She still couldn't marry him. Not if she carried ten of his children, not if they were both about to be hanged in a matter of seconds. And suddenly she realized why.
She did feel for him. He had created a tempest deep within her heart, and it was with her always.
She didn't know how to put a name on the feeling. She didn't know if it was love or hatred or a combination of both. The thought of him with another woman had made her insanely jealous, and it had been humiliating to see how quickly he could still arouse her in the wake of her anger. Maybe their hatred had been mixed with love from the very beginning. Maybe circumstances were letting all her emotions explode here and now.
But she couldn't marry him.
She had heard herself. He didn't love her. And if he was forced into marrying, he would never forgive her. Not in this lifetime, or the next, and he would escape her as soon as he possibly could. She didn't want the misery for either of them.
If she was ever to have him, it had to be of his own free will.
"Mrs. Haywood, I can't—"
"Let's go into the next room. I hear voices. Papa must be in there with the preacher, and it's high time that we got on with the ceremony."
"Mrs. Haywood—"
The woman stopped and turned to her, her hands folded serenely before her. "Papa is not a patient man, young lady. And I'll wager he's got the shotgun aimed right at your Captain Slater's heart. Don't tarry, now. I don't want him getting nervous. The poor fellow might move in the wrong direction and Papa might decide to shoot him in the kneecap just to make sure that he sticks around."
With a smile she turned and opened the shelved door and proceeded into the parlor. Shannon hurried behind her. They didn't mean it. They wouldn't shoot Malachi, and they wouldn't hang him, either.
Would they?
She stopped short when she came to the entrance of the parlor.
Malachi was there. He was standing right in the center of the parlor.
Mr. Haywood had apparently decided to dress Malachi for the occasion, as well. He was wearing a ruffled white shirt and a pin-striped suit with a red satin vest and a black-lapelled frock coat. She'd never seen him dressed so elegantly, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw him. The beauty of his costume was offset by the raw menace in his eyes and the rugged twist of his jaw. She had never seen him so coldly furious, nor had his eyes ever touched upon hers with such glaring hatred and with such a raw promise of revenge.
For a moment she couldn't move farther. She couldn't breathe, and she believed that her heart had ceased to beat. Panic made her seize hold of the doorway, meeting the savage fury of his glare.
"Come in, come in!" Mr. Haywood called.
She still didn't move. Then she realized that the preacher was moving behind Malachi. He was a tall thin man with a stovepipe hat and black trousers and a black frock coat. He nodded to her grimly.
She heard a peculiar sound and looked at Malachi again…and saw that his wrists were shackled by a pair of handcuffs.
"Oh…really, please," she murmured. "Please, you all must understand…"
"Talk to her, captain. Talk to her quick," Mr. Haywood advised Malachi. He, too, was all spruced up in a silk shirt and brown trousers, which gave him a dignity he had lacked earlier. One arm was around his wife's shoulders; in the other, he carried the shotgun.
"Get over here!" Malachi snapped to Shannon.
The deep grate of his voice brought her temper surging to the fore. "Malachi, damn you, I am trying—"
She broke off with a gasp because he was striding her way with purpose and hostility. He might have been shackled but he managed to get a grip around her wrist, jerking her hard against him. She shivered as she felt the fire and tension and fury within him and felt his heated whisper against her cheeks.
"Get over here and marry me."
"Malachi, I don't believe them. I don't believe that they'll hang you if we don't marry."
He glared at her. "So you want to wait—and see?" he asked her slowly.
"I don't think—"
"You don't think! Do you want to wait until they tie the rope around my neck? Or maybe we should wait until I'm swinging in the breeze!"
"We could—"
"Shannon! Get over here and marry me now!"
"No! I will not—"
"You will, damn you!"
"I won't! Malachi, it wouldn't be right—"
"Right! You're talking about right? At a moment like this you're worried about right?"
"I don't love you!"
"And I don't love you, so maybe we're perfectly right!" His eyes narrowed to a razor's edge, raked hers with contempt. "They'll hang me, you bitch! Get over here and do it."
