The Officer and the Traveler

by Rose Gordon

  All thoughts of what he might do to her breasts evaporated when he licked the hollow of her throat and shifted again, this time in a way that pressed the tip of his erection against her delicate flesh. She almost wished she’d gotten a better look at that part of him while he was still standing. Almost. It might be better this way, though, not knowing.

  Gray moved up to kiss her lips, the hard length of him probing at her entrance. She shifted, hoping that would give him the angle he needed. He eased inside, stretching her. Her breath hitched. “Stop,” she whispered, grabbing his shoulders—as if her petite hands could possibly hold him.

  “I’m sorry,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and ragged. He waited a minute then moved forward again. Just when she thought she might split in two at his invasion, he stopped.

  Their breathing was the only sound breaking the silence between them. Hers uneven and strained as she tried to adjust to him; his was labored, a testimony to his strength.

  She moved her hips, an unspoken invitation for him to continue. He held still a moment longer, then began to move over her, slow and steady at first, her discomfort easing with each stroke. His pace increased, the friction becoming less uncomfortable and more pleasurable, eliciting the strangest feeling in her abdomen. It was almost as if heat was pooling in her belly and sending sparks flying through the rest of her body.

  She arched her back, lifting her hips ever so slightly to meet his thrusts and take him deeper to stoke that fire.

  Then with a grunt, the muscles in his shoulders tensed and his movements slowed to a stop.

  Chapter Twelve

  Gray gasped for breath. That was the best experience he’d ever had. Far more exhilarating than meeting his own needs with his hand as he’d done this afternoon to keep from embarrassing himself tonight. And indeed, his planning had been warranted. Had he been any more attracted to her, he’d have spent himself before he’d made it all the way inside.

  He dropped a kiss between her closed eyes and withdrew. It was dark out now, and he had only the moon’s light streaming in through the break in the curtains to see. He quickly discarded the sheath he’d worn to protect her from conception then padded around to the other side of the bed and took his place next to her beneath the covers.

  He had the strangest urge to move closer to her and lie so close their bodies touched. He’d never imagined he’d have such a pull to her and now had a better understanding of why men sought female comfort.

  No. It wasn’t the same at all. Michaela was his wife. He wasn’t paying her. The matters were different entirely. Besides, as far as he knew, men who sought their companionship that way had no interest in lying close afterward. They were there for a quick release, then gone. Nobody would know the workings of brothels better than he.

  He shuddered and pushed the thought from his mind.

  Gray’s eyes couldn’t have been shut but for a moment, and yet, someone was blowing a horn so loud it just might wake the dead.

  “Make it stop,” he grumbled, grabbing his pillow and holding it over his face.

  “I take it you’re not one who enjoys mornings,” Michaela said.

  Gray yanked the pillow from over his face and tossed it on the floor, scowling. “Normally they don’t bother me, but I spent the night before last in the watchtower and didn’t sleep much yesterday.”

  Michaela climbed out of bed, creating an emptiness Gray hadn’t expected. She blushed, presumably at the realization she was standing before him in only her chemise. She gripped the hem and tried to hold it down lower.

  Gray chuckled. “I think the fabric has already been cut.”

  “I know.” She looked down to the bed and swallowed, then grabbed the sheet and quilt and pulled it back over where she’d just been laying down. “Shall I make you some breakfast?”

  “If you’d like.”

  She smiled at him in a way that he thought might be less than genuine, then literally shuffled over to the four-shelf rack in the corner of the room. As soon as he was certain she couldn’t see him, he flipped back the sheets to see what had changed her mood so quickly.

  Blood.

  Dark red.

  His gut clenched and he abruptly let go of the quilt. He turned his attention back to Michaela, his eyes colliding on the back of her chemise where there was another bloodstain toward the bottom.

  Nausea and disgust swept over him. “On second thought, I’ll just eat downstairs with the men,” he choked out. He swung around and gripped onto the bedpost then forced himself to stand. He tightened his grip on the bedpost. There was supposed to be blood, he knew that. But surely not quite so much. Why hadn’t she said he was hurting her? Did she fear him? She shouldn’t have, he’d offered to stop before it had reached that point. Why had she let him hurt her so badly? Numbly, he found his way to the bureau, refusing to look in her direction.

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind cooking.”

  “It’s fine.” He winced at the gruffness in his voice. “I’ll eat with my men and you can spend more time with some of the other women.”

  “Aunt Lucille?”

  “Sure,” he grunted. He jerked his trousers up then reached for his shirt. Had he been so caught up in his own desires he’d been blinded to her pain? He certainly didn’t remember plowing into her the way he knew men often did when joining with a woman. But he must have. Nobody knew better than Gray how degrading and painful the act could be to some women.

  He remembered having to remind himself not to touch or kiss certain parts of her, lest she feel she was being demeaned. He’d also thought he’d been gentle with where he had touched and especially careful when he’d joined with her. Apparently not.

