Their Treasured Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 4)

C. Montgomery

I was married.

When I refolded the letter, I glanced at her. Her expression was controlled and very reserved and very English. I'd think she'd be stiff from riding the distance from town. I'd even think her to be wary of so many new faces, but she offered none of her emotions. It was a decidedly British trait, especially of women who were to be an adornment to a spouse and nothing more. If I asked her to her well being, she would, most likely, only provide a passing comment that deflected attention away from her. It was a sign to the type of upbringing she'd had and completely nae the kind of woman I would have sought out for a bride.

She would learn that hiding her emotions was nae required, nor wanted. "Unless ye plan to flee now that ye've seen me, let me help ye down."

As she rode sidesaddle, she took my hand long enough to shift her leg over the pommel as I stepped forward and gripped her waist to lower her to her feet. She was lush beneath my hands, her waist narrow by means of a very stiff corset, but I could feel her full hips against my fingers. While she was nay heavy, she wasna a waif either. In fact, she was a perfect handful for a man of my size—and Connor's.

I was verra tall, taller than average, but once standing, she only came up to my chin. She tilted her head back to look up at me over the brim of her hat. I felt her try to step back out of my grasp, but I held her a moment longer than necessary. In that time, I wondered what she'd feel like without the confining stays—if she'd be as wonderfully curvy and lush as I imagined.

Kane led her horse to stand beside the others at one of the hitching rails. We'd come from various parts of the ranch for the noonday meal and would disburse again once we'd eaten.

"There has been a mistake on the paper," I said.

Her eyes widened and she licked her lips. "No, no mistake." Her voice was a little less sure than before.

I held up my hand. "I dinna doubt the validity of this document, nor your brother's intentions behind it in his letter to me. I will honor both. I will honor you."

While her shoulders didna droop, I could sense relief in her. Relief nae that we would remain wed, but perhaps more that she was nae being rejected. Thousands of miles was a long way to travel to be spurned.

"The error is that it is solely my name as groom. Connor," I called.

While I kept my eyes on Rebecca, I heard footsteps on the wooden stairs, then across the hard packed ground. Rebecca's eyes shifted from me to Connor, who now stood beside me.

"May I introduce the former Miss Rebecca Montgomery, our bride?"

"Our...our?" She frowned, the first sign of emotion she shared. "I do not understand."

"You are nae just married to me." I tilted my head in Connor's direction. "You are also married to Connor."

Her mouth fell open so I could see a straight line of white teeth as she glanced between the two of us. When Connor nodded his agreement, I saw the color drain from her face and she fainted dead away, right into his arms.

CHAPTER TWO

REBECCA

"She's coming awake now." I heard the words, but chose to ignore them. I was on a comfortable bed and didn't wish to wake. The beds in the boarding houses and hotels had been lumpy or hard, but this bed was soft and comfortable.

"Do you think she has fainting spells often?"

It was men's voices I heard. Men? Fainted? I never fainted. Did they think I had a weak constitution? Whoever they were needed to be told otherwise. I never got sick, never fainted, not even in a false swoon to draw attention like some of the vapid girls I knew from school.

When my eyes fluttered open, I realized instantly I wasn't on a bed, I wasn't in England or some remote boarding house and I had most definitely fainted.

Looming over me were two men carefully watching me. They knelt on the floor before me, as I was laid out on a couch, but given their large sizes, I still looked up at them. I pushed up to sitting and the room spun briefly.

"Nay, dinna rush. Ye dinna wish to faint again," the fair-haired one said. He was Dashiell McPherson and he was my husband. He was quite attractive.

I had worried of my brother's decision to marry me to him ever since Chicago. Would he join me to a man I found unappealing? Would he shackle me to someone who was cruel, or gambler, or a drunk? I could not say about the latter, but he was definitely appealing. Like his hair, his eyes were fair. Small crinkles formed as if he smiled with his eyes along with his mouth. A rugged face disguised this hint of gentleness. His jaw was square, his nose long, his lips full. I caught myself staring at his mouth and realized how brazen that was. I pulled my shoulders back as I felt my cheeks flush.

"I do not faint," I replied, folding my hands in my lap.

The corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile. "Nay. Of course you dinna."

"We gave you quite a shock. It's nay wonder ye fainted. If I found myself before two bonnie lasses who I was married to, I'd faint dead away to be sure." Where the other was light, Conno

r was dark. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin. Everything about him was larger—if that were even possible—and while he took up more space, he seemed more relaxed, more at ease than his counterpart. His joking response confirmed this assessment.