Honor Bound: Bound and Tied, Book 1 (2 page)

Far enough away from the vertical drop-off, she sank to her knees and leaned back against a stout aspen.

The entire situation threatened to overwhelm her. Maybe she should have stayed in the Indian village and waited for someone to rescue her. But who would that be? She didn’t have any family waiting for her back East. Her husband had died and left what little he had to her. Just enough to secure passage on the wagon train going to California.

She had been the only survivor of the attack as far as she knew. No one would know to look for her.

As her breathing returned to normal, her stubborn determination pushed her to her feet. She hadn’t come this far to second-guess her decision to escape. She set off down the hillside on a path of her choosing, skirting the cliffs to take the gentler slope to the valley below.

Tired, bruised and aching in every muscle and bone of her body, she fought to keep her noise to a minimum, moving from shadow to shadow, just like she’d learned. She had to get away from where she’d fallen as soon as possible, leaving no signs of her passing. If she planned to live, she’d have to do better than sliding down hillsides, making enough noise to bring Running Bear and the entire Apache Nation to her location.

The sky opened up at the bottom of the ravine, breaks in the canopy of trees revealing incredibly blue heavens. Water tumbled through the ravine, over rocks, flowing downward to feed a stream at the base of the mountain.

Honor followed the sound of rushing water, the ground leveling out with the streambed. Parallel to the water’s path, she pushed through a stand of bushes into a secluded grotto with a deep pool and large boulders surrounding its edge.

About to step forward, Honor stopped.

The water in the center of the pool bubbled, then two naked men splashed to the surface. Both were large, heavily muscled, handsome men and unmistakably white.

Honor’s breath caught in her throat and she shrank back into the shadows of the brush. Her first instinct was to rush out and beg them to save her from the savage tracking her. The days spent in captivity made her wary, less impulsive. She studied the two men, wishing she could tell by looking at them if they’d help her or try to claim her as their own, just like Running Bear.

She might be better off finding her way to an actual civilized town where she could establish her independence from any man. With the decision to move on made, she almost backed away and left the pool when she noticed something peculiar about the two men.

Both of them had their hands beneath the water’s surface. The more Honor stared, the clearer and more shocking their actions became. Honor gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. The shorter man had his hand on the taller man’s shaft.

Honor held her breath, her eyes rounded, the shock fading, but a different emotion taking over. Suddenly the juncture of her thighs dampened, a tingling sensation spreading throughout her body, causing her temperature to rise and her cheeks to burn. Was she having the vapors?

Certainly she wasn’t aroused by such brazen behavior between two men. Intrigued, yes…but aroused? Men didn’t do those kinds of things back East. The lines separating men and women were firmly drawn and nobody crossed them.

Or did they? Had she led such an overprotected life that her husband did not see fit to inform her of such deviances from what was proper?

Appalled at her carnal curiosity, rather than run away, Honor remained rooted to the spot, her gaze riveted on the handsome men. Her body grew warmer and more agitated. As a widow, she’d known a little passion. Passion she’d hidden from her husband, the parson. Even in Running Bear’s bed, she’d achieved a certain amount of…satisfaction, although love had nothing to do with what they’d shared.

Passion did not automatically accompany love. Another truth she’d learned early on in her marriage to the good Parson Whitaker. God forbid she should actually
enjoy
coupling with a man. He’d taught her that fornication was the duty of a wife to her husband—its sole purpose to beget progeny, not for pleasure. Pleasure in fornication was a sin.

What she witnessed in front of her was wrong on every level of what Parson Whitaker had preached to her. Yet, it fascinated her so much that she forgot where she was, that she was hungry, bruised and desperately on the run from a wild Indian who would not give up what he considered his.

The shorter man stroked the taller man, his arm moving back and forth, faster and faster. The taller man reached out to the shorter one and touched him beneath the water’s surface, his hand grabbing on to the man’s member.

Honor sucked in a sharp breath, her nether regions wet and slick with desire. If she was a floozy, she’d be tempted to strip bare and join the sensual dance these two magnificent men were engaged in.

