Who's Riding Red? (7 page)

In the end, it was her grandmother who made the decision of who Phillipa should marry.

After they’d been discovered, her grandmother had handed them all cloaks and ordered them into her carriage for the long ride to Scotland. She’d snuck them all in through the
servants’
entrance under the cover of night and into the bedrooms upstairs as her guests before anyone was the wiser.

It had turned out that Jacob had been a wolf for more than two hundred years, so his name and lands had long since gone to another. Mattius had been a wolf so long he couldn’t remember his life before. That left Richard as the only suitable candidate for marriage. He was the son of an earl, and their son would be a duke, no matter who the legitimate father was.

They were married in her grandmother’s downstairs parlor, since Mattius and Jacob were still nervous about setting foot inside a church. And then the three of them left together for one of her grandmother’s country estates
far away from the prying eyes of curious neighbors and filled with loyal staff who would keep secrets to their graves.

Her grandmother and her servants followed behind their carriage at a discreet distance, planning to take up residence long enough to get the household staff used to a few changes
meaning to make them aware of what they could walk in on at any given time.

“I’d like to be the first to kiss the bride,” Jacob said once they entered Wiltshire Hall, their new home, and the staff had discreetly excused themselves.

“I was wondering when I was going to finally receive some attention,” Phillipa said. “I’ve been terribly neglected.”

“Only because your grandmother refused to let us sneak into your bedchamber,” Jacob answered as he took her into his arms. “It’s been more than a week since I’ve been buried inside you.”

They’d come to an easy agreement once it had been determined that Richard would be her lawful husband. He might be her husband in name, but all three would be her husband in sentiment. They were equals in her heart and in her bed.

“I think we should have a rule as long as we reside in this house,” Phillipa said, unfastening her pale blue overdress and letting it fall to the floor, revealing her ivory skirts. She let the skirts fall as well until she was standing in her chemise and white stockings. She unrolled the stockings and let them drop on the stairs as she made her way up to their bedchamber.

“What rule would that be?” Mattius asked as they all began following behind her, shedding their clothes just as she was along the way.

“I have missed our nakedness since our time at the cottage. I’ve grown quite comfortable in my own skin. I don’t think we should wear clothing while we are at home.”

Phillipa untied the strings at her shoulders and let her chemise drop to the ground, leaving her completely naked. She pulled the pins from her hair and let it fall around her waist, giving her men a come hither look as they stood in the doorway of their bedchamber in various states of undress.

She lay in the center of the bed her grandmother had had built long ago
a bed big enough for all of them to sleep comfortably
the red sheets soft and cool beneath her back. She didn’t know about her grandmother’s past, but she’d been very accepting of their arrangement. She planned on getting to the bottom of things in the coming weeks. She giggled as she saw the manacles bolted to the corners of the bed. Yes, she had many questions to ask her grandmother.

Her men reached her all at once, and the manacles were forgotten. For now. Richard propped her up so she sat against his back while he held her full breasts in his hands. Jacob kissed her sweetly and Mattius knelt between her thighs, taking his first taste of her nectar in days.

It wasn’t long before they found their old rhythm and moans and sighs filled the room. Richard lay flat on the bed and Phillipa sat impaled on his cock, while Richard filled her from behind. Mattius stood in front of her and he thrust into her mouth as she held on to his hips.

Joy filled Phillipa’s soul as she thought of a lifetime of such bliss. Her body and her mind were her own, and this was what she wanted. Her climax took her by surprise and she cried out her release loud enough for the servants in the downstairs parlors to hear.

***

Phillipa’s grandmother watched the foursome through the one-way mirror in her bedroom she’d had built in many years before. They made a striking group, she thought, but they still had many things to learn.

She grabbed the edge of her dressing table as Royce, the wolf she’d rescued for her own at the hidden cottage, bent her over and pushed her skirts up to her waist. He’d had nowhere to go, like many of the others, after he’d made the transition back to being permanently human, and she’d found him strangely compelling as he’d stood naked among the others at the cottage.

He pushed inside of her without much foreplay, making his fit tight and filling her completely. She bit her lip as he took her roughly and clenched her muscles hard enough around his cock to buckle his knees with pleasure.

“Fuck,” he whispered, moving faster inside her.

She watched the group through the mirror as she felt her climax build. Royce’s cock swelled inside her as he began to spurt his release, and it wasn’t until the group in the mirror screamed their own releases that she let herself find her pleasure.