"What a wonderful way to ask!" she hissed sweetly.
His jaw twisted and set. "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you."
"And I'm afraid I'm not listening."
His fingers tightened around her wrist with such a vengeance that she cried out softly again.
"Captain Slater!" Martha Haywood protested, calling from the center of the parlor.
He didn't ease his hold. She found herself watching the pulse at the base of his throat with a deadly fascination. She felt weaker than she had ever felt in her life. She had thought she knew how to match her temper to his.
But maybe she didn't.
He pressed her up against the door frame, hard. "Shannon, you can get out of this later. You can say that you were coerced. But for the love of God, get over there now."
Some demon steamed inside her then, and she didn't know quite how to control it. All of her seemed awhirl in a tempest of hot blood and raw emotion. His anger fed her own. And for once, he was powerless against her.
"I don't like the way you're asking, captain," she told him icily.
He wasn't powerless, not in the least. With a swift turn on his heel, he dragged her along after him into the center of the room. She was stunned when he fell down on one knee, maintaining his firm grip on her before the preacher and the Haywoods. "Miss McCahy!" he hissed, the words dropping like sharp icicles from his mouth. "Dear Miss McCahy— beloved. Do me the honor this day of becoming my lawful wedded wife!"
"That wasn't exactly voiced the way I always thought that I'd hear the words!" Shannon retorted.
"Please, please, please, my beloved darlin'!" he said, rising swiftly, his eyes like knives that sliced through her. She was shaking, knowing that she pushed him. But he could have protested, too. He could have done more than he was doing.
"One more please, captain. And make it a good one."
"Please," he said. She had never heard anything that sounded less like an entreaty. He looked like some savage creature, and he didn't just want to chew her all up, he wanted to skin her alive first. But her demons told her they shouldn't be doing this.
He didn't wait for her answer, but turned to the reverend. "Go ahead, preacher man," he said dryly. "Get to it."
"No!" Shannon protested.
Mr. Haywood cocked the shotgun. The preacher began the ceremony.
Shannon listened to him in a daze. She could no longer run screaming into the street, because Malachi held her in a vise. Nor could she really risk it. Maybe Haywood would hang Malachi. She just didn't know.
The preacher was nervous. Looking at Malachi would probably make anyone nervous. Only the Haywoods seemed complacent.
Malachi answered the preacher in a cold raw fury, biting off each of his words. He spoke loudly and with a vengeance, enunciating each word. Love, honor and cherish. Till death did them part.
When her turn came, Shannon couldn't answer. She turned to him with one last fervent plea.
"Malachi, we can't do this—"
"Love, honor and obey!" he snapped at her.
"Malachi—"
"Say it!"
Shivering, she turned to the preacher. She stuttered out the words.
"The ring," the preacher said, clearing his throat.
"The ring?" Malachi said blankly.
"I've got it, Reverend Fuller," Mr. Haywood said. He stepped forward and placed a small gold band in Malachi's hand. Malachi stared at the man for a moment, fingering the gold. Then he slipped the ring on Shannon's finger, despite the fact that she was shaking so badly that her hands weren't still at all.
"We owe you again, Mr. Haywood," Malachi muttered.
"Don't worry. Price of the ring will be on your bill," Mr. Haywood said complacently.
"Hush, Papa! This is a beautiful rite!" Mrs. Haywood murmured.
It fit her tightly, snugly. Shannon felt the gold around her finger as smoothly and coldly as Malachi must feel the steel of the cuffs around his wrists. His eyes touched hers with a searing blue hatred and she thought that she could not wait to remove the ring.
Seconds later the preacher was saying that by the authority vested in him by the law of the great State of Kansas, and the greater authority vested in him by the glory of God on high, he now pronounced them man and wife.
Mrs. Haywood let out a long sob, startling them all. They stared at her. She blew her nose and smiled wistfully. "Don't mind me, dears, I always cry at weddings. Papa, release the groom from those shackles. He probably wants to kiss his bride. Reverend Fuller, could you do with a touch of Madeira? We've no champagne, I'm afraid. Maybe we've some across the way."
