The Barefoot Bride (31 page)

Saxon threw Thatcher a murderous look and headed back outside, fully intending to go to the North End and find his wayward wife. But no sooner had he reached his barouche when another Blackwell coach sped up the drive. The door burst open and out jumped Chickadee. He drank in the sight of her.

"Saxon!" she shouted, flinging herself into his arms. "Lord o' mercy, I missed you, outlander! I didn't thank you'd ever git home!"

He buried his face in her hair and then snapped his head back up when he sniffed the strong scent emanating from her. Forcing her away from him, he took her hand and marched her inside the mansion, past Thatcher, up the stairs, down the hall, and into the bedroom. There he let go of her hand and slammed the door behind him.

Chickadee flexed her numbed fingers. "'Pears yore as ready fer me as I am fer you," she said mischievously.

"You were drinking with those damned Irishmen?"

"Damned Irishmen?
Don't you dare slur—"

"Answer my question!"

She turned up her nose and went to Khan. "I can do whatever I dang well please. You ain't got no right to—"

"You will never go to the North End again! I appreciate what those Irishmen did for you, but never, and I mean
never
will you go there again! Is that understood?"

"I will so go! I got to finish what I started thar, and thur ain't nothin' you can do to stop me!"

He mentally counted to ten and succeeded in restraining himself from wringing her neck. "Keely," he said softly, "fighting is not what I had in mind for this afternoon. Now, shall we solve this problem calmly?"

"I got me three new friends. They live in the North End. I go to visit 'em. Thur ain't no problem as fur as I can see." She gave him a flippant grin.

His eyes narrowed.
"That
is the problem! You see no farther them you
choose
to see!"

How very blue his eyes became when he was angry, she thought. And that funny little cleft in his chin kind of closed up when his facial muscles tensed. She could even see his heart pounding by watching his neck vein pulse. And she wondered if he knew his ears moved when he shouted.

Saxon knew clearly he'd been defeated. An air of saucy defiance floated around her. And how her stubborn eyes gleamed, like fresh, wet grass. Even her hair, copper fire, seemed to shine more intensely, framing her face with an avalanche of red-orange-gold that gave her cheeks a furious glow. He wondered if she knew how the skin covering her collarbones stretched with each breath she took, highlighting the delicate arches of those bones to perfection, making her seem like some exquisite sculpture wrought by the hand of a true master.

He swallowed, feeling humbled before such rare beauty and rather guilty over his show of temper.

The thought of her in the North End still angered him, but surely they could come to some sort of agreement about it.

What a fool he'd been, making his silly plans. Send her home? Forget her?

No man could forget a woman as beautiful as she. No man would ever want to let her go. He swallowed again. "I—I missed you."

She cocked her head sideways.

She reminded him of a pretty puppy when she did that. "Of course, I probably missed you only because I'm so used to being with you," he added lamely.

Chickadee realized it was her turn to speak, but she stood there silently, some ten feet separating them. She knew instinctively Saxon was leading up to something, and she decided to let him do it on his own. Besides, it tickled her to see him so ruffled.

He was bewildered. He expected her to tell him she had missed him too. Yes, she'd already told him she had, but for some reason he wanted to hear her say it again. "I'm sorry I stayed away for so—"

What the hell was he apologizing for? he asked himself. He'd left on account of her possessiveness in the first place, and now here he was playing the contrite husband as if he really were guilty of something! Damn her to hell and back for bending him as she always did!

"You've no right to be angry with me, Keely! If I choose to go somewhere for a few weeks, there's not a damn thing you can do about it!"

It looked to Saxon as if she bit back a smile.

"I don't plan to make a habit of it, but if I have to travel—" Again, Saxon broke off. He felt he was digging deeper and deeper but couldn't quite figure out what it was he was digging himself into. Just why had he begun this conversation, and where did he intend to take it?

"And as far as Cynthia Hamilton goes," he continued, words flowing from his lips as if by magic, "she's only a girl I used to know. Whatever it was you thought you saw that day was nothing. You must realize however," he said, attempting a look of sternness and failing, "that if I
was
involved with her, it should make no difference to you. I may take a hundred mistresses if I wish. Just as you may take lovers."

Her eyebrow raised at that.

Saxon stiffened at the impish ascent of her brow. "You... that is to say, you haven't taken any, have you? I mean, not that it matters to me... There's probably no one here you'd like anyway... but if you ever found anyone... as long as you're discreet... Of course, I'd find out eventually... not that it'd matter... wouldn't matter."

He shuffled on the carpet and noticed the startling contrast his black boots made with the gold rug. A change of subject was definitely in order before he reached the bottom of whatever it was he was digging himself into.

"So," he said, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, "what did you do during my absence?"

She smiled; her head was still cocked to the side, her cheek almost touching her shoulder.

"Spend time with Desdemona?" Saxon prompted, her smile unnerving him. Dammit, she was looking at him as if he were a total fool!

He was mortified then. What possessed him to confess he'd missed her? Sure, he was taken with her, but it was only her beauty and lovemaking he'd missed!

"I can see you've taken good care of Khan," he rambled on. "Keely, if it's not asking you too much, would you mind opening your mouth to talk to me?"

Her head went up, and she, too, dipped her hands into her pockets. But she remained quiet.

Saxon sighed heavily. "On my way back home, I wondered about something. It's nothing of earth-shattering importance, but—"

How do you feel about me, mountain girl?
he asked in silence, completely unable to get the question to his lips. His trepidation reminded him once again how indecisive he'd become because of her. Who the hell cared what she felt for him anyway?

"Forget it," he muttered. "It doesn't really matter."

