The Bride

“Looks about your size, ma’am,” he said nicely. “Would you like to try it on?”

Isabella shook her head, and held out her hand for the dress. Without argument, the storekeeper gave it to her and she held it up before herself, holding the waist against her middle and looking down to gauge the size.

“This one will do,” she said quietly. “It may be a bit large, but that’s all right.”

“Let’s see another in the same size,” Rafael said sharply. “She’ll need more than one dress.”

Without pause, the storekeeper brought out another dress, this one made of medium green fabric, with flowers scattered across the skirt and bodice alike. It had short sleeves and a full skirt, and Isabella nodded to Rafael, agreeing to its purchase.

He motioned toward Manuel. “Wait over there, please, Isabella,” he instructed her, nudging her in the direction he’d chosen.

Without pause, he drew a leather purse from his pocket and paid what the shopkeeper asked, speaking quietly as he watched the man fold the two dresses neatly and wrap them in a length of brown paper. Without pause, the storekeeper reached for another glass bin and slipped a garment from it, stowing it between the dresses before he tied the bundle with a bit of string.

“Now, food for our travel, if you please,” Rafael said, pointing at a large round of cheese on the counter. “Give us three pounds of the cheese and some of the smoked sausage in that glass jar. A couple of pounds will do.” He looked around at the food displayed on the countertop and motioned toward loaves of bread. “Three loaves of bread and that box of cookies next to the bread.”

“Mrs. Hancock bakes the cookies for us twice a week. Mighty good cook, that Mrs. Hancock,” the storekeeper said cheerfully. “Anything else, sir?” He finished wrapping the bread and tied the bundle off neatly. The cheese was wrapped in a bit of cheesecloth and then in a towel, and the sausage was put into a metal tin.

“Coffee,” Rafael said briefly. “A pound or so.”

He watched as the man measured out the ground coffee into a white cotton bag and tied the neck with a string.

“That’ll do,” Rafael said, paying again from his leather pouch.

From across the room where she waited with Manuel, Isabella shifted and tugged to free her arm from the other man’s grip. He looked down at her with a glance of warning, and as if Rafael saw and deciphered the small altercation he called out to her. “Did you want something else, sweet?”

She ceased her struggle and shook her head. “Just something to drink. I’m thirsty.”

“I’ve got sarsaparilla in bottles,” the storekeeper said helpfully. “Maybe the lady would like that.”

Rafael looked across at Isabella and she nodded. In moments, he’d offered it to her and she held the brown bottle in her hand, her brow furrowed with puzzlement. Smiling with understanding, Rafael took it from her and lifted the cap with a twist, then handed it back. She drank from the bottle—obviously something to which she was unaccustomed—and her tongue licked the final drops from her lower lip.

“Should have put it into a glass for you,” Rafael whispered in her ear, bending over to take the bottle from her and lifting it to his mouth for a swallow. “We’ll share,” he said softly, and his eyes sparkled with mischief as he drank from the place where her lips had so recently touched.

Isabella reached for the package with her dresses inside and Manuel was there before her, lifting it gently from her hands with a murmured suggestion. “May I carry it for you, señorita?” Without awaiting a reply, he held it and turned to the doors of the general store, picking up a second package before he left the counter. A second man took the rest of the purchases and together they left the store.

“Anything else you’d like?” Rafael asked her quietly, his hand still firm on her arm. He stepped away from the counter for privacy’s sake and turned her to face him. “Don’t make any mistakes at this point, Isabella. We’ll leave quietly if you don’t need anything else. Don’t make me draw my gun against the shopkeeper.”

She slanted him a look of scorn. “I don’t doubt you’ll do it,” she said bitterly. And then she looked down at the floor. “I need nothing else.”

“We’ll take our leave, sir,” Rafael said, turning Isabella to the door and pacing her steps as she walked beside him.

Behind him, the man uttered a casual word of farewell, and they left the store, heading quickly toward their horses. Beside the tall horse Rafael rode, Isabella came to a halt. “Can I ride behind you?” she asked quietly.

“You don’t want me to hold you in my arms?” Rafael asked, his voice teasing, his eyes gleaming as he surveyed her form.

