Rocky Mountain Wild (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 6) Page 6

  Her breath came in pants, sobs hitching in her throat.

  “It hurts, it hurts.”

  “It’s supposed to hurt, little bird. You’ll feel it tomorrow, when you walk past the bull’s pen and choose your path.”

  His hand paused and squeezed her flesh through her drawers. Even she could feel how warm her cheeks were to touch. She imagined both globes were as red as bright cherries, the thin fabric not quite hiding their glow.

  “Almost there.” He finished palming her bottom, the rough massage giving her some relief, and started spanking her again.

  She whimpered. “I thought you said I was getting eight.”

  “Eight with the switch, lassie. Quite a few more with my hand for resisting correction.”

  Her bottom throbbing with the cumulated ache of the spanking, and the sting of his new blows, Phoebe tried to suffer the rest in silence. Only a few agonized squeaks slipped out when Calum paid special attention to the underside of her curved globes, and then let loose a fiery rain of blows upon her sit spots.

  “Now.” He released her and propped her up on her feet, holding her shoulders to help her gain her balance. “You have another chance. I’m going to peel the switch, and you’re going to hold your skirts up and bend over when I tell you.”

  Phoebe’s chest rose and fell, her eyes prickling with humiliated tears, but she did as he asked. Calum waited as she propped up her skirts. This time, the cool air felt good on her blistered cheeks, but she couldn’t suppress an angry sob as her employer prepared the implement of correction.

  She held position until he started back. He seemed so big and angry, his muscles bunched under his shirt, the switch small in his hand. It was thin and whippy, but she knew it would sting like the devil. As he approached, she lost her nerve and dropped her skirts.

  “No, Mr. MacDonnell, please.” She backed away, quicker on her clubfoot than she’d ever been.

  The big Scot halted. “Phoebe, come here.”

  “I will not.” She kept backing away.

  “Phoebe, you have until the count of three to come to me.”

  She held out, her legs trembling.

  “One,” he said, and her control broke.

  “I hate you,” she quavered.

  “Hate me all you want, lass. As long as you do nothing so foolhardy again.”

  She rushed away from him, half staggering on her twisted foot to his cabin where she slammed the door, pushing her body against it.

  “Phoebe.” His voice was muffled through the door.

  “You’re a monster,” she screamed.

  There was a pause, and she drew back, waiting for him to burst through the door and beat her, which is why the next thing he said floored her.

  “I’m sorry I disciplined you in anger. It was not right. I promise never to do it again.”

  “You spanked me.”

  “Aye. And you nearly lost your life doing something foolhardy. If I could, I’d go back and do it right, with a calm and level head, but I’d still do it again.”

  Her eyes stung with tears. “Why?”

  “We agreed this is how you would take correction.”

  She had, but this was too humiliating. He’d spanked her bottom in the middle of the field, and she’d let him.

  The worst was how she wanted to obey and please him.

  She could still feel his big hands on her, holding her easily, positioning her with confidence. It woke in her something she craved.

  “Dear one, open the door. You cannot hide in there forever.”

  Sniffling, she obeyed, knowing he was right.

  Her Mr. MacDonnell stood outside the door, uncrossing his arms when she stepped back to let him in. He didn’t look fierce anymore, just stern, though his movements were careful.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, and he reached for her, running his hands down her arms as if checking for hurt.

  “You could’ve been killed,” he said. “I could’ve lost you, and all for a stupid shortcut.”

  “I know.”

  “You need a man to take you in hand, and protect you from yourself.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  “So I’m not a monster.”

  “No. I apologize for saying those cruel things.”

  He stared out the door, unhappy. “I still want to switch you. You put your life in danger. I cannot have that.”

  “I promise I’ll never do it again.”

  “I know you won’t, and eight switches will keep the lesson in your mind for a good long while.”

  For a moment, she met his gentle gaze, then nodded.

