by Brenda Joyce
Miranda felt tears come to her eyes. “Oh, Papa,” she whispered, “why did you do this to me?”
Bragg wheeled his horse again, having heard her anguished comment, and he stared at her. But she was brushing a tear from her cheek while her aunt took her hand in a gesture of comfort.
“Don’t be angry with me, Aunt Elizabeth,” Miranda cried brokenly. “Please don’t be angry. I’m so…” She leaned against her aunt’s shoulder, fighting the urge to cry in exhaustion, despair, fear, and confusion.
“Hush, dear, everything will be for the best, you’ll see.” She stroked Miranda’s back.
“Why does Papa hate me so? Why? Why wouldn’t he leave me be?” She couldn’t help letting a few tears escape her tightly shut lids.
“Your papa loves you, Miranda, very much.”
“Papa is a beast!” Miranda cried. “I hate him, I’ve always hated him for what he did to Maman—for killing her!” She started to cry in earnest. “And God is punishing me by sending me to this barbarian because I have such hatred in my heart.”
“Your father didn’t kill your mother!” Elizabeth gasped, horrified. She shook her niece. “How can you say that?”
“He did! He even admitted it.” Miranda gulped and pulled herself together.
“Your mother died in childbirth, Miranda,” her aunt said sternly. “It was God’s will. Your father loved her deeply…”
“No! Do you think I’m a child?” Miranda whirled on her aunt. “I saw how he treated her—how he hit her. She hated him. He forced her to return to him. I know it.”
“You are nothing but a foolish, frightened child,” Elizabeth said. “And you are talking nothing but nonsense. I will write to your father and tell him that you harbor these ugly misconceptions!”
Miranda bit her lip and looked ahead, to see Bragg staring at her strangely. She frowned at him, upset that he had heard their private conversation. That was her fault, not his. The topic should have never come up in public. She stared at the forested hills on either side of them.
About an hour later they pulled into the courtyard of an inn in Natchitoches, which was a rambling, wooden town. The inn was one of the best the town had to offer, but it was rough and shabby compared to England’s fine old establishments. Bragg left Welsh with the team and wagon, and led them into a common room.
“Why don’t you eat while your baths are readied,” he suggested pleasantly. “I’ll take care of it now.” He smiled at Miranda almost warmly.
Miranda felt surprise as he walked away, and she sat down with her aunt at an empty table. The dining room was quite full, and she was embarrassed about her appearance until she realized that nearly everyone was as travel-stained and weary as she. Still, she decided she would rather eat in her room, after her bath, and she told her aunt so.
“A wonderful idea,” her aunt agreed.
“I’ll go tell Mr. Bragg,” Miranda said, and Lady Holcombe nodded tiredly. Miranda followed in the direction he had gone, out of the dining room and into a front room where there was a desk for registry, a sofa and chairs and table, and a few lounging occupants. They were all male, and they eyed her with blatant interest. She flushed, feeling disgraced at being seen looking so ill-kempt, and wondered where Bragg was. She inquired at the desk. The clerk told her that he had gone back outside and she headed off in that direction.
The team and wagon and Bragg’s horse were gone, and she wandered into the stable. It was very quiet inside, except for the sound of the animals moving, snorting and eating. She thought she recognized their team of mules, although she wasn’t sure. There was a lit lantern hanging on one wall, so she knew that someone was still in the barn. She was about to give up when she heard a noise. Staring down to the farthest end of the barn, she thought she saw the white mane of Bragg’s stallion. She started down the hay-strewn corridor, and soon Bragg’s broad back came into view.
Miranda heard his husky murmur just before she saw the woman. Bragg must have heard her because he turned abruptly, and his features softened as he came toward her. Miranda looked past him at the woman, wondering what they were doing there alone, feeling something like jealousy rise up in her. The woman smiled, pulling straw out of her hair and smoothing down her skirts. Miranda had the uncharitable thought that she was quite fat.
“Are you looking for me?”
