The Barefoot Bride (17 page)

She never even heard him shut the door, so great was her amazement at her surroundings. The entire room, decorated in varying shades of blue and pink, was sumptuous. All the furnishings were elaborate, but the monstrous bed held her attention the longest. The coverlet was of shiny rose satin. From each of the bottom corners, fine lace flowed to the floor like frothy bubbles. The bedposts, carved with painstaking detail, nearly reached the ceiling. Why one old woman needed a bed of that size was beyond Chickadee. She couldn't for the life of her understand how Araminta could use so many pillows. There were at least ten, in all sizes and shapes.

"Lord o' mercy, Khan. Either the woman's the bigness of a house or she don't sleep alone."

Khan wagged his tail, loped to the bed, and leaped gracefully onto it. He walked in small circles before he settled down in the lush satin, crossing his front paws in satisfaction as he closed his eyes.

Chickadee shrugged her shoulders and proceeded to make a fire in the marble fireplace. When the blaze was dancing merrily, she sat on the floor and untied the knotted ends of a bulging piece of cloth, dumping its contents onto the immaculate blue carpet.

Saxon walked in to find her up to her knees in pine straw. "What are you doing with that mess?"

She didn't look up but continued to twist, bend, and braid the pine needles. "You ain't got much of a mem'ry, Saxon. Afore we left the hills, you said you was gwine stop somewhar and git yore sister a present."

"What does that have to do with all this pine straw?"

"Well, you never got Desdemona nothin', so when we got here to Wilmin'ton, I gathered up these twankles whilst you was a-talkin' to the captain o' this here ship-boat."

"Twinkles?"

"Well, outlanders call it pine straw."

"You're going to give Desdemona a pile of pine straw? Oh, Keely, she'll love it. I can just imagine the fun she'll have with it," he said sarcastically.

"Y'know Saxon, a idee would bust yore head wide open. I ain't gwine give her no pile o' twankles. What do you thank I am? Mizzled?"

He smiled and kissed the top of her head.

"A-makin' her a basket's what I'm a-doin'. You said yore granny's got big, fancy gardens, and I figgered come greenup time Desdemona might like to have a basket fer when she goes out to pick all them posies."

Saxon's smile faded. Desdemona had never picked flowers in her life. She didn't care about things like that. She didn't care about anything.

But his smile returned in a flash when he remembered that Desdemona had yet to meet Chickadee. "Could the basket wait for a while? I thought you might like to go topside and watch as we leave."

Chickadee stood, brushed off her breeches, and snapped for Khan. The wolf paid her no mind. "Khan, you ornery—"

"Let him sleep, Keely. He's been traveling on foot for weeks."

"Yore granny ain't gwine mind him a-sleepin' on that fancified bed?"

Saxon smirked devilishly. "I'm sure Grandmother wouldn't mind a bit sharing her bed with the new Blackwell pet."

*

The
Sea Siren
glided safely through the waters of the moody Cape Fear River, her competent captain steering clear of the treacherous shoals that were the cause of many shipwrecks. And when the luxurious steamboat slipped out of the mouth of the river, Chickadee shivered with awe at her first sight of the ocean-sea. As if to impress her, the white-capped waves battered the sides of the boat, spraying her so thoroughly that she was soon drenched from red head to bare feet.

Saxon tried to take her back to the room, insisting she needed to get out of her wet clothes, but she refused. Though the sea enchanted her and the boat amazed her, her heart was pounding so furiously, she thought it would surely fly out of her chest and sink into the water at any moment.

The coastline of her home state was slowly disappearing.

Saxon saw the sadness in her eyes. "Back," he said, that strange sense of dread returning. "You'll be back, Keely."

She buried her face in his coat. "Saxon, will you do somethin' fer me?"

The melancholy glimmer in her eyes made him ache for her. "Anything."

"Well, when you and me are a-lovin' up on each other, I fergit about all other thangs. It's like nothin' matters but what we're a-doin'."

"Enough said, Mrs. Blackwell." He swept her into his arms and carried her to their stateroom. There they both stared at the plush bed and smiled at the thought of the passion that would soon be given free rein in it.

Of course, they had to get Khan off first.

*

"Lordy," Chickadee whispered, her breath visible in the cold air of the harbor. She pulled Saxon's coat tightly about her and watched the
Sea Siren
pass the other ships that bobbed like corks in the New England waters.

