The Marshal's Rebellious Bride (14 page)

Like it was a sign to start brawling, men all around
the room began swinging fists. He’d seldom been in the midst of a bunch of
drunken men when a brawl didn’t break out. There didn’t need to be a reason. He
sure as hell didn’t want Whiskey caught in the middle of this.

He lost Taos somewhere in the crowd of flying fists
and determinedly made his way toward the stage. Just as he grew closer and saw
the women looking in concern at each other, she said, “Maybe if we dance again
they’ll get distracted from fighting.”

Each of them, looking nervous, started kicking again,
started moving back and forth across the stage. The piano man had joined them,
but the piano could barely be heard.

Morgan stopped next to the stage and glowered up at
Whiskey. “Get. Off. That. Stage!”

Now that he was closer he saw how they bent over at
the waist every few steps and gave the men views they shouldn’t have of
well-rounded breasts. Actually, her breasts were far fuller than either of the
other women’s. Exposing herself like that made him angrier.
“Whiskey!”
he called out even louder, giving up on calling her Angelina.

She didn’t stop dancing, but she did meet his gaze.
She was moving automatically, he decided, not even fully aware of what she was
doing. He saw fear in her eyes, of the crowd of crazed men. Good. She should be
worried about them. Not that he would allow any of them anywhere near her.

But a man leaning over the edge of stage where the
three women had danced over to suddenly reached up and grabbed her leg.

She screamed, went down and landed hard on her bottom.
As he tried to pull her forward, she fought to shake free, tried to kick at him
with her other foot. “Let go!” she snarled.

The music stopped. Maybelle and Abigail hurried to
help her but froze when Taos roared in fury and stormed to Morgan’s side.

He reached the man first and sent his fist flying
first into the man’s jaw, then into his stomach.

The man dropped to the floor. But before he’d released
Whiskey, he’d managed to tug her almost to the edge of the stage. She sat wild-eyed
and frightened.

Morgan held her gaze and didn’t know which he wanted
more: to shake her senseless or to crush her to him.

* * *

Whiskey stared down at Morgan on the main floor
knowing he was furious with her, knowing he’d come to save her from one of the
most foolish decisions she’d ever made. Her ankle hurt where the drunk had
grabbed her and held her firmly. As scary as that had been, she knew something
far worse could have happened. She was close to getting sick, real sick.

“Whiskey,” Morgan said quietly, looking steadily at
her. Even with all the noise around them his voice was the only one she heard.

His big body was tense. He looked ready to unleash all
of his strength in a second should another man try to get to her. The man he’d
just hit was lucky his jaw wasn’t broken. He was lucky Morgan had controlled
his rage enough to stop before doing real damage. She should be frightened of
the fierce-looking marshal, especially of the anger flaring in his eyes, but
she wasn’t. Oh, she knew she would pay some kind of price with him for what
she’d done. It didn’t matter at the moment. All that mattered was that he’d
come to rescue her.

She gave him a tentative smile and watched his
shoulders relax just a little. His fists unclenched at his sides. Beneath the
brim of his hat she saw the fatigue digging lines into his brow and around his
mouth. She knew he had worked hard at the ranch today, yet he’d come to get
her. Amazing. She felt a tiny crack form in her wall of resistance to him.
Maybe they…

He braced his powerful arms on the stage’s edge and
pulled himself up next to her.

On the floor below, men continued to curse and throw
punches, toss furniture around. The piano made a loud, off-key sound as someone
was thrown against it. Glass shattered. Ham’s big night was going to cost him
in repairs. Her unfortunate big night was going to cost her as well, but hers
would be a painful cost not monetary.

“Are you all right?” Morgan asked, his eyes holding
hers, searching their depths for truth.

She trembled and glanced back to make sure her friends
had gotten well out of the way of the drunken men in the room. When she looked
again at him, she said, “That man didn’t hurt me. Not really.”

Relief moved over his face. The anger remained in his
eyes and he stood, putting out a hand to pull her to her feet. “We’re leaving.”

Her heart raced and she thought about refusing, but
knew it would be a mistake. From somewhere in the midst of the chaos she heard
Taos yelling, knew he was pounding his fist into someone’s face. But he didn’t
come to interfere with Morgan rescuing her. Instinctively she knew her brother
and this man who claimed he was marrying her had come to some kind of agreement
about dealing with her.

“I don’t suppose saying—” she started but
slammed her mouth shut when he narrowed his eyes and tugged her up.

His gaze flicked across the room. “There’s not a damn
thing you can say that will make this right.”

He pulled her with him toward the back of the stage.
“You didn’t belong here. I already told you that.”

It didn’t matter that he was right. She tried to dig
her heels into the wooden floor. “They’re my friends. They needed my help.”

“They shouldn’t have asked this of you.” He dragged
her with him past Ham and the girls, straight to the small dressing room.

She knew in her gut what he intended to do. She
struggled again. “No! Not here. Please. Not here.”

She saw him glance at Ham, saw the concern for her on
her friend’s face, saw him foolishly consider coming over to protect her. Then,
though Morgan still appeared furious with her, he shoved her inside the room.
“Get changed into your own clothes. Then we’re going back to the ranch.”

He leaned close so only she would hear. “Trust me;
you’re going to bed tonight with one very sore bottom.”

* * *

By the time they’d ridden back to the ranch Whiskey
had been lectured about her improper behavior over and over and over. Taos had
been in his best big-brother mode. He’d talked so much at the top of his voice
that he was hoarse when they rode into the barn. Morgan hadn’t said two words
since he’d lifted her up and slammed her onto her horse. He hadn’t needed to;
his feelings were written all over his face, which she’d been able to see in
the light of the full moon.

