Their Treasured Bride

Their Treasured Bride

By Vanessa Vale

©
2015 Vanessa Vale

All rights reserved.

No part of the book may be reproduced
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

Cover Design: RomCon - www.romcon.com

Cover Photo:
Period Images; fotolia.com- Outdoorsman

Rebecca
Montgomery never expected to leave London and go to the American
West, but this was how her brother saves her an impending marriage of
convenience. She also never expected her brother to marry her by
proxy to a trusted friend before dying on the journey. She quickly
discovers that the Montana territory is a far cry from England, and
so are the expectations of a wife at Bridgewater Ranch, for she's
married not just to Dashiell, but also to his friend and fellow Scot,
Connor MacDonald.

Dashiell
McPherson never expected to find himself wed to a woman he's never
met, especially not a prim lady raised to believe her sexuality is
something to be repressed rather than enjoyed. Can an inhibited woman
accept not just one but two husbands? It will take ample Scottish
brash, a fair amount of brawn and plenty of carnal persuasion to free
Rebecca of her inhibitions and show her how treasured she is.

THEIR TREASURED BRIDE

A Bridgewater M
é
nage

CHAPTER ONE

REBECCA

The journey had been long. If I were to pen a letter to a dear
relative, it is what I would write. One never complained or shared
discomfort, especially when the missive would not arrive for months.
Based on the disaster and ensuring delay, a letter would have arrived
in the Montana Territory faster than I. Ever since Chicago, I had
ridden alone, no chaperone. It would have been best if I had one, but
there was no one I knew who wished to venture into the wilds and
unsettled land of the Indians. I didn't wish to venture there either,
but the choice was not mine to make. And so I rode up on a borrowed
horse to not be greeted by my husband, but a ranch hand. He'd
directed me to the largest of houses dotted across the almost
treeless landscape.

This time, when I slowed my horse, I was greeted not by one man, but
many. I had no idea which belonged to me or—more accurately—which
one to whom
I
belonged. Several had dark hair, some had fair,
another had the coloring of ginger, yet all were large, well muscled
and decidedly handsome. These were not the usual men who moved within
my father's circles in the London elite. They were direct in their
gazes, powerful in their stances and looked as if they
lived
life
instead of watching it from the outer fringes. These men got their
hands dirty instead of paying someone to do it for them. This made
them formidable and quite daunting, as I had not been taught how to
handle such dominance. One of these men was my husband? My gaze
shifted from one to the next, but no one stepped forward as if
expecting me. Perhaps I had travelled faster than a letter after all.

One man descended the steps from the porch and approached. "Good
afternoon."

"Good afternoon," I replied with a slight nod of my head.

Four women, with curious yet engaging smiles, joined the men on the
porch.

"Welcome to Bridgewater. I'm Kane," the man said.

I nodded once again and clenched the reins in a tight grip, hopefully
my only outward sign of nervousness.
This
was the moment, the
moment I'd been anticipating for three months, and I was terribly
nervous. I couldn't be shipped back to England, for I was legally
bound to one of the men in this group. Surely, he wouldn't reject me
and send me home in disgrace? Could he? I was to live here, in a land
so foreign from my own, and in this moment, I couldn't decide which
fate was worse.

"Mr. Kane, I am Rebecca Montgomery. I am here to meet Mr.
McPherson."

At my pronouncement, two men stepped forward. Both were fair-haired
and of similar appearance for it to be obvious they were related,
although one was slightly taller, slightly broader, slightly more
intimidating and he set my heart aflutter. It could have been because
he stared at me in such a way that had me thinking he could see all
the way to my soul. While the look was intense, I felt as if his
interest was solely on me. If a gun went off, I doubted he would
blink.

"Which McPherson are ye seeking, lass?" This was from the
shorter of the two men, his voice was deep and clear and amused. His
question had me tearing my gaze away from the other.

I swallowed, for it seemed my husband was one of these two.

"Mr. Dashiell McPherson."

"What would ye be wantin' with him?" the brawny one asked.
The sound of his thick Scottish brogue had goose flesh rising on my
arms and I wasn't even cold.

I looked in his pale eyes, ignoring everyone else, and licked my lips
as I tilted my chin up a notch. "He is my husband."

Both men's brows went up at my words, clearly surprised by the
statement.

"And how have you become wed?" Mr. Kane asked from my side.
He, too, was curious, as were the women who were whispering to each
other. Besides a surprised look or two, the men were more reserved in
their emotions. Had a woman come claiming to be a bride before?

"It was seen to by my brother, Cecil Montgomery."

"Ah yes, Montgomery. A verra good officer," the shorter Mr.
McPherson replied, stepping back. "While ye are quite fetching,
I have claimed a wife already." A lovely woman with dark hair
came down the steps to join him. Clearly, she was his wife and making
that known. He wrapped his arm about her waist and kissed her on the
forehead, but he gave me a wink.

"That leaves me, lass." I turned to look at the man who
made my heart beat quickly. "I am Dashiell McPherson."
While the married McPherson was quite attractive, it was the one
before me now who had my breath quickening, my palms sweating beneath
my gloves and butterflies taking flight in my belly. His hair was a
dark blonde, cut short on the sides and longer on the top where it
fell over his forehead. His piercing ice blue eyes held mine, and I
felt like a bug pinned to a tray. "Perhaps ye can explain
yerself, for I most certainly would have remembered a wedding night
with ye."

