Rocky Mountain Wild (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 6) (7 page)

He should have a wife, she thought, and wondered at the pain that shot through her heart.

*

The next morning, she rose late. Her fire was out, and she’d never felt the cold bite so hard. Stepping outside, she realized frost had fallen last night. Autumn was here, and time was running out to ready her hut before winter.

Leaning against her hut was another surprise: the walking stick she’d seen Calum carving some nights before the fire. After a pause, she took it. A few weeks ago, she’d never accepted such a gift, but she understood her employer well enough to know he respected her without her pedestal of pride. This morning, with her leg stiff with cold, the aid was welcome.

Shivering as she went along the path, Phoebe reached the bull pen and paused. The sun was already climbing above the trees; Calum would be long up and off to his chores. She was walking as quickly as she could, but it would take twice as long as it should with the fenced area blocking her straight path. It would be quicker to cut through the pen. The bull was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she could just scale the fence and get across. With the walking stick, she could make good time, and it would cut a few aching minutes off her path…

She was halfway across the pen when she heard a grunt. There was the bull, facing her, a mean look in its eyes.

Heart pounding, she started to run, swinging her bum leg and leaning on her new cane. The walking stick slipped on a cowpat, and Phoebe tripped a little, flailing so she wouldn’t fall. The activity was too much temptation for the bull, and as soon as she righted herself, she saw it had begun to charge.

“Phoebe!” From the side, Calum vaulted the fence, waving his own red handkerchief as a distraction. Wolfie slipped through the fence too, and went growling for the bull.

Phoebe gasped as the wolf dog ran right up to its flank, as if to nip it, turning aside at the last moment to avoid the slashing horns. Wolfie darted away, growling. As soon as the beast twisted towards the great dog, Calum raced to Phoebe, scooping her up in his arms and racing for the fence. He practically tossed her over before vaulting it himself. Confused, the bull charged towards him, and Calum threw the red handkerchief into the pen, letting the animal gore the ground.

Calum ran and dragged Phoebe back from the fence, shouting for Wolfie until the dog slipped out of the pen.

The dog and two humans sagged to the ground, gasping for breath.

Calum recovered first. “What were you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t think he would see me. It was just a shortcut.”

The big Scot got to his feet, towering over her. “What possessed you to risk your life? You coulda been killed or worse.”

He stalked away, and stripped a branch off a young sapling, returning with it in hand.

She scrambled to her feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Teaching you to mind. Get your skirts up and lean on that post.”

Phoebe looked from the angry Scott, to the hitching post, and back again.

“Now, Phoebe. Unless you want me to tie you there and switch you up and down your legs. You’re getting eight as it is.”

“You can’t switch me.”

“Can and will. Now turn around.”

She backed away, wondering if she should throw herself in the pen again. She’d almost rather face the bull.

Calum charged her, and caught her around the waist.

“Mr. MacDonnell, what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer as he sat on a stump and positioned her over his knees.

“This is madness,” she cried and kicked her legs. Squirming did nothing to free her; Calum’s broad legs were sturdy under her body and she could not rock away. She writhed, trying to get her feet to touch the ground, and he steadied her easily with one iron hand, while the other collected her hands and pinned them in the small of her back. Within seconds, her skirts were up and she felt the cool air on her skin, barely protected by her drawers.

“No!” Her struggles grew more wild.

“Fight all you want, Phoebe, in the end you’ll be sorry.” He slapped her bottom, the force of his big hand stunning her. It wasn’t so much painful as humiliating. Even after the mock punishment session, she’d never thought she’d end up half-disrobed over her handsome employer’s lap, getting disciplined like a naughty child.

She shouted but to no avail, his hand smacked down again and again, stinging each cheek. He didn’t pull down her drawers, but he didn’t need to. His bare hand was force enough. He wasn’t using full force, she knew, just enough to chastise her. Of course, after a minute, her bottom felt hot and glowing, and she knew she would still feel sore tomorrow. Her hips twitched, trying to escape his punishing hand, but his other hand gripped her tighter, and he put more force into his smacks until she stopped struggling and submitted.

