The Barefoot Bride

by Paisley, Rebecca

  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.

  "Disobey me, will you, mountain girl?" Saxon charged. "Venture out where danger awaits?"

  He watched her fingers slither over the buttons of her shirt, the fabric falling away as if by magic. She had beautiful breasts. Full, ripe, and his for the touching, the tasting.

  "The breeches too," he ordered when her hands fell to the hay. "Everything."

  Her palms met the waistband, rolling the garment slowly, so very slowly, down over her hips.

  Saxon stared at the silken nest of hair that was soon revealed to him. Beneath it, he knew, blazed a fire: a deep, smoldering fire he would soon fan to flaming heights and then quench.

  Her firmly muscled legs, smooth as polished marble, squirmed out of the breeches. A goddess. She was a goddess from the hills. His own clothing seemed to drop from his body of its own volition. He never remembered removing it. But there it lay at his feet, with hers.

  Kneeling, he began at her ankles and kissed the satiny expanse of her skin all the way up to her mouth. His tongue wet her lips, and he saw how they glistened in the moonlight. He saw her skin, as pure as fresh cream, and then watched how even her freckles began to gleam beneath the moisture that suddenly bedewed her face. Her eyes glittered as if with fever.

  Wanting to see as much of her as possible while he made love to her, he sat, pulled her into his lap, and watched her eyes widen when he slid into her. Saw how her head fell back as he plunged and filled her.

  "Who are you, Keely?" he moaned as he guided her hips. "What is it you have that no other girl I've ever known has had?" His eyes traveled from her face to her breasts, and down to her belly. Her legs were around him. How good they felt there.

  And the feelings he was experiencing this time were more than physical. Yes, he felt the familiar pleasure, but he felt as if he was using a part of himself he'd never used before.

  How it drove him to please her. He held her close, all the while moving her, circling his hips next to hers so she could feel more of him. He gave her more than his body, but he had no idea what it was he gave. His arms closed around her, felt her tense, and supported her as she shuddered with her release.

  She slid from his lap and reached for him, smiling at the confusion in his azure eyes. Lying back, she pulled him down, wanting to feel both his familiar weight upon her and the bite of the hay on her back. And though he'd only just slipped from inside her, she gasped when he entered her again.

  Tightly, as if he might move off her, she squeezed the skin of his back. She thought she heard a moan, but dismissed the sound promptly, her mind turning to the tender feelings she'd perceived in him only moments ago.

  She wondered if he knew she'd sensed them.

  His own release came violently. His groans and soft yells were so like music, she mused while holding his still-quaking form.

  How she loved this man.

  "Keely," he began, slipping from her, "I've told you before you're special to me. I haven't changed my mind about that. But Keely," he said, his voice wavering slightly, "you are to take my feelings for you for exactly what they are. Do you understand?"

  A tiny needle of anxiety pricked her. "What are they?" She nestled against his chest.

  Knowing she could hear how wildly his heart was thrashing, he willed the organ to slow. "Even before we left the Appalachia, I told you I enjoy being with you. I'm used to you, Keely."

  She smiled. Saxon was going to resist until the very end. "You beat all. You wanted to know how I feel about you, and then you got all franzied over my answer. I love you, Saxon. I mighta started lovin' you the minute I first seed you. Don't matter no how. I love you now, and—"

  "Keely, you're only grateful to me."

  "Grateful? What fer am I grateful to you?"

  "I've given you many things. I'm taking care of your neighbors back in North Carolina, I saw to Khan—"

  "Saxon, I'm jist one fraction from a-workin' mysef into a snit. Afore that happens, git it inter yore fool head I'd love you iffen you was as poverty-poor as all git out. Yore money don't mean nothin to me. I like all them clothes and jewries, and I am obliged to you fer a-gittin' that doctor man fer Khan. But them thangs ain't why I love you. I love you on account o' what's inside you. Shore, yore the fancy Saxon Blackwell on the outside, but inside? Well, I love that little young-un in thar. I love—"

  "Stop saying that!" Saxon jumped to his feet. "I don't want to hear you say that ever again!"

