Rocky Mountain Wild (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 6) (22 page)

It was cold. She wasn’t looking forward to sleeping outside, but at least her foot was strong enough to carry her up the mountain trail. She’d rest when she reached the hot springs—or so she thought, until she hiked for hours and never found the entrance to the cave filled with pools. Exhausted, her breathing ragged, she stopped trying to make her way under the moonlight. She lay on the cold ground, too tired to even light a fire.

Part of her wanted to die. What use was her life? A family, a husband who didn’t want her? She’d tried so hard, but she’d never be good enough. Phoebe could fade away from the world, and it wouldn’t matter. Tears half froze on her face, as she tossed and turned in the blanket.

A low growl woke her. In the predawn light, Phoebe raised her head and met the eyes of a mountain lion, stalking her from across the clearing.

Scrambling backward, Phoebe’s teeth chattered with both cold and fear. Even with her foot healed, she couldn’t outrun the great cat. Calum told her they liked to play with their food; Phoebe wondered how long it would take her to die.

“Go away,” she whispered. “Please.” Scavenging, she picked up a fallen branch with half frozen hands and waved it high, trying to make herself look larger.

The cat moved into a crouch, muscles poised to pounce.

“Leave me alone,” Phoebe screamed suddenly. Noise, that’s what Calum had told her. Make lots of noise. Shaking the branch, she stomped her feet and shouted, even kicking some rocks towards it. “You don’t scare me,” she told the predator at the top of her lungs.

The cat lunged forward and she stumbled backward, half falling over a log and landing on her back. Grabbing at stones and clods of dirt, she threw what she could at the beast, even as it prepared to leap at her.

“Calum!” Phoebe cried.

A shotgun blast fired and the mountain lion twisted in midair.

“Phoebe.” Calum bellowed her name over and over again, crashing through the brush towards her. The mountain lion turned and fled as the wild man and Wolfie bounded onto the scene. The dog took off after the cat while the big Scot knelt at Phoebe’s side. In buckskin and hair wild, he looked every inch a mountain man.

“How did you find me?” she asked through chattering teeth.

“You left a trail.” He already had his jacket off and was wrapping her in it.

Of course, he was a hunter. He could track anything.

“Come on.” He scooped her up. “Close to me now. Get you warm, there’s a good girl.” His voice wrapped around her like a blanket.

“I’m all right,” she said. “I feel fine.” His warmth seeped into her and she felt almost woozy. Calum cursed, then cursed again. Then apologized.

“You’re going to be all right, Phoebe, I swear.” He moved through the brush, sprinting back the way he came as if she weighed nothing.

Phoebe let her head rest against his chest, snuggling close to his perfect, wild scent, and hearing his heartbeat under her ear.

“You have to let me leave you,” she murmured. “You did what you had to do and protected me from my family. Now that they’re gone, I’ll leave. I won’t bother you again.”

“Shhh, that’s enough, lass.” His hand tucked her head into his neck, and she pressed her freezing skin against him, soaking in his warmth. The forest flew by.

She must have dozed off because she woke before the fire, wrapped in several furs. Calum had pulled the chair as close to the blaze as he could. He put water on to boil and then knelt in front of her, pulling off her thick socks and checking her foot and legs before starting to rub them.

“Can you feel your feet?”

They were numb, but she could feel a faint tingle, and told him so.

“Thank the Laird.” His hands kept chafing her skin.

“I’m all right,” she said, confused by the worry in his face.

His grey eyes met hers and she fell silent at the fierce anger there. “Not another word. You could’ve been killed. Cold like this steals into your bones before you even know it. Dammit, Phoebe, men have died going out in nights like that. What were you thinking?” Finished with her massage, he pulled on a pair of his thick socks and placed a hot brick under her feet.

“You don’t want me anymore, I had to leave.”

He looked even more worried. “You said that before, I thought you were delirious.” Dipping out a cup of hot water, he wrapped her hands around the tin and cupped them in his. “I care for you. I married you. What possessed you to leave?”

“I thought you were done with me,” she whispered.

“Are ye daft? If I’d meant to get rid of ye, why would I make ye my wife?” His burr came out stronger with his fierce words.