The journey, most of which she had spent in Saxon's arms, was over now. The familiar, soothing beauty of the Appalachia was far behind her, and just ahead, noisy and crowded, was Boston.

As the
Sea Siren
approached the wharf, she gripped the railing and stared at the dockside, a commercial district of striking brick and granite warehouses, and wide streets. Everywhere she looked, she saw people hurrying. Many were running, but even those who were walking were quick about it. She scanned the area thoroughly for signs of anything that would make the people rush about so, but she saw no fire or any other sort of danger.

"Welcome to Boston." Saxon put his arm around her and gently caressed her cold cheek. "What do you think of it?"

"Well, it ain't the Blue Ridge." She stroked the raccoon tails at the waistband of her breeches. "Law, Saxon, look at that woman. She's got a umbreller over her head, and it ain't even a-rainin'."

Saxon saw the woman in question and smiled. "That's a parasol. It's used to keep the sun off her face."

"Y'mean she don't want no sunlight to lit on her?"

"Not a ray."

"But—I ain't never heared o' nothin' so silly. Why don't she jist stay in the house?"

His answer was cut off by the
Sea Siren's
whistle. At the sudden noise, Khan began to howl. Even after the whistling ceased, he continued, eliciting stares from the people gathered around the landing.

The ship's sailors quickly made the preparations for departure, and Chickadee soon found herself in front of Saxon's personal coach. Drawn by four gray thoroughbreds, the black barouche was gilt-trimmed; the Blackwell crest was emblazoned in gold on the door. Two footmen, dressed in elaborate livery, were positioned at the back. The postilions wore the finest buckskin breeches Chickadee had ever seen. Their high-top boots gleamed, as did their black silk coats and the gold braid that adorned their caps.

While one of the footmen tied Hagen to the back of the carriage, Saxon assisted Chickadee inside. The interior was as luxurious as the outside, the walls and cushioned seats covered with gold satin damask.

"Wolf!"

The sudden shout interrupted her examination of the coach. "Saxon, whar's Khan?" She jumped to the ground and noticed a crowd of people not too far away. Between the spaces of their legs and skirts, she saw a flash of white. When she saw a dock-worker cock his pistol and butt his way through the throng, she turned back to the carriage and pulled out her rifle.

Saxon grabbed it. "Just what do you think you're—"

"Khan's over thar, and I swear iffen one hair on him is hurt, I'm gwine blow somebody's fool head offen!" She snatched her gun from his grasp and ran toward the horde of people, Saxon at her heels.

When she arrived at the scene, she saw Khan cornered between two buildings. "Dang it! Move!" she screamed, jostling people out of her way. Not one person paid her a bit of attention, everyone anxiously waiting to see what would happen between the armed dockman and the snarling wolf. Chickadee, with practiced ease, shot three consecutive shots into the air.

"Dammit, Keely!" Saxon yanked the gun away from her.

The crowd broke apart immediately, all eyes switching from the feral beast to the redheaded rustic. Chickadee ignored them all and ran to Khan, but just before she reached him, a deep voice stopped her.

"Step away from him, miss," the dockhand said, his pistol leveled at Khan.

"Step away?" Her hand flew to her thigh, and from a long leather sheath she withdrew a sharp hunting knife. Saxon read her mind, but the knife was slicing through the air before he could take it away from her.

Precisely as she intended, the tip of the blade sank into the toe of one of the dockman's boots, the hilt quivering. When the man looked down, Chickadee ran to Khan and threw her arms around him.

"Look... look what she did!" the worker exclaimed. "These are the only boots I own!"

"And this here's the onliest pet I own, mister!" Chickadee glared at the man and the shocked audience. "Khan warn't a-hurtin' nobody. He was jist a-sniffin' around, and all you-uns crowded 'round him so's he couldn't go nowhars! Dang shameful's what it is!"

"All right, Keely," Saxon said. "No harm was done."

"No harm?" the dockhand bellowed, gesturing toward his boot. "I expect to be paid for this damage."

Saxon sighed. "Tell me how much they cost, and I'll—"

"You ain't a-gittin' nothin' fer them boots, you God-burn varmint!" Chickadee grabbed her rifle from Saxon and aimed it at the workman. "Khan you ain't had yore supper yet, have you?"

The wolf's tongue slipped out of the side of his mouth, his saliva dripping to the pavement, his glacial blue gaze centered on his would-be killer.

