The Barefoot Bride

by Paisley, Rebecca

  The thought of him married to another woman, lying in someone else's arms, having a child with... "No! Lord o' mercy, Saxon, please—"

  "I'm not the man for you!" This time he succeeded in thrusting her from him. He glared down at her, hoping she saw only the feigned indifference in his eyes and not the love he could barely conceal. "I'm cold. You're warm. I'm held fast to my money, and you want no part of it. I crave all things elegant; you're the epitome of simplicity. I'm a bitter, suspicious man. You're innocent, trusting. We are as opposite as a raging fire and a glacier."

  Fire and ice. She saw them both in her mind. If the flames were hot enough, big enough, wouldn't they melt the wall of ice? The question reverberated through her brain. "You ain't got to be so bitter, so cold. You—"

  "I've been like that for almost thirty years," he choked. "If you stayed in Boston, you would become as poisoned as I." It was true, he realized then.

  Boston. There was no freedom here. Yet he was tied to the city forever. He would not allow it to be Chickadee's prison too. He left the window and stalked to the bed.

  "But you was a-comin' around! Saxon, you was a-warmin' up to all the love I been a-givin' you. You—"

  "I had a good time with you, and that is the extent of it, Keely. You were different. A nice change from normality. What has that to do with love? People can enjoy something without loving it, can they not?" Dear God, how many more lies will I be forced to tell you, my love?

  She hurried to him, desperate to get a hold on this situation before it was too late. "Saxon—"

  He took her by her shoulders. "Keely, I am not who you think I am. You only see the man you want to see. You want me to be warm and loving and full of happiness. Therefore you believe me to be that way. But I am nothing at all like the man you want me to be!"

  Releasing her, he began to pace. "There are bitter things inside me. I can't explain. You would never understand. There's nothing either you or I could ever do. You," he said and stopped to look at her, "would never understand." At least that is no lie, he fumed, and crushed down the age-old pain.

  Her eyes widened when she heard the chilling truth in his voice. She understood a lot more than he thought she did, and one thing she comprehended fully at that moment was that she'd underestimated the power of his demons. Before now, she hadn't realized just how profound were the wounds Araminta's hatred had inflicted upon the boy she'd glimpsed that night in the library so long ago. She'd mistakenly thought she could reach that frightened child inside him. But she realized now that only Saxon himself could do it. Only by remembering, defying, and conquering his ghosts would he ever be truly rid of them. Love had surely weakened them but had not overcome them. Not yet.

  The final, bitter battle between love and hatred would be waged here and now, she decided. Her love against all the hatred tucked away within him. Tonight would determine which of the two fierce emotions was the stronger. And then... maybe then...

  But how would she make Saxon fight? He'd been running from his childhood memories for years. She had no doubt he'd do the same now.

  He saw the contemplative gleam in her eyes. "If you're trying to come up with a way to change my mind, Keely, don't. My decision is final." He snatched off his neckcloth, crushed it in his fist, and then unwadded it.

  She watched him lace it between his fingers and knew he was trying to avoid looking at her. She walked to where he stood, reached for his hand, and closed her own around it.

  The contact jolted Saxon, spiraled through him, filling him with an urgent yearning to take her into his arms and tell her he loved her now, would love her tomorrow, would love her for all eternity.

  But that same love gave him the strength to yank his hand out of hers. He returned to the bed, tore off his shirt, and flung it at the door. "Do we understand each other now, Keely?"

  She joined him and ran her hands down his chest. "Make love to me, Saxon." Lightly, she traced his collarbone with the tip of her tongue. "Make love to me." Her arms went around him, her fingers slipping into his hair as she brought his face down to hers. "Make love to me," she whispered in the breath of the second before their lips met.

  He crushed her to him, kissing her deeply, thoroughly. Dammit, he would have all of her before the night was over! Have her and live on it for the rest of his miserable life. "Leave," he mumbled into her mouth. "You will leave, Keely."

  She pulled away from him, reached for the fastening at his trousers, and made quick work of undressing him. Saxon, caught fast in the magic web of desire, was helpless as he watched her hands slither sensuously over his hard body.