“I’m sorry. I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” he growled. Stomping away, he made porridge and tea and made her eat and drink, and sit under the furs until she was sweating before drawing her a bath.

“No.” She shied away when he came to help her undress.

“Phoebe, let me give you a bath. It’ll help warm you up—”

“No,” she shouted, coming to her feet. “I don’t want you touching me. You don’t want me anymore. You come home and sit in your chair and don’t talk to me!”

“Phoebe—”

“You act like you’re all alone. Like I’m not even here. What was I to think?”

He stared at her. “I didn’t mean to ignore ye.” His accent was back to full strength.

She huffed. “It’s all right. I don’t expect you to want me. I don’t expect love, or anything. I don’t expect to matter. My family treated me like an animal; why should you be any different?”

He winced.

“Except you were different. But you can’t lead me on then leave me, while being still here, and expect me to stay.”

“Phoebe, please.” His tone tore her heart. “Please listen to me. I didn’t know I was pulling away.”

“You’re sad about something, I can tell. But you won’t say what.”

She let him pull her down into the chair; he knelt before her like a supplicant. “It’s true, I get melancholy in the winter. I hadn’t thought it was so obvious.”

“You don’t talk for hours on end. Sometimes you leave and I don’t know where you go. Tonight I asked you to come to bed and you refused—you walked out.”

“It was not you I was trying to push away; it was my own dark thoughts. Walking in the wild helps me at times.” His big hands squeezed hers. “Please believe me.”

“I can’t stay where I’m not wanted.”

“You’re wanted, you’re very much wanted. Don’t leave me, lass. I’ve lost too much; I cannot lose you. I’m begging you.” He’d never revealed so much before; she was at a loss for words. Bowing his head, he kissed her hands. “I need you.”

Her eyes widened. He needed her?

“You can’t say nothing and push me away.”

“I won’t, lass, I promise.” His big form shuddered, as if he was holding himself back from touching her. The pain on his face twisted her heart.

“Oh, Calum. Don’t leave me again. I can’t bear it.” She threw herself in his arms.

“Phoebe.” He hugged her. “My wee Phoebe.”

“I didn’t want to go. I was afraid, so I ran. I know I’m not worthy to be your wife—”

His kiss stopped her words. He lifted her and sat in the chair, cradling her in his lap.

“You’re daft, lass. You’re the most beautiful and kind woman I’ve ever known. Tis I who is not worthy.” She shook her head, her lip trembling, and he lay a finger on her mouth.

“Not another word, or I’ll be very cross.”

“Are you angry with me?”

He sighed, settling them both in the chair, tucking her legs up over his, so she could curl up on his chest, like a little bird on a branch.

“With you, no. But the fact that you put your life at risk, that makes me very very upset. Because I’m afraid.” His grey eyes reflected honest fear. “I don’t want to lose you.”

She said in her little girl voice. “Are you going to spank me?”

He raised a brow. “Oh, aye. I’m going to get you warm, make sure you’re not sick, and then roast your bum.”

She almost smiled.

“I’m serious, Phoebe. You put your life in danger rushing out like that. You didn’t talk to me. You’re getting the tawse.”

Her eyes darted to the black leather strap with the two flaps on the end. “The tawse?”

“Not too many strokes, and not too hard, but it’ll hurt. You’ll feel my love for you on your bottom. You ken?”

“Yes, Calum.”

“Good lass.”

*

The next few days, he kept an eye on her, enforcing strict bedtimes. The threat of the tawse didn’t subdue her.

They spoke of Calum’s melancholy, and he agreed to talk with her. If he felt the need to roam, he would be sure to tuck her into bed and tell her he loved her. Phoebe saw the sadness still lingering in him, but he did try harder, for her sake, and she vowed she would find a way to help him.

“Tonight you get your spanking,” he said, one evening before dinner.

She felt trepidation at the thought of the serious leather slapping her bottom, but knew her husband would never hurt her. Truth was, she’d be glad to put her punishment behind her. “Yes, Calum.”

Over the meal, he lapsed into silence, and she bumped his foot with hers.

“I’ve been thinking, being born with a clubfoot was really a good thing.” He roused at that strange statement and she pressed on. “If they hadn’t told me I was cursed and treated me so horribly, I never would’ve left. I would’ve been stuck there, forced to marry Jeb or Willie.” She shuddered. “I never would’ve gotten a job with Mrs. Covey, or dreamed of having land, or met you.”