Royce dropped to his knees behind her, a slightly stunned look on his face, and she smiled to herself. Yes, there was so much she could teach all of them.

Texas, 1863

Victoria Marley hated Texas.

In all honesty, she’d hated every place the wagon train had stopped once they’d left Boston. She was a lady
city born and bred
and the thought of living in the country was utterly distasteful.

Her anger festered as she thought of the short missive she’d received from Harold. She wasn’t even married to the man yet. How dare he have the nerve to demand she cross this Godforsaken wilderness so their wedding could take place at his ranch? Her family wouldn’t even be able to attend the ceremony because of his demands.

But here she was, doing just as Harold wanted. Her father had told her she was being unreasonable and childish to ask Harold to take time from his busy schedule and come to Boston for their wedding. Harold was an important
and wealthy
man, and heaven forbid she put the financial security of her entire family at stake just because she wanted to be married in a church that didn’t have sawdust on the floor.

She sighed and closed her eyes to ward off the pitiful images bombarding her mind. There was nothing she could do about it now. She was mere hours from her destination. And Harold. Not that there was anything wrong with Harold. But she’d prefer not to think about him or what the rest of her life married to him would be like.

Nausea roiled in her stomach and she dug her fingers into the edge of her seat as they hit a particularly bumpy stretch of the trail. She’d heard the wagon master saying there hadn’t been rain in weeks. The ground was dry and the trails rutted deeply where previous wagon parties had traveled before. She’d give anything for a chance to get out of the stifling wagon and stretch her legs.

The base of her neck was wet with perspiration and her blonde curls were damp so they clung to her skin like limp stalks of wheat. Sweat trailed down her spine
beneath her corset
which seemed to make the contraption constrict even tighter around her with every breath she took. Despite the vigor with which she used her fan, it was impossible to turn the hot, stagnant air into anything resembling a cool breeze. Texas had to be just on the other side of hell, plain and simple.

She could at least be grateful for Harold’s insistence that she have a wagon all to herself. It wasn’t even a wagon like the others in their party. It was a carriage that had been outfitted with sturdier wheels and padded seats. She couldn’t imagine riding all that way on a hard bench and out in the open sun. She shuddered even at the thought of it.

Harold had been more than happy to take care of the expense of the carriage to assure she wasn’t accosted by other travelers, and he’d paid the wagon master in gold to lead the team of horses and protect her if the need should arise. He’d receive another payment in gold once she reached the station safely.

Victoria had received plenty of looks that made her skin crawl from some of the other passengers
a group of men who were obviously laborers of some kind
but all the wagon master had to do was sit in front of her tent at the night with his rifle in his lap, and the men seemed content enough to leave her alone. There was one other married couple on the long trip, but they didn’t have eyes for anything or anyone but each other.

It was just after noon when the wagons slowed to a stop next to an area thick with scraggly pine trees and somewhat hardier oaks. Even the trees seemed to be somewhat defeated under the blazing heat of the sun.

Victoria waited until the wagon master (his name was Michael, she was almost sure) opened her door and held out a hand to help her down. They’d have a quick lunch in the shade before making the rest of the trip.

“How far are we from the station, Sir?” Victoria asked.

“Bout another twenty miles or so. It
’l
l be dark afore we git there.”

He spat a stream of brown tobacco juice to the side of her feet and walked off to tend to the horses. Victoria cringed and held her fingers lightly to her nose to stifle the smell and moved toward her pack of supplies. The last thing she wanted to do was fill her stomach with anything other than water, but she knew she needed to eat something so she grabbed a couple of apples. The small bucket she used to hold her water was empty, so she’d have to find a way to refill it before they set off again.

Even as she had the thought the wagon master called out, “There’s a crick about a mile southwest through them trees. Drink yer fill. If you drop on me in this heat I’m leavin”
€
™ya behind.” He spat again and turned back to the horses.

Like hell he would, Victoria thought. There was too much gold on the line for him to go very far without her. And Harold would probably kill the wagon master if he dared show up without her at the station in Wilmont.

Victoria sighed and finished her apple, tossing the core into the field for scavengers. She’d never see civilization again. Never wear the latest fashions. She was doomed to live in this terrible existence forever until the sun and dust dried her up like a prune.

Her water bucket was bone dry, so she grabbed it and began the mile trek to the creek. Once she got out of sight from prying eyes, she tied her skirts in a knot between her legs so she could move more swiftly. Her skirts were already wrinkled beyond repair. Harold would be horrified at the sight of her.

