Keegan's Lady (27 page)

"Sure you can. You're talking, aren't you? You can't talk without breathing." He brought her hands to his mouth and trailed his lips over her tightly clenched knuckles. "Just calm down," he repeated firmly, huffing his breath against her icy skin in an attempt to warm her. "Take a deep breath. Come on. There's a good girl. Now, one more."

At the tail end of a shuddering breath, she said, "I don't want to be married. I never w-wanted to be."

"I know. Unfortunately, life has a way of throwing loops at the best of us sometimes." Knowing that she'd been around a number of cattle, he didn't feel it necessary to explain that analogy. She'd probably tossed her fair share of lassos. He ran a massaging hand up her side. "We'll work our way through this, Caitlin. You'll see. It won't seem quite so bad once the idea of being married starts to grow on you."

Releasing her wrists and drawing his leg off hers, he rolled onto his side and drew her close, pillowing her head on his arm. Their faces mere inches apart, he searched her frightened gaze, wondering what exactly had happened to her that she would be so terrified. He didn't believe the word "compromised" drew an accurate picture. Anger welled within him.

She splayed her hands on his chest, whether to cling to him for comfort or to hold him at bay, he wasn't sure, and he guessed she probably wasn't either. Her palms were so cold they seemed to burn his skin, her fingertips like ice shards digging in.

"Mr. Keegan?"

Ace ran his hand up her side and over her hair. As he'd I noticed earlier, it was coarser than most women's and far curlier. He liked the way it felt. He traced the hollow of her cheek with the back of a knuckle, his throat going tight with an emotion he didn't wish to name. Only one thing seemed certain to him in that moment, that he wouldn't force this girl to do anything. Hers wasn't a simple fear, but sheer terror.

"Mr. Keegan?" she said again.

"What?" he asked gruffly.

In the filtered moonlight, her huge, luminous eyes clung to his, imploring, beseeching. After several long-seconds, she whispered raggedly, "Why me? If you wanted to get married, why did you pick on me?"

Ace nearly reminded her he hadn't been given much choice in the matter, that fate had done the choosing for both of them. But that didn't seem a very smart thing to say, especially not to his wife on their wedding night. "Some things are just meant to be," he whispered, "I think this is one of them."

As he said the words, Ace realized he truly meant them. His body still absorbing the residual shudders that wracked her fragile frame, he gazed down at her small face and knew with absolute certainty, which had nothing to do with reason and everything to do with instinct, that fate had led him in a circle back to this place, that for reasons neither of them could conceive she was supposed to be lying here in his arms.

For a hero, he had a few too many rough edges, and he'd be the first to admit it. But in a way, maybe that qualified him for the role more than anyone else. Given his reputation with a gun and his tendency to be an ornery son of a bitch when he got crossed, no one would dare try to hurt her again. That was a step up from the situation she'd been in a few hours ago, vulnerable to any Jack who cared to do her dirty, her spoiled brother at the head of the line.

"Caitlin, sweetheart, listen to me."

Ace hadn't a clue what he meant to say, only that he ached for her. It was a terrible thing to feel so afraid. He knew because he'd been there. Even now, at a weight of well over two hundred pounds and with plenty of muscle to defend himself, he could still remember the sick fright he'd felt as a boy when he'd been helpless against grown men.

Trapped in a female body, Caitlin would always be at a disadvantage when pitted against a man. She undoubtedly feared that if she let down her guard, even for an instant, someone would harm her.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promised huskily. "I'll even go a step farther and not touch you. Not anywhere personal, at any rate. How does that sound? For tonight. A period of grace, so to speak. Would you like that?"

She nodded, but her expression told him she wasn't sure she believed him. Ace sighed and shifted his weight to get more comfortable. At his movement, her whole body snapped taut. She wasn't going to relax, he realized. He could talk himself blue, promise her the moon, and nothing he said or did was going to ease her mind. Lying within the circle of his arms, she felt so small and frighteningly brittle. He was almost afraid to tighten his hold for fear he might hurt her.

Her features were drawn with the ravages of exhaustion. Yet he doubted she would get much sleep, possibly not any at all, unless he thought of some way to reassure her.

Not sure what possessed him—even as he released her and swung from the bed, he questioned his sanity—he strode across the shadowy bedroom to the chair. Grabbing up his belt, he removed his knife and scabbard. As he walked back to the bed, he extended the weapon to her. When she made no move to take it, he realized she couldn't see what he held.

"Here," he said gruffly as he bent to put the leather-sheathed blade into her hands. "It's my knife. I sharpened it myself to shave my whiskers. I already unfastened the strap that holds it in the scabbard, so you can pull it out easily."

"Your knife?" she repeated in a bewildered voice.

As he slipped back into the bed beside her, Ace couldn't help but wonder if he'd live to laugh about this madness later. "Yes, my knife. I, um, thought it might make you feel a little safer."

"Safer?" she echoed.

Ace couldn't help but smile. "Yes, safer. If I try to hurt you, you have my permission to slit my throat. All I ask is that you don't go for the belly. A gut wound is a slow death, and I'd prefer to die quickly—if it's all the same to you."

He settled in beside her, his head resting on the pillow next to hers, their noses almost touching. She clutched the sheathed knife in both hands, the blade nestled between her breasts. "Are you crazy?"

"Probably."

"Why would you—I mean—" She glanced downward. "This is a real knife. You used it to cut my dress."

"Which probably dulled the blade a little, so be sure to put some muscle behind it if you decide to use it. Like I said, I want to die quick."

He heard her gulp. The sound caught at his heart. "I— I couldn't stab you, Mr. Keegan."