Parson Whitaker’s voice hammered in her mind, railing that what they did constituted a moral sin. He’d told Honor on more than one occasion that the devil resided in everyone and it was up to them to exorcise the evil, to live by the Bible and what the good Lord intended. And the Lord did not intend his children to find pleasure in lust and desire.

Surely the devil had hold of Honor now, urging her to join, to get naked and slide into the water between the men. Her woman’s opening craved fulfillment, drooling like a mouth salivating for a savory treat.

Tucked safely into the shadows of the bush, away from detection, safe from Running Bear, Honor touched her breasts, imagining the men each trailing their hands down over her naked body. Her fingers moved lower, lifting the squaw dress to press into the thatch of curls covering her mons. A tiny flick had her gasping softly, her gaze never leaving the men in the pool.

How could she have such carnal lust for strangers? Not one but two. By Parson Whitaker’s standards, she would surely rot in hell.

Her fingers dug deeper, flicking against that tender spot encased in her folds. That mystical, magically sensitive area she’d learned provided more pleasure than her husband could dare to imagine. When the parson traveled overnight to neighboring villages, she’d stayed at home, happy to be alone. Only then could she pleasure herself without censure. Her little secret kept her somewhat satisfied throughout her five-year marriage to Parson Whitaker with his overbearing and judgmental ways.

When he’d died, she wept at his funeral as was proper for a widow. As soon as she was alone, she made plans. Using the money she’d made crafting ladies’ hats, she purchased passage on a wagon train headed for San Francisco, a town known for opportunity and growth. No longer would she be governed by a man, told what to do and how to do it, more or less a slave to his desires and needs.

Yet here she was lusting after two men, her own desires bound to their actions, her body aching for their touch, Parson Whitaker fading into the darkest recesses of her mind. She touched that secret spot again, sliding her finger into her woman’s opening, dredging her channel for the warm, thick fluid. Her breasts tingled, her tummy tensing with a myriad of sinful sensations. As she slid her wet thumb over that tender nub, her breath caught in her throat, her body going rigid.

In the pool, both men pumped their hands, faster and faster, their faces tensed, their muscles tight. At the exact same time, they threw back their heads and cried out, their voices echoing off the rocks and trees, the sound so primal it fit with the natural surroundings.

Honor stopped breathing, her own orgasm rushing the blood through her veins, pulsing downward to where her fingers stroked her nub. How she wished the men would fill her, pressing their magnificent shafts inside her slick channel. Only then would her satisfaction be complete.

As she floated back to earth, so too did her cognizance of her predicament. Running Bear would never give up looking for her and she would never get to San Francisco if she didn’t find her way out of the mountains and back to civilization.

She pushed her dress back down and straightened her hair, dragging in enough breath to refill her lungs. Should she announce herself to the other occupants of the forest stream? Or would she be better off circumnavigating the pool and any complications that might arise from such an encounter? Having spent enough time under a man’s demands, Honor chose to leave the handsome men and press on.

The men stood staring at each other, panting, their eyes rounded.

The tall dark one stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. “Lord help us. What just happened?”

A nervous giggle rose in Honor’s throat as she swallowed hard to keep from letting it loose. If she wanted to get away, she had to go while they were still scratching their heads and whatever else men scratched.

She slid back through the bush and climbed the bank away from the pool. The stream meandered through a narrow valley. Honor followed the water, keeping out of sight of the stream, hiding in the underbrush.

After walking for several minutes, the woods opened into a clearing. A weathered, gray log cabin dominated the site and behind it rose a ragged rocky cliff, towering into the sky, blocking the afternoon sun. In the side of the cliff, a rough hole had been chiseled out of the mountainside, shored up by timbers.

Miners.

Honor pressed a hand to her throat. The men in the stream had to be miners. From what Parson Whitaker had said, miners were some of the most godless men on the North American continent. Then again, she’d spent the past six weeks in the company of a savage. How much worse could it be? Besides she didn’t plan on staying with them.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the previous morning when Running Bear had shared a rabbit with her. Maybe the men in the pool had food in the cabin.