The corner of his mouth tucked up: a small smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“Then it is a good thing. Though I think you’re a very strong person to say it.”

Glowing inside, she rose to clear dinner. When she returned, he had a parcel waiting at her place.

“A present for you.”

“What’s this?” She picked it up. It felt heavy, and she hoped it wasn’t another plug for her bottom.

“Either a late birthday gift, or early Christmas one.”

“Christmas isn’t for months,” she laughed.

“Just open it,” he said, his voice a little gruff. She looked at him curiously, wondering if he was close to tears.

The gift was the figurine of a little bird; she recognized it from the nights Calum had spent carving it. Whittled from fine wood, it looked poised and ready for flight.

“It’s beautiful.” She touched the masterful handiwork, admiring the detail of the wings and feathers.

“It’s you. I know it’s been a long, hard road. But, one day, Phoebe, I promise you will fly.”

“Thank you.” She kissed him.

“You’re welcome, lass. Now, go strip off your clothes and bend over the table for your lashing.”

*

He started with a spanking, to warm her up he said. He’d never put the lash to cold skin, even though she deserved a proper whipping. As she positioned herself over his lap, she caught sight of the jar of balm and a new bottom plug waiting for her, and smiled to herself. The tawse would lash her bottom, and he’d be rubbing balm into her cheeks soon after when he placed the plug. He never let her suffer long, even when this was supposed to be punishment. One day she’d tell him that her bottom was a lot sturdier than he thought.

She did feel a little nervous when he spent much longer than usual warming her up.

“You know why you’re getting punished?”

“I left in the middle of the night without telling you and tried to climb the mountain.”

“You put your life in danger. How do you think I felt when I returned home and you were gone? I thought your family had come for you. I searched everywhere. I was worried sick.”

“I’m so, so sorry, Calum.” She was. She’d spent the last few days almost hoping he’d spank her hard. The sting would absolve her great guilt. “I’ll never ever do it again, I promise.”

“I hope not. You were very, very lucky it was a warm night. And that the mountain lion was not very hungry.”

She shivered.

“After this, I reckon you’ll never do it again.”

Her globes were hot by the time he stopped spanking her with his hand. She sniffled but the tears didn’t fall. The sting was nothing compared to what she’d put him through; she felt she deserved it.

He stopped and gave her some water.

“Are you all right, lass?” he asked in a quiet voice.

She knew what he was asking. If she told him her leg was hurting or the pain was too intense, he’d stop.

“I’m fine. I can do it.”

He looked like he was wavering.

“What I did was wrong. Please, I need you to correct me so I feel forgiven.”

His eyes widened a little at her admission and he nodded. “I’ll take you in hand then. You’ll learn your lesson tonight.”

He moved behind her and planted a hand on her back, probably inspecting her bright red bottom. “In Scotland, they use the tawse on naughty schoolboys’ hands. I will not strike your hands, but your lovely bum is another matter. It’ll hurt but you can take it.”

She steeled herself, determined to take her punishment.

The first strike of the tawse left her gasping. The leather licked across both cheeks, and she surged up onto her tiptoes, her entire body tensing.

He followed with a second lash and she pressed her forehead to the table, clenching her bottom against the pain. The sting radiated deep and she felt the end of the lash in two places—from the forked tongue of the tawse.

All too soon it bit again.

Calum continued his lecture. “I don’t want to hurt you, lass. This ends tonight. I’m your husband and you’ll talk to me. You’ll never knowingly do anything to put your life in danger, or you won’t sit comfortably for a week.”

She was crying now, tears disappearing into the wood of the table.

“I promise. I’m so, so sorry.”

The tawse struck again and again, but worse were Calum’s words, spoken in an aching tone. “I thought you’d… I was so afraid, Phoebe. I knew if I didn’t find you soon you could die. You can’t be so reckless with your life anymore. Losing you would destroy me.”

She started sobbing. The thought of him panicking and imagining the worst hurt more than the lash.

Her apologies spilled out faster. “Please forgive me, I’ll never do it again. I love you, I’m so sorry.”

He paused and tipped his head close.