Rocky Mountain Bride (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 2) (8 page)

“You cannot hide things from me, even if you think they’ll lead to punishment. I forgive mistakes easily. But not deception.”

Her face fell, even as she wanted to cry out how unfair it was to receive discipline on her wedding day.

“I believe in swift correction.” He seemed to read her mind. “A quick punishment, and then it’s over and done with.” Another moment ticked by, while he seemed to wait for her protest, and when she didn’t, he gave a satisfied nod. With a hand on her back, he guided her down the path and stopped in front of the ignomious gate.

“Lift your skirts and lean over the railing.”

Heart pounding, she did as he bid, telling herself that no one lived within miles, and even if Mr. Wilder chose this inopportune moment to come calling, they’d hear him approach. It was no good; her face heated with embarrassment even as she felt her new husband step behind her and pull up her skirts even further before easing down her drawers.

“Hold them up.”

She gripped the fabric, feeling the breeze on her bare cheeks, then Mile’s warm, rough hand rubbing the places still a little sore from her previous punishment.

“You’re receiving correction for leaving the gate open. This is your responsibility and from now on I expect you to pay attention to it.” He patted her bottom as he spoke, stopping to knead her flesh once and awhile. “I will give you a spanking, followed by six strikes with a switch.”

Carrie remembered the switch from her chastisement as a child and shut her eyes.

Meanwhile, the pats became more and more firm, until her cheeks felt quite hot in the cool evening air. Miles stopped and squeezed her flesh harder.

“Are you ready to submit and receive your correction?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, trembling.

His hand fell and she tightened her grip on her skirts. The spanks came quickly, crashing down on her bare flesh and making her gasp. These strikes would be nothing next to the switching.

It was over too soon. Miles’ large hands worked over her heated flesh. “That’s it, Carrie. You’re taking your punishment well.”

She let her head sag over the gate, ignoring the hens that ventured towards her, clucking curiously. They seemed to be heckling her.

“Stay here. Skirts up.” Miles left to cut the switch. When he returned, one of his hands went to her back to steady her. “Three from this side, then three from the other.”

The fresh switch sliced across her backside with a whipping sound, followed by a jagged flash of pain that throbbed wildly.

“Oh.” She winced, and then the tears started to flow. Two more strikes and she cried out and writhed a little against Miles’ hand.

“Steady,” he warned. “Be still.”

He waited until she quieted before changing sides.

“I’m going to give you three more strikes. After each, say ‘I will always close the gate’.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. Felt it proper to call him sir.

“Good girl,” he muttered and there was a pause as he positioned himself.

This time, when the switch cut into her flesh, she almost dropped her skirts. Tears flowed faster and she hung her head, whimpering in pain. After a moment, she realized why her husband was waiting. “I will always close the gate,” she said.

“Good girl,” he repeated and stepped close enough to take her skirts from her hand. “Put your hands on the fence now. I’ll hold your skirt.”

Once positioned, she waited for the telltale whistle and crack of the switch. It came, and she flinched, but remembered her lines. “I will always close the gate.”

“That’s it, one more.” Her husband’s voice, warm and comforting, came to her, and the final swat and line repeated, she collapsed a little, sobbing.

She started to reach back to rub her sore rump, and he caught her hand. “Keep your hands on the fence for a few minutes,” he said. She obeyed, leaning forward further as she felt him arrange her skirts so her backside would remain exposed. “Think on your lesson until I return.”

Hanging her head, she wished her hair would cover her face. The chickens all moving about the yard, giving her disapproving glances.

It seemed hours had passed before she heard him walk up behind her.

“Stay still.” His hands traced her weals carefully before smearing some thick unguent over the hurt. The sting didn’t fully leave, but it dulled enough for Carrie to breathe a sigh of relief.

“All right now.” Miles pulled down her skirts and she straightened. He turned her to him and held her; she hugged him back.

“I’m sorry,” she said, words muffled in his shirt.

“I know you are, Carrie girl, and you’re forgiven. The slate’s wiped clean.”