Miranda’s gaze moved back to Bragg, and she noticed that his eyes were bright, his shirt unbuttoned, his chest massive and glistening. She flushed. For a moment she couldn’t remember why she had come—she could only stare.
“Y-yes, Captain. My aunt and I are tired. We’ll be dining in our room tonight.”
Bragg smiled. Then he said something, but she was already hurrying away, running. She reached the safety of the courtyard and breathed in deep lungfuls of air, unbuttoning the top three buttons at her throat. She was trembling. What had they been doing, alone like that?
And why did she care?
A moment later she heard him right behind her. “Miranda, wait.” She grabbed her skirts and fled.
Chapter 7
“Miranda, what’s wrong?”
Miranda forced a smile. “Nothing, Aunt Elizabeth.” Stop thinking about that fat woman, she admonished herself.
“Dear, you’re out of breath and flushed.”
Miranda turned away, testing the bathwater.
“Are you ill?” Elizabeth asked, with concern.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Did you find the captain?”
Miranda felt the heat rising in her cheeks, and her aunt didn’t miss it. “Miranda?”
“Yes, I did. In the barn,” she mumbled. Then it burst out. “He was in there with a woman, Aunt, alone with a woman.” Elizabeth pursed her mouth in a severe line.
That night, Miranda had the most awful dream. Bragg had her in his arms, and he was stroking her body, her breasts. She was afraid, but didn’t have a voice with which to cry out. She wanted to struggle, but her limbs wouldn’t move. His touch made her body throb in the most peculiar way. She awoke in a sweat, a bittersweet ache between her thighs in her most intimate place. It took her a long time to fall back to sleep, and still she did not understand—not any of it.
Miranda and her aunt were eating a breakfast of hotcakes and sweet syrup when she felt his eyes upon her. She felt her face flaming but didn’t look up. How can I look at him after dreaming about him last night? she asked herself desperately. She looked at her plate and concentrated on eating every last bite. She wasn’t hungry at all, but it gave her something to do.
“Good morning, ladies,” Bragg drawled lazily.
“Captain Bragg.” Elizabeth rose. “I would like a word with you in private.”
Bragg stared at the top of Miranda’s bowed head. He had an inane thought. How long was her hair? He realized that Lady Holcombe was waiting, and he gave her a casual glance. “Let me guess,” he muttered. He made a gesture with his hand. “After you, ma’am.”
They stepped outside into the courtyard. Bragg sighed and braced himself as the tirade came forth. “Mr. Bragg! I don’t understand how John Barrington could have chosen a man like you to escort his betrothed five hundred miles, but I must demand that you exercise strict restraint upon your own baser nature, sir! My niece is an innocent. She has been greatly agitated, having had the unfortunate luck to stumble upon you and one of your…paramours last night. Please, sir! Have a care for the sweet, young girl! I beg of you!”
Bragg met her outraged eyes. “Ma’am, let’s get things straight. No one is sorrier than I that she happened across me and my friend and was upset by it.”
Elizabeth was startled into speechlessness.
Bragg smiled. “But a man’s appetites are a fact of life in this land. Just how long do you think your niece is going to stay sheltered and innocent living in Texas? Is she to be a virgin wife?”
Elizabeth gasped at his rudeness.
“I will try and be more discreet.” Bragg grinned mockingly and swept her a b
ow. “Now, shall we be on our way?”
“I’ll get Miranda,” Elizabeth replied stiffly, in high indignation.
Bragg lounged on the porch. He had meant every word he’d said. He was sorry Miranda had seen him and that wench. But they hadn’t even been doing anything. Yet. They had only been alone together—certainly no sin. He shrugged. After all, it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t expected Miranda to come seeking him out.
“Derek.”
He was startled by Louise, the woman he had bedded the previous night. “Morning.” He flashed her a relaxed, natural smile. She had been very accommodating last night, and quite skilled as well. She wasn’t too bad looking either, even though her breasts were already sagging. She stepped next to him, pressing that particular part of her anatomy against him.
“I’m sorry you have to go so soon.” She smiled up at him.