  "Then why'd you want to know about my feelin's?"

  "How do you know that I did?"

  "Jist knowed. So why'd you want to know?"

  "Because... because... How the hell should I know? It was just one of those stupid things people do sometimes. But the fact of the matter remains that you don't love me, and that's that!"

  Chickadee pulled a piece of hay from her hair and casually tickled her nose with it. "I do love you, and that's that."

  "No you don't!"

  "Yes I do."

  "I don't want to hear it anymore!"

  "Too bad. I love, love, love, love—"

  "Dammit, Keely!"

  "Dang it, Saxon."

  "You're mistaken! You only think you love... There's no such thing as... I don't believe in... You're breaking the agreement!"

  "It warn't writ in blood, was it?"

  "The bargain... You—I... You're supposed to leave here when I destroy your father!" He walked across the floor of the loft and stared out the window.

  Chickadee joined him. "New York. You... you found him, didn't you, Saxon?"

  His gaze swept over her face, searching in vain for whatever it was that made his heart shrivel at the thought of her leaving him.

  No, he couldn't let her go. Not until he was tired of her. That would soon happen. It always did. Dammit, it would happen!

  "Keely, I'm sorry. I haven't found him."

  *

  Chickadee kept telling Saxon how much she loved him. Every day she found new ways to say it and to show him. Her supply of the tender emotion seemed bottomless to him, and, despite his efforts to the contrary, she soon occupied his every waking and sleeping moment.

  His mind strayed from his work to her. His dreams were never of anything but her. There was nothing beautiful in the world that didn't, in some way, remind him of her.

  And he began to wonder if he really did have a heart after all. For didn't you have to possess a heart to be so dangerously close to losing it?

  His feelings were so foreign to him, and his inability to understand them tortured him. He spoke of them to no one, not even Max, for to give them voice would be akin to admitting they existed for real. And he was too careful a man to trust something—most especially emotions—he didn't comprehend fully.

  To gain the distance and time he needed to sort through hi
s confusion, he threw himself back into the life he'd led before ever meeting the girl who'd caused the total uproar of his senses.

  He accepted every invitation that came his way and saw his old friends so frequently that Chickadee found she had no time to show him the devotion from which she knew he was running.

  Frustration plagued her as she looked for a surefire way to make him understand her deep love for him. When she could find no solution to her dilemma, her frustration became fear. For the first time in her life, she was at a complete loss about what to do.

  Araminta, however, was delightfully aware that something wasn't right between them. She had high hopes the mountain girl would soon leave, but when Saxon began to insist she escort Chickadee to various assemblies, her hopes plunged. She adamantly refused his demands until his demands suddenly gave birth to a new scheme.

  She resolved to put her strategy into action immediately. "You haven't been anywhere at all since the sewing circle," she told Chickadee one afternoon when they met on the staircase. "I was just coming up to invite you to a tea that will be held at the Quinten estate in one hour. Ashley Quinten is about your age, and I thought you might like to meet her."

  Chickadee immediately became wary. This was the first time Spider Woman had deigned to speak to her since the sewing meeting. And now Araminta was actually inviting her to a tea! "Yore a-bein' mighty nice terday, Araminty. Yore usually about as refined as a cabbage." Her brow arched.

  "You needn't look at me that way," Araminta snapped. "I am not inviting you because I enjoy your company, of that you may be sure. I am only offering to take you because Saxon insists I assist you back into society. He has become increasingly irritating about it lately, and I am inviting you to go with me to stop his badgering."

  She looked away lest Chickadee see through her lies. She had every reason to believe her scheme would work wonderfully. The mountain girl would undoubtedly cause an uproar at each assembly she attended, the gossip would be horrendous, and Saxon would eventually be humiliated over his wife's neverending, ill-mannered antics. He'd ignored gossip before, but if it were to go on and on, becoming worse and worse... well, not even Saxon could bear that. He would send the girl back to where he'd found her. It made perfect sense. After all, Chickadee hadn't really had the opportunity to cause the kind of chaos that would mortify him. It was up to Araminta to see that she had as many of those opportunities as possible.