She angled her way around the clearing, afraid of getting caught, but drawn from the shadows by hunger pains. A quick glance around verified that she had the site to herself. The men had yet to return from their foray into the creek.

Honor dashed across the rock-strewn clearing, her heart hammering. She hit the door to the cabin at full speed, sliding the latch upward and ducking in, closing the door behind her. She fell against the wooden door, gasping for breath, terrified she’d be caught.

What had she done? If the men came back, she had nowhere to hide in the one-room cabin. Two rough-hewn beds hugged one wall, covered in bearskin fur. A coffee pot hung beside the fireplace. On a table made of logs split in half and worn smooth stood two empty plates. A pot sat beside the plates, four uneaten beans the only food in evidence.

Honor’s eyes filled with tears as she scooped the four beans from the pot with her fingers and shoved them in her mouth. Never had she tasted anything more wonderful. If only there had been more. She scanned the contents of the room. A small bag sat on a shelf above the table. Honor lifted it and shook it. Beans. Hope flared in her chest. If she took these, she’d have something to sustain her until she could get to a town and find help.

As she continued her swift perusal of the cabin’s contents, her gaze lit on a blue shirt and a pair of trousers hanging on a peg on the wall. What were the chances these men had a woman’s dress among their worldly goods? She hadn’t seen a single sign that a woman occupied the cabin. Honor shook her head. No, they wouldn’t have women’s clothing. But a white man’s clothing might be more acceptable to civilized folk than a squaw’s dress. She grabbed the shirt, slid the dress up over her head and tossed it in the corner. Perhaps not a fair trade, but she didn’t have money to pay for her acquisition.

As she slid her arms into the shirt, a noise out in the yard made her freeze in place.

Male voices, low and booming, grew louder.

Oh, dear God, she’d taken too long. With no time now to slip into the trousers, she grabbed the bag of beans and stuffed them in the trouser pocket and wadded the fabric, tucking it beneath her arm. The shirt hung down to her knees, covering as much as the squaw’s dress. If she could make it out the door, she’d run as fast as she could for the trees.

Honor crept up to the open cabin window and peeked around the corner.

Shirtless and dressed in wet dungarees, the men approached. Drops of water glistened in the hair on their heads and on their chests.

Honor’s mouth dried, her eyes wide, drinking in the incredible size and breadth of their shoulders. From a distance, down by the pool, she’d been impressed. Up close… Honor shivered.

The taller man had dark wavy hair that hung down to his shoulders and eyes as blue as a summer sky. The shorter man, equally strong and well-muscled, had reddish-brown curly hair that stood out in striking disarray. Not unlike a Greek god, his bronzed skin and gray eyes would melt any woman’s heart with only a glance.

They hung dripping shirts on the hitching posts in the full sun before they turned for the house.

If she remained hidden in the cabin, how long would it be before they discovered her there, and what would they do to her when they did? An image of the two men touching each other flashed in her mind. Contrary to the fear she should have felt, a shiver of excitement coursed through her. If she ran from the cabin, they’d catch her. In either scenario, Honor Whitaker was trapped.

Chapter Two

Zach straightened his shirt across the hitching post, noticing the stains and tears he’d acquired over the months he’d worn it while mining their claim. All the way back from the pool, he’d avoided looking at Jake. What had once been an open, easy camaraderie with his friend and claim partner had changed. They’d strayed into the forbidden, the sinful act of a man touching another man’s dick.

What worried him most was that he’d enjoyed every minute of Jake touching him. He’d liked it so much that he couldn’t think of anything else. He’d practically forgotten his boots at the stream, he’d been so sunk in reliving the desire. Even now his cock twitched, ready to harden at the drop of a hat.

He turned toward the cabin, his chest tight, breathing labored.

Jake put out a hand, stopping him. “You know, Zach, what we did isn’t a sin. It’s only a sin in other people’s eyes. And then only if they find out.”