“So am I,” Bragg said, not meaning it but not lying, either. Then his smile disappeared. Damnation! Miranda had just stepped out and was staring at him and Louise.
“Next time you come this way, will you come see me again?” Louise flirted openly, placing a hand on his chest and slipping it into the open vee of his shirt. She stroked his flesh.
“You know I will,” he said, glancing from her to Miranda, who was staring unblinkingly at them. He saw her expression and realized that it wasn’t exactly shock that held her frozen and staring. She was fascinated—although she probably didn’t even realize it.
He took Louise’s hand and removed it from his chest. “Not here,” he said.
Louise glanced scornfully at Miranda. “What do you care about that little virgin?” She laughed, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him hotly. Bragg heard Miranda gasp as his hands slid down Louise’s back and his mouth opened to her kiss.
Then he caught himself ruefully and pushed her away. He patted her behind. “Until next time.” He grinned, stepping down from the porch. He smiled at Miranda, who was now as red as a rose. He had never seen a woman who blushed so much. “Good morning, Miranda,” he said politely. “How did you sleep last night?” His gaze raked over her of its own accord. God, what a beauty!
Miranda swallowed. Could he read her mind? How did he know that she had been dreaming intimately of him last night? Completely speechless, she hurried past him to the wagon, her heart pounding wildly. Would her husband touch her like that? If he did, she would die!
“Morning, Miss Miranda,” Welsh said with a friendly smile. “Here, let me help you up.”
Bragg had been approaching, and Miranda quickly accepted Welsh’s offer. She thought she would die, too, of mortification, if Bragg ever laid another hand on her!
Chapter 8
Bragg was annoyed, even angry.
Tomorrow they would reach Nacogdoches, the last town before San Antonio on the Camino Real. They had left Natchitoches two days ago, and Miranda had been studiously avoiding him. Although he caught her looking at him with frightened fascination whenever he was not riding ahead, when they were in camp she seemed to go out of her way to keep a great distance between them. If he spoke to her casually, and was not asking her a direct question, she made no response. When he looked at her, she blushed. Sometimes he would look at her and find her staring back, and he could see the pulse beating wildly in her slim, white throat. When she unconsciously wet her lips with her pink tongue, he wanted to grab her and devour her mouth.
He wanted to talk to her. He was angry because she was avoiding him, making talk impossible. It didn’t help that she seemed haughty, too, as if he repulsed her. Or maybe it was just a mask for fear. Whatever it was, they had a long trip ahead, and this kind of infantile behavior didn’t suit him.
However, her aunt was watching him like a hawk, and was quick to ward off his attempts to approach Miranda.
He knew she was an innocent. But how could she be that embarrassed by what she had seen? Or did she think him a crude lout? Hadn’t she already called him an uncivilized barbarian? Was she afraid of him? Sometimes she looked at him like she was afraid, with a kind of mesmerized fear. How in hell could he get that aunt out of the way?
The problem solved itself. They had made an early camp, because they were less than seven hours from Nacogdoches. Miranda and her aunt had disappeared into their tent. Bragg had already supplied game, which was roasting on a spit. Welsh was smoking tobacco on his bedroll. Miranda appeared at the flap to the women’s tent, looking at him.
Bragg straightened from where he was lounging against a boulder. Miranda stepped out, and he saw that she was carrying a towel, soap, and some clothes. He smiled as she approached. Her eyes were wide, and her voice tremulous. “Captain Bragg?”
His gaze searched hers. Once again, he was struck by her beauty—it seemed that she was more beautiful every time he saw her. “Yes?”
“I would like to perform my ablutions,” she said in a strained voice.
“Where’s your aunt?” Bragg asked casually, standing close to her. For some odd reason, his heart was hammering as if he’d run a long distance.
“She’s sleeping.” Her violet gaze locked with his. “This trip is hard on her. I’m worried.”
Bragg nodded, now sober and understanding. “Unfortunately, it will only get tougher. Follow me,” he said.