“All right, all right. I’ve learned my lesson. You can stop now.”

His paw continued its rhythm on her bottom, and she felt a little desperate, tears in her eyes dangerously close to falling.

“Please,” she begged. “I’ll never do it again.”

“That’s right, lass, you won’t. Now take your punishment; it’ll all be over soon, and we can put this behind us.”

Her breath came in pants, sobs hitching in her throat.

“It hurts, it hurts.”

“It’s supposed to hurt, little bird. You’ll feel it tomorrow, when you walk past the bull’s pen and choose your path.”

His hand paused and squeezed her flesh through her drawers. Even she could feel how warm her cheeks were to touch. She imagined both globes were as red as bright cherries, the thin fabric not quite hiding their glow.

“Almost there.” He finished palming her bottom, the rough massage giving her some relief, and started spanking her again.

She whimpered. “I thought you said I was getting eight.”

“Eight with the switch, lassie. Quite a few more with my hand for resisting correction.”

Her bottom throbbing with the cumulated ache of the spanking, and the sting of his new blows, Phoebe tried to suffer the rest in silence. Only a few agonized squeaks slipped out when Calum paid special attention to the underside of her curved globes, and then let loose a fiery rain of blows upon her sit spots.

“Now.” He released her and propped her up on her feet, holding her shoulders to help her gain her balance. “You have another chance. I’m going to peel the switch, and you’re going to hold your skirts up and bend over when I tell you.”

Phoebe’s chest rose and fell, her eyes prickling with humiliated tears, but she did as he asked. Calum waited as she propped up her skirts. This time, the cool air felt good on her blistered cheeks, but she couldn’t suppress an angry sob as her employer prepared the implement of correction.

She held position until he started back. He seemed so big and angry, his muscles bunched under his shirt, the switch small in his hand. It was thin and whippy, but she knew it would sting like the devil. As he approached, she lost her nerve and dropped her skirts.

“No, Mr. MacDonnell, please.” She backed away, quicker on her clubfoot than she’d ever been.

The big Scot halted. “Phoebe, come here.”

“I will not.” She kept backing away.

“Phoebe, you have until the count of three to come to me.”

She held out, her legs trembling.

“One,” he said, and her control broke.

“I hate you,” she quavered.

“Hate me all you want, lass. As long as you do nothing so foolhardy again.”

She rushed away from him, half staggering on her twisted foot to his cabin where she slammed the door, pushing her body against it.

“Phoebe.” His voice was muffled through the door.

“You’re a monster,” she screamed.

There was a pause, and she drew back, waiting for him to burst through the door and beat her, which is why the next thing he said floored her.

“I’m sorry I disciplined you in anger. It was not right. I promise never to do it again.”

“You spanked me.”

“Aye. And you nearly lost your life doing something foolhardy. If I could, I’d go back and do it right, with a calm and level head, but I’d still do it again.”

Her eyes stung with tears. “Why?”

“We agreed this is how you would take correction.”

She had, but this was too humiliating. He’d spanked her bottom in the middle of the field, and she’d let him.

The worst was how she wanted to obey and please him.

She could still feel his big hands on her, holding her easily, positioning her with confidence. It woke in her something she craved.

“Dear one, open the door. You cannot hide in there forever.”

Sniffling, she obeyed, knowing he was right.

Her Mr. MacDonnell stood outside the door, uncrossing his arms when she stepped back to let him in. He didn’t look fierce anymore, just stern, though his movements were careful.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, and he reached for her, running his hands down her arms as if checking for hurt.

“You could’ve been killed,” he said. “I could’ve lost you, and all for a stupid shortcut.”

“I know.”

“You need a man to take you in hand, and protect you from yourself.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right.”

“So I’m not a monster.”

“No. I apologize for saying those cruel things.”

He stared out the door, unhappy. “I still want to switch you. You put your life in danger. I cannot have that.”

“I promise I’ll never do it again.”

“I know you won’t, and eight switches will keep the lesson in your mind for a good long while.”