  He visibly relaxed. “Go put your hands on the porch railing and wait for me.”

  In position, she watched him cross to the branch he’d cut, and examine it. Taking out his knife, he whittled at the end until it was peeled clean of bark.

  He came back and showed her the whippy implement. “It’ll sting, but it won’t break the skin. I’ll need you to stay still so it doesn’t bend round your side.”

  “I will,” she promised, wishing he’d just get it over with.

  “Stick out your bum.” As soon as she did, he laid her skirts up over her back and held them there while he drew down her drawers.

  As the air hit her bare skin, Phoebe bit her tongue, willing herself not to make a protest or a sound. It was a matter of pride.

  She almost lost control at the first snap, the pain cutting through her resolve. Calum quickly followed with the rest, laying the lines from her bottom to her knees. Phoebe panted and flinched with each stinging strike, counting them in her head.

  He stopped at six. “Enough.” He tossed the hated implement away. “Don’t make me do that again.”

  “I won’t.” Wincing, she rubbed away the sting and glanced back. Her bottom and the backs of her thighs were covered with thin red marks.

  “None of that.” He caught her hand, and replaced her drawers and her skirts. She felt the little thrill run through her at his touch. “Rub your bottom again, and I’ll have you stand in the corner with your hands on your head and think on what you’ve done.”

  She pouted at the floor, and he crossed his burly arms over his chest.

  “What do you say?”

  “Yes, Mr. MacDonnell.”

  “Good lass.”

  Another thrill ran through her. To distract herself, she asked, “If you’d hired someone like Mrs. Martin to be a housekeeper, would you switch her?”

  “No. I’d get her husband to do it.”

  She turned away, but couldn’t think of what to do. Lifting a pot, she figured she’d start dinner, but her thoughts kept running back towards Mr. MacDonnell. Was he angry with her?

  “Phoebe,” he called across the room.

  She raised her head, and realized there were tears running down her cheeks. Why was she crying? She’d never been so emotional before.

  “Oh, lassie, come here.”

  Before she could protest, he had scooped her up and settled her on his lap in the big chair. She clung to him before she knew what she was doing, pressing her face into his rough shirt and letting her shivering cries overtake her.

  She didn’t cry hard, or sob, just let out a few tears as he held her and murmured sweet things.

  Her body curled into his without her permission; she felt raw and soft, as if the spanking had stripped all her walls away, and moved her closer to him.

  “There you are, wee Phoebe. Let it all out.”

  She lifted a tear-stained face to his. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No, lass.” He stroked her hair and moved one big thumb to wipe away the track of tears. “I was frightened for you. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  “You didn’t scare me,” she said, even as her bottom throbbed.

  “Was that the first spanking you’ve had?”

  “No. I’ve been beaten before.” Long ago, before she’d run away.

  He frowned. “I’ll not beat you, las
s. A little correction isn’t meant to break you, just teach you the lesson and give you the chance to cry. You feel better, knowing your punishment is over and you’re forgiven?”

  She thought about it. There was no fear or hate inside of her, just a raw vulnerable feeling that spread warmth through her. She felt closer to him somehow. She nodded.

  “Good lass. You did well.” Her heart warmed at his praise.

  “Calum? If I was older, would you still punish me?”

  “Yes. If the behavior warranted. But I like that you’re just a wee Phoebe bird, who I can hold and comfort. I’m here to give you cuddles, every time I put you over my knee.”

  She nodded, and scooted off his lap. It felt right.

  “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

  He stayed seated, and chucked her under the chin. “I know ye are, lassie. You’re forgiven too. That’s the way a spanking works. It wipes the slate clean. Now get on with ye. And no rubbing your backside.” He wagged a mock finger at her.

  “Yes, Mr. MacDonnell.”

  *

  After that first spanking, Phoebe would’ve thought she’d be frightened of Calum. Instead, she felt closer to the large man than ever. She’d never forget how he comforted her. No one had ever done that, not in her entire life. It awoke a desire within her that she didn’t know she had. Instead of shying away from him, his touch was now something she craved.