He was the first to slide from the saddle. A second
later he pulled her down and said to Taos in a tone meant to be obeyed, “Take
care of the horses.”

Taos slid to the ground as well and grabbed all of the
reins, although he didn’t appear happy. With a quick glance toward her and then
to Morgan, he said, “Check the pantry.”

He walked off. “I’ll be out in the bunkhouse for a
spell. Maybe play some poker with the boys.”

Whiskey wanted to tell him no, wanted to tell him to
come with them. But, in truth, she didn’t want that, not if… not if Morgan
planned to… No, she didn’t want her brother to see or hear her being punished
by his friend.

Grim-faced, Morgan took Whiskey by the arm and led her
to the house. “Having to do this sure plays hell with my attempts to court you,”
he said in disgust. He hadn’t been good at the courting thing anyway.

As they walked through the house, he stopped here and
there to light the gas lamps, glowering at her to stay beside him each time.
Faded light directed them through the sitting room back to the kitchen. She trailed
along with him, grumbling in irritation. She’d tried to walk away once, but the
look he’d given her had her heaving a sigh and staying put. He was pretty sure
she knew that this would be more than a simple turn-her-over-his-knees
spanking.

“Stay put,” he commanded, leaving her in the middle of
the kitchen. He walked into the pantry and wondered if she would actually obey
him. He didn’t
hear any sounds of movement behind him
,
thank the good Lord
.

He sensed that she knew she’d done seriously wrong,
something incredibly dangerous. Her brother had certainly made that clear in
his lecturing her from town to the ranch. Morgan hadn’t had to say a word, but
he’d sure been thinking about what she’d done. If he hadn’t rescued her… Hell!
He didn’t even want to think about what might have happened.

When he walked out holding both the foot-long wooden
paddle he’d found and the worn leather strop, he saw her shudder. He understood
her reaction.

“You couldn’t just—” she began, her gaze fixed
firmly on the instruments of punishment.

He held them up and shook his head. “No, Angelina.
You’ve earned far more than a simple spanking. Choose.”

She swallowed hard
;
her
breasts rising and falling in a way that captured his attention.

“Can I choose neither?” she asked meekly.

“I could use both.” He continued to hold them up. He
was upset enough to do it, too, but he wouldn’t. “Choose.”

She just stared at the implements, her eyes
glistening. He’d already heard about her being disciplined by her brothers a
few days ago after her arrival in town in a balloon. He’d spanked her sweet
backside first. But each of her brothers had made her choose one of the
implements he now held and then they’d proceeded to whale away on her butt. No
doubt she didn’t want to feel either of them again.

“Last chance for just one of them.”

In a weak voice she said, “The strop.”

Relieved that she’d finally answered, he took the
paddle back into the pantry. He didn’t want to hurt her, but she needed a sound
lesson for this act of nonsense. He stood there a second, closing his eyes. If
he’d gotten there too late… If one of those men had…

He drew in a steadying breath. He’d arrived in time.
He focused on that reality, walked out again, and nodded toward the table.
“Pull those britches down.
Drawers, too.
Then bend
over the table.”

“Can’t they stay…
”
She looked
at him defiantly for a second, her face turning red.

“Down.” If he was going to make it very clear to her
about this matter, he intended to do it right. Her ass would soon be redder
than her face.

She walked slowly across the room. Her hands were on
the buttons of the britches. “It’s not proper that you see—”

“I’ll see a whole lot more once we’re married. Drop ‘
em
.” He moved behind her and used one hand to help her pull
the garments down to her knees.

Heart racing, face flaming, Whiskey put her hands flat
on the table as she’d done many times before. She thrust her bottom out at the
same time she lowered her head and her long, coiled curls danced around her
face. This was so awful. Being punished was always awful. Being stropped by the
man she would marry—no, she still hadn’t agreed to that—was… was…

Her thoughts stopped as she sensed him raising his arm.
Oh Lord, it’s really going to happen
.

She sucked in a breath, heart pounding even more. She heard
the familiar whoosh as the strop came down through the air behind her. When the
leather landed fiercely across both butt cheeks, she jerked forward with a
gushed, “
Oooooo
!” The first blow was always a
shocker.

“I believe your brother made it real clear what a
foolish thing you did.” Morgan hesitated, holding the leather against her sore
bottom.

“Yes,” she said as she caught her breath. Just as
she’d known even before she’d agreed to step foot on the stage, she would pay
the price for it. Her butt would anyway. “You don’t need to go over it again.”

“I didn’t think so.” He sent the strop whooshing down
again.

She arched downward toward the table. Even as fire
laced where the leather had landed, she remembered how he’d told her there
would be consequences when she went against him. She didn’t like the idea,
never liked being thrashed. And she thought about Ace. He’d never once even
threatened to spank her…and she had gone against his wishes a time or two. He
probably never would have taken her over his knee. That would have been a good
thing. Yet…

The awful strop lifted and sailed down two more times,
briskly, painfully. She stretched her arms out further and curled her fingers around
the other edge of the table. She bit down on her lower lip trying not to cry
out.

“I don’t like doing this.” Morgan stopped, smoothed a
hand over the areas he’d burned. “I’m not opposed to given a deserved licking,
but I don’t like it.”

Her buttocks quivered at his gentle touch. Heat fired
low in her belly. She wasn’t used to any feelings besides sheer pain during a
thrashing. The daring side of her said boldly, “You could stop now. I
understand the error of what I did.”

He stroked her bottom one more time and drew his hand
away. “Not stopping yet. This ass is going to be a damn pretty shade of red
before I’m done with this lesson.”