  "Sorceress," he hissed and then moaned when her mouth began the journey her hands had taken. "But your spells, too, must come to an end." He reached for her, pulled her to her feet, his stormy gaze aimed into her smoldering one. "End, mountain girl. Tonight is our last."

  Her auburn brow rose before she went to a table and poured two brandies. She handed him one and toasted him. Neatly, she drank hers and then smiled slowly, meaningfully. "Then let's make the mostest of it."

  It never entered his mind to question her sudden acceptance of his decision. His burning need for her consumed every thought in his mind except his passion for her.

  With an air of mystery about her, as if she were unveiling a secret treasure, she reached for the silken ties of her bodice and pulled at them with agonizing slowness. The heavy satin rustled to the floor, drowning her feet in a turquoise sea. Her creamy undergarments followed, creating white-capped waves upon the vivid blue. She stood before him then with only her earrings on. The exquisite diamonds glittered, the reflection of the firelight dancing within their facets. She reached for them and, one by one, slid them off her ears. In cupped hands, she held the shining pieces of ice for one brief moment before she let them splash into the satin pool at her feet.

  "Whatever sorter woman I am, I'm still a woman," she whispered huskily. "And whatever kind o' man you are, yore still a man. Make... love... to... me... now."

  He took a step forward. The brandy he still held sloshed onto his hand. He watched it drip to the rug. Looking back up at Chickadee, he pointed to the floor.

  A question in her eyes, she sank to her knees. He shook his head. She sat. His blue gaze told her no. She met it with one that said anything and stretched out on the luxurious carpet. He knelt beside her, inserted his finger into his snifter, and painted her lips with brandy. "Drunk. I am drunk with lust for you, mountain girl. Tonight I will drink my fill."

  Drop by drop, he wet her body with the brandy. From toes to forehead, she was thoroughly moistened with the potent fluid. "I have no idea," he said and bent to lick at the brandy pooled in the hollow of her throat, "which is the more intoxicating, you or the brandy. But after tonight I will know the answer."

  His mouth drank the amber droplets from her ivory skin. At her toes he began; to her calves, knees, and thighs he went. Upward, onward, his tongue, his lips, his teeth traveled, biting, licking, sucking alternately at her flat belly, the gentle curve of her rib cage, the swell of her breasts, the velvet slope of her neck, and finally the peach softness of her mouth. Her scent, the perfume he'd never been able to describe, permeated his mind and soul. He gulped at the taste of her, and still his thirst for her could not be quenched. Her skin rippled beneath his hungry mouth, her moans filled his being, lifting him to greater heights of desire.

  "Saxon." His name was her plea. He needed no other urging and gave her that for which she begged. She accepted him with all the love she had for him and indulged herself with one brief moment of the pleasure mounting within her before she mentally tore herself away from it. Steeling herself from the anger she knew was just on the horizon, she used every bit of willpower to rise above the desire that continued to lance through her.

  "Remember," she panted into his ear and never slowed the rhythmic circling of her hips. "You was about four, five years old."

  He became still.

  "Make love to me, Saxon."

 
Had he imagined what he'd heard her say? Unsure, he resumed his lovemaking. The pleasure was intensified with each of the wild movements she made beneath him.

  "You wanted lovin' hands, but she only had pizened fangs. She was a spider a-layin' in wait fer you."

  His stomach wound into a hard knot. "What?"

  "Love me, love me," she purred, her tongue flicking in and out of his ear. She tightened herself around him and continued to stroke him within.

  "Keely," he began but was again lost in the bliss her body offered him.

  She let him savor it for a while longer before speaking again. "You couldn't run away then, and you cain't run now neither. She hurt you, and that hurt never went away. Let it outen, Saxon. Git shed of it ferever."

  He realized he was hearing correctly. "Stop—" His every muscle strained as he tried to control the explosion of memories Chickadee's whispered reminders loosened within, but even as they escaped from their chains, his unbridled passion for her continued to grow. His entire body was welded to hers in one way or another. He shook his head in an effort to clear it of his past, wanting to concentrate on nothing but Chickadee. But the memories still remained.