She felt limp, weary from the riding, yet the thought of his strong arms holding her fast before him made her hesitate. “Does it matter what I want?” she asked bitterly. “I didn’t think I had any choice in this whole thing.”

He nodded, considering her bowed head. If the woman thought he was going to let her ride behind him when holding her on his lap had provided the only distraction on this whole ride, she was mistaken. “I’ll keep you where I can see you, Isabella,” he said, not releasing her arm until Manuel came to their side.

As Rafael mounted, Manuel took Isabella’s waist between his hands, and in a moment had lifted her up, placing her carefully, gently, on the solid width of Rafael’s thighs.

As she settled into a comfortable position, Rafael’s relief was great. For had she begun shifting and twisting on his lap again, he might have suffered as he had earlier, his manhood pressing against the restriction of his trousers, her every move against him an agony in frustration.

He wrapped one long arm around her waist as they backed from the hitching rail and she held herself stiffly in his embrace. “Let go, Isabella,” he whispered against her ear. “I won’t hurt you, I’m just holding you close, lest you fall from the horse.”

Her shoulders eased their stiffness and she leaned back a bit, her head next to his shoulder. He caught a waft of her scent, a clean, fresh aroma that told him she was a woman who valued herself, who kept her body clean and her hair washed frequently. Not for Isabella the slovenly habits of so many women, those who were careless with their bodies. She might be wearing clothing that showed the results of hard travel, but beneath the rough, homespun dress she wore was a body that had not gone more than a day without a thorough cleansing.

A woman fit to rule the home waiting to welcome her, where the servants would greet her with smiles and respect, for he would allow no other option. As his bride, Isabella would be the mistress of Diamond Ranch, and due the honor owed her as Rafael’s wife.

THEY HALTED FOR FOOD shortly after the sun hit the sky directly overhead, and Isabella staggered as she was lowered from the horse. Rafael dismounted quickly, reaching for her. “Are you all right?” he asked, his frown showing a concern she hadn’t expected. He held her loosely, but seemed to fear her balance if he should turn her free of his touch.

“I need to find a private place, please,” she whispered, fearful of the other men hearing her request. She felt the heat of embarrassment creep up her cheeks as Rafael looked down at her and she dropped her head.

“I’ll take you into the trees,” he said quietly, handing his reins to Manuel and turning her toward the grove of trees where they had halted. The other men spread a blanket on the ground and made haste to open the food they’d purchased, ignoring Isabella and Rafael as they went a short way past the tree line.

A tall willow tree stood near a small stream and Rafael took her in that direction, ducking his head to step beneath the drooping branches. “This will offer privacy enough, I think,” he said. “I’ll be over there, Isabella, but I’ll turn away.”

She looked around at the verdant area, where willow branches trailed to the ground all around the big tree. “Thank you.” Then, waiting until he passed again through the sheltering branches that surrounded her, she watched until he paced to a nearby patch of bushes and turned aside.

In moments she had relieved her distress and rearranged her clothing, just as he spoke her name. She looked up, sighting him through the branches, and headed to where he waited. “I’m finished,” she said quietly. “Is there any water I can use to wash my face and hands?”

“The stream looks to be clean, or else you can use water from the canteen.” She motioned quickly at the flowing stream before them and he released her hand, allowing her to kneel at its banks. She splashed water over her hands and arms, washed her face and dampened her hair before she rose again.

He led her back to the place where the men had settled down to partake of the food. They’d left a good portion of the blanket empty for her use and she nodded at them as she sat down, arranging her skirt around herself. From his horse, Rafael brought a canteen of water, offering it to her. She drank deeply, the water relatively cool and fresh from this morning’s pumping.

She looked up to find Rafael’s gaze on her, his eyes half-shuttered, his nostrils flaring. Water dripped from her lower lip to her bodice and she lifted a hand to wipe at it, unable to take her eyes from his.

“Let me have it,” he said, taking the canteen from her and lifting it to his lips, his eyes never leaving her face, as if he would imprint upon her the pleasure he found in her taste on the metal container. He stood, hanging it on a branch, then settled beside her, lifting a piece of cheese cut from the wedge they’d purchased. The bread had been sliced by one of the men, the slices ragged and thick, but welcome.