DASH

I hadna expected to become a married man over lunch. This woman was
no small slip of a thing. She sat as if she had a fence post for a
spine. Her dress a dark green that set off her dark hair, and with
her pale skin and lush curves, she was verra fetching. Bah, she was
beautiful. It was her eyes though, even beneath the wide brim of her
hat, that spoke words she didna. She was afraid, yet the resolute
tilt of her chin belied her bravery to ride up and claim a groom. Her
accent was of a well-educated, highborn Englishwoman.

At my more crudeness, her only outward reaction was a slight
narrowing of her eyes.

"Where is your brother?" We all liked the man well enough
to write and invite him to join us here at Bridgewater. He hadna been
part of our commanding officer's deceitful and deadly acts, and had
been able to return to England and his life without being stripped of
rank or of character. We'd hoped he would join us and it appeared he
was following through with that very intention, but we didna know he
would bring a sister along.

Her chin tipped up even further. "He is dead." Her words
were clear and did nae hold a hint of mourning.

Montgomery was dead? She was much younger than her brother, perhaps
by fifteen years or more, and hadna been mentioned during our time in
Mohamir. She would have been a child then. Perhaps from a second
marriage for one of his parents and tucked safely away in the
nursery? "Ah lass, ye came all this way on your own?"

The verra idea set my teeth on edge.

"Not the entire journey." She shook her head. "He died
in Chicago."

"How?"

"He fell from his horse. It was nothing, at first," she
explained. "He laughed it off as he was not one to be injured
upon a horse. A day later, he became feverish and unwell. The signs
of some internal damage were obvious and he knew of his demise."

She looked down at her gloved hands holding the reins, and then
lifted her gaze to mine.

"We were not close, but he felt some protectiveness toward me,
for he'd taken me from England with him. Once he knew he was dying,
he didn't wish to leave me alone without some kind of security,
therefore in the short time he had remaining, he wed me to you. A
proxy marriage."

"And you consented?"

"My...my choices were limited," she replied.

Limited, or none at all?

"Did you have a chaperone for the remainder of the journey?"

She looked as if I'd questioned whether the sun set in the west. "Of
course I had a chaperone. Mrs. Tisdale—a woman from
Chicago—escorted me the length of the journey until we descended
the stage in town. She would have joined me for the final leg to
Bridgewater Ranch, but she didn't wish to remain in such a barren
environment and was on the stage east at dawn this morning."

Observing the vast expanse of land that was part of Bridgewater as
far as the eye could see, the woman's reasoning was valid. It
was
barren. It was one of the reasons the location was chosen by my
regimental friends who settled the land originally—it's remoteness.
That was fine for the group of us wishing to remain hidden, but it
wasna for everyone. "She was told there would not be another
stage for nearly a week and had no intention of missing it."

I could see the woman all but running after the stage to take her
away from here. City folk didna last long in the Montana Territory.
As for Miss Montgomery—no, it seemed she was Mrs. McPherson
now—time would only tell if she'd be able to live in such a foreign
land. Her voice had the clipped accent of a well-educated English
lady. The way she kept her voice even and almost demure validated
that guess. Society life in London was as different to Montana as was
chalk and cheese.

"Ye didna wish to return with her?"

She sniffed. "I am not as skittish as Mrs. Tisdale."

Skittish, yes, but also verra brave.

Reaching into the folds of her skirt, she pulled out a folded piece
of paper and held it out. "Here."

I stepped closer and took it from her small hand. She was so prim and
formal that she carefully kept her fingers from brushing mine even
though they were safely covered by kid gloves.

I unfolded the paper and read it. It was indeed a marriage license
and it looked official. Folded with it was another, smaller piece of
paper.

It was not my intention to die from a fall from a horse! Being in
a foreign land and leaving Rebecca alone, I can think of no other way
to protect her than by joining her to you. Returning to England is
not a consideration, and it is my belief you will treat her well and
with honor. While I long to see the vast Montana Territory for which
you wrote, it allows me peace in my final moments to know you will
protect her with your life. My sister, willful and sheltered,
requires a marriage based on Mohamiran tradition and values found at
Bridgewater. I have faith you will see this done.

Your friend,

C. Montgomery

I was married.

When I refolded the letter, I glanced at her. Her expression was
controlled and very reserved and
very
English. I'd think she'd
be stiff from riding the distance from town. I'd even think her to be
wary of so many new faces, but she offered none of her emotions. It
was a decidedly British trait, especially of women who were to be an
adornment to a spouse and nothing more. If I asked her to her well
being, she would, most likely, only provide a passing comment that
deflected attention away from her. It was a sign to the type of
upbringing she'd had and completely
nae
the kind of woman I
would have sought out for a bride.

She would learn that hiding her emotions was nae required, nor
wanted. "Unless ye plan to flee now that ye've seen me, let me
help ye down."

As she rode sidesaddle, she took my hand long enough to shift her leg
over the pommel as I stepped forward and gripped her waist to lower
her to her feet. She was lush beneath my hands, her waist narrow by
means of a very stiff corset, but I could feel her full hips against
my fingers. While she was nay heavy, she wasna a waif either. In
fact, she was a perfect handful for a man of my size—and Connor's.