Carolyn Davidson - The Bride

“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.