Reverend Fuller said that Madeira would be just fine. Mal-achi stared at Shannon venomously as Mr. Haywood came to him with a small key and freed him from the handcuffs.
"Captain Slater, a glass of Madeira?" Mrs. Haywood began.
But Malachi, freed, paid her no attention. He dragged Shannon into his arms and forced his mouth hard against hers with brutal purpose. His fingers raked her hair at her nape, holding her still for his onslaught. His tongue surged against her lips and forced them apart, raked against her teeth and invaded the whole of her mouth with ruthless abandon. Finally his mouth left hers and his lips touched her throat where it lay arched to him with deliberate possession. Then his mouth demanded hers again. His fingers trailed over the white lace of her gown with idle leisure and abandon, cupping lightly over her breast. The savage fury and heat of his kiss left her breathless, and with a searing sense of both clashing, tempestuous passion, and of deep, shattering humiliation that he would touch her so before others.
She felt the wrath in him deeply. It burned around him, and emitted from him in waves. She was amazed that he had married her; that he hadn't told the Haywoods to go ahead and hang him, and be damned. She hadn't thought that Malachi could be coerced into doing anything that he didn't want to do, but it seemed that they had managed to coerce him.
She tore away from him; he let her go. The back of her hand rose to her lips, as if she could wipe away his touch. "They should have hanged you!" she hissed.
He blinked, and opaque shadows fell over his eyes. He bowed to her in a deep mockery of courtesy.
"You were trying hard enough, weren't you?"
He didn't give her a chance to answer. He swung around to Mrs. Haywood. "I thank you for your hospitality, ma'am," he drawled with a sure trace of sarcasm, "but I think I've a mind for something a little stronger at the moment." He strode toward the front door, then paused, looking back. "I have fulfilled your requirements to escape the hangman, haven't I?"
"Sign your name on the license, and you're free to go," Mrs. Haywood said.
Malachi walked to the marble-topped table where the license lay. He signed his name with an impatient scrawl and looked at Mr. Haywood, his jaw twisted hard, his hands on his hips.
Mr. Haywood nodded to him grimly. Malachi cast Shannon one last glare and then he threw open the door, slamming it in his wake. Shannon stared after him as cold fingers seemed to close over her heart.
"Madeira?" Mrs. Haywood offered her with a winning smile.
Shannon mechanically accepted the glass of wine. She cast back her head and swallowed it down in a single gulp. It wasn't enough. Malachi was right about one thing—they both needed to head straight for the whiskey.
She set her glass down. The wine tasted like bitter acid in her present mood. "I'll give you your dress back, Mrs. Haywood," she said simply. She turned, nodded to the preacher and to Mr. Haywood, and ran up the stairs. She found both keys on the bedside table, and picked them up, biting into her lower lip with such force that she drew a trickle of blood.
Malachi might really be her husband now, but he wasn't coming into this room again. Ever.
Ever!
She couldn't admit it, not even to herself, that her fury came mainly from the fact that she was afraid that he wouldn't even try.
He had slipped a ring upon her finger, forcing her to issue vows, and then he had left her.
For a red-haired whore.
No, he wouldn't be coming in the room again. Ever…
* * *
"Why, Ma—Sloan!" Iris called out to him as he entered the saloon. She never would get accustomed to calling him by another name.
He nodded her way and walked up to the bar, tossing down a coin. "Whiskey, Matey, if you would, sir. Whiskey, and lots of it"
Iris, pretty as a picture in a quiet gray dress and blue shawl, hurried over to him. She slipped her arm through his. "I was about to leave. I'm going to take the buggy and head for Sparks and see what I might find out about your sister-in-law. Is it still safe for me to leave? What's happened?"
He looked at Iris, at the concern naked in her eyes. He felt her soft touch on his arm, and some of the anger eased out of him.
"It's safe." He caught her to him and tenderly kissed her forehead. "You're a fine woman, Iris. Funny, ain't it? You really are such a fine damned woman no matter what your vocation. And her…"
"Your…traveling companion?"