  Gray pulled on his shirt and without bothering to button it reached for his boots. From the corner of his right eye, he saw Michaela pull a new chemise over her head. A lump grew in his throat. Why hadn’t she said anything? Because she didn’t want to make it worse. He muttered a curse at the small voice in his head that had made such a statement, even though he knew it was true. How many times had one of Mother’s friends commented on the pain and how it was easier just to endure it than to make it worse by inciting the man’s wrath by telling him that he was hurting her. Some men found some perverse pleasure in knowing they were hurting the girl and only became rougher, or others had said that the men would become enraged that she’d complained and would hit her or refuse to pay.

  Another sickening reality sank in—not only had he hurt her, he’d forced her. Sure, he was her husband therefore; it was his right to share her bed, but what of her? He’d completely disregarded what she might have wanted. And for what? Because he could? Because he was her husband and she his wife, and legally they were allowed to share intimacies with each other without exchange of money or her losing her respect and honor?

  He could hardly stand up straight and sagged against the wall for support. He was no better than any of the men he’d despised so much who’d come to the brothel for a quick release, then went on their way, fulfilled.

  The air in the room had either grown too thin to inhale or too thick and was choking him. He had to get out of her presence—soon. Gray looked down at himself. He was dressed well enough to go outside and not evoke too many questions from the others. He turned his attention to Michaela as she hurriedly tried to redress. He had a fleeting thought to offer to help her. She didn’t need it, however, she’d selected a simple gown with buttons that went up the front. Her hair wasn’t as neatly pinned on top of her head as it had been yesterday, but thankfully it didn’t appear too mussed. She reached in her travel bag and removed a lace hair covering which she promptly put on and tied under her chin, covering the majority of that tempting, auburn hair his fingers had itched to touch.

  He jerked his eyes from her, grunting. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” She came over to him, and try as he might, he couldn’t force himself to look her in the eyes. She hadn’t deserved such treatment. “Is something wrong?”

  Gray st
arted. “No.” He winced and cleared his throat. “No. Just thinking.”

  “Are you sure? You look like you’re in deep contemplation.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I suppose Pa was right then,” she said, something about her tone not right. “He always said most of the men who make a career out of being in the army aren’t the most intelligent men there ever were.”

  “Your father retired from the army,” he pointed out, wrenching the door open and waiting for her to walk through.

  “I know,” she said with a slight giggle. “But I think he was talking about the ones who join as privates. They don’t have to be strategists. Just do what they’re told without having to think.”

  Gray paused. She’d just insulted him and he’d fallen right into the trap. Clever girl. He wasn’t a private now, but they both knew when they’d first met the only position he’d ever dreamed he’d be able to have was to one day be a private. Neither of them had ever expected things to turn out the way they had and for him to become an officer.

  “All right.” He drew the words out as he fiddled with the lock on the door. “You want to know what I was thinking about, I’ll tell you.”

  “Please do.”

  “Last night.”

  From the corner of his eye he saw that her face turned a light pink. He rather liked that and for a second he hoped that might be an indication that he hadn’t destroyed every chance of a friendship between them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The irony of Michaela’s recent increase of time spent communing with God in connection with Gray, which was similar to the same increase she’d witnessed some nine years ago when she’d first met him, was not lost on her. The difference was, nine years ago, she’d prayed he’d notice her and would fall in love with her in a way that would match her feelings for him. Now, she just prayed for him to make sense to her.

  One minute, such as last night after they’d gotten married, he seemed interested in her, then when they awoke, he suddenly wasn’t, then once they got outside he was again? So many unanswered questions floated through her mind. What was genuine? Or was he at all? Of course he’d have been interested in her last night. They’d just gotten married and he had…er…expectations. This morning? Well, to be honest, he’d acted almost disgusted with her. Why? Because she was no longer chaste? She almost choked on her laughter. That wasn’t likely. Gray had slept with any number of prostitutes, surely he wouldn’t care that she was no longer untried. She frowned. Perhaps that was the reason. He’d had her once and now he wasn’t interested anymore. Did he only bed the same woman once or did she just not measure up? A sick feeling formed in her stomach and she had the strangest urge to tear her hand from where she held his arm and run. But doing that wouldn’t look good for anyone, and might make her vulnerable in a way that wouldn’t bode well for her in the future.

  Which is probably the only reason he seemed to be willing to play besotted husband right now as he escorted her to the Lewises’ house.

  “Here you are,” he said as they climbed the steps. “I’ll come by this afternoon to walk you home.”

  She nodded once. Allison and Ella had mentioned that most days their husbands came to eat lunch with them when time allowed. Michaela didn’t even have to ask to know that Gray wouldn’t be joining her for the noonday meal. Ever. She released his arm and walked inside, halted by the four curious faces waiting for her in the sitting area.

  Michaela swallowed. What was going on? “Is everything all right?” she asked past the cotton that seemed to have grown in her mouth within the past three seconds.

  “I don’t know, is it?” Aunt Lucille asked with a wink.

  Michaela stared at her. What was she talking about? Her eyes drifted to Sarah Ridgely who still appeared gaunt, but was present, holding a piece of folded silk, the corners of her lips twitching. Michaela’s gaze slid to Allison, humor and intrigue both alight in her eyes. What was wrong with these ladies? Just before Michaela could try to read the expression on her own sister’s face, which should be easy to do considering they’d shared a room for almost twenty years, Ella broke the silence, “How was your night?”

