"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."
&n
bsp; 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.
For what seemed like hours, the horses raced as if the devil himself was after them. Chickadee was powerless to keep herself from being thrown around in the bed of the wooden cart. With each lurch of the vehicle, she was banged against its hard planks.
She felt no pain, she could only think of Khan, wounded or perhaps dead. But the time for sorrow would come later. For now, there was only time to hate the men who had kidnapped her; only time to ready herself for what she would do to them once she had the chance.
That opportunity never came. The wagon hit another rut in the road, this one deeper than the ones before. Chickadee crashed toward the back of the cart, her weight and the momentum of her slide forcing the flimsy gate open. She tumbled to the cold, litter-strewn ground of a dangerous and seedy section of Boston.
The wagon, its drivers oblivious to their loss, was soon far away, and Chickadee, helpless, afraid, and jarred, was left to the mercy of the North End.
Chapter 15
"Faith, and what have we here, I'm askin' ye laddies?" Shane said as they reached the rolling bag.
"'Tis a live thing." Gallagher backed away. "What with the kickin' and fightin' it's doin', 'tis an animal. A wild one at that. Leave it be, I'm warnin' ye."
"'Tis a coward ye are, Gallagher," Shane said. "Afraid before ye even know what yer afraid of!"
"Freein' it is what we'll be doin', Gallagher," Killian said as he bent to loosen the bag's ties. "Run if 'tis what yer guts tell ye to do, man, but have a care in case it comes after ye!"
When the sack was open, homemade leather shoes, the feet in them still flailing wildly, were the first things the men saw.
"Sweet Mary above, 'tis a person!" Gallagher shouted, his deep voice echoing down the alley and sending rats scurrying hither and yon.
"Ye were scared fer naught, Gallagher!" Killian responded. "Because if ye care to have a look, ye'll see these legs have nae a hair on them! Smooth and soft as the silk of corn. 'Tis a lass, to be sure it is."
"'Tis takin' the bag off her we need to be doin'," Gallagher said, joining Killian on the ground.
"Ho! Ho!" Shane exclaimed merrily. "Afraid he was, Killian, but now that he knows 'tis only a lass, 'tis wantin' to be the first at her he's doin'!"
"Ye'll have yer chance, Gallagher," Killian said, pushing his friend away. "But 'twill be meself who—"
"Yerself?" Shane roared. "'Twas I who found the bag, Killian! Ye dinna see it first, so—"
"And who was it who opened it, might I be askin'?" Killian demanded. "'Tis only fair that I—"
"Ye've been divilin' me the whole night, Killian," Shane warned. "Ye said ye'd buy the drinks, but 'twas nothin' but lint ye had in yer pockets when the time came to pay! And now ye've got a fine nerve to be wantin' first turn at the lass! Nae, Killian. The Lord help ye, the only thing ye've got comin' to ye is me fist!"
Gallagher watched his two friends fight, until a muffled scream erupted from the bag behind him. "'Twould serve them both right if 'twas pockmarked and painful to the eye ye turned out to be, lass," he told the struggling female as he dragged the sack off. But his hopes were dashed as he gazed down at Chickadee. Never had he seen such a lovely woman—nor a more indignant one.
"Shane! Killian! 'Tis disbelievin' ye'll be when ye see the little colleen!"
At his shout, the men ceased their ruckus and stumbled to where Chickadee lay. "Bonny she is, or I'm nae an Irishman," Shane remarked and wiped at his cut lip. "'Twas worth fightin' fer her."
"Aye, 'twas at that," Killian agreed, rubbing his bleeding knuckles before he bent to touch a red curl.
Chickadee responded to his actions by throwing him to the other side of her. One down, she stood quickly and motioned for Shane and Gallagher to try and come for her. When neither man moved, she ripped the smelly gag off.
"Don't reckon I can lick all o' you-uns, but I'm fer God-burn shore gwine bang you up afore I'll let you lay a hand on me! Saxon tole me you Irish folks is a mite fighty-fied, but so is mountain folks. Come on, you dang-blasted furriners!"
Shane and Gallagher, their eyes never leaving the furious slip of a girl, went to help Killian to his feet. Now standing side by side, the three amazed men watched as Chickadee dared them with her balled fists. She danced before them, her feet never slowing, her body in constant motion as she moved in a small circle while waiting for one of them to come toward her.
"'Tis mad she is," Shane said softly. "Doin' a jig like that. Lost her wits, she has."
"She tossed me to the cursed ground!" Killian growled. "Caught me by surprise, and she'll nae get away with outwittin' Killian Rafferty!"
"No?" Chickadee challenged. "Come on then, Killy, or whatever the hell yore blasted name is! I'll give you a knock-fight the likes o' which you ain't never had!"
Killian smiled at her bravado. "'Tisn't a fight I had in mind, lassie," he said, walking slowly toward her. "Nae, 'tis pleasurin' meself with ye I've a mind to do. We'll be gentle with ye, colleen, to be sure we will."
"We mean ye nae harm," Shane said. "We'll let ye go when we're finished. A lass with yer bonny looks has had a man before, so ye've nae need to worry about the pain."
"Leave her be," Gallagher said. "Faith, she's so young, laddies. Less than twenty years, if me eyes don't deceive me. Surely ye'll nae have another peaceful night's sleep if ye do this to her. She's a wee lass—"
"I don't nee
d no defendin' from you!" Chickadee yelled. "You was jist as hot to git at me as they was! I'm as miseried as I can be over how poverty-poor you-uns is here in Boston, but poverty ain't no reason to turn on folks who ain't done nothin' a'tall to you! I'm jist as agger-pervoked with this dang city as you-uns is, and—"
"Does she nae make sense?" Gallagher pleaded. "What has she done to us to deserve—"
"What more is it yer thinkin' ye know about us, lass?" Shane asked Chickadee and ignored Gallagher. "And where are ye from? Tis plain yer nae from here."
"Yeah? Well neither are you, so I reckon we're even."
"A point well taken," he replied. "But ye dinna answer me question."
"I ain't gwine answer nothin' but yore sneakin' grin! Answer it by a-knockin' ever' dang one o' them teeth you got outen yore head! You-uns got some kind o' powerful gall to thank you can rape me, and me let you do it! What do you thank I am? Some sorter feather-legged, sissified pansy?"
Unable to control himself, Shane burst into laughter, and Gallagher and Killian soon joined in his mirth. "All right, lassie," Shane said. "Ye win. We won't touch ye. 'Twould seem Gallagher was right in bein' afraid o' ye, aye, that he was. Shane Flannagan's me name, and this lad is Gallagher O'Neill. Eh, Killy here, ye've met."
Chickadee lowered her fists. "You-uns talk real strange."
"And 'tis the Queen's English yer speakin', I suppose?" Killian teased her. "From where do ye come, colleen?"
"My name ain't Colleen. It's Chickadee. Chickadee McBride Blackwell."
"McBride, is it?" Gallagher asked, walking up to her. "Are ye Scotch? Irish?"
With the aid of the flickering streetlamp, Chickadee noticed his eyes were as green as hers. And so were Shane's and Killian's. They looked to be about the same age as Saxon, maybe a bit younger, and were powerfully built. Shane and Gallagher had black hair, but Killian's hair was almost orange. All in all they didn't seem to be bad men. Just a mite snockered.
"I reckon I got a smidgeon o' Scotch or Irish blood in me," she finally answered. "Maybe both. My people come acrost the ocean-sea jist like you-uns done. Heared tell they was Irish, but warn't nothin' writ down in my family, so it's a mite hard to tell. All's I can tell you is I'm from the North Caroliner mountains. I live here now though."
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