"The little darlin'…yes. Shannon." He grimaced, staring at the ceiling, then he laughed bitterly. "My traveling companion. The curse of my life! The sweet little—hellcat!"
"What did she do now?"
"Damned little witch. I should have let you floor her yesterday, Iris. Hell." Matey put the whiskey bottle in front of him and he took a long, long swallow, gasping as the liquor sizzled its way down his throat to his stomach. He looked at the bottle reflectively. "I should have floored her myself."
"Malachi…" Iris realized that she had used his name, and she looked quickly around. The saloon was nearly empty. Only Matey might have heard her, and Matey minded his own business. "Let's go to my room, Mr. Gabriel," she said softly.
Malachi looked at her speculatively and picked up the whiskey bottle. "Yes, Iris, let's go to your room."
She led him up a flight of stairs in the rear and opened the first door.
She had a real nice room for a working girl, Malachi thought. There was a big bed with four carved posters and a quilted spread, a braided rug on the floor, a handsome dresser and a full-length mirror on a stand.
"Nice," Malachi murmured. He drank more of the whiskey. He drank deeply, then he crashed down on the bed. He reached out for Iris with a slow smile curving into his lips. She sat down by his side, but watched him speculatively. He stroked her arm, and soft, feathery tendrils of desire swept along her flesh. She wanted to be touched by him. She had almost forgotten the feeling of wanting to be touched.
She pulled her arm away. He swallowed more whiskey, leaving one last slug in the bottle. Then he just lay there, staring at the ceiling.
"I want to kill her, Iris. I want to close my fingers right around her lovely white throat, and I want to squeeze until she chokes. I want to take my hand…" He raised his right hand as he spoke, studying the length of his fingers and the breadth of his palm, flexing his fingers. "I want to smack my hand against her flesh until it's raw…I want to shake her until her damned teeth crack!"
"Malachi, what happened?" Iris asked him softly.
His eyes fell upon her. His lip curved into a twisted, wry grin. "I married her. For real."
Iris lowered her eyes, swallowing. "Why?"
"They said they'd hang me if I di
dn't. They're convinced that she's a sweet young innocent and that I seduced her."
"Didn't you?"
"No. Yes. Hell, she's almost twenty now, she's as sweet as raw acid, and as to her innocence…"
"Yes?"
"She seduced me equally. No one innocent has a right to look the way she does…naked."
Iris would have laughed if she didn't feel such a peculiar hurt deep inside.
It wasn't that he had married the girl. It was the way he spoke about her.
"Now who is it who thought that you weren't married to begin with? Who thought that she was…seduced?"
"The Haywoods. They said they'd hang me."
"Of course they would want to hang you! You're worth a lot of money, dead or alive. There's a bounty on your head. If they know that you're not married, then they know—"
"They don't care who I am. They don't intend to let the knowledge go past themselves—and the reverend, of course," he added bitterly.
Iris exhaled softly. "Thank God for that!"
Malachi grimaced. "They weren't going to hang me for being a Confederate, a bushwhacker, or Cole's brother. They wanted to hang me because I seduced Shannon!"
Iris inhaled deeply. She couldn't believe that she was going to defend the other woman, that beautiful young woman with the sky-colored eyes, alabaster skin and the sun-drenched fall of long, curling hair.
But she was.
"Malachi, if the Haywoods forced you into a marriage, you can't really blame her." She paused, frowning. "Did she tell them…who you really are? Did she demand that you marry her? I mean, they are real God-fearing folk. Did they do it? Or did she force and coerce you?"
"What?" He stared at her blankly.
"Malachi, you can't hate her if they forced it. Maybe you can't even really hate her if she did make them force you into it. She isn't…well, she isn't my kind of woman. If you took advantage of her, maybe she had a right to force you—"
"She didn't force me."
"Then—"
"The bitch!" he exploded. "They're sitting there swearing up and down that they will hang me—and she's refusing! She's sitting there arguing with a shotgun. I was barely able to make her spit out the words! She would have made me hang."
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