Rocky Mountain Wild (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 6) Read online

  She shook her head frantically. “You can’t do that. You don’t know them, they’ll get angry—”

  “I don’t give a damn about them,” Calum growled, then squeezed her shoulders as if he regretted cursing in front of her. “It’s you I care about. Your safety, your happiness. You will not feel hurt or hardship again, if I can help it.”

  A thrill ran through her, but she swallowed around the lump in her throat. Things were changing too quickly, and she didn’t understand.

  “But what will you say to my family to keep them from coming? They have a claim to me. My grandfather chooses all husbands for the women in his clan.”

  “Aye, and I’ll tell you someday what sort of backwoods rabble I think your family is.”

  Phoebe blinked at him in shock.

  “First things first. I’m going to stand up for you, and protect you. So I best make it official.”

  “Official?”

  “Yes.” He cradled her face in both hands. “Marry me, Phoebe.”

  “What?”

  His grey eyes held hers. “Marry me and I can give you all you need and more. We’ll tell your family you have no need for a husband, because you have me.”

  His big hand took hers and squeezed it, pressing it against his heart.

  She felt swallowed up in something huge, unknown but wonderful.

  “You would do that? Marry me?”

  “And keep you. You’ll never get harm or threats from me, only the best care. What you deserve.” To her surprise, he kissed her hand, before returning it to his chest. His heartbeat under her hand was an anchor to her spinning thoughts. Her employer, Mr. MacDonnell, whom she secretly thought of as her Calum, was asking for her hand.

  He would marry her just to protect her. Phoebe blinked back tears at his kindness. Her big-hearted Scottish master. At the same time, it hurt to know the only reason he would step in was to protect her. It was an extreme way to keep on a good housekeeper, even if she did make good biscuits.

  “What do you say Phoebe? Will you be my wife?”

  “I… don’t know.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you. You already share my land and my hearth. Now I can care for you the way I truly want.”

  She nodded slightly. He was kind to her, and joining to him wouldn’t be unpleasant. Even if it was a mission of mercy on his part. She would always adore him, and serve him with all her might, out of love, and gratitude for what he’d saved her from.

  “All right,” she whispered. “I will marry you.”

  A smile dawned on his rugged features. “Good.”

  She thought for a moment he would kiss her, but he only drew her into a little hug.

  “You’re going to be all right, Phoebe,” he whispered.

  She let herself cuddle him for a moment, then rose to her feet. “I’d best get dinner.”

  “Aye,” he said, watching her in his quiet, intense way. She felt blood rush to her cheeks; and scolded herself that she would be so affected. She was still servant, he was still master, and she better keep to her place, even if he gave her the protection of his name.

  “Phoebe.” Calum lifted the bag of gold. “I want you to have it. A bride price, if you will.”

  “I couldn’t.” She shook her head, feeling close to tears again. “You’d be more right to whip me for stealing.”

  “Whip ye?” His grey eyes lit. “I’d not risk damaging your pretty skin. Give ye a taste of the tawse, perhaps, if you were really bad.”

  “It was bad, though,” she whispered. “I feel horrible. I don’t know how you can trust me.”

  He regarded her. “You think I’ll let this come between us?”

  “I don’t know,” she said miserably. “But I fear it.”

  “Tell you what.” He set aside the gold. “I’ll give you a proper spanking as punishment, and then the matter’s closed. As your husband, I expect I’ll have to take you in hand now and again, you may as well know the way of it.” He held out his hand. “Now come over my lap for your spanking.”

  She hesitated, then forced her feet to walk the rest of the way to him. He helped her over his great thighs; she felt a little unbalanced until he steadied her with a hand on her back.

  “Now,” he said in a brisk voice, as if they were talking normally, not with one party draped over his legs. “Tell why you’re getting punished.”

  “I stole from you.”

  “Stole from me and hid the truth. Our marriage will be easier if you just confide in me. I’ll expect it in the future, and spank you now to encourage it.”

  How could a spanking encourage her to be truthful?