He heard her stumbling behind him as he walked down the embankment, and he automatically turned to her, taking her arm. She sucked in her breath and pulled away as if he were a leper. Bragg let her go, his face darkening. Miranda swallowed, dropping a frightened gaze, and said, “How much farther to the ranch, Captain Bragg?”
He continued down the path, past some cottonwoods and palo verde. The little chit was frightened of him! It aggravated him no end. Did she think he’d rape her? “Almost three hundred miles,” he said, stopping.
“Oh! A pond!” Miranda was delighted.
Bragg smiled despite himself. “Miranda? I would like to talk to you.”
She looked slowly at him. “About what?” Her words were so soft they were barely audible.
“About what you saw in Natchitoches.” He watched her face. The revealing pink tide flooded her features and she averted her face.
“No,” he said softly, “don’t look away.” His fingers gentle, he tilted her chin to meet his gaze. She seemed to be holding her breath. He had a nearly uncontrollable urge to kiss her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t spying. I was looking for you.”
“You’ve been avoiding me. Why?”
Miranda tried to look away, but he wouldn’t release her chin. “What were you doing with that woman?” she asked quaveringly.
Bragg looked at her in complete surprise, then he laughed, dropping his fingers from her silken skin.
She started at his laughter, her eyes widening.
“She enjoyed herself,” he said, chuckling, “very much.”
“Then she’s a…bad woman,” Miranda said seriously. “A…harlot.”
Bragg stared. “I think we need to talk, really talk,” he said, feeling angry as hell. “Louise is not a whore.”
She gasped at his crude language.
“She’s a woman with normal appetites, that’s all.”
Miranda gaped disbelievingly.
“Miranda, what happens between a man and a woman is good and natural—and very, very enjoyable.”
She was shocked. “No well-bred lady enjoys a man’s…attentions that way!”
“Poor John,” he said, before he could stop himself. “What drivel have they been feeding you? If lovemaking were so sinful, then why did God make it the way to conceive babies?”
She stared in a complete lack of comprehension.
Bragg stared back. He couldn’t believe that she didn’t know what he was talking about. “You don’t know, do you? You don’t know how a woman conceives?”
“No,” she whispered, swallowing hard. She wet her lower lip. “How?”
If she does that one more time, I’ll kiss her, Bragg thought as desi
re surged through him. A wave of anger immediately followed. “Ask your husband,” he said, too harshly. “Believe me, he’ll tell you…no, he’ll show you.” Their eyes held.
Miranda was the one to turn away, trembling. “I’m going to bathe. Could you possibly turn your back?”
Bragg already knew that there were no Indians lurking about, so he nodded shortly. He was thinking that she had probably never been kissed. Well, it sure as hell wasn’t his place to kiss her; it was John’s. But she needed a kiss, a good one. Hell, she wanted one, he was sure of it. He gazed up at the sky, his back to her, and heard her clothes rustling. He froze. She was undressing.
His hearing was keener than any white man’s. He was aware of each item of clothing that she discarded. In fact, he could tell that she had been wearing three petticoats. Then he heard her wade into the pond. What had she left on? Her chemise and a petticoat, he guessed, fighting an urge to look.
“I’m surprised you trust me.” He laughed harshly.
The splashing sounds of her bathing ceased. He strained his ears and could hear her breathing. “My fiancé trusts you,” she said finally.
So innocent, he thought. So goddamn innocent! And John was going to take away her innocence. He wanted to be the one to teach her passion, instead.
The pond wasn’t deep, and he knew she was squatting as she bathed. He heard her rise to a standing position as she said, “Don’t turn.”
He didn’t bother to answer.
Suddenly she cried out and there was a great splash. Bragg was immediately at the edge of the pond. She had slipped, and her head popped out of the water while she sputtered for air. Bragg didn’t smile. He was straining to see if she was okay.
Miranda cried out again. “Oh! Something—something’s in here!” She stood up, and he caught a glimpse of hard nipples through her wet chemise before she fell again, disappearing beneath the water.
Bragg scooped her up in his arms as she choked on the water, carrying her out of the pond and falling to his knees on the grass. “Are you all right? There’s nothing in the pond.”