now – I had to keep my head. I had to think! How was I going to get out of this mess? I had no idea. I forced myself to breathe normally, in and out. In and out. Over and over, nice and slow. The dust kicked up from the hooves beneath me assailed my nostrils and threatened to make me cough but I closed my eyes and swallowed lots, forcing it away. I knew my captor wouldn’t kill me – I was no good to Mr. Yates if I was dead – and I hung onto that thought as each stride of the horse took me further and further away from Bridgewater and the men I had fallen in love with so quickly.

  I let my thoughts drift to Shane and Roscoe. My husbands. Tall, dark and handsome, both of them. I thought of the chiseled lines of Shane’s jaw, the scratchy beard softening the hard planes of Roscoe’s face. I saw myself reflected in their dark eyes when they cuddled me close, remembered the feel of their strong arms around me as they held me tight. I pictured their bodies, long, lean and well-muscled. The way their cocks sprang out at my touch from where they were nestled in their bed of dark, curly hair. I thought of how huge their hands were. How their spread-out fingers covered most of my bottom when they spanked me, how their hands felt as hard as a board. But oh how different their hands were when they didn’t use them to punish, but to give pleasure, instead! They were skilled at making all my senses come alive, at making my nerve endings tremble and dance. At turning my core into molten lava. They were so alike I almost thought of them as one, yet they were so different as well. Already, they had made me feel like I was the most important woman in all the world.

  How many hours had passed since I’d been taken? I didn’t know. Did they have the fire under control yet? Had they noticed I was missing? Were they searching for me? So many questions that I didn’t have the answers to, and I wouldn’t have the answers. All I could do was wait. And hope.

  I hadn’t yet seen Shane’s smithy but I knew he was proud of it, of what he had achieved there. Pride was evident in his voice when he spoke of it, and the panic in his yell when he’d realized it was on fire, haunted me.

  I imagined all the Bridgewater men making a human chain, passing along bucket after bucket of water, in a desperate attempt to extinguish the flames. How did they even fight fires out here? Did they have a water cart and steam pump like they had in Philadelphia? I didn’t know. I hadn’t been in the Montana Territory long enough to know about anything at all. I just hoped they were safe. I hoped I would see them again. I hoped they would find me…

  My eyes closed of their own accord and the rhythmic rocking of the horse soon lulled me back to sleep.

  13

  SHANE

  * * *

  It was no good – the fire was too big. All I could do was stand and watch helplessly as my blacksmith shop, the business I had worked tirelessly in for years, making it the best smithy around, was consumed by flames. I heard my father’s voice in my head. He’d said the same words to me so many times I knew them by heart. Don’t go getting above your station, boy. You’ll never be anything more than me. A poor copper miner, living in a rough shack. That’s all you’ll ever be. I’d been bound and determined to prove my father wrong. I wasn’t going to be a copper miner, spending my days below ground, never seeing the sun. Having just enough money to get by and sometimes not even that. Drowning my sorrows in moonshine every night. I wanted better than that. And I had it. Well I did have it once, I corrected myself. But I probably didn’t have it anymore. My livelihood was burning to the ground in front of my very eyes. We’d fought valiantly to save it; all the Bridgewater men had. We’d been fighting for what seemed like hours. And it wasn’t enough.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was the long, low rumble of thunder and the heavens opened, spewing down hail in a violent storm.

  All around me, men cheered. They whistled, yelled and clapped. We were saved! Someone took my arm from behind and danced me around in a merry jig, a crazy celebration of a sudden spring hailstorm.

  The hail was painful as it pelted us, little blocks of ice hitting our skin in a stinging kiss but I didn’t care. The hail was our savior! I watched, mesmerized, as the hail slowly extinguished the flames, leaving behind the smoldering ruins of what had once been my dream.

  The hail storm was over as suddenly as it had begun and we stood around, triumphant. My smithy was mostly gone, but Bridgewater was safe. No lives had been lost. Tomorrow, when the ashes were cool, I would sift through the rubble and salvage what I could. My anvil, my forge, my tools. I w
ould start again. I would have to – I had a wife now.

  I looked around for Roscoe as the men slowly dispersed, back home to their own families now that the danger was over. When I was ready, they would help me rebuild but for now, they had done all they could do. Now I wanted to get back to Elise.