  Before her switch marks faded, Calum slaughtered and butchered the bull, and tore a hole in the fence for her to walk through. Her heart flutters were strongest of all when she walked the new, straight path from her hut to his lodge each morning.

  Despite these sweet happenings, the days on the homestead were long and brutal. Winter was coming, and they spent dawn to dusk readying for its arrival. Calum was often gone hunting, returning for dinner. She loved having the hearth warm and food ready for him, even insisting he sit in his chair while she served him by the fire. As often as not, she perched on a chair and chatted away about her day while he ate. She’d never talked so much, but having a silent Scot who seemed to enjoy her company emboldened her. He really was a friend.

  But more than a friend. He always walked her home, insisting on it. She wondered if he would spank her if she disobeyed his request and went home on her own. The thought had her almost excited.

  Then, one night, she got a chance to find out. The rain had started around noon, and continued through sundown. Phoebe finished banking the fire and making a pot of stew, and there was no sign of Calum. He was probably out hunting, if he didn’t get drowned like a fish.

  After waiting, she decided to go home. It was too wet to do much of anything else.

  The trail to her meadow was muddy, and Phoebe struggled a little to limp through the puddles. Even her staff got stuck in the sucking mud.

  Approaching her little hut, she felt dismay. Her hearth would be cold and dead, and she was too tired to make a fire. It would be worse as winter came on.

  The rain seemed to pick up, beating down in sheets so she could barely see her own door. Water poured off her roof, and when she opened the door to her home, she realized the leaks had gotten worse. Rain trickled down from multiple crevices, with the worst leak near the hearth, beating off the stone and turning the earthen floor in front of it to mud. Phoebe looked about in dismay. Her bed was now a large puddle. There was no way she could make a fire.

  Shivering, she put her arms around herself and started to crouch, but the damp sent an ache spiraling up her leg. Her eyes smarted with tears as she wondered what to do.

  It could’ve been minutes or it could’ve been hours before she heard a voice bellowing over the rain.

  “Phoebe!”

  Her teeth were chattering too hard to answer him.

  Calum flung the door open hard enough to splash into the small puddle. In the gloom, she could make out his frustrated features.

  Body cramping, she tried to stand. “I waited for you—”

  Her words cut off as he stalked to her. Pulling her to her feet, he dipped and she was over his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her legs to hold her there. Ducking, he grabbed her staff and bag, and headed back out the door.

  “Mr. MacDonnell, what are you doing?” Phoebe kicked her feet a little as her employer stalked through the rain. The way back to the lodge took no time; the Scot’s big strides ate up the wet ground and easily avoided the puddles.

  Once inside the lodge, he swung her down. Phoebe took a second to be grateful for the warmth and light, swaying a little on her feet. She was so cold.

  “Silly, stubborn lass. I would take a tawse to you, if I thought it would teach you.” Calum moved about the room, flinging off his wet jacket, boots and shirt.

  “What did I tell you, Phoebe? You wait for me, every time. I come home and panic because you’re not here, and you could have slipped and fallen in the mud…”

  She couldn’t answer because her teeth had started to chatter again. Grabbing her again, he moved them both to the fire, as close to the hearth as they could go, and started undressing her.

  His bare chest heaved. He looked so handsome with water droplets clinging to his faintly freckled skin, and wet hair hanging around his face.

  “I didn’t want to bother you—” she said as her teeth clattered.

  “So you walked through the rain? You’re soaked, you wee scunner.” His hands made short work of her buttons, and stripped off her wet dress, then burrowed further to find her corset stays. Her chemise and petticoat were next, flying over her head and dropped to land with a splat on the floor. Drops of water flew into the fire, where they sizzled. The rain outside sounded like a living, breathing monster. Phoebe was glad she wasn’t in her little hut.