"That's good to know. By the same token, I don't make a habit of forcing myself on women. Call me lazy, but for some reason, it just never struck me as being worth all the effort." Her incredulous expression made his grin broaden. "I do, however, have my quirks. One of them is to get at least a little sleep every night. I don't function very well without it. I thought maybe both of us could get some shut-eye if you felt a little more relaxed about being in bed with me."

"What if the knife comes out of the scabbard and one of us rolls on it?"

"I doubt that will happen. It has a fairly long blade, and it's buried to the hilt inside the leather." He could think of something else he wished were buried to the hilt. Fat chance of that.

She tucked in her chin to regard the weapon she held to her chest. Ace wasn't sure what he expected, only that it wasn't the sob that tore from her throat. He bent his head to try to see her face, an impossible feat given her tousled hair.

"Caitlin, what's wrong?" He'd meant to reassure her by giving her the knife, not to upset her even more. "Caitlin?"

"It's n-nothing," she managed in a squeaky voice. "It's just th-that I didn't expect—" Her voice broke, and she shuddered.

Ace closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to the top of her curly head. With a heavy sigh, he said, "You didn't expect what, sweetheart? For me to give you the knife? It's a small thing and worthwhile if it makes you feel better."

She gave her head a shake. "To under-understand. I d-didn't expect you to understand. About h-how I feel."

He had a hunch this girl had rarely been understood or had her feelings taken into consideration. "It seems simple enough to me. It's not like you got out of bed this morning expecting to get married tonight. My being a stranger makes it even worse. I don't blame you a bit for feeling a little frightened." A little frightened? A master at understatement, that was he. He curled a hand over hers where they were knotted around the knife handle. "I just hoped you'd feel a little safer if you had some way to defend yourself, that's all."

Another sob worked its way up from her chest. "You could t-take it away. If I tried to use it, y-you could take it away from me, lickety-split."

Ace had never been much of a hand at lying. Even so, he decided to give it his best. "Honey, I wouldn't stand a chance. I'll bet you're mighty fast with those small hands. A man my size tends to be slow at—" He nearly said slow at the draw but caught himself just in time. "To move. We tend to be slow to move."

She raised her face to regard him with eyes gone silvery with tears. If Ace had been fully clothed and standing erect, he felt pretty sure he would have melted and run into his boots. This girl had wormed her way straight into his heart. If things continued at this rate, he doubted he'd know which way was up by this time tomorrow.

"From what I've heard, you're quicker than greased lightning with those hands of yours," she informed him in a thin voice. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

Ace knew when it was time to fold. "Is it working?"

She stared up at him for several deafeningly quiet seconds. "Yes, I think maybe it is."

He reached to smooth a curl from her cheek, then settled his hand on her hair. Her skull felt incredibly small in the cup of his palm, driving home to him how vulnerable she must feel. His throat went tight. "That's all that matters, Caitlin, that you feel better. As for my taking the knife away, why would I bother to give it to you if that was my plan? There's always the chance you're faster than I think. If I had mischief in mind, I could end up with my throat slit."

She sniffed and bent her head to dry her cheek on the shoulder of her nightgown. The wonderfully clean smell of sun-dried cotton wafted to his nostrils. When she looked back up at him, he thought some of the fear had slipped from her eyes. "Thank you," she said so softly he nearly didn't catch the words.

"You're welcome." He touched his thumb lightly to the small gash at her temple. It was good to feel at least some of the tension ease from her body. For a stupid man, he had his moments. Now, just as long as she didn't get spooked. ... He shoved the thought from his mind. He doubted that even terrified she had it in her to knife a man. "Now, can we try to get some sleep?"

She nestled the knife more snugly between her breasts and nodded. Ace watched as her eyelids drifted slowly closed. For several seconds, he scarcely breathed for fear of startling her. Then he forced his own eyes closed. He was exhausted, no two ways about it. Tomorrow would be a long day.

Against his eyelids, he saw her face, so pale and drawn.

Where the crook of his arm pressed against her shoulder, he could still feel her shivering slightly. They had a long way to go, the two of them, but this was a start. Once this first night was behind them, she'd surely begin to realize he didn't mean to ravish her, and would start to relax a little in his company.

He tried to think of something they might do together tomorrow, some unthreatening activity she might enjoy that would allow her to get to know him a little better. The idea of going for a picnic along the creek leaped to mind. He envisioned the creek bank, bathed in sunshine, the two of them sharing a meal on a blanket, Caitlin's hair glinting like melted copper.

Yes, a picnic might be just the thing.

***

Caitlin lay beside her new husband, so tense she was almost afraid to breathe for fear of waking him. In his sleep, he moved his hand from her hair to her shoulder, his thumb and long fingers curling warmly over her arm. Her every instinct screamed at her to draw away, to escape the bed, to huddle in some dark corner where she would be safe. Remaining still was one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

Gradually, though, the heat of his body began to envelop her, radiating warmth that seemed to reach clear to her bones. If she left the bed, she'd be freezing within minutes.

His even breathing stirred a tendril of hair at her temple and sent it tumbling over one eye. Each time he expelled a breath, the flyaway hair tickled her eyelashes. She blinked. She wrinkled her forehead and wiggled her eyebrows. Nothing helped. Within minutes, she could stand the tickling no longer. Very carefully, so as not to waken him, she reached up to brush the hair from her eye. At the movement of her arm, slight though it was, he mumbled something unintelligible and slipped his hand from her shoulder to her waist.

Caitlin gulped and Held her breath. As though he was unaccustomed to finding a woman's body beneath his hand, he kneaded slightly with his fingertips, learning the shape of her even as he slept. Her