Rafael lifted the towel holding the bread and Isabella took a piece, inhaling the fragrance as she took a bite. “She must have baked this today, probably this morning,” she said. The piece of cheese Rafael had chosen was placed in her hand and he added a length of the sausage before he settled beside her.

“Eat well, Isabella. We’ll not stop again until nightfall.” His eyes scanned her face and he smiled gently. “I hope the food will not overtax your stomach. I want you to hold it down this time.”

With his warning ringing in her ears, she ate the cheese, then wrapped the bread around the sausage and took a bite. From his saddlebag, Rafael had brought forth another bottle of sarsaparilla, and offered it to her, removing the cap first. She drank deeply, then handed it back to him. The other men had already raided their own saddlebags and were enjoying the cool drink, their attention on their food, their eyes carefully focused on all else but the woman who shared their blanket.

Rafael wrapped four cookies from his stash in a bit of the cheesecloth and handed them to Isabella. “You’re in charge of these. We’ll eat them as we ride, a bit later on.”

She tucked them into the front of her dress where they would not be crushed or dropped from the horse, and nodded her agreement.

“Do you want to change into one of your new dresses?” Rafael asked as he pushed himself to his feet. “We can wait until you change, if you like.”

“No. I’d rather wait until I can wash up well. There’s no sense in wearing clean clothing on a dirty body.” It was something that had been drummed into her in the convent, where she had bathed daily, then donned clean clothing every morning. The nuns were clean, their habits healthy, and she had enjoyed what sparse pleasure she gained in the bath she took every evening.

“Your body is far from dirty,” Rafael said, bending to speak in her ear, lest any of the men should hear him.

He was rewarded by a smile from her soft lips and he felt a shaft of pure desire touch him from the top of his head to his toes. The knowledge that he would soon own her as his wife, that her body would be his, gave him a pleasure beyond description and he bent a look of possession upon her.

Her eyes widened and she spoke but a single word, yet it was readily understood. “What?”

That she had caught his look and deciphered it accurately was no surprise to him. Isabella was a woman of intelligence, and it wouldn’t take an inordinate amount of that quality to figure out that he was claiming her as his own, and his eyes were merely registering the fact.

She stood, brushing crumbs from her skirt, and waited for him to mount the black horse he rode. The men folded the blanket and gathered the remains of the food, wrapping it and settling it into a saddlebag, where it would be handy when they stopped again.

Manuel stood beside her, a silent figure of a man, as if he knew his assignment was to watch over her and keep her where she belonged while Rafael made ready for riding. Once her captor had settled himself in the saddle, she was again lifted and placed across his lap, his hands pulling her dress to cover her legs. But the breeze thwarted his intentions, blowing the fabric aside, revealing her calves and ankles. The soft slippers she’d donned upon leaving the convent were wearing fast, their fabric better suited to the hallways and chapel of the convent than the rough country they traveled through.

“We’ll get you some decent shoes as soon as we get to Diamond Ranch,” Rafael said, looking down at the thin covering she wore on her feet. “You’ll have bruises on your feet from walking on stones and harsh ground.”

“I’ve been bruised before,” she said tautly, only too aware of his gaze resting on her feet and legs. His hand reached to smooth the fabric of her dress over her legs and she flinched from his touch.

“Do you fear me?” he asked quietly, as if the gathering of herself as his fingers measured her legs beneath the homespun fabric had bothered him. “Don’t draw away from me, Isabella. I have no intention of hurting you. All you must do is cooperate and do as I say. We’ll live through this long ride, and you’ll have a soft bed to rest in tomorrow night. I don’t want you to suffer because of me.”

“I don’t fear you, Mr. McKenzie. Only what you will do to me when we reach your home.”

He looked puzzled at that, she thought, for his forehead puckered a bit and he looked down at her with a question in his eyes. “What do you think I’ll do to you? Beat you or treat you badly?”