They stood leaning on each other for a moment. Miles didn’t seem eager to move; his broad hand rubbed her back, lulling her into contentment.

Finally he kissed her forehead—she felt a little thrill when she realized what he’d done—and took her hand.

“Come see your wedding present.”

She followed Miles into the homestead, wishing she could rub her bottom, but not quite daring to disobey him.

He stopped just inside the doorway, then stepped aside. He’d pushed the old stools to the side and placed the new chairs at the kitchen table, Esther’s shawl draped over the back of one of them. The larder was overflowing with new food, including some fancy jars filled with delicious, colorful contents.

“How lovely,” Carrie started to say, when her husband caught her shoulders and turned her to face the bed. She didn’t recognize it at first, because piled high on the frame was a new, white mattress.

“It’s down,” Miles said as Carrie hurried to cross the room and sink her hand into the fluffy pile. With an excited cry, she whirled and lay back, and closed her eyes at the feeling like floating on the clouds. Her bottom didn’t even protest as she lay on the soft feathers.

She stretched out, a large grin on her face. “Thank you.”

Suddenly, a weight lay next to her, and her body rolled into Miles. His arms closed around her and he kissed her breathless.

“Been waiting days to do that,” he murmured, his fingers lingering in her hair before he swung himself up and out of bed. “Need to check on the cattle before dinner,” he said.

A sigh escaped her before she could catch it, and his face cracked into another grin.

Miles was long gone before Carrie’s heartbeat steadied. Her bottom still pulsed with pain, but that only seemed to add to her excitement. What was it about this man that set her blood pounding? Her whole body felt hot and happy, flushed with breathless anticipation. And she hardly understood why.

She caressed the soft mattress and felt the familiar surge of excitement, mixed with fear. He’d gotten her a gift that suited her, but would also benefit him. It made her wonder how much she needed to know about the relations between a man and woman.

Her mother had died when Carrie was young, and her brother Thomas had raised her, with the help of a few spinsters at church. Between all her guardians, she’d missed the teaching on lovemaking. None of the old maids had enlightened her on the subject. In fact, some of their advice confused her.

She’d seen a dog mount another, but other than that, what little she’d learned she’d gleaned in snatches from a few of the married church women, plus one awkward conversation with her brother where he’d corrected a misunderstanding.

Of course, the last man who’d made her heart flutter turned out to be a scoundrel, but she couldn’t let her thoughts slide down that dark road.

All through making dinner, worry gnawed her. What if Miles didn’t think she was beautiful? What if she didn’t know enough to please him? Could she be a good wife to him if she could not perform for him in this way?

Then she heard Miles’ footfalls on the porch, and rushed to put the pot of simple hominy on the table. Her eyes fell on the shawl Esther had given her, draped over the new chair.

Don’t worry, he’s already in love with you.

“Dinner ready?” Miles asked from the doorway. He’d washed his face and hands, and sleeked back his reddish brown hair. His face did look relaxed and calm, though his tawny eyes burned when they met hers.

“Yes.” She shook out of his spell and hurried to get the final dish, a luxurious treat of canned peaches in their own syrup, another gift from Esther. Miles watched her rush about, and though she didn’t look at him, she had the feeling a smile hovered over his face, just out of sight.

“You can stand for your meal, if you wish,” he said. Her cheeks turned pink, and she only just stopped herself from rubbing her sore bottom.

As she served him, he caught her hand long enough to squeeze it. She halted and took his large hand in hers, bringing it to her lips. She kissed the roughened skin, looking into his tawny eyes, then ducked her head.

He waited until she’d seated herself gingerly on her new chair before starting to eat.

“Wait.” She stopped him. “We need to say grace.”

He set down the bread and took her hand. A thrill went through her, but she closed her eyes and joined him in prayer.

When it was done, he squeezed her hand. “You’ll be a good wife to me, Carrie.”

Sitting down and eating took the last of the energy she had. Her bottom throbbed, and the excitement of the day, along with all her worried thoughts, started to take its toll. Even with the passion heating her body, exhaustion hit her, and her head drooped over her food.