  Michaela flushed. Everything suddenly made sense and she flushed again. They were not simply asking how she enjoyed the look of her new room and if she’d had a good night of sleep, they wanted to know about…about… She flushed yet again.

  “I’ll take that to mean it went quite well, indeed,” Aunt Lucille said with a chuckle.

  “I’m not sure there was ever really any question,” Sarah chimed in. “Gray is known for his experience, I’m sure he took every care to make sure it was enjoyable for you.”

  Michaela wasn’t sure what to make of the slightly high pitched tone Sarah used, and wasn’t given time to ponder it when Allison rushed to add, “Not that any of us believe for one moment that Gray will continue his habit of entertaining…” she trailed off, blushing.

  Michaela waved her off and took a spot next to Ella on the threadbare settee. She didn’t rightly know if Gray would stop seeking the company of loose women, and wasn’t sure if she even cared. For if she did, then she’d only set herself up for heartache. It had been his lusty desire to visit a prostitute that had crushed her heart before. Fortunately, she wasn’t in love with him anymore so what he did wouldn’t matter. She clenched her fists and repeated those words to herself, it wouldn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. He’d do what he wanted, just like all other men, and she’d have to learn to accept that. She had no claim on him. She’d agreed to marry him to rescue him from a bad situation, and in the bargain she’d get to stay closer to her sister and perhaps have a few children to help fill her heart with the love Gray would never be able to give her.

  “Is something wrong, Michaela?” Ella whispered in her ear.

  Michaela started and forced herself to look at Ella, releasing her fists. “Just a little overwhelmed.”

  The others seemed to accept that, but Ella didn’t. Michaela jerked her attention away from her sister and murmured for Aunt Lucille to pass her sewing materials.

  “We’ll talk later,” Ella whispered.

  Dread settled in Michaela’s chest, and with a silent prayer that Ella would forget her purpose, she nodded and began sewing.

  ***

  Gray wasn’t sure why he thought he’d be relieved to enter the officers’ office this morning, but discomfort swept over him like one of those heavy spring thunderstorms this part of the country was prone to receiving.

  At their desks, sat every single commissioned officer assigned to the fort all staring at him as he walked to his desk. He wasn’t late, he knew that, which could only mean one thing: they’d all gotten here early to see his arrival. Even Jack and Wes. He scowled. His scowl deepened when he caught sight of the slight grin and teasing gleam in Wes’ eyes. Wes’ room was adjacent to his so it was no use in pretending nothing happened. That was one of the more unfavorable things about living in a fort. Walls and floors were paper-thin. Everything, even simple conversations had a way of being overheard. Gray couldn’t count the times he’d been an unwilling audience to hearing other bedroom activities happen when he had to sleep in a room directly below Wes and Allison.

  He locked gazes with Wes, a simple warning, reminding the man that anything he might know about Gray, Gray also knew about him.

  Wes didn’t look like he cared. And perhaps Gray wouldn’t care who knew what he and his wife did in their bedroom, if not for the crushing guilt that had settled over him this morning when he’d spotted the bloodstain. That was all he needed to sour his mood as he took a seat at the desk he shared with Wes.

  “And here I thought you’d be more excited than either of us the morning after our weddings,” Wes said softly.

  Gray ignored him. Wes had lied to everyone saying a lady who’d been stranded here was his mail-order bride. Sleeping in the room under theirs, Gray had a hard time believing Wes’ story for a while, but didn’t care to question it. He liked Alli
son quite well and didn’t wish to embarrass her if she were to find out he’d said anything to Wes about their nighttime activities. Besides it wasn’t his business.

  Jack, on the other hand, was a perfect candidate to having had an explosive wedding night. Only…when he’d been exchanging letters with Ella and encouraging her to be in truth his mail-order bride, he’d left off what most would consider crucial details involving his life and where it was that he lived, thus leading her not to be exactly enthusiastic about sharing her body with him. That wasn’t even two weeks ago, and to be frank, Gray still didn’t know if Jack had weaseled his way into her heart and under her skirts. Once again, it wasn’t any of his damn business. Just like it wasn’t anyone else’s concern about his intimate relationship with Michaela. How unfortunate that this place crawled with heathens who didn’t respect that.

  He jerked his desk drawer open, garnering a chuckle from a few of the men.

  “You do know the blood was supposed to be there,” Wes whispered just above Gray’s ear.

  Scowling, Gray dug out what he needed, then slammed the drawer shut. How the blazes had Wes known he’d been concerned about that?

  Wes’ soft chuckle pulled Gray from his thoughts. “Considering the types of women you’ve bedded before, I imagine it was alarming. But it’s supposed to be there.”

  “I know that,” Gray snapped. He did know there was supposed to be a few drops of virgin’s blood on the sheets, but this wasn’t just a couple of drops. Paying no heed to the curious faces of the other men at the table with him, he started rolling gunpowder and balls of lead into paper to make bullet cartridges.