She bit at her lip, not wanting to answer his query, yet unwilling to back down from this encounter. “I fear you taking me to your bed.”

The words lay between them, the color leaving her cheeks as she spoke, his own eyes seeming to become warm and searching as he sought out her face, one hand tilting her chin upward, the easier for him to look into her eyes. “I’ll not hurt you, Isabella. I’ll marry you before I touch you, before I make you my wife. Has no one ever spoken to you of this?”

She laughed bitterly and opened her eyes fully, the better to see his puzzled look as she spoke taunting words. “And who would speak to me? Perhaps Sister Agnes Mary? Or the Mother Superior? Should they have told me what they have experienced of marriage and the taking of a woman’s innocence at the hands of a man?”

“You know nothing of being a wife, do you?” He seemed to be bothered by this, she thought, as if he wished for some woman of great wisdom to properly tutor his bride-to-be.

“Nothing.” The single word was spoken in a hushed manner, and Rafael looked down at the girl he held. Old enough already to be wed and perhaps more than old enough to have already borne children, she seemed today to be but a child herself. A creature of innocence, of purity, not meant for the marriage bed. And yet, she was far from what he’d expected a nun to look like. At his first glimpse of her, Isabella had given him pleasure, her face and what parts of her form he had seen. She was beautiful, serene and quiet, a woman fit for the position he would offer her.

Still, his heart stuttered when he thought of the days to come, the wedding to be organized, the great bedroom where she would sleep for the rest of her life, in the bed where he’d been born. For now, the man who had fathered him lived in a room closer to the kitchen, where his needs were easily attended to by the staff who cared for him. Where his nurse’s call could be heard should he need help. The man owned a heart that refused to supply blood to all the parts of his huge body. A stubborn man who would only be limited in his activity by the frailty of his body, no matter what the doctor told him. A man who would soon find his place in the family graveyard, out beyond the orchards.

And to that end, he had demanded that Rafael, his only son, find a bride, a woman fit to carry on the McKenzie name, bearing sons to inherit the land and the enormous ranch that supported a dozen families.

Wanting to please his father, partly because of the love he bore the man who had sired him, Rafael had set forth to do just that. And had found the woman of his heart, a woman who would grace his table, reign over his kingdom and in his bed would give him the fidelity and honor he expected of a bride. She would want for nothing, would live as a princess in his home and only be expected to give her husband the gift of her body and the promise of sons and daughters.

Now he’d managed to find and claim the woman he wanted. Whether by fair means or foul he’d captured the prize, and was almost home with her in his arms. Not happily, perhaps, but he had enough confidence in his own skills as a man to convince her of the wisdom of his choice. Enough knowledge of the female form to woo and win her to himself, given the opportunity to do just that.

But first, he must make certain that she knew what her limits were, what boundaries he would set for her, here in the place where he took her. A home close to a hundred miles from her own father’s ranch, and half that distance from the convent where she had spent the years of her girlhood.

She must be made to understand that as the bride of Diamond Ranch, she had a definite place to fill, not only on the ranch but in the community of ranchers that surrounded his homestead. He ran a thousand head of cattle, a large herd of horses and grew field after field of oats and wheat. Diamond Ranch was prosperous, and without pride, he knew that he was responsible for a good share of the profits it had gathered over the past five years.

His father’s health had deteriorated rapidly with the onset of heart disease, and Rafael had assumed the reins once it became apparent that the elder man would be an invalid. Another attack had weakened him considerably, and by that time the men recognized Rafael as their source of authority and power. He’d worked hard for the past years, and now the time had come to reap the rewards, to become the head of the family, to occupy the master’s bedroom with his bride.

On his lap, Isabella stirred, her bottom wiggling over his thighs, her back stretching a bit, then settling once more against him. “Are you weary?” he asked, his mouth against her ear.

“My body is. I feel that I’ve been sitting forever, and my legs are going to sleep, my back is aching and the sun has made my head hurt.” She looked up at him, a sidelong glance that pleased him, for he saw the strength she exhibited, the aching muscles ignored as she shifted again to settle herself more comfortably.

