The Barefoot Bride (27 page)

"To hell with them. The only reason I suggested you become acquainted with society is because I don't want you to be lonesome. But if you'd rather not attend any affairs for a while, that's fine. You might feel differently later on, and then you may do whatever you wish."

She saw an unspoken plea in his eyes and knew he was hoping she would make another attempt with society. Her first impulse was to tell him she hated the very thought. But he'd brought up the subject of her having friends many times recently. It somehow seemed very important to him. But didn't he understand she didn't
need
them? She had Khan, Desdemona, that sweet maid Candice, and now Bunny. Why look for more friends when she already had four wonderful ones?

Saxon saw the battle going on in her mind by watching her bright eyes. "I'll never force you to do something you don't like, little one. You've no need to worry about that."

Lord o' mercy,
she thought. When he looked at her like that, she couldn't think of anything in the world she wouldn't try to do for him. "Well..."

Her voice trailed off, and he knew she was considering his suggestion. He did indeed hope she would give society another chance: besides wanting her to make friends, he thought that getting her together with other women was the best way to show her how things were done in Boston. After all, he rationalized, surely if she were exposed to gentlewomen long enough, she would begin to imitate some of their feminine mannerisms. It seemed like such a gentle way for her to learn.

But, as he'd promised, he wouldn't force her. Instead, he would give her news he suspected would delight her. "Keely, close the windows, and I'll tell you something about your father."

Her breath quickened. "Y'know whar he is?"

"The windows, if you please."

She shut them so forcefully the room shuddered, and then she ran to him, leaping and flying toward the bed when she was still several feet away.

Saxon caught her as she sailed over him. Women had hurried to his bed before, but no one had ever flown into it. There was no woman on earth like Chickadee.

God, he was going to miss her.

"Saxon," she gasped, twisting in his embrace, "whar is he? Did you take all his money? Is he a beggar now?"

Her hauntingly beautiful eyes pulled him into their emerald depths. He tried to find his way to the surface of those bottomless pools, but only sank deeper. Drowning. He was drowning in them with no hope of salvation.

"Saxon, I'm gwine take a snit iffen you don't tell me about Barton!"

The information he had about her father was already at the back of his throat. All he had to do was get it to his lips and put sound to it.
He's in New York,
he explained silently.
A little over eighteen years ago, he sold your mother's gold nuggets, invested the money, and made a fortune on Wall Street.

"Saxon?"

He'd wrestled with the decision to tell her the news all day, guilt at wanting to keep it from her gnawing at him like a termite at a piece of rotting wood. And now he felt himself wavering again. If he told her the truth, how long would it be before she left? That question sickened him with dread.

"I think he might be in... the New York area," came his feeble answer.

"You thank?"

He bent to take a tawny nipple between his lips. "It's just a hunch," he mumbled, his mouth full of her.

"Dang it! Saxon—"

"All right." Lying back, he pulled her with him. "I don't know anything for sure yet, but my detectives have located... several B. Winslows in New York."

She sat up and stared at the wall in front of her, her body stiff. The revenge she'd wanted for so long seemed close at hand now. But where was the thrill she'd expected? In its stead was a strange foreboding.

Saxon mistook her mood for one of impatience. "Keely," he said, his voice reaching out to caress her, "give me more time. I swore I'd help you get your revenge and I will, little one."
I will,
he told himself firmly, but that oath was becoming more and more tempting to break.

She gave him a kiss that sweetly lingered and hinted at what would soon follow. Her sleek hands, her slender fingers hungered for the feel of him, her own body sliding closer to his, warming him, setting him afire and making him yearn for the indescribable magic that was Chickadee's alone.

"Promise me somethin', Saxon." She sighed.

"Anything."

"Don't never brang no kind o' seriousness inter this here bed agin," she pleaded, loath to hear any more about the bargain she'd begun to regret making. "It ain't no place fer a-jawin' about problems and miseries. The onliest sorter talkin' that should go on betwixt these sheets is what our hearts say to one another."

Saxon's fingers dropped from the silky tangle of her hair. She'd been doing a lot of that kind of sweet-talking recently, her words always accompanied by that look of devotion in her eyes. He still didn't know what to make of it; he only knew her tenderness made him want more of it and none of it at the same time.

