Their Rebellious Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 10)

I knew our Bridgewater neighbors well, the British and Scotsmen who had served in the small country of Mohamir where men, usually in twos and threes, married a woman together. It wasn’t for their needs, but hers. From the stories they’d shared, Mohamir was a wild country, and having two husbands ensured the wife would always be protected and cherished. The Montana Territory was just as wild and the same concerns for a wife existed.

Kane, Ian, Mason, MacPherson and all the others on the Bridgewater Ranch—and the area around it—doted and cherished their wives. They were the center of their families, of their world. They were forward thinkers, and their precedent was spreading to beyond the reaches of their property. Others in the area, like James and myself, would claim a woman together, would follow the belief that their woman came first. Her needs, no matter if they were a reddened ass or a well-pleasured pussy—perhaps both, would be met.

Having a woman to warm my bed, to slake my needs and empty my balls with frequency, had appeal. And glancing at Tennessee again, I knew it would be no hardship and something I would enjoy for the rest of my life. I would ensure she was well-satisfied as well. I might be a gentleman and would not fuck her until we were wed, but it did not stop me from having darker thoughts. What I wanted to do to her. With her. I had to shift in the saddle because my cock was eager for her.

Yes, we’d claim Tennessee. I couldn’t let anyone else have her. She might be young enough to be my daughter, but she called to me. I saw her and… knew. From what I lacked in offering deep affection, he would fulfill. It was the perfect arrangement and eased James’ fears. I could have a bride without the emotional attachment I was honor bound to offer in a “normal” marriage. I didn’t have it in me. What Victoria had done had ruined me. Stolen any chance to love.

And Tennessee? She’d get two men who would cherish, protect… and most definitely punish. After what she’d done today alone, one man was definitely not enough for her.

It seemed James had similar thoughts, for he halted at the edge of the creek we’d been following, lowered himself to the ground, then with hands on her waist, lifted Tennessee from the saddle.

“Why are we stopping here?” she asked, brushing her hair back from her face.

I dismounted, dropped the reins so the horse could graze or drink from the water.

“I waited until we were away from Butte to spank you as I don’t want to anyone to see your bare ass when I turn you over my knee,” James replied.

Her mouth fell open as she stared wide-eyed at him, then at me. “You’re going to spank me?”

“I warned you earlier that I would,” he continued. “Since then, I’ve gotten this because of you.” He lifted his hand to his eye where it was now surrounded by dark bruising. “And you were about to become Butte’s latest working girl.”

Her gaze narrowed and her hands settled on her hips. “I had no intentions of becoming a… a working girl. I went to the saloon to make money.”

“Exactly. Even as a virgin, you must know a woman in a saloon does it on her back,” I added.

She looked to me, her lips pursing. Beyond the basic introductions, this was the first we’d truly conversed.

“I was there to play cards and only cards,” she clarified, crossing her arms over her chest. This, of course, drew my attention to those soft swells. “It is not my fault the ladies there were confused. Besides, I was leaving when the two of you showed up. I had no intention of remaining.”

“Where were you going to go next?” James added.

“Another saloon, I presume?” I asked, when she remained silent.

She blushed, but pursed her lips.

James sighed and walked over to a large rock by the creek’s edge and sat down. He patted his thigh. “Let’s get it over with, then we can head home.”

Tennessee backed up a step, looked about.

“Where are you going to go?” he asked. The nearest town was two miles away.

She couldn’t run. She couldn’t collect sympathy from another man. I wasn’t giving it to her.

“You’re a brute, James Carr, and I don’t think Abigail is really your sister,” she snapped.

I sighed. We were getting nowhere fast. I walked over to her, leaned forward and tossed her over my shoulder. She was light as a feather, but a whirling dervish, and I gripped the backs of her thighs to keep her from slipping off.

While she screeched, I walked over to the rock James just vacated. “This is not up for negotiation. You may have talked your way out of consequences with your father, but not with us.”

“You are not my father,” she shouted.

I sat down, lowering her so she stood directly before me and between my legs. With a hand hooked about her narrow waist, I held her in place. Because she was so short, we were at eye level. She was so beautiful, her eyes the color of the sky. Her skin was pale, as if it had never been exposed to the sun. Yet the light caught in her hair and did make it look like spun gold, just as James had professed.

Her actions were those of a hellion, a shrew, even. Yet looking at her, I saw so much more. A woman sheltered from the worst of society, only to be thrust into danger by a father who, clearly, hadn’t had her best interests at heart. She was alone and lost, adrift. Like a feral cat, clawing and fighting even the hand that fed it.

She needed love. Attention. Comfort. But also consequences and boundaries she’d not received growing up.

“No, I most definitely am not,” I replied, my voice quiet. Calm. I studied her, recognized someone who deflected, perhaps pushed others away in order to remain emotionally safe. Too bad. She was going to be very vulnerable. “But perhaps you need one, one who actually gives you the guidance and attention, the devotion you need to be happy.”