Their Brazen Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 8)

Gabe

My anger was barely leashed. My fists squeezed tight at my sides, I glared at the man who wanted to buy one of the horses. If the meeting hadn’t been longstanding, we would have postponed. He and his pompous, nasty attitude were keeping us from Abigail.

“While her brother’s land is vast”— I repeated through a clenched jaw—“we married Abigail Carr because we love her. Speaking of her in such a way is disrespectful to our bride.”

Kane took a step closer to Masters, the bastard who didn’t give a fuck about anything or anyone but a quick dollar. He’d wanted our horse to stud, but there was no fucking way we’d sell the animal to him now.

The man’s bushy eyebrows went up. I knew he was married, but I had to wonder about the woman who’d put up with him for years and years. He was in his fifties, and I had to only hope his wife had died in her sleep, peacefully. God surely had some mercy.

“Masters, you owe these men an apology,” Kane said, his tone sharp. “And their bride.” He wasn’t going to stand by and let him attack any one of the women, even if only verbally and not in her presence. Once a Bridgewater bride, she was protected by all.

“There’s no fucking way he’s getting anywhere near Abigail.” Tucker shook his head. He was seething. “No, I don’t want an apology. I want a piece of flesh.”

Before any of us could even blink, Tucker was across the stall and had punched Masters, the crack of bone on bone loud in the small space. The man went down like a rock, landing in the fresh hay. The horse became skittish, but I didn’t care if Masters was trampled. It would serve him fucking right.

Tucker stood over the man, breathing hard. With a hand to his bleeding nose, Masters looked up at him

“That’s my wife, you asshole. Now you’re going to get up and get the fuck off Bridgewater before I kill you. As James Carr said just the other day, there’s plenty of land to bury your body.”

Tucker stepped back and Kane hoisted Masters to his feet. Gripping his arm, he dragged him out of the pen and then pushed him down the corridor. I heard Kane murmur something to Masters, but I was too angry to hear.

“Ian!” Kane shouted.

“Aye?” I didn’t know where the Scot had been, but he’d joined Kane quickly.

“Masters needs escorting off Bridgewater.”

We were left alone in the stable with only the sound of the horse breathing hard. I walked over slowly and stroked my hand down his quivering side to calm him.

“Feel better, Tucker?” I asked, a little jealous he got to punch that asshole.

He chuckled as he shook his head, hands on hips. “Immensely. No wonder Abigail’s been so shy. People are such… fuck. Such assholes.”

“She’s not alone anymore,” I told him.

He lifted his head and looked at me. “No, she’s not. I’ll beat up the entire town if I have to.”

“I don’t doubt it. She’s not Clara.”

I said his sister’s name, knowing it would stir up some old anger. Our parents hadn’t married yet when she’d been alive, but I knew enough about her, how Tucker felt for her. I’d known about his anger over what happened since I was twelve.

His shoulders stiffened. “I couldn’t protect her, but I can protect Abigail.”

“You were ten years old. You need to let it go.” I’d said this to him for years and years, but it didn’t make any difference.

“It’ll never happen. My father was the cruelest of all. He waited for my mother to die then sent her away. He gave her away.”

And then he’d married my mother, free of the burden of a different child. But he’d gained me in the marriage, and I’d always sided with Tucker. We’d become instant friends, allies, and his father had become my enemy, too. I’d hated the fucker and neither of us was sad to hear he’d died a few years ago.

Tucker turned his back on me, put his hands on the top rail of the fence surrounding the pen.

“Fuck Masters. No one here will see Abigail harmed. She has more than us. You know that,” I assured him. “She’s safe, but we need to show her she’s perfect just the way she is.”

Tucker took a deep breath then turned. Leaned his hip against the fence.

“Yes. And we will enjoy showing her. Let’s get our work done so when she comes, we can pull her into the tack room. You said she liked being taken there.”

My cock hardened at the memory. “Mmm. We might have to use some of the leather straps. Perhaps she’d like to be tied down and at our mercy.”