  I found him at the edge of his corn field. The hail had been my fortune, but it was Roscoe’s tragedy. His crop was ruined. The corn was battered and bent, the harvest would be ruined.

  He shook his head sadly as I approached. “All that work, gone. Elise will hate me now, just like my mother did my father. I won’t be good enough for her, not now that I have nothing to offer her.”

  Anger flooded me. Elise was nothing like his parents! “Why don’t you let Elise be the judge of that?” I snapped at him, clenching my fists by my sides. I wanted to hit him, I was so mad. “None of this was your fault. Elise will know that.”

  “Will she?”

  “Yes.” I wanted to shake some sense into him, but I was afraid. I’d never seen Roscoe this despondent before, and I’d known him most of my life. What was wrong? Was he truly scared she would reject him?

  “I’ll have to find her,” he mumbled, his voice low. “Tell her I’ve failed.”

  “You haven’t failed!” I argued, but he didn’t respond. Just turned and walked away.

  We hadn’t gone more than a few steps when Emma came running up, her face red from exertion, her features distorted in panic. Something was wrong. I broke into a run. Beside me, Roscoe did the same.

  “Someone took Elise!” Emma yelled, as soon as she was close enough to be heard.

  “What?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Someone took Elise,” Emma repeated, panting for breath. “A man.”

  “When?” Roscoe asked.

  Emma looked down at the ground. “A long time ago,” she admitted. “When you first got here. The children saw it but didn’t think to say anything and I was too busy to notice she wasn’t there…. I’m sorry!”

  “Which way did he take her?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t have time for her apologies. I pushed past her roughly, sprinting for my horse. We had to find her! The ruins of my blacksmith shop… Roscoe’s battered crop… none of it mattered any more. Our beautiful bride was gone!

  Who had taken her? Why? Where was she? The questions flew around in my brain, tormenting me and I didn’t have the answers.

  “There!” Roscoe yelled and I looked at where he pointed. There on the ground, not far from us, were obvious signs of a struggle. Is this where he had grabbed her? He better not have hurt her! A fury stronger than I’d ever felt before, raced through me, searing me with a hatred so intense it scared me. I clenched my fists as tension filled my body. Once I got my hands on the man who had taken our beautiful bride, his life wasn’t going to be worth living.

  “You get the horses,” Roscoe ordered, taking charge as always. He’d always been good in a crisis: level-headed, calm, collected. Able to think clearly. He pointed to the ground where the hoof prints of two horses were clearly visible. “I’ll get the guns. We’ll follow the tracks. Come on!”

  I ran for the horses.

  By the time Roscoe returned with the rifle, ammunition and a pistol each, I had caught the horses, strapped on their bridles, and was starting on the saddles.

  I strapped on the gun belt Roscoe threw me. He’d filled it with bullets already. He slid the rifle into the scabbard on his saddle then went to the well to fill the canteens. We didn’t have time to gather any food, but as long as we had water we would be okay. We didn’t have time to waste; we’d have to ride hard.

  I’d never been as frantic in my life as I was now. I leaped into the saddle and kicked my horse into a gallop before I was even fully seated, leaning low over his withers, spurring him on.

  It was easy enough to follow the hoof prints, even at full gallop; whoever had taken Elise clearly hadn’t bothered to try to cover his tracks. Had he been that confident he wouldn’t be followed? Now that we had left Bridgewater far behind, it didn’t look like he was going very fast, either. Neither Roscoe nor I were very good at tracking, but we both knew enough to know that the prints we were following hadn’t been left by a hurrying horse. After an initial burst of speed when Elise had first been taken, they were now walking along sedately, as though they had all the time in the world. Which was good for us, I told myself. That would give us a bit of time to catch them up.

  Neither of us spoke, we just rode, as fast as our steeds could carry us. Every mile we galloped from Bridgewater was one mile closer to our bride, but how many miles did we have yet to go? It was impossible to tell. I tried to do a quick calculation in my head… how long did it take a horse to walk a mile, and how many hours had she been gone? But my brain was too numb to figure it out. Too much had happened and I couldn’t think clearly. All I could do was ride. We had to find her!

