I eyed her with fake anger. “Emily!” I cried.
Her grin was infectious, but I was too nervous to return it now. She had the nerve to wink at me as Logan pulled me to the door. “We’ll be even after this, Lizzie, although I doubt your men will let me watch.”
I sputtered as Logan pushed me out onto the back porch.
“Now wife, you feel as if your men have been neglecting you?”
I shook my head and backed up until my bottom hit the porch railing.
I wasn’t afraid of him, for he was grinning amiably. I was afraid of what he was going to do to me right there on Kane’s back porch.
“No, I’m fine.”
Ford appeared from where he’d been, waiting at the breakfast table. He stepped out onto the porch to stand beside Logan.
“It’s been a whole hour since we played with that arse of yours and pulled the plug free,” Logan continued, not sparing Ford a glance. “Perhaps we need to put the next size up in you now, let you think about how well your men take care of you all through breakfast.”
Ford pulled a plug from his shirt pocket and held it up.
“You kept that in your pocket?” I asked incredulously.
He shrugged unabashedly. “We are always ready to take care of you, sweetheart. We want to take you together and you need to be prepared for it. It was only a matter of time before we pulled you aside to fill you up again.”
Ford turned around and reached into the kitchen to grab a jar from a shelf on the wall. It was the same slick ointment they’d used on me in the cabin the night before. Kane and Ian kept it on the kitchen shelf? Out in the open?
“Face the railing, lift your skirts and bend over. If you’re a good girl, we’ll fuck you after breakfast.”
“Everyone in the dining room will know!” I shouted, then bit my lip.
“Sweetheart, they already know your husbands are taking care of you. You might as well get some pleasure out of it.”
Both waited patiently and watched me, their dark brows raised in the same questioning look. Would I obey them or defy them? Would I accept their pleasure? Would I accept them?
I took a deep breath, then another, then turned around and began to lift the hem of my dress. With my ass on display, I kept my eyes closed as my men first added the slick lubricant to my back entrance, working plenty of it deep inside me before working the bigger plug in. I tried to conjure up the old feelings of humiliation and guilt, but I simply could not find the shame or self-loathing I once wore like an old familiar coat. Submitting to their touch gave my men pleasure. I gave them pleasure, and I refused to feel bad about that.
And they were my men. I might not be legally married to them, but they were mine. A darkly possessive beast rose to the surface as I felt them play with my ass. I started to pant through their ministrations, my fingers gripping the railing. They were mine, not in the eyes of the law, but in their eyes and mine, and as far as I was concerned, we were the only people who counted.
Perhaps I’d get lucky, and simply never see Mr. Jenkins again as long as I lived. That would be a fine solution, and this ranch was several days’ ride from Hayes. I would keep my new husbands, and no one would ever have to know the truth.
As I sat through breakfast with Ford on my right, Logan on my left, and a very large reminder of their claim on both my heart and my body deep in my bottom, I accepted the truth. I had fallen in love with my husbands, and if I had to lie to keep them, I would. Forever.
Chapter Eleven
Logan
A busy week passed and we quickly learned how much land Bridgewater had. With fall approaching, we had to bring the herd in from distant grazing land, repair fences, prepare for the harvest of wheat and hay. Closer to the houses, the large garden was producing vegetables and fruit that needed to be canned. Everyone was busy. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to become an American cowboy. Growing up in Manchester, I lived two lives, one of relative comfort and safety while my father was alive. I’d been a merchant’s son, going to school. I’d learned reading and my maths, and felt like the world was full of wondrous possibilities. Then my father died, and my mother was left destitute. We lost our home and I took to the streets to try to steal enough food to keep us both alive.
She died after a few years. I was too old to go back to school, and too dirty to do much else. I sold my mother’s wedding band to buy my conscription into the military. Mohamir’s way of life seemed so much smarter, safer, and saner than the suffering I’d seen on the streets.
