"Kristin?"
He whispered her name slowly, fearfully.
There was something in his voice that she had never heard before, a frightened tone, and it touched her deeply.
"I'm here," she whispered ruefully.
He looked over the side of the bed and swore. He leaped swiftly from the bed, and took her in his arms. She felt the pounding of his heart, felt the tremors that still racked him as he laid her down on the bed again.
"I hurt you. I'm so sorry."
His voice was deep, husky. She felt her own throat constrict, and she shook her head, burrowing more deeply against his naked chest. "No. You didn't hurt me. I'm all right, really."
He didn't say anything. He didn't even move. He just held her.
She wanted to stay there, where she was, forever. She had never felt so cherished before. Desired, admired, even needed. But never so cherished.
"You had a nightmare," she told him tentatively.
"Yes," he said.
"I wish you would tell me —"
"No."
It wasn't that he spoke so harshly, but that he spoke with absolute finality. Kristin stiffened, and she knew he felt it. He set her from him and rose. She watched as he walked over to the window, and as he stood there in the moonlight a dark web of pain seemed to encircle her heart. He walked with a pride that was uniquely his. He stood there for a long time, naked and sinewed and gleaming in the moonlight, and stared out at the night. Kristin watched as his muscles slowly, slowly eased, losing some of their awful rigor.
"Cole —" she whispered.
He turned back to her at last. He walked across the room, and she was glad when he lifted the covers and lay beside her again, drawing his arm around her and bringing her head to his chest. He stroked her hair.
"Cole, please —"
"Kristin, please. Don't."
She fell silent. His touch remained gentle.
"I have to leave tomorrow," he said at last.
"Where are you going?"
"East."
"Why?"
He hesitated for a long time. "Kristin, there are things that you probably don't want to hear, and there's no good reason for me to tell you."
"No questions, no involvement," she murmured. He didn't answer her, but she felt him tighten beneath her.
"It's late," he said at last. "You should —"
She rose up and touched his lips with her own, cutting off his words. She wondered if she should be angry, or at least cool and distant. Nothing had changed. He had married her, but he still didn't want any involvement.
That didn't matter to her. Not at that moment. She only knew that he was leaving, and that in these times any man's future was uncertain at best. She ceased the flow of his words with the soft play of her tongue and leaned the length of her body over his, undulating her hips against his groin and the hardened peaks of her breasts against his chest. She savored the sharp intake of his breath and the quick, heady pressure of his hands upon her back and her buttocks.
Now it was her turn to inflame him. She nuzzled her face against his beard, and she teased his throat and the hard contours of his shoulders and chest. She tempted him with her tongue and with her fingertips and with the entire length of her body. She moved against him, crying out again and again at the sweet feel of their flesh touching. She teased him with her teeth, moving lower and lower against him. He tore his fingers into her hair and hoarsely gasped out her name. She barely knew herself. She was at once serene and excited, and she was certain of her power. She took all of him without hesitation. She loved him until he dragged her back to him and kissed her feverishly on the lips, then drew her beneath him. There was a new tension etched into his features, and a new blaze in his eyes. Taut as wire, he hovered above her. Then he came to her, fierce and savage and yet uniquely tender.
She thought she died just a little when it was over. The world was radiant, painted with shocking strips of sunlight and starlight, and then it was black and she was drifting again.
He held her still. He didn't speak, but his fingers stroked her hair, and for the moment it was enough. His hand lay over her abdomen. Tentatively she placed her fingers over his. He laced them through his own, and they slept.
But in the morning when she awoke, he was gone.
Three days later, Kristin was pumping water into the trough when she looked up to see a lone rider on the horizon, coming toward the house. For a moment her heart fluttered and she wondered if it might be Cole returning. Then she realized it couldn't be him. It wasn't his horse, and the rider wasn't sitting the horse the way he did.
"Malachi!" she called. He and Jamie would be with her for another few days. She frowned and bit her lip as she watched the approaching rider. It wasn't Zeke, she knew. Zeke never rode alone. Besides, there was no reason for her to be afraid of Quantrill's boys. Cole had gone through with the wedding to protect her, and anyway, Quantrill was supposed to be moving south for the winter. There was no reason to be afraid.