  Our horses started to labor so we eased back to a steady lope to rest them a bit but still, we were silent. The only sound the rasping of our mounts breath, the steady drum of their hooves on the dusty ground.

  If we found Elise… when we found her, I corrected myself hastily, what was she going to think when we told her that the men she was married to now had nothing? That we would both have to rebuild, virtually from scratch? Would she still want us?

  14

  ELISE

  * * *

  When I woke up again much later, the sun was high in the sky and I couldn’t move. My shoulders burned from my arms being pulled so tight behind me, my wrists tied together behind the thick tree truck. The rough bark jammed against my back, scratching me. The uneven ground was hard beneath my bottom and thighs, littered with sticks and stones that poked into me. The tree shaded me for now, but I knew that soon, the sun would move and the full force of its scorching rays would beat down on me.

  I licked my dry lips, my tongue as parched as the dry grass around me. There was a strange taste in my mouth. The bitterness that lingered from the ether mixed with trail dust, I thought. A canteen sat just out of reach, leaning against a saddle, torturing me, for even if I could grab it in my feet and bring it to me, I couldn’t drink from it with my hands tied behind the tree. I tugged against my binds but they held fast, the rope digging into my wrists when I pulled. I winced at the burning pain. Two hobbled horses grazed a few feet away. My captor was nowhere to be seen.

  I slumped back against the tree as unconsciousness claimed me again just briefly, but I fought against the darkness threatening to overwhelm me. I had to think! I had to get away! Nothing in my genteel upbringing had prepared me for having to escape from a kidnapper, and a sense of hopeless doom filled me. I wasn’t gagged. Was that because we were so far away from Bridgewater that my captor was confident we wouldn’t be caught? And so far away from any form of civilization that he knew I would not be heard if I screamed? Or was it simply an oversight on his part? That last thought gave me hope. If my kidnapper was incompetent, it meant I might be able to escape. I tugged at the rope binding my wrists again, but it held fast. I stretched my fingers as far as they could go, hoping against hope that I would be able to reach the knots, but the rope was too tight for me to get any leverage. My hopes quickly drained away as pain shot up my arms from the pressure of the rope and the unnatural strain on my shoulders. This wasn’t going to work. I would have to think of something else.

  “Ah! You’re awake.” My captors’ voice startled me out of my planning and I looked up to face him. An ugly scar ran the length of his left cheek and a hat shaded his face. He wore two guns, one low on each hip, and what looked to be a knife tucked into his boot. He was big – taller and broader than Shane and Roscoe, and he towered over me, casting a shadow over my legs and feet.

  “Water,” I croaked, dust clogging my throat, making me cough. He bent down, picked up the canteen, squatted in front of me, held the rim of the bottle to my chapped lips. The sweet, cold liquid trickled down my t
hroat, making me feel alive again. So he was a gentleman kidnapper, then. He wasn’t going to let me die of thirst.

  He stood up to his full height and smiled down at me showing missing, tobacco-stained teeth. It wasn’t a nice smile. There was no kindness or reassurance in his eyes. Instead, there was evil. Glee. A sick kind of triumph. He had me right where he wanted me – completely at his mercy. I bit back my fear. There had to be a way out of this situation, I just had to find it.

  I remembered the gold coins I had secreted away in the lining of my skirt. The skirt that had been left behind in Bridgewater, in what was to be my new home. With my new husbands. Maybe I could buy my freedom?

  “I have money,” I tried. “Gold eagles. Four of them. All yours, if you let me go.” I fought to keep my voice even, without a trace of fear. I was afraid; terribly so. But I couldn’t let him know that. He had to think I had my wits all about me. I was used to men like him – Mr. Yates, and even John to a lesser degree, were like him. They thrived on the fear of those smaller and weaker than themselves. Good men, men like my husbands, were protectors. But the man standing in front of me, just like John and Mr. Yates, was not a good man. And he would enjoy seeing me panicking, afraid. I was not going to give him that satisfaction.

  “Ha!” he scoffed, sneering at me. “Your brother and Mr. Yates will pay me handsomely – far more than any paltry sum you can offer.”

  His boots were far too close to me and I shrank back in fear, but there was no escape – the tree trunk dug into my back. If he was going to kick me, there was nothing I could do to stop him. He stood there, just staring down at me, not saying a word.