Their Treasured Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 4)

CHAPTER ONE

REBECCA

The journey had been long. If I were to pen a letter to a dear relative, it is what I would write. One never complained or shared discomfort, especially when the missive would not arrive for months. Based on the disaster and ensuring delay, a letter would have arrived in the Montana Territory faster than I. Ever since Chicago, I had ridden alone, no chaperone. It would have been best if I had one, but there was no one I knew who wished to venture into the wilds and unsettled land of the Indians. I didn't wish to venture there either, but the choice was not mine to make. And so I rode up on a borrowed horse to not be greeted by my husband, but a ranch hand. He'd directed me to the largest of houses dotted across the almost treeless landscape.

This time, when I slowed my horse, I was greeted not by one man, but many. I had no idea which belonged to me or—more accurately—which one to whom I belonged. Several had dark hair, some had fair, another had the coloring of ginger, yet all were large, well muscled and decidedly handsome. These were not the usual men who moved within my father's circles in the London elite. They were direct in their gazes, powerful in their stances and looked as if they lived life instead of watching it from the outer fringes. These men got their hands dirty instead of paying someone to do it for them. This made them formidable and quite daunting, as I had not been taught how to handle such dominance. One of these men was my husband? My gaze shifted from one to the next, but no one stepped forward as if expecting me. Perhaps I had travelled faster than a letter after all.

One man descended the steps from the porch and approached. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon," I replied with a slight nod of my head.

Four women, with curious yet engaging smiles, joined the men on the porch.

"Welcome to Bridgewater. I'm Kane," the man said.

I nodded once again and clenched the reins in a tight grip, hopefully my only outward sign of nervousness. This was the moment, the moment I'd been anticipating for three months, and I was terribly nervous. I couldn't be shipped back to England, for I was legally bound to one of the men in this group. Surely, he wouldn't reject me and send me home in disgrace? Could he? I was to live here, in a land so foreign from my own, and in this moment, I couldn't decide which fate was worse.

"Mr. Kane, I am Rebecca Montgomery. I am here to meet Mr. McPherson."

At my pronouncement, two men stepped forward. Both were fair-haired and of similar appearance for it to be obvious they were related, although one was slightly taller, slightly broader, slightly more intimidating and he set my heart aflutter. It could have been because he stared at me in such a way that had me thinking he could see all the way to my soul. While the look was intense, I felt as if his interest was solely on me. If a gun went off, I doubted he would blink.

"Which McPherson are ye seeking, lass?" This was from the shorter of the two men, his voice was deep and clear and amused. His question had me tearing my gaze away from the other.

I swallowed, for it seemed my husband was one of these two.

"Mr. Dashiell McPherson."

"What would ye be wantin' with him?" the brawny one asked. The sound of his thick Scottish brogue had goose flesh rising on my arms and I wasn't even cold.

I looked in his pale eyes, ignoring everyone else, and licked my lips as I tilted my chin up a notch. "He is my husband."

Both men's brows went up at my words, clearly surprised by the statement.

"And how have you become wed?" Mr. Kane asked from my side. He, too, was curious, as were the women who were whispering to each other. Besides a surprised look or two, the men were more reserved in their emotions. Had a woman come claiming to be a bride before?

"It was seen to by my brother, Cecil Montgomery."