Now I finally had my bride, but she was holding back. I could sense it. Ford knew it, too, but we couldn’t figure out how to make Lizzie open up. We fucked her senseless, cared for her and kept her safe. Spanking her could force her to share her problems, but she liked it too much. Besides, we wanted her to learn she could come to us.
Ford advised patience, but that was such a nobleman’s game. He’d played the political game at court, learning at the feet of one of the greatest manipulators of all time, his father, the marquess.
However, his father also donated his seed to several mistresses, producing a string of bastard sons eager to see Ford dead. After the third attempt on his life, Ford had told his father to sod off and joined the military.
There was no going back, not for either of us. Nor did we want to. The wide open prairie was amazing and different, the mountains in the distance the biggest things I’d ever seen. Nothing compared to the sunsets in the territory, not even the desert glow in Mohamir. It was an incredible feeling to know that after such a long journey, so many miles, that we were finally home. Home with Lizzie.
She, too, seemed to thrive at Bridgewater. Her struggles with her bloody uncle’s verbal abuse had taken a harsh toll, but Ford and I were working with her on it. While she always loved how we fucked her, she was becoming more relaxed about it, even joking and teasing the other women about how we Bridgewater men were primitive, cave-dwelling creatures who did nothing more than throw our women over our shoulders and fuck them like mindless animals.
I had to admit, when I had Lizzie naked and spread open before me, her pussy glistening with proof of her desire, and the world please on her lips… aye, I was a bit of a caveman then.
She was passionate in bed play, she did behave like a wanton. She did like to watch others fucking. She had a wild creature inside her as well, one that loved it when I fucked her hard and deep, one that loved the strong pull of a man’s mouth on her clit. At our first touch, her body melted with desire, in complete submission to our needs. That made her perfect for us.
Ford had dragged her into the tack room and fucked her up against the wall. She’d learned to suck cock by the edge of the creek, her knees in the soft grass. She’d taken the larger and larger plugs in her ass, knowing we’d soon claim her together. Each and every time we ensured she came at least once, often twice.
When we weren’t fucking her, we were working. This morning, Lizzie was in the barn, learning how to tend to a new foal born the night before. Ford and I were moving a small herd of twenty head of cattle up to the main pasture behind the house when Emma ran out to the fence, little Christopher in her arms. She looked upset, and I kicked my horse in the sides to get the ornery stallion to move a bit faster. I pulled up on the reins, hard, and the horse’s sides brushed the sides of the fence a few feet from where she stood.
Emma waited for Ford to join us seconds later, then surprised us both.
“The sheriff’s here and he’s asking for Lizzie.”
Elizabeth
“Don’t worry, Lizzie. You’ve done nothing wrong, so there’s nothing to fear,” Logan murmured, guiding me toward Kane and Ian’s house with a hand at the small of my back.
I felt as if I would vomit. I knew why he was here. He was here to take me to Mr. Jenkins, my true husband, the man to whom I was actually married. The wedding to Ford, while it had been in a church, couldn’t be legal since I was already wed to another at the time I took my vows. I’d been living in
the worst sort of sin ever since. Both Ford and Logan had been correct. My uncle’s words were untrue. I wasn’t tainted. I was passionate and loved what they did to me, even when they put those dreaded plugs in my bottom. I knew it was for my own good, for they’d soon fuck me together. No, not any longer. I’d be leaving with the sheriff and returning to Hayes.
A lump of fear lodged in my throat and I couldn’t respond to Logan’s reassuring words. Ford came running from the barn along with Ian and Brody.
When he walked alongside of us, he removed his hat and wiped his brow. “What’s this about the sheriff?” he asked. His sleeves on his shirt were rolled up, showing off his corded muscles. His blunt fingers gently held his hat, just as he’d used them to touch me in such wonderful, remarkable ways. No longer.
“Don’t know,” Logan replied. He opened the front door and we walked through the house to the kitchen where we heard voices. This was the moment I’d been dreading, when the men—everyone—would learn the truth.