“We’ll stop soon,” he said, nodding at Manuel, who had cast him an inquiring look. “We need to make a pot of coffee and heat the rest of the sausage over a fire. You’ll feel better with some food in you and the ground under your feet.”

She sighed. “I don’t mean to complain, even though it serves you right. Any man who would steal away with a woman deserves all the complaining she can come up with.”

“You’ve been surprisingly short on complaints,” he said. “I expected you to be moaning and groaning all day long. Most women would have given me hell for putting them through what you’ve had to endure.”

“I learned early on in life that complaining doesn’t solve the problem. Usually, I manage to handle any situation without calling for help.”

He turned her a bit in his arms, revealing her face to him fully. “What kind of problems did you have as a child that caused you to develop so adult an attitude?”

She only shrugged and grimaced. “Just the usual childhood upsets. I didn’t have a mother to go to, so our cook heard a lot of my woes, until I found that I was more adept at solving the problems than she. I was standing on my own by the time I was ten or twelve.”

“And why were you sent to the convent? Did you so badly disrupt your father’s household that he wanted to get rid of you?” His voice was gently teasing as he spoke, but Isabella heard a note of concern through the query.

“I went to the convent because I wanted to,” she said firmly. “Father tried to talk me out of it. He wanted me to be married to Juan Garcia just after my fourteenth birthday, and when I refused, he lost his temper with me.”

“How did you win that battle?” The thought of a mere child of fourteen being married off to a man like Juan Garcia was enough to make his blood run cold, and Rafael felt anger rise in him at the thought.

“He agreed to let me stay at the convent and learn the skills of a wife until I was sixteen, and when he died that year, there was enough money left to keep me there for another few years. I’d about decided to become a nun by then, for I knew that anything was better than marriage to Señor Garcia.” She shivered against him as she spoke, and a flood of respect for the young girl who had fought and won her freedom washed over him.

“Señor, there is a spot ahead where the water is fresh and the area is defensible.” Manuel rode beside him and spoke welcome words, for the man seemed to be aware that Isabella was weary and more than ready for sleep.

“Tell the men to stop where you say and set up camp,” Rafael said easily. “Isabella and I shall be with you momentarily.”

Manuel nodded and rode to speak with the other men, leading the way to the chosen spot, an area not more than five hundred yards ahead. Slowing his stallion to a walk, Rafael spoke softly to Isabella, words aimed at soothing her and assuring her of her safety.

“We’ll stay in my small tent tonight,” he said easily. “I’ll find enough supple branches to make a bed for you, and there is enough food to fill your stomach until morning.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, sounding a bit pouty to her own ears. “I don’t mean to be any additional trouble to you, señor, but I’m only tired and ready for sleep. I don’t care if I have food or not.”

“You will eat, Isabella. I won’t have you sick before I take you to my home. We’ll have a hard day’s ride tomorrow, and I want you to feel well.”

“Then leave me be, and give me a blanket to cover myself with. I don’t need your tent or a bed to rest on.”

Rafael laughed, helpless to conceal his amusement at her. “You have no choice, my love. You will sleep in my tent on my blanket and you will eat first. I can be stubborn when it pleases me.”

“I’ve noticed,” she snapped, sitting upright and leaning heavily on a part of his anatomy that protested her weight.

He shifted her to one thigh and held her there, unwilling to tell her what she had done to cause him such discomfort, but she stiffened in his grip and twisted from his hold.

“You are a burdensome woman,” Rafael said, bringing his stallion to a halt and lowering her to the ground. One of the men drew near to keep an eye on her as Rafael dismounted easily, and at a nod from Rafael as he claimed Isabella with one hand on her waist, his trusted man turned and walked back to the camp they were busy forming.

A fire was already laid, the wood piled neatly with kindling beneath it, a pot of water already hanging over it on a hook. Even as they watched, Matthew opened the sack of ground coffee and measured an amount into the waiting water.

“I know you had coffee before when you were not well, but do you normally drink it?” Rafael asked Isabella, settling her beside the fire that awaited a match. She perched on a cushion one of the men had placed there for her, and she looked at the others who worked silently around her, wondering which of them had thought of her comfort in such a way.