Chickadee placed her hand on his chest. "Heart voices don't got no kind of sound, but iffen you try, you can still hear what they say. And you got eyes in thar too. All's you got to do is open 'em up and see."

Saxon grabbed her hand when her fingers began to ripple across his chest. "Keely, what are you saying?"

She smiled knowingly at his question. "Shhh. Just listen, Saxon," she said, yanking her hand out of his grasp and slipping it beneath the covers to slide it down his thigh. "Let yore heart tell you what all I'm a-sayin'."

The roaring flood of desire was the only thing Saxon could hear. The sorcery of Chickadee, her mysterious essence poured over him, into him, and through him, sending him spiraling into the nest of passion she'd made ready for him.

"I hear nothing but my need for you, Keely. Like a beggar, it cries out for sustenance, reaches out—and will not cease until appeased."

Her nails scored his back, but his hiss of discomfort never reached her ears, so quickly, so violently did she respond to him. His plunging hardness brought her within a hair's breadth of pain yet snatched her back to pleasure. He slowed his frenzied pace and then quickened it again, guiding her, abandoning her, offering, refusing, alternating his rhythm of lovemaking until she no longer knew where she was, no longer cared, could no longer think, could only melt within the blaze of fulfillment that finally consumed her. She throbbed wildly around him, the shudder of her release bringing Saxon's own, her sigh of pleasure intensifying his.

And then the air, still cool in the room, drifted past him, drying his moist skin. The chill he felt brought him back to the reality passion had erased from his mind. Winslow, Chickadee's return to the Appalachia... the whole damn bargain came back to him then.

With a heavy sigh he slid to the bed and gathered her into his arms, hugging her tightly until weariness loosened his hold on her. "Bargain," he whispered into her hair before sleep overtook him.

Chickadee waited until his breathing was slow and even, got out of bed, dressed quietly, picked up her rifle, and left the room, Khan following her. More familiar with the house now, she made her way downstairs with no mishaps and was outside in a few more moments.

It wasn't the first time she'd walked alone at night. The mansion was stuffy and hot, and the fact that Saxon didn't like the windows open had led her outside nearly every night since they'd arrived in Boston. He knew nothing of her nightly escapades since he was always asleep when she left him, and Chickadee was certain he'd try and put an end to them if he ever found out.

Only when she reached the thick woods did she slow her pace. She breathed deeply of the brisk night air, savoring the fresh smell of the plants and earth. After propping her rifle against a large tree, she sat down on the forest floor and crushed a handful of brittle leaves.

"I'm all tore up inside, Khan. Jist a short spell ago, when Saxon mentioned that dang bargain? Well, it near 'bout kilt me to hear him say it. And it plumb confounded me when I didn't go inter some sorter franzy when he said he mighta found ole Barton. I didn't feel nothin' but a real empty feelin'."

Khan lay down and closed his eyes.

"Khan Snow McBride! Open yore eyes, you ornery thang. When thur bolted shut, it's like I'm a-talkin' to mysef, and only crazy folks does that."

He opened one eye.

"I cain't figger out how it happened, boy. I thought I could love Saxon jist a smidgeon, but 'pears I was the worstest kind o' wrong. And I never had no idee jist how much I love him till he talked about a-findin' Barton Winslow. I got to go home when the man's done tuk his fall, y'know. Dang that God-burn bargain to hell and back!"

She found a small twig and rubbed Khan's snout with it. "Still... I cain't be withouten my mountains ferever, Khan. But I cain't leave Saxon neither. Not even a-countin' the way I feel about him, he needs me. You seed fer yoresef how these Boston folks is, and they jist ain't good fer him."

Khan rolled onto his back, his hind leg shaking when she began to scratch his belly.

"But I'm jist one girl. I cain't change nothin' about this here city. Cain't make it right fer Saxon no matter what I do. And it ain't only that, neither. Saxon thanks he
likes
this kind o' life, boy. He thanks thur ain't no better kind to have."