  “Whenever you earn the flat of my hand, I’ll always make sure you understand the reason. Sometimes it’ll just be to settle you; I find a proper spanking can comfort as well as discipline. You’ll take the sting, but I’ll make sure you feel pleasure.”

  Comfort? Pleasure?

  “I-I don’t understand.”

  He chuckled. “You will.” As he’d spoken, he’d drawn up her skirts and petticoat and tucked them so they wouldn’t fall. Now he eased down her drawers, and she felt her skin pebble as the cool air hit her bottom.

  “Now that’s a pretty sight,” he said, and started squeezing each cheek in a broad hand. “I’m warming your bottom, so the spanking won’t sting so much. I want you to get nice and red, and feel it, but not hurt over much.”

  “Most wouldn’t care.”

  “I care, Phoebe. I’ll not strike you in anger, or without a proper warm up. Spanking isn’t just a way to punish or knock you about. It’s a way to bring us closer.” His hand continued massaging her bottom, and Phoebe felt she could relax. “I don’t expect you to ken. You’ll feel it, when you’ve had a few sessions over my knee.”

  A few sessions? Phoebe shifted on his legs, wondering how many times he expected her to get punished during their marriage. A lot, it sounded like. Judging from his happy chatter, and eager, capable hands rubbing her bottom, he expected to enjoy the sessions.

  “Now a little spanking to ready you.” His hand fell in little pats, growing harder and harder over a few minutes, so that Phoebe felt her bottom begin to glow.

  She wriggled again and he bade her be still. It wasn’t the spanking, though, that bothered her. It was the rising warmth in her body, focused between her legs.

  “Now, we begin.” The first few spanks were sharper than the warm up, but not too bad. Her master’s hand was large and powerful, but moved carefully over every part of her cheeks, imparting the strikes evenly. It hurt a little, more of a slight sting that spread over her entire bum, heat that licked over her flesh and started advancing between her legs.

  Phoebe squirmed more. Her lower lips were hot and swollen, and a flush took over her body. She kicked her legs in protest.

  “Be still, lass.” Calum delivered two warning smacks with the warning, one to each buttock. Phoebe tried, but each continued spank pushed the strange ache out from her core, tension coiling tighter and tighter, and growing bigger with every moment. It was unlike anything Phoebe had ever felt before, and she tried to push up, only to have Calum hold her in place, and increase the force of his swats. Phoebe panted, not with pain, but some unknown ache as her new husband-to-be continued to punish her.

  “All right, almost done. Spread your legs.”

  “Spread them?” she squeaked.

  “That’s right. Nice and wide, and I’ll complete your punishment. You’ve been a good girl.”

  With a deep breath, she inched her legs apart. Her cheeks burned as she imagined how she must look—pale limbs arranged over his legs, bare above her stockings. The round curve of her bottom heaped over his lap, her sit spots a bright red, the rest an even, dusty pink. There might even be a few handprints on the edge from her punishment.

  “Wider, Phoebe.”

  There was a wetness between her legs, and she clenched a little to keep it from drippi
ng. There was a little tickle in her secret place. She’d felt it before, at odd times when she looked at Calum, but never this much. It was an insistent itch she knew she mustn’t scratch.

  Once her legs were spread to Calum’s satisfaction, he rubbed her hot bum for a while. The massage soothed the sting, but not the ache between her legs. She let her head and torso relax over her master’s legs.

  “There you are,” he murmured. “Submit to me. I’ll take care of you.”

  With her legs separated, she could not clench her bottom as tightly as she liked. The rubbing soothed her so much, though, it didn’t matter.

  “Five more, sweet Phoebe, and then your punishment is over and done. You’ll be forgiven; we’ll never concern ourselves with the matter again.”

  That sounded nice. Anything her Mr. MacDonnell said in that crooning brogue sounded beautiful to her. A part of her wished she could lay across his lap forever.

  His hand cupped the lower half of her bottom, close to her center, but she didn’t react at first, until he patted the skin there a little, then smacked right between her legs.