The sheriff was a large man, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. He had white hair that had thinned and his pale scalp glistened. He was smiling at something Emma was telling him as he held a cup of steaming coffee.
The smells of breakfast lingered and it only added to my nausea.
When we entered, the sheriff stood.
“Brody, good to see you. How’s Laurel?” he asked. It seemed the sheriff was familiar and relaxed with those at Bridgewater.
“Well, thank you.”
“Her father and Mr. Palmer were quite the duo, but I’m glad you prevailed.”
I didn’t know about what he spoke, but it sounded as if it had to do with Laurel, his wife with Mason.
“Thank you,” Brody offered.
The sheriff turned to me then, pleasantries out of the way and looked me over in a professional way. “Ma’am,” he said. “I assume you are Elizabeth Lewis?”
I could only nod. Gripping my hands together, I tried to hide the fact that they were shaking.
“You’re scaring our bride, sheriff,” Logan said, pulling me into his side and kissing my temple. I closed my eyes at the gentle touch.
“I don’t mean anything of the sort. I’ll get to the point of my visit.” His eyes shifted from Logan to me. “I have been asked to find a missing woman, one Elizabeth Lewis, who was supposed to arrive in Hayes via the stage from Omaha.”
“That’s Lizzie.”
The sheriff glanced at Ford when he answered for me, then back at me.
“There’s a Mr. Samuel Jenkins who is concerned about you. Says he paid your fare from Omaha and has no bride to show for it.”
I bit my lip and looked at the floor.
“That’s no fault of hers, sheriff,” Ford said. “Have you met Jenkins?”
“Can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure,” he replied. “I received a telegram from the sheriff in Hayes about the matter.”
“The man’s a bloody bastard, ready to share Lizzie with his two grown sons.”
The sheriff’s eyebrows went up as he clenched his jaw.
“We saved her from him and Ford here—” Logan tilted his head in Ford’s direction, “—married Lizzie in the Hayes church.”
“Legally?”
Ford nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“No, you didn’t.” The words fell from my mouth; the guilt and pressure at keeping them in was too much.
Everyone looked to me. Emma gasped. Brody crossed his arms over his chest. Logan and Ford stared at me wide-eyed.
“Explain, ma’am.”
I couldn’t look at them any longer and glanced down at the wood floor. “I have a proxy marriage with Mr. Jenkins. It was completed in Omaha the morning I left. When Ford married me, he was pretending to be Jenkins. I would have refused him otherwise.”
I paused then, but didn’t lift my head. All was quiet in the house and they were all waiting for me.
“I didn’t realize I was married to someone other than Mr. Jenkins until Ford told me the truth about who he was—after we were married. I never meant to commit bigamy.”
Logan forced my chin up. “You’ve been keeping this secret all this time?”
He became blurry when tears filled my eyes. I could only nod the slightest bit. “I was afraid to get rid of it. It’s a legal document. I wasn’t sure what would happen to me. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Where’s this proxy letter now?” the sheriff asked.
I couldn’t turn my head to look at him, but said, “In my bag. Buried at the bottom.”
“I’d like to see it, please.”
Brody responded. “I’ll go.”
I heard his footsteps down the hall, then the door close behind him.
I had no idea how long it took for him to return. Five, ten minutes perhaps, but they were the longest of my life. Logan released my chin and began pacing. Ford looked at me, but his gaze wasn’t filled with any of the warmth to which I was accustomed. Emma offered me a small smile, but when a baby’s cries came from overhead, she excused herself and went upstairs to tend to Ellie.
The sheriff thankfully remained silent and drank his coffee.
When the front door opened once again, I jumped. Brody returned and handed the slip of paper to the sheriff. He unfolded it and took his time reading it. There wasn’t much, a simple document with a seal that married me to Mr. Samuel Jenkins.
When finished, the sheriff looked at me. “Tell me, ma’am. Who do you want for a husband? Ford here?” He flicked his gaze to Ford. “Or Mr. Jenkins?”