She began to rock back and forth from toes to heels, as if she were moving to the beat of some secret inner music. And when she finally spoke, her voice was like a song.

"I love you, Saxon Blackwell."

Chapter 17

Saxon watched the chandelier in Max Jennings's gaming room shimmering above him, its prisms shooting rainbow spears all over. Chickadee's words pounded in his mind.

You cain't keep on a-runnin' from what's never gwine let up a-follerin' you. Cain't git away from it any more'n you can escape yer shadder. Love's like shadders, the way I see it. And I love you, Saxon.

But Saxon
had
escaped. He'd left the estate immediately, her speech about love and shadows following him all the way to Max's house.

He glanced at his hand of cards. She had to be lying. No, she did many things, but lying was rarely one of them. Dammit! He'd wanted the answer to how she felt about him, and now that he had it he didn't know what to do with it!

Love. How did one recognize it? Did it have a certain face? Sound? If it existed, what the hell was it?

Maybe she just
thought
she loved him, he argued, throwing his losing hand of cards at Max. After all, he was the only man she'd ever known well. And he'd given her clothes, jewels—everything he could think of to give her. And he'd seen to Khan too. She'd been very grateful for that.

Max laid his arms on the table and dragged all the money toward himself, making a high pile of it in front of his chest. "These impromptu games always seem to end in my favor. That shouldn't trouble you, though. Hear you've married. Doesn't that mean you've won 'the fortune'?"

Saxon nodded, the deep-seated thrill he usually got from discussing "the fortune" curiously weak tonight. "But not until Grandmother is dead," he stated flatly.

Max grinned. "She says she has a bad heart."

Saxon smiled, too.
Creakin' doors hang the longest.
That's what Chickadee'd once said when he'd mentioned Araminta's heart. "Doors that creak—" Rubbing his hand over the stubble on his face, he closed his eyes and saw Chickadee. Saw her standing there when she'd told him she'd loved him. His stomach leaped as it always did when he thought of her.

"What's that about doors. Sax?" Max asked, wondering why Saxon was talking like a drunk man.

"Doors?"

Max soon realized Saxon was daydreaming. "What's Chickadee like? Odd name. When I first heard it, I laughed."

Saxon picked up stray coin and flicked it across the room. "She's named for a bird."

"Does she look like one too?" Max chuckled before he lifted his bourbon to his lips.

"Would I marry a woman who looked like a bird?" Saxon tried to look sarcastic, but unable to help himself, he grinned. "Actually, she
does
resemble a swan." He remembered her graceful collarbones and dragged his fingers through his hair.

Max laughed. "I was sure you'd think of something to thwart Araminta's plans for you. Good God! You're
married,
Sax! Till death do you part... married!"

Saxon's vision glazed over.
Till death do us part, Keely?
The question seemed to smother him.

*

When he arrived home, he saw the bed was still made. Three o'clock in the morning, and the bed was still made! Saxon's eyes flew to the corner where she kept her rifle. It was gone.

She'd left him! His fingers dug into the palm of his hand... and unfurled when he heard the thump of Khan's tail. She wouldn't leave Khan. Dammit, she was out walking! And after he'd forbidden her to do it again!

He raced downstairs. What was in that mind of hers, going out at night after what had happened to her? Did nothing frighten that little twit?

"By all that's holy, I'm going to strangle you when I find you, Keely," he muttered as he strode across the courtyard. Without realizing it, he quickened his pace and called her name aloud.

He never saw the dip in the ground ahead until he was face down in the dirt, the wind jolted from his lungs. As he struggled for breath, his fury mounted.

"Nice night fer a stroll," she taunted him from above. "Reckon it's a nice night fer a-layin' on the ground, too."

Without looking up from the dirt clod that touched his nose, he demanded, "Just where the hell have you been?"

"'Pears to me I been outside. From the looks o' what I see around me, reckon I'm still out here."

Air filled his lungs again. He leaped to his feet. "Get back to the house."

"No."

"Now!"

"No."

One, two, three...
he counted mentally. "Ah, to hell with that!" He slung her over his shoulder, her rifle bouncing on his behind as he trekked back to the mansion. Then he stopped. "Well, aren't you going to fight me? Toss me to the ground? This docile obedience is completely out of character for you."

"Tell you what, outlander. I'll let you tote me around iffen you'll head fer the barn. Thur's lots o' hay in it."

"You're in serious trouble," he said, sliding his hands down her thighs. "I'm madder than—"

"A wet settin' hen?"

"I was going to say
fire."

"A wet settin' hen's a sight worser. You ever seed a wet settin' hen?"

He placed her back on the ground. "I told you not to walk at night anymore. What if those men come back for you? What if they're here lurking in the shadows? What if—"

"What if you jist hesh up and kiss the breath plumb outen me? What if—"

His mouth swallowed the rest of her words. His arms crushed her to him, his fingers dug into the small of her back. Her scent of cool night woods permeated his nostrils and seeped into his brain, making him shudder with sensation. She seemed so tiny in his embrace, as if, with one strong squeeze, he could break her into bits.

But she proved she was made of stronger stuff, in the way she was accepting his savage kiss. More than accepting it, actually. Liking it, loving it, yearning for more.

"The barn," she managed to tell him.

And then they were there. Thirty horses peered out of the stalls in the thick darkness.

But Saxon knew that barn and went directly to the tall wooden ladder that led to the hayloft. Again he threw Chickadee over his shoulder, climbed up, and tossed her to the soft, soft hay.

From a window in the loft, pale silver streams of moonlight lazily drifted in, dust from the hay filtering through the light. In the far corner they heard a small noise—probably a mouse. And though it was cold, they provided their own special heat.