  Her head flew up and her legs snapped shut. “What are you doing?” She bucked to escape the tremors reverberating deep inside her, but he held her fast.

  “Finishing your session.”

  “I don’t kn-know,” she stuttered.

  “Does it feel good?”

  “Yes,” she blurted, then tensed, wishing she could take the words back.

  He chuckled above her, and reaffirmed his hold on her.

  “Well, there’s nothing you can do about it. This is part of your discipline. You must relax now, and take your punishment.” He paused. “What do good girls say?”

  “Yes, Mr. MacDonnell.”

  Again, he chuckled. “After this, you may as well call me Calum.”

  His words warmed her in the strange way. She felt floaty, almost dreamy, as she spread her legs again as he bid. His big hand was careful as it rubbed lower and lower on her bottom, then smacked again. She jumped but didn’t fight, and he repeated it once, twice, three times.

  Suddenly, her whole body stiffened. Blood rushed to her face and the coil inside her snapped, flooding her with delicious pleasure.

  Little pants and cries escaped her. The strange feeling washed through her quickly, then went away, leaving a satisfied, easy feeling in its wake.

  “Punishment’s over.” Calum sounded very satisfied with himself.

  For a moment, all she could do was hang limp over his legs. “What was that?” she panted.

  “That was you finding your pleasure. Do you like that, lass?”

  “I don’t know.” It had been so intense.

  Calum’s big body shook with a laugh. “I think you did. It’s all right. Once we’re married you’ll have plenty more times to experience it, and you can decide then.”

  Phoebe propped herself up a little to catch her breath. Her limbs felt loose, but not weak. She hadn’t realized a spanking could feel that way. She wanted to feel it again.

  Taking stock of her situation, she realized her legs were damp. Craning her neck, she looked at Calum, who raised his wet hand. Juices had run out of her when… her pleasure happened. She’d soaked him.

  Mortified, she made a humiliated sound.

  “One thing’s certain. You needed that. Need a lot more than that, by the look of things. But there’s plenty of time.”

  “I’m so sorry. Did I—” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  “It happens sometimes, when your body finds its release. I’m happy to have given you such intense pleasure.”

  “But…” She’d peed on him, and he was acting like all was well between them.

  “Come on, girl. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  *

  Again, he drew her a bath, and she settled into it behind the small makeshift curtain. Now the routine was almost normal. She allowed him to care for her. No one ever had before.

  When she was dry and in a nightgown, he sat her in his great chair, and dressed her in a pair of his wool socks.

  He handled her foot carefully, and she didn’t tense at all. He even held it for a moment to examine it.

  “It’s not so bad,” he said. “Just a little curved. I bet there’s a way to stretch it right.” She started to sit up, escape in mind, and he slipped on the sock. “Someday,” he said lightly and rose to get her tea.

  When he returned, the sight of a big, burly Scot hunched over a little tin cup was so incongruous she couldn’t help but blurt, “You don’t have to do this. Take care of me. You shouldn’t, really.”

  He cocked his head. “Why not, wee bird?”

  “You could just hire someone else and send me away. I wouldn’t blame you.”

  “But then who will sing like a bird as she hangs the washing?”

  Phoebe jerked in shock. She hadn’t realized he’d heard.

  “I stand in the forest and listen sometimes. It brightens my day. And seeing you sweep, biting your lip, or keep me company at night by the fire.”

  “I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

  “Let me be the judge of what you’re worth to me.” His words warmed her, even though she didn’t know what they meant, his tone was full of affection. “Do you want to go?”

  “No,” she cried and then tempered her response. “No. I could not bear to leave.”

  He knelt back down in front of her, grey eyes at her level. “Do you care for me a little then?”

  “Yes,” she said honestly. He was everything to her.

  A smile broke across his face. “Then don’t worry, lass.” He patted her knee. “Leave it all to me. I’m going to take this burden from you, wee one.”

  She liked the sound of that, but pretended to pout. “I’m not wee.”

  “You are to me.”

  She grunted and his eyebrow went up.

  “Crossing me already?”

  “No.”

  “That’s all right. I know how to make you sweet.”