She woke from her daze when Miles stood. “Bedtime, Carrie.” Gentle hands guided her to the bed, where she sank into the delicious feather mattress. Her body felt heavy.

“You’re tired from all the excitement.” Miles grinned down at her, and the sight was so beautiful she thought it was a dream.

“I’m cold,” she said, and he tucked the woolen blanket around her.

“Sleep now, sweet Carrie.”

He started to turn away, and she reached out and caught hold of his shirt. “Stay with me.”

Her vision filled with his gentle smile, and then his face and the firelight all blended together and she slept.

*****

She woke in the middle of the night and felt her husband’s solid warmth at her back. Outside the cabin, the noises of the wilderness sang in scary cacophony, but for the first time in a long time, she felt perfectly safe.

As she snuggled into the blankets, his hand drifted around her and lingered just above her waist. She could feel its heat on her skin through her chemise, and she waited for it to move higher or lower and stir up the quiet blaze inside her, but Miles simply pulled her closer, and after a while, she fell back asleep.

In the morning, she felt him move and rolled to face him.

“Good morning, Mr. Donovan.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Donovan.” He smiled at her, and she thrilled at the sight. “I best feed the horses.”

She smiled. “I best get the eggs.”

He pulled her up and waited until she tested her foot and proved she could walk on it before ducking out the door.

Halfway down the path, he looked back at her. “Need any help with that gate?”

“Not today.” She kept her smile, and sauntered off towards the garden.

When he strode back into the cabin, Carrie was bent over the fire, making biscuits. “Breakfast’s almost done,” she called to him. Esther gave me some of her starter. I’ll be able to make bread tomorrow, if you give me leave to open a new bag of flour.” She pulled the skillet from the fire and put it on the table. As she straightened, she felt a prickle up her spine. Her new husband stood at her back, his fingers sifting through her hair.

She turned around with a question on her face.

“Forgive me. I just…” He let the curl drop and backed up. “Your hair. You usually pull it back.”

She bit her lip. “Do you prefer it up?” Stepping forward, she bent her head into the few inches between them, forehead almost touching his chest. At her invitation, he took a handful of her hair and let it slide through his fingers, lifting the chestnut strands as if it was a finest thread that he’d ever seen.

“Or do you prefer it this way, Mr. Donovan?” Her voice went low and husky.

“Miles. Call me Miles.”

“Miles,” she whispered.

“Carrie,” he said, before he bent his head and kissed her.

It started gentle, but then she felt the pull of his lips. Sighing, she went up on tiptoe, and he cupped her head and held her captive to his plundering mouth. She let her hands roam over his shoulders then down his hard body to snake around his waist.

When their lips finally broke apart, they both gasped for breath. Carrie pressed her body into his and whimpered.

He drew her back to the bed and pulled her on top of him in a puff of flour, holding her head still for his deep, searching kisses.

His hands pulled off her apron, then reached under her skirts to knead her bottom. She gasped as his rough fingers caught on her silky skin.

He drew back frowning. “You all right?”

“Yes.” She pressed herself to him. “Just sore.”

“Oh yes.” He caught her lips and kissed them again. “I remember now.” With a sudden move, he rolled her over and pushed up her skirts. She grabbed the woolen blanket, but he only kissed the bruises and marks he’d left on her.

“There,” he said, laying down beside her to tease her hair again, smoothing it into a fine chestnut sheet. “The skin is healing fine. I’d never truly hurt you, Carrie.”

“I know,” she whispered, and then snuggled closer, totally comfortable in his arms. As his strong arms locked around her, the ache in her bottom spread through her, until her whole body was throbbing with overwhelming need. Rubbing against him, she gave herself over to the feeling, and to him.

*****

Her husband turned out to be a patient and thorough teacher, happy to repeat his lessons. And she’d thrown herself wholeheartedly into her new education. She’d gotten to kiss most of his muscular chest, and in her excitement left a red mark on his strong neck. He’d come into her slowly, with a little pain that later he soothed away with his palm and creative fingers.

She laughed and dusted the fine white particles off the bed. “I got flour everywhere.”