  “What are you doing?” she asked too late. He already had most of her wet things off. A numbness had taken over her mouth and mind.

  “Getting you warm,” he said, glowering. “And no back talk. I’m done with this, Phoebe.”

  She didn’t say anything as he knelt and peeled off her stockings and boots. He’d left the drawers and under-chemise, leaving her side for a moment, but when he came back with a great big fur blanket, he whipped those off too, and wrapped her naked form in the robe. After hooking his chair closer to the hearth, he picked her up and sat her down in his lap, fur and all. His broad hands started rubbing her body through the rug, chafing her limbs to warm them.

  Phoebe didn’t fight it. She lay her head on his broad, bare chest and let her body absorb his heat. Her skin tingled a little as it came back to life.

  “Stubborn,” he repeated, his tone softer, almost fond. “Sweet, I don’t know what to do with you sometimes. But this has to end.”

  They rested together in front of the fire. Phoebe’s eyes kept fluttering closed, only to open as Calum’s hands massaged life back into her skin.

  “What has to?” she finally asked.

  “Hmmm?”

  “What has to end? What are you done with?”

  “I’m done watching you struggle, all alone. I thought that if I gave you time, you’d come around. But it’s happening too slowly, and I’m not waiting anymore.”

  Phoebe wrinkled her brow and Calum leaned closer.

  “You’re mine, Phoebe. I knew it the moment I saw you. I think you knew too.”

  “But—”

  “You’re scared, but I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to take care of you.”

  Her body warmed with the heat of his words and body. “I can take care of myself.”

  His look darkened. “Can you, Phoebe?”

  “I’m not weak,” she protested.

  “I never said you were. You’re very strong.” He kissed her temple and she froze in shock. “Now, do you want to eat something while I draw you a hot bath?”

  She blinked at the change of subject. “I don’t need a bath.”

  “You’re cold. I want you to warm up.” Rising, he set her back in the chair and started moving briskly around the room. He brought her a bowl
of stew and put a pot of water on before disappearing, returning wearing fresh clothes and carrying the tub. Pulling the chairs around the tub, he built a little screen with the wet clothes, table and chairs. “There. Some privacy.”

  Phoebe watched all this with a mind as numb as her cold feet. He said he’d care for her, and kissed her. What was happening?

  Returning, he picked her right up and settled back to wait for the pot to boil, stretching out his legs and cradling her close as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Phoebe fit easily in his lap, but felt she should protest. She didn’t want to; the heat of his body penetrated to her very bones.

  He took the stew bowl from her, frowning. “You need to eat,” he clucked, and spooning up a chunk of meat, held it to her lips. “Come on.” He coaxed the spoon between her lips as if she was a child.

  “I can feed myself.”

  “Not that I can tell. You don’t eat enough.”

  “Is this what you mean by take care of me?” she huffed. “You can’t dress and feed me every day.”

  He raised a brow.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I will if I have to. And bathe and put you to bed. I’m going to make sure you get what you need.”

  “Why did you bring my things here?” She nodded to her sack.

  “You’re moving in.” His brow raised in anticipation of her argument. “I don’t want any lip.”

  “I can’t move in with you.”

  “Well, you’re not going back there.”

  She pushed at him and he held her fast. “You’re not, Phoebe. You’ll catch your death. I’m not standing by and letting you freeze because of some daft ideal to make your own way.”

  “I’m not daft, or silly, or stubborn!” She pushed off his lap, though she had to test her foot first, to see if she could stand. “I thank you for your help, Mr. MacDonnell, but—”

  “But you’re accepting my kind offer to spend the winter in comfort.” He didn’t get up, but still managed to look intimidating. “That’s the only acceptable answer.”

  She stamped her foot. “I can’t stay with you.”

  “Why not?”

  She was stumped only a second. “It…wouldn’t be proper.”

  “It’s not proper for you to live in that hovel while I have plenty of space here.”