Their Treasured Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 4)

"Ah yes, Montgomery. A verra good officer," the shorter Mr. McPherson replied, stepping back. "While ye are quite fetching, I have claimed a wife already." A lovely woman with dark hair came down the steps to join him. Clearly, she was his wife and making that known. He wrapped his arm about her waist and kissed her on the forehead, but he gave me a wink.

"That leaves me, lass." I turned to look at the man who made my heart beat quickly. "I am Dashiell McPherson." While the married McPherson was quite attractive, it was the one before me now who had my breath quickening, my palms sweating beneath my gloves and butterflies taking flight in my belly. His hair was a dark blonde, cut short on the sides and longer on the top where it fell over his forehead. His piercing ice blue eyes held mine, and I felt like a bug pinned to a tray. "Perhaps ye can explain yerself, for I most certainly would have remembered a wedding night with ye."

DASH

I hadna expected to become a married man over lunch. This woman was no small slip of a thing. She sat as if she had a fence post for a spine. Her dress a dark green that set off her dark hair, and with her pale skin and lush curves, she was verra fetching. Bah, she was beautiful. It was her eyes though, even beneath the wide brim of her hat, that spoke words she didna. She was afraid, yet the resolute tilt of her chin belied her bravery to ride up and claim a groom. Her accent was of a well-educated, highborn Englishwoman.

At my more crudeness, her only outward reaction was a slight narrowing of her eyes.

"Where is your brother?" We all liked the man well enough to write and invite him to join us here at Bridgewater. He hadna been part of our commanding officer's deceitful and deadly acts, and had been able to return to England and his life without being stripped of rank or of character. We'd hoped he would join us and it appeared he was following through with that very intention, but we didna know he would bring a sister along.

Her chin tipped up even further. "He is dead." Her words were clear and did nae hold a hint of mourning.

Montgomery was dead? She was much younger than her brother, perhaps by fifteen years or more, and hadna been mentioned during our time in Mohamir. She would have been a child then. Perhaps from a second marriage for one of his parents and tucked safely away in the nursery? "Ah lass, ye came all this way on your own?"

The verra idea set my teeth on edge.

"Not the entire journey." She shook her head. "He died in Chicago."

"How?"

"He fell from his horse. It was nothing, at first," she explained. "He laughed it off as he was not one to be injured upon a horse. A day later, he became

feverish and unwell. The signs of some internal damage were obvious and he knew of his demise."

She looked down at her gloved hands holding the reins, and then lifted her gaze to mine.

"We were not close, but he felt some protectiveness toward me, for he'd taken me from England with him. Once he knew he was dying, he didn't wish to leave me alone without some kind of security, therefore in the short time he had remaining, he wed me to you. A proxy marriage."

"And you consented?"

"My...my choices were limited," she replied.

Limited, or none at all?

"Did you have a chaperone for the remainder of the journey?"

She looked as if I'd questioned whether the sun set in the west. "Of course I had a chaperone. Mrs. Tisdale—a woman from Chicago—escorted me the length of the journey until we descended the stage in town. She would have joined me for the final leg to Bridgewater Ranch, but she didn't wish to remain in such a barren environment and was on the stage east at dawn this morning."

Observing the vast expanse of land that was part of Bridgewater as far as the eye could see, the woman's reasoning was valid. It was barren. It was one of the reasons the location was chosen by my regimental friends who settled the land originally—it's remoteness. That was fine for the group of us wishing to remain hidden, but it wasna for everyone. "She was told there would not be another stage for nearly a week and had no intention of missing it."

I could see the woman all but running after the stage to take her away from here. City folk didna last long in the Montana Territory. As for Miss Montgomery—no, it seemed she was Mrs. McPherson now—time would only tell if she'd be able to live in such a foreign land. Her voice had the clipped accent of a well-educated English lady. The way she kept her voice even and almost demure validated that guess. Society life in London was as different to Montana as was chalk and cheese.

"Ye didna wish to return with her?"

She sniffed. "I am not as skittish as Mrs. Tisdale."

Skittish, yes, but also verra brave.

Reaching into the folds of her skirt, she pulled out a folded piece of paper and held it out. "Here."

I stepped closer and took it from her small hand. She was so prim and formal that she carefully kept her fingers from brushing mine even though they were safely covered by kid gloves.

I unfolded the paper and read it. It was indeed a marriage license and it looked official. Folded with it was another, smaller piece of paper.

It was not my intention to die from a fall from a horse! Being in a foreign land and leaving Rebecca alone, I can think of no other way to protect her than by joining her to you. Returning to England is not a consideration, and it is my belief you will treat her well and with honor. While I long to see the vast Montana Territory for which you wrote, it allows me peace in my final moments to know you will protect her with your life. My sister, willful and sheltered, requires a marriage based on Mohamiran tradition and values found at Bridgewater. I have faith you will see this done.

Your friend,