For a moment, she met his gentle gaze, then nodded.

He visibly relaxed. “Go put your hands on the porch railing and wait for me.”

In position, she watched him cross to the branch he’d cut, and examine it. Taking out his knife, he whittled at the end until it was peeled clean of bark.

He came back and showed her the whippy implement. “It’ll sting, but it won’t break the skin. I’ll need you to stay still so it doesn’t bend round your side.”

“I will,” she promised, wishing he’d just get it over with.

“Stick out your bum.” As soon as she did, he laid her skirts up over her back and held them there while he drew down her drawers.

As the air hit her bare skin, Phoebe bit her tongue, willing herself not to make a protest or a sound. It was a matter of pride.

She almost lost control at the first snap, the pain cutting through her resolve. Calum quickly followed with the rest, laying the lines from her bottom to her knees. Phoebe panted and flinched with each stinging strike, counting them in her head.

He stopped at six. “Enough.” He tossed the hated implement away. “Don’t make me do that again.”

“I won’t.” Wincing, she rubbed away the sting and glanced back. Her bottom and the backs of her thighs were covered with thin red marks.

“None of that.” He caught her hand, and replaced her drawers and her skirts. She felt the little thrill run through her at his touch. “Rub your bottom again, and I’ll have you stand in the corner with your hands on your head and think on what you’ve done.”

She pouted at the floor, and he crossed his burly arms over his chest.

“What do you say?”

“Yes, Mr. MacDonnell.”

“Good lass.”

Another thrill ran through her. To distract herself, she asked, “If you’d hired someone like Mrs. Martin to be a housekeeper, would you switch her?”

“No. I’d get her husband to do it.”

She turned away, but couldn’t think of what to do. Lifting a pot, she figured she’d start dinner, but her thoughts kept running back towards Mr. MacDonnell. Was he angry with her?

“Phoebe,” he called across the room.

She raised her head, and realized there were tears running down her cheeks. Why was she crying? She’d never been so emotional before.

“Oh, lassie, come here.”

Before she could protest, he had scooped her up and settled her on his lap in the big chair. She clung to him before she knew what she was doing, pressing her face into his rough shirt and letting her shivering cries overtake her.

She didn’t cry hard, or sob, just let out a few tears as he held her and murmured sweet things.

Her body curled into his without her permission; she felt raw and soft, as if the spanking had stripped all her walls away, and moved her closer to him.

“There you are, wee Phoebe. Let it all out.”

She lifted a tear-stained face to his. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, lass.” He stroked her hair and moved one big thumb to wipe away the track of tears. “I was frightened for you. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” she said, even as her bottom throbbed.

“Was that the first spanking you’ve had?”

“No. I’ve been beaten before.” Long ago, before she’d run away.

He frowned. “I’ll not beat you, lass. A little correction isn’t meant to break you, just teach you the lesson and give you the chance to cry. You feel better, knowing your punishment is over and you’re forgiven?”

She thought about it. There was no fear or hate inside of her, just a raw vulnerable feeling that spread warmth through her. She felt closer to him somehow. She nodded.

“Good lass. You did well.” Her heart warmed at his praise.

“Calum? If I was older, would you still punish me?”

“Yes. If the behavior warranted. But I like that you’re just a wee Phoebe bird, who I can hold and comfort. I’m here to give you cuddles, every time I put you over my knee.”

She nodded, and scooted off his lap. It felt right.

“I’m sorry I frightened you.”

He stayed seated, and chucked her under the chin. “I know ye are, lassie. You’re forgiven too. That’s the way a spanking works. It wipes the slate clean. Now get on with ye. And no rubbing your backside.” He wagged a mock finger at her.

“Yes, Mr. MacDonnell.”

*

After that first spanking, Phoebe would’ve thought she’d be frightened of Calum. Instead, she felt closer to the large man than ever. She’d never forget how he comforted her. No one had ever done that, not in her entire life. It awoke a desire within her that she didn’t know she had. Instead of shying away from him, his touch was now something she craved.