Harold always loved that she never had a hair out of place. She was beautiful and young, her skin flawless and her teeth white and straight. Her family had a good reputation and she was educated. All the things Harold needed in a wife. It was very telling that he had to come all the way to Boston to find her. And she’d been powerless to spurn his advances. Her family needed her to marry well. So she’d let Harold take liberties with her that she never would have allowed another man, insuring her position as his wife.

She grimaced as she looked at the dirt smudged on her shoes and the wrinkles in her skirt. Harold wouldn’t be impressed with her if he saw her like this. She wouldn’t be surprised if he sent her all the way back to Boston.

It was much cooler under the shade of the trees, and the gurgle of water could be heard in the distance. Her steps quickened in excitement. There was no reason she couldn’t take a quick bath. It would cool her off and make her a little more presentable when they pulled into the station. It’s not as if the wagon party could leave without her. And it served the wagon master right after he’d had the nerve to threaten to leave her.

The trees went right up to the side of the creek on both sides, and the bank was steep with loose dirt and pine needles. She went down a little farther than she normally would have for privacy’s sake until she came to three white boulders that sat in the middle of the creek. Their size acted as a natural dam so one side of the creek was fairly shallow, but on the other side of the boulders she’d be able to wade in waist deep. And the boulders would keep her hidden.

Victoria untied her lavender bonnet with the deep purple plumes sewn to the brim and tied it carefully around a tree branch to keep it off the ground. She unbuttoned her matching skirt and took it off carefully, shaking it out as best she could before laying it flat on one of the rocks. Her white blouse, with the touch of lace at the collar and petticoats, followed so she was left in her corset and pantaloons. She was tempted to toss the corset into the creek and watch it wash away with the current, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Once the corset and her pantaloons lay beside her clothing, she breathed in deeply and stretched her arms above her head, bringing relief to her sore ribs and worn muscles. Her toe dipped into the creek and she moaned as the cool water lapped at her heated skin, before wading all the way into the water.

She repinned her golden curls, knowing she wouldn’t have time for them to dry before she went back to the others, and sunk down in the water shoulder deep. After doing without so many necessities for the last weeks, it was pure luxury to indulge herself now. She enjoyed the beauty of the sunlight through the trees as it dappled across the water. The branches of the trees waved softly and birds could be heard in the distance.

Too much time had already passed, so with regret, she waded out of the water only to have her solitude interrupted by the breaking of twigs and muted conversation. She quickly dove back in, getting her hair wet at the ends after all, and hid behind the boulders. She pulled her clothes closer to her side so they couldn’t be seen, and peeped through the small crag in the rocks to see who her intruders were.

Victoria breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the familiar faces of the newlyweds who rode in the wagon directly behind her carriage. They’d introduced themselves as Samuel and Caroline Clemons when they’d joined the wagon train in Kentucky, and Victoria found them friendly enough when they could take their eyes off of each other long enough to carry on a conversation.

Caroline was probably two or three years younger than Victoria’s own twenty-one years, and she had the wholesome look of a farmer’s daughter with thick auburn hair and freckles across the bridge of her nose. Samuel was several years older, probably closer to thirty. If he hadn’t told Victoria that they were headed to Texas to stake out farm land, she would have been able to guess it by looking at him. He wasn’t a tall man, but he was broad and muscled across the shoulders and chest from working the fields, and his hands were large and calloused.

They each carried empty buckets and Victoria waited patiently for them to get their water and leave, but Samuel pulled Caroline into his arms and began nuzzling against her neck, making her squirm and giggle against him. Their buckets both fell to the ground, and Samuel tried diligently to slip his hand beneath her skirts while he took her mouth in an open mouthed kiss that had Victoria’s own mouth hanging open in shock.

“Samuel, stop,” Caroline said. “We’ve got to get back to the wagon before they leave us.”

“We’ve got plenty of time, Sugar. You heard him say we couldn’t leave until he repaired one of the wheels. We might be stuck here all night.”

It obviously didn’t take much to convince Caroline, because she kissed Samuel with a ferocious desire that Victoria could feel all the way to her womb. Victoria’s skin pebbled with a combination of cold from standing in the water and the lust curling through her body like smoke. She leaned against the rock to warm herself and kept her gaze locked on the couple. They would be embarrassed if they knew she was watching, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.