  Chickadee knew it by his body's sudden stiffening. He was remembering.

  "Let me see... from the time you was old enough to understand thangs, Araminty set a-plantin' it in yore head thur was somethin' so dang wrong with you that it jist warn't possible fer her to love you. But that warn't enough. She tole you nobody else was ever gwine love you neither. Ain't that what she said?"

  His only response was to try and lift himself from her, but his efforts were futile. She clung to him, body and soul, giving him no quarter.

  "Stop this at once," he growled, then moaned when she shifted beneath him and he slid deeper into her.

  "Iffen I close my eyes, I can near 'bout see you as a young-un. You prob'ly got inter all sorter mischief jist like all young-uns do. And ole Spider Woman was allus thar with that cane, a-mellerin' you ever' time you—"

  "Dammit, Keely!" he shouted, his mind ravaged with pain. "Don't—"

  "Yore little heart was a-breakin' fer her to love you, and yore little body was a-achin' fer her to hold you. But she didn't never do them thangs. She only kept on—"

  "I'm warn—"

  "And finally that cane o' hers broke more'n yore body. It broke yore spirit. Beatin' after beatin', and her allus a-tellin' you that nobody warn't never gwine love you. Allus a-sayin' that you didn't know how to love nobody neither. Over and over agin, ever' minute of ever' day and night. She didn't never let up. She—"

  "Enough!" But it was too late. Like red-hot lava, the memories spewed forth from the volcano he'd kept dormant for too many years. Destructive and uncontrollable, they covered him with burning rage.

  He crushed her face between his hands. His gaze, like a blue bolt of lightning, sizzled into her. "Go on and slap me, Saxon. Y'know dang well you want to hit somebody."

  He dug his fingers into the back of her neck.

  "Still cain't do it? Well, let me hep you. Thank on all them thangs Araminty done to you. Remember that cane, how it felt on yore bare skin. How you cried and begged her to stop. And how she didn't never stop!"

  Her sweet face seemed to melt into Araminta's heinous one. He shook his head, searching for Chickadee again, but he couldn't find her. "Keely?"

  "What did she do? Have Thatcher hold you down? Did she tie you up with ropes?"

  The need to release his violence overwhelmed him. With tremendous determination, he tried to expel Araminta's horrible visage from his mind, but she remained, sneering, cackling, her black brooch glowing.

  "Yore afeared." Chickadee goaded him on and arched her hips against his. Her efforts were rewarded by Saxon's involuntary moan. "Yore skeert o' them feelin's you got pushed down so deep. Y'know iffen you let 'em go and brang 'em to mind, thur gwine make you hurt agin—jist like they hurt when you was little."

  "So you're saying if I talk about them, they'll go away?" He let out a horrible laugh. "Things like that don't go away, Keely! Not ever!"

  "Yeah? What makes you so dang shore? You thank you know ever'thang, but you—"

  "Stop!" He hammered his fist down to the floor.

  "Saxon—"

  "Quiet!"

  She kept him within her, and while her body tormented him sensuously, her lips tortured him verbally. "It's a sour tit, but you got to suck it. Ain't nothin' else in the world but mem'ry, and that'll mend what Spider Woman done to you. Yer gwine have to reach down and get holt o' that little boy who's still inside thar. He's been covered with pain, fear, and hatred fer too many years. Even when his body turned inter a man's body, his little mind, heart, innocent needs... No, thur ain't two ways about it. Yer gwine have to git mad enough to bite a nail in two and then let it all out afore—"

  "Why are you doing this?"

  "I love you! And that's why fer I'm a-doin' this to you, you dang fool! So git mad, Saxon!"

  Tremendous fury thundered through him. "If it's rage you want, Keely, I grant you your wish!" Brutally, he drove into her.

  Instinctively, she had known she was the only instrument he could use to overcome the pain. "Go on," she urged him. "Here I am, ready to take ever' bit o' hatred you got to give. All the frustration, wrath, and sorrers. Give it all to me, Saxon. I'm gwine take it and turn it inter love!"

  He rammed into her, his devils driving him unmercifully. Everything came back to him full force, all the horrible memories. He couldn't separate himself from them any longer. They tore through him, and with them rose a loathing for the woman who'd caused them.

  And Chickadee knew then the fight between hatred and love had begun.

  She could feel nothing but misery surging through him. His lovemaking was barbaric. He plunged into her with a strength akin to madness. "You want to be crazy, Saxon? Have at it then!"

  Her hips circled faster and her movements, frenzied now, caught up with the pace of his and matched them, soon outdoing them. She pushed at his buttocks, demanding he seek even more deeply inside her.

  Though he was now thrusting into her with incredible power and urgency, she took all of him, her love forming a warm cushion for him. "Saxon, by all them angels in heaven, I love you. With ever' bit o' what and who I am, I love you."

  Her hands swept up his back to grab at his hair. She pulled his head away from her neck and then caught his lips with her own. There was no gentleness in her kiss as she plundered the inside of his mouth. She bit at him until she tasted his blood, and still she continued to kiss him, allowing him no chance to escape her.

  "The trunk," he gasped down at her, the memory flooding him with remembered terror. The trunk. The years fell away. He was only five. "She locked me in it!"

  Chickadee's eyes fluttered closed in horror. "I'm in thar with you, Saxon!"

  He felt her warmth seep into him. "Once," he choked into her hair, " she locked me in it for two whole days. No food, no water, and in my own stench. When she let me out..."

  "Feel me with you, Saxon," Chickadee encouraged him, and rained kisses down the length of his neck.

  "When she let me out, she—"

  "Beat you?" Chickadee guessed and knew she'd realized the truth when his face tightened with the effort to control the memory that was too horrible to bear any longer. "That dang cane again?"

  "Cane." He drove into her again, his mental image of Araminta still driving him violently onward. "It was a black serpent in her white claws! It bit, and its bite was deadly, time and time again!"

  "Feel my hands, Saxon," Chickadee said as she swept them down his sides. "I ain't got no cane. Thur ain't nothin' in my palms but the itch to hold you."

  Another memory seared into his mind, branding him with more anguish. "One time... I wanted to put flowers on my parents' graves," he whispered raggedly. "I took my pony one morning and went to the field where I knew they were buried. I didn't know exactly where they were though, so I scattered wildflowers all over and prayed some would l
and where their bodies lay."

  She hugged him fiercely. "You ain't in that field alone, Saxon. I'm right thar with you."

  "I wasn't alone then either. Thatcher followed me. He caught me and returned me to Grandmother. She made me watch as she gave my pony away to a stranger. My pony, Keely! He kept looking back at me as the man led him away! Maybe he thought I didn't want him anymore!"

  His misery became her own. Her tears slid freely down her face and into her hair. "Yore poor, poor pony."

  His frenzied lovemaking slowed a bit as he felt her tears wet his face. It seemed so strange to know someone else was sharing his pain. It had been his and his alone for so long. The memories—

  He tensed again as more erupted. "I'm still here, Saxon," she reminded him.

  He told her all of it, holding nothing back. She fought nausea as she listened. That a small, defenseless child should have had to endure such atrocities, that Araminta had threatened separate orphanages for him and Desdemona should he try to escape or tell anyone... It was almost too much for Chickadee's compassionate heart to bear. But bear it she did for Saxon. He'd lived with it for years all by himself. He would never be alone with it again.

  And he would soon be rid of it all. "Saxon," she whispered when he became still atop her, his fight with his past steadily draining him. "You mem'ried all them thangs. Now you got to thank on 'em in yore mind and in yore heart. See 'em fer what they are. Let 'em do what they will. Let 'em do thur worstest, and when they cain't do no more, they'll disappear."

  The battle within him quickly rose to a climax. His pent-up hatred for Araminta, his ever-growing love for Chickadee, the war between the two, coursed violently through his body, heart, and soul. They weakened him again, and he wondered if he could continue. Yet when he was at the point of collapsing, he felt Chickadee's strength rush into him, filling him with yet more power, more need for her. His muscles, his entire body seemed to execute his actions not with his stamina, but hers.