  She flushed, and he grinned.

  “That’ll be the way of it from now on. Whenever my wee wife gives me lip, I’ll put her across my knee and spank her, then give her release.”

  *

  The next morning, Phoebe woke in her bedroom. Groggily she pushed open the door and froze. The sunlight streamed inside the lodge, illuminating the truth of last night. The little tub was there with the remains of her bath. Her tin mug waited at her spot along with the coffee crock. But most telling was that Calum wasn’t off doing chores. Instead, he bustled about the hearth, stirring porridge. His back was to her, but she could tell he was wearing a well-brushed buckskin coat and new trousers.

  “Mr. MacDonnell?”

  His cheeks curved into a grin, but he didn’t turn around. “Call me Calum.”

  She padded to her chair. “You didn’t wake me.”

  “You slept hard. You needed it.” Grabbing a bowl, he dished up her porridge. There was already a jar of preserves by her place, and a crock of honey.

  “You could’ve woken me. I can make breakfast.”

  He came to the table and she caught her breath. He’d bathed and shaved, trimming his hair and beard to reveal a strong, masculine jaw line. Phoebe wouldn’t have recognized him at first, if he wasn’t serving her porridge, fixing her with his kind, grey eyes.

  “How do I look?”

  She swallowed. He was the handsomest thing she’d ever seen, and it left her speechless.

  “That bad, eh? Took me a while to cut my hair. Next time I’ll have my wife do it.” He winked at her and her knees almost gave out. She sat, and let him serve her breakfast, including a healthy dose of preserves and a cup of coffee.

  She grabbed at the mug, wondering if Calum was in the ‘fatten Phoebe’ conspiracy with Mrs. Martin.

  “Reverend will be here in a few.”

  She choked so hard on her coffee Calum patted her back a few times. “Reverend?”

  “Aye. I’ll not wait around to say
the vows.” He scooted his chair closer to hers, resting his elbows on the table and focusing on her. “Eat up, lass.”

  It was all she could do to choke down a mouthful. All too soon she stood in the second bedroom, pulling on the blue gingham she’d found in the mysterious dresser. After Calum said she could have it, she’d altered it to fit her slender form. Her Calum was so excited she suspected he’d lost his mind. Even now, she could hear him humming tunelessly in the lodge.

  Why would this man want to marry her?

  Tugging a brush through her hair, she had to tell herself to breathe. It seemed only yesterday she was stepping off the stage before the Martins’ store, and greeting the wild man on the porch. He’d bought her a mule; he’d walked her home each night. Most recently, he’d fed and bathed and cared for her. And all she had to offer was her work, quiet company, a few songs on laundry day, and a skinny body complete with an ugly twisted foot.

  Had he gone mad? He said he wanted to help her, but this was beyond all good sense.

  She heard voices outside her door; their guests had arrived. Tossing away the hairbrush, she pushed her hair back, wondering if she had time to braid it.

  “Phoebe,” Calum called.

  Breathing deeply to ease the flutters, she tugged her shawl around her like a shield and stepped out.

  Calum met her at the door. He stopped in his tracks and blinked at her, and she realized she’d never worn this dress in front of him before. Secondhand, it was still the finest thing she owned. Her brow creased and she pleaded at him with her eyes until he nodded. Was it her or did a hint of sadness enter his expression even as he told her, “You look lovely, lass.” Catching her elbow, he turned her to face the guests.

  “Reverend, Mrs. Shepherd. This is my bride, Phoebe.”

  Phoebe felt a little dizzy as she stepped forward to greet the two—the reverend and the witness. “Nice to meet you,” she whispered, and would’ve swayed if Calum hadn’t had his big paws on either shoulder. She looked up at the reverend, and then up further, for he was very tall. His brown eyes were gentle as he looked down at Phoebe. Did he see her and wonder why anyone would marry her?

  “Nice to meet you, dear,” a woman’s voice trilled. A lovely blonde woman came forward, her hands clutching a posy of blue flowers. “I picked these for a wedding bouquet.”