"Keely, stop this nonsense," Saxon said, attempting to wrest the rifle from her.

She kept a tight hold on the gun. "Nonsense? This here cuss was gwine shoot Khan! That ain't no nonsense. Git him, Khan."

The wolf bared his teeth and with his head hung low, slunk toward the dockhand. The workman raised his pistol once more, but Chickadee shot the gun right out of his hand.

Several women screamed. Men gaped. Saxon clenched his jaw. "Keely, are you quite finished?"

"No, I ain't. Ain't gwine be finished till this here buzzard says he's sorry to Khan! Go on, mister. Say yore sorry, or I'll let him tar you up."

Saxon tried again to take her rifle from her, but she still refused to relinquish it. "Keely, this is ridiculous. Whoever heard of apologizing to a wolf?"

"I got my tail up and stinger out, Saxon, so hesh up. I ain't a-studyin' you no how."

"But—"

"What is the meaning of this?" The crowd parted for the policeman as he approached Chickadee and Saxon. "Young lady, what are you doing with that rifle?"

Saxon sighed. "Officer, this is all a terrible misunderstanding. She was only trying to protect her—"

"She threw this knife at me!" the dockman cried.

He pulled the blade from his boot. "I only wanted to keep this beast from attacking someone, when this female heathen—"

"Heathen?" Chickadee shouted. She crossed and snatched her knife back. "Listen here, mister. Khan warn't gwine hurt nobody, and iffen you don't say yore sorry fer near 'bout a-killin' him, I'm gwine take this here blade and cut yore ass too thick to fish with and too thin to fry!"

Saxon blanched, recognizing the genuine menace in her voice. "Keely—"

"Miss, you are obviously not from here and apparently don't understand the seriousness of your actions," the policeman interjected. "Lower your rifle immediately, or I'll be forced to arrest you for threatening this man."

Chickadee whirled on him, her eyes spitting green fire, her finger toying with the trigger of her gun. "Yore a-lookin' at me like I was a bottle o' stale piss, Mr. Sheriff, and I don't take kindly to nobody inspectin' me that way. All's I want is fer this here varmint to say he's sorry to Khan, and then I'll be on my way."

Saxon stepped between the policeman and Chickadee, his hands spread out in a pleading gesture. "Officer, I'll gladly pay for the man's boots so we can be done with this matter. Keely meant no harm, and you're correct in assuming she's not from here. I realize wolves aren't allowed to roam freely here in Boston, and—"

"They most assuredly are not!" the policeman agreed vehemently. "What if this beast had attacked someone?"

"Wouldn'ta been no more'n these here people deserved!" Chickadee shouted. "They surrounded Khan and he don't like a-bein' penned in!" She turned back to the dockman. "You gwine say yore sorry, mister, or—"

"I'm sorry!" The workman swabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. "Just give me the money for my boots, and I'll leave you and your damn wolf alone forever!"

"Money?" Chickadee shot back, pushing the barrel of her rifle into the man's chest. "I'm gwine thresh the straw jist one more time fer you, mister. You ain't gwine git one penny fer them sorry boots on account o' you started this whole thang!" With each word she uttered, she thrust the rifle into him harder, pushing him backward.

"Keely!" Saxon reached her in two strides, his money pouch already open in his hands. He took out a wad of bills and threw them at the man. Taking Chickadee by the shoulders, he pulled her away, his tight grip defying resistance.

"Dang you, Saxon! Why'd you pay that worthless rascal?"

"Keely," he said into her ear, "stop this at once."

The hushed command told her he was dead serious. And the look in his sharp, azure gaze made her own eyes widen. She couldn't understand why he was so angry. After all, all she'd been trying to do was right a wrong. But apparently, fool-headed as he was, he didn't see that.

"Please excuse the disturbance, officer," Saxon said. "I'll make sure such an occurrence never happens again."

"See that you do. And if I ever see that vicious animal loose again, I'll shoot him myself. I've no idea why you have a wolf, and I've no wish to hear your reasons. Just take him and this... this
yokel
out of the city and to a place where neither of them can do any further harm!"

Chickadee bristled at the name he'd called her but said nothing when Saxon's grip on her shoulders suddenly increased in strength.

"Officer," he said sternly, "this woman is my wife. She is not a
yokel
, she's an Appalachian mountain girl. There is a big difference between the two. Good day."