She tossed away the stick and rested her chin in her hands. "I knowed in my heart I shouldn't orter love him, but I went and done it anyway. I always knowed love was somethin' powerful, Khan, but I didn't never know jist how unbeatable it is. You cain't control it, boy. Cain't love jist a little bit like I reckoned. Thur ain't no measurements when it comes to love. Either you love or you don't. It's the curiousest thang I ever come acrost."

She closed her eyes. Saxon and the Appalachia. In her mind she saw them both—Saxon on one side, her beloved mountains on the other. She remembered her blue Carolina heavens and then recalled Saxon's sky-blue eyes. She heard the song of the hills in the mountain breeze, and then Saxon's laughter, his whisper, his sweet, sweet words. She felt the Blue Ridge sunshine pouring down on her, but weren't Saxon's arms as warm and comforting?

"Look at me, Khan. A-settin' here a-feelin' some kind o' powerful sorry fer mysef. You'd thank I don't got no more guts'n a butterfly."

Her giggle chimed through the cool woods. "I been so dumb. Why, I reckon iffen brains was leather, I wouldn't have enough to saddle a flea! I got to tell him, Khan. Got to tell him I love him! And I got to keep on a-tellin' him. It's gwine take a lavish o' time to git through to him, but I'll do it. I'll do it on account o' I'm gwine be as persistent as a starvin' bedbug!"

She jumped to her feet and grabbed her rifle. "Come on, boy. I'm gwine go wake up Saxon and tell him the truth about how I feel." She fairly flew through the forest, smiling broadly at the song her heart was singing within her. Everything was going to be fine now. She'd make Saxon believe she loved him, and then, somehow, she'd make him love her back.

That thought brought her to an abrupt halt. "Saxon ain't like Barton, Khan. And I ain't like Mama. Mama was a kind soul, but she was lonely and a mite ripe when ole Barton come a-wanderin' up to her holler. She tuk one look at him and falled plumb to pieces. Warn't her fault, but she didn't never see Barton was sech a blackguard."

She knelt and took Khan's snout in her hands. "But I've knowed Saxon fer nigh on seven months now, and that's time enough to know somebody good. He ain't gwine do me like Barton did Mama. I mean to git to that little boy in him, and once I do that? Well, that young-uns gwine mix with the man, and Saxon's gwine be whole. A whole man ready to give and git love. And o' course, I'll be right thar a-givin' it to him. And after he's shed of all them ghosts, we'll thank on what to do, whar to live, and all them other thangs. Ever'thang's gwine be jist fine."

Straightening, she continued toward the edge of the woods, only to stop short when a squirrel scampered in front of her. Her fingers trembled as she tightened her grip on her rifle.

"You see that, Khan?" she whispered, her skin rippling into goose flesh. "It was a omen, boy. Both me and you know withouten nary a doubt that when a squirrel runs acrost yore path at night? Well, thur's the worstest kind o' luck a-comin' yore way. Dang, dang, dang it! Jist when I got ever'thang straightened out real good, this has to happen!"

Her steps much slower now, she reached the clearing, her skin still moist, her heart still pounding. She couldn't be certain what ill fortune would befall her, nor did she know when it would come, but nevertheless, her eyes darted around her surroundings.

And then the fine hairs at the back of her neck rose.

She cocked her rifle and raised the stock to her shoulder before she even knew what it was she would shoot. Khan too sensed peril, the fur on his back standing erect in his apprehension.

Before she had the chance to squeeze the trigger, Khan went flying toward a man who'd stepped out of the thick darkness and, as Chickadee tried to bring the scene into proper focus, someone from behind her reached around and pulled the gun from her grasp. A rank-smelling hand went around her mouth, and within seconds her assailant had gagged her. She fought both the man and her fear, but when she heard Khan's piercing whine her dread turned to terror.

She saw her wolf's prone form, bloody and still, his attacker standing over him, dagger in hand.

Two. There were two men.

Chickadee struggled valiantly, her horror increasing her strength, but the men soon joined forces and she had little chance of escape. Still, though they outnumbered her, they were hard-pressed to pull a large bag over her head, so wildly she fought them. When they finally accomplished the task, they quickly tied the opening. That done, one of the men picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and began to run. His companion took one last look at Khan's unmoving, crimson form and followed. They soon reached the wagon they'd hidden on the other side of the woods and tossed Chickadee into the back.