I licked my lips and looked at both my men. “I want Ford.” There was no hesitation. I wanted him. I wanted Logan. “That’s just a piece of paper. A paper that means I’m legally tied to another, but it doesn’t show what I feel for Ford. I consider him my husband.”
“All right then.”
I whipped my head about and frowned at the sheriff.
He took another sip of his coffee. “You see, ma’am, this proxy letter is for your own good. When a woman travels across the country to marry a stranger, a proxy letter protects her from a man changing his mind. There’s nothing worse—and I’ve seen a few—than a woman arriving on the stage and her intended takes one look at her and changes his mind. She has no money, no way to return home. She’s stranded and destitute and often forced to work in less than savory of conditions.”
I understood what he was saying. The idea of being rejected had crossed my mind the entire ride from Omaha.
The sheriff shrugged. “I’ve seen a dozen just like this. A judge in these parts will force the marriage, but only at the woman’s insistence. I would bet fifty dollars Mr. Jenkins knows nothing of this paper.”
My eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?” I whispered.
“He told me to find a woman named Elizabeth Lewis, not his wife. He doesn’t know you were married by proxy. All he knows is you didn’t show up when you were supposed to, and this bunch…” the sheriff pointed at Logan, Ford and other men in the room, “…was passing through town and he saw them with some pretty ladies.”
“I don’t understand.” My heart beat too fast, like a hummingbird and I couldn’t process what the sheriff was saying. It was too good to be true. “What does that mean?”
“Do you want Ford?” he asked, instead of answering my question.
“Yes,” I replied, tilting my chin up.
The sheriff smiled and handed the document back to me. “As a man sworn to uphold the letter of the law, I can’t do anything about your predicament. You, however, have the power to solve this problem yourself.”
Confused, I reached out and accepted the marriage document, staring at the sheriff like he’d grown two heads. “I don’t understand.”
With a twinkle in his eye, he walked over to the side of the room where a small log fire burned low on the grate, just enough to keep the morning chill out of the room. His gaze lingered on the fire, moved to the letter in my hands, and then rose to meet my startled gaze, his eyebrow raised as if I sho
uld be able to read his mind.
The fire crackled and popped, a log breaking in two as embers flew into the air in a spray of glowing orange sparks. My mouth fell open as I realized what he was telling me. If Mr. Jenkins didn’t know the proxy letter existed, then this very fragile, very flammable piece of paper in my hand was the only evidence, anywhere, that I had signed my name and agreed to accept him as my husband. If what the sheriff said was true, there would be no record at all, not in any township or courthouse, not in a single church or law office.
“Unless Mr. Jenkins decides to take a gander at the church ledger in town, which, based on what I’ve been told about him, will never happen, he’ll never know you arrived in Hayes at all, let alone married someone else.” The sheriff cleared his throat and stepped back, away from the fireplace, giving me plenty of room to get closer.
“Even if he did head into that church, Lizzie is mine,” Ford added, his eyes holding mine in a stare I’d come to recognize, the gaze he used when he was making me a promise. As I’d learned over the last few days, when he made his wife a vow, he kept his word. Ford spoke loud enough for everyone in the room to hear him, but I knew he was only speaking to me. “Jenkins can scream all he likes, but I signed my full, legal name in that church ledger. Lizzie is my wife in the eyes of God and the church. And I’m not going to give her up.”
I crumbled the marriage paper between my palms, rolling it into a nice ball as the sheriff crossed his arms over his chest with a grin. “What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. I believe those are the proper words.”
I smiled, too, the force of it stretching my cheeks until they stung as I took three steps and tossed the marriage document onto the fire. As the edges turned back and curled in on themselves, I watched with an intensity I could barely contain. I needed that paper to burn, to become the smallest flakes of ash scattered like dust under the flames.
Logan knelt down next to the grate with a hint of mischief in his eyes and blew softly until the paper caught fire, burning hot and fast until it was completely engulfed in dancing orange and gold flames.
Their Conquered Bride Page 10