She was afraid anyway.
"Malachi —" she began again.
"Kristin?" He appeared at the door to the barn, his thumbs hooked in his belt, his golden brows knit into a furrow. He hurried over to her and watched the rider come. His eyes narrowed.
"Anderson," he murmured.
"Who?"
"It's a boy named Bill Anderson. He's… he's one of Quantrill's. One of his young recruits."
"What does he want? He is alone, isn't he?" Kristin asked anxiously.
"Yes, he's alone," Malachi assured her.
Jamie appeared then, coming out of the barn, his sleeves rolled up, his jacket off. He looked at Malachi. "I thought Quantrill was already on his way south. That's Bill Anderson."
Malachi nodded. "He seems to be alone."
The rider came closer and closer. He was young, very young, with a broad smile. He had dark, curly hair and a dark mustache and beard, but he still had an absurdly innocent face. Kristin shivered, thinking that he was far too young to be going around committing murder.
He drew his horse up in front of them. He was well armed, Kristin saw, with Colts at his waist and a rifle on either side of his saddle.
"Howdy, Malachi, Jamie."
"Bill," Malachi said amiably enough. Jamie nodded an acknowledgment.
"Cole's headed east, huh?" Anderson asked. He smiled at Kristin, waiting for an introduction. "You his new wife, ma'am? It's a pleasure to meet you."
He stuck out his hand. Kristin thought about all the blood that was probably on that hand, but she took it anyway and forced herself to smile.
"I'm his new wife," Kristin said. She couldn't bring herself to say that it was a pleasure to meet him, too. She could barely stand there.
"Kristin Slater, this is Bill Anderson. Bill, what the hell are you doing here? There's a lot of Union soldiers around these parts, you know," Malachi said.
"Yep," Jamie agreed cheerfully. "Lots and lots of Federals in these parts. And you know what they've been saying about you boys? No mercy. If they get their hands on you they intend to hang you high and dry."
"Yeah. I've heard what the Union has to say. But you've been safe enough here, huh, Malachi? And you, too, Jamie."
"Hell, we're regular army," Jamie said.
Anderson shrugged. "They have to catch us before they can hang us. And I'm not staying. I just had… well, I had some business hereabouts. I've got to join Quantrill in Arkansas. I just thought maybe I could come by here for a nice home-cooked meal."
Malachi answered before Kristin could. "Sure, Bill. Jamie, why don't you go on in and ask Delilah to cook up something special. Tell her we've got one of Quantrill's boys here."
Jamie turned around and hurried to the house. Delilah was already standing in the doorway. As Kristin watched, Shannon's blond head appeared. There was a squeal of outrage, and then the door slammed. Jamie came hurrying back to them.
"Malachi, Delilah says she needs you. There's a bit of a problem to be dealt with."
<
br /> Malachi lifted an eyebrow, then hurried to the house. Kristin stood there staring foolishly at Bill Anderson with a grin plastered to her face. She wanted to shriek, and rip his baby face to shreds. Didn't he understand? Didn't he know she didn't want him here?
Men using Quantrill's name had come here and murdered her father. Men just like this one. She wanted to spit in his face.
But he had evidently come for a reason, and Malachi seemed to think it was necessary that he be convinced that Kristin was Cole's wife and that this was Cole's place now.
Kristin heard an outraged scream from the house. She bit her lip. Shannon obviously realized that one of Quantrill's men was here, and she didn't intend to keep quiet. She certainly didn't intend to sit down to a meal with him.
Anderson looked toward the house, hiking a brow.
"My sister," Kristin said sweetly.
"Her baby sister," Jamie said. He smiled at Kristin, but there was a warning in his eyes. They had to make Bill Anderson think Shannon was just a little girl.
And they had to keep her away from him.
Apparently that was what Malachi was doing, because the screams became muffled, and then they were silenced.
Malachi — the marks of Shannon's fingernails on his cheek — reappeared on the front porch. "Come on in, Bill. We'll have a brandy, and then Delilah will have lunch all set."
Bill looked from Malachi to Kristin and grinned. "That came from your, uh… baby sister, Mrs. Slater?"
"She can be wild when she wants," Kristin said sweetly. She stared hard at Malachi. He touched his cheek and shrugged. Kristin walked by him. "Too bad they can't send her up to take on the Army of the Potomac. We'd win this war in a matter of hours. Old Abe Lincoln himself would think that secession was a fine thing just as long as Shannon McCahy went with the Confederacy."
"Malachi!" Kristin whispered harshly. "You're talking about my sister!"
"I ought to turn her over to Bill Anderson!" he muttered.
"Malachi!"
Anderson turned around, looking at them curiously. "Where is your sister?" he asked.
"The baby is tucked in for her nap," Malachi said with a grin. "We don't let her dine with adults when we have company in the house. She spits her peas out sometimes. You know how young 'uns are."
Kristin gazed at him, and he looked innocently back at her. She swept by him. "Mr. Anderson, can we get you a drink? A shot of whiskey?"
"Yes, ma'am, you can."
Kristin took him into her father's study and poured him a drink. As he looked around the room, admiring the furnishings, Malachi came in and whispered in her ear.
"Shannon's in the cellar."
"And she's just staying there?" Kristin asked, her eyes wide.
"Sure she's just staying there," Malachi said.
Soon they sat down to eat. Sizzling steaks from the ranch's own fresh beef, fried potatoes, fall squash and apple pie. Bill Anderson did have one big appetite. Kristin reminded herself dryly that he was a growing boy.
He was polite, every inch the Southern cavalier, all through the meal. Only when coffee was served with the pie did he sit back and give them an indication of why he had come.
"Saw your husband the other day, ma'am."
Kristin paused just a second in scooping him out a second slice of pie. "Did you?" she said sweetly.
"Sure, when he came to see Quantrill. He was mighty worried about you. It was a touching scene."
She set the pie down. "Was it?" She glanced at Malachi. His eyes were narrowed, and he was very still.
"He used to be one of us, you know."
"What?"
Despite herself, Kristin sat. She sank right into her chair. "What?" she repeated.
Jamie cleared his throat. Malachi still hadn't moved.
Bill Anderson wiped his face with his napkin and smiled pleasantly. "Cole is one of the finest marksmen I ever did see. Hell, he's a one-man army, he's so damned good. It was nice when he was riding with us."
Kristin didn't say anything. She knew all the blood had fled from her face.
Bill Anderson forked up a piece of pie. "Yep, Cole Slater was just the same as Zeke Moreau. Just the same."
Malachi was on his feet in a second, his knife at Anderson's throat. "My brother was never anything like Zeke Moreau!"
Jamie jumped up behind him. He was so tense that Jamie couldn't pull him away. Kristin rushed around and tugged at his arm. "Malachi!"
He backed away. Bill Anderson stood and straightened his jacket. He gazed at Malachi, murder in his eyes. "You'll die for that, Slater."
"Maybe I'll die, but not for that, Anderson!" Malachi said.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" Kristin breathed, using her softest voice. "Please, aren't we forgetting ourselves here?"
It worked. Like most young men in the South, they had both been taught to be courteous to females, that a lack of manners was a horrible fault. They stepped away from each other, but their tempers were still hot.
"You came here just to do that, didn't you?" Malachi said quietly. "Just to upset my sister-in-law. I'm willing to bet Zeke Moreau asked you to do it."
"Maybe, and maybe not," Anderson said. He reached over to the sideboard for his hat.
"Maybe she's just got the right to know that Cole Slater was a bushwhacker. You want to deny that, Malachi?"
Kristin looked at Malachi. His face was white, but he said nothing.
Anderson slammed his hat on his head. He turned to Kristin. "Mighty obliged for the meal, ma'am. Mighty obliged. Cap'n Quantrill wants you to know that you should feel safe, and he's sorry about any harm that's been done to you or yours. If he had understood that your loyalties lay with the Confederacy, none of it would have come about."
It was a lie, a bald-faced lie, but Kristin didn't say anything. Anderson turned around, and she heard the door slam shut as he left the house.
Delilah came in from the kitchen. The old grandfather clock in the parlor struck the hour. They all stood there, just stood there, dead still, until they heard Bill Anderson mount his horse, until they heard the hoofbeats disappear across the Missouri dust.
Then Kristin spun around, gripping the back of a chair and staring hard at Malachi. "Is it true?"
"Kristin —" he began unhappily.
"Is it true?" she screeched. "Is Cole one of them?"
"No!" Jamie protested, stepping forward. "He isn't one of them, not now."
She whirled around again, looking at Jamie. "But he was! That's the truth, isn't it?"
"Yes, damn it, all right, he was. But there was a damned good reason for it."
"Jamie!" Malachi snapped.
"Oh, God!" Kristin breathed. She came around and fell into the chair. Malachi tried to take her hand. She wrenched it away and jumped to her feet. "Don't, please don't! Can't you understand? They are murderers! They dragged my father out and they killed him!"
"There are a lot of murderers in this war, Kristin," Malachi said. "Quantrill isn't the only one."
"It was Quantrill's men who killed my father," she said dully. "It was Quantrill's men who came after me."
Malachi didn't come near her again. He stood at the end of the table, his face pinched. "Kristin, Cole's business is Cole's business, and when he chooses, maybe he'll explain things to you. He's asked us to mind our own concerns. Maybe he knew you'd react just like this if you heard something. I don't know. But you remember this while you're busy hating him. He stumbled into this situation. He didn't come here to hurt you." He turned and walked to the door.
"He rode with Quantrill!" she whispered desperately.
"He's done the best he knows how for you," Malachi said quietly. He paused and looked back at her. "You might want to let your sister go when you get the chance. I tied her up downstairs so she wouldn't take a trip up here to meet
Bill Anderson. He might not have liked what she had to say very much… and he might have liked the way that she looked too much."
He went out. The clock suddenly seemed
to be ticking very loudly. Kristin looked miserably at Jamie.
He tried to smile, but the attempt fell flat. "I guess I can't tell you too much of anything, Kristin. But I love my brother, and I think he's a fine man. There are things that maybe you can't understand just yet, and they are his business to discuss." He paused, watching her awkwardly. Then he shrugged and he, too, left her.
It wasn't a good day. She sat there for a long time. She even forgot about Shannon, and it was almost an hour before she went downstairs to release her. When she did, it was as if she had let loose a wounded tigress. Shannon cursed and ranted and raved and swore that someday, somehow, if the war didn't kill Malachi, she would see to it that he was laid out herself.
She would probably have gone out and torn Malachi to shreds right then and there, but fortunately he had ridden out to take a look at some fencing.
Shannon was even furious with Kristin. "How could you? How could you? You let that man into our house, into Pa's house! After everything that has been done —"
"I did it so that Quantrill would leave us alone from now on! Maybe you've forgotten Zeke. I haven't!"
"Wait until Matthew comes back!" Shannon cried. "He'll take care of the Quantrill murderers and Malachi and —"
"Shannon," Kristin said wearily, "I thought you were going to take care of Malachi yourself?" She was hurt, and she was tired, and she couldn't keep the anger from her voice. "If you want to kill one of the Slater brothers, why don't you go after the right one?"
"What do you mean?" Shannon demanded.
"Cole," Kristin said softly. She stared ruefully at her sister. "Cole Slater. The man I married. He rode with Quantrill, Shannon. He was one of them."
"Cole?" Shannon's beautiful eyes were fierce. "I don't believe you!"
"It's the truth. That's why Bill Anderson came here. He wanted me to know that I had married a man every bit as bad as Zeke Moreau."
"He's lying."
"He wasn't lying. Malachi admitted it."
"Then Malachi was lying."
"No, Shannon. You two have your differences, but Malachi wouldn't lie to me."
Shannon was silent for several seconds. Then she turned on Kristin. "They are Missourians, Kristin. They can't help being Confederates. We were Confederates, I guess, until… until they came for Pa. Until Matthew joined up with the Union. And if Cole did ride with Quantrill, well, I'm sure he had his reasons. Cole is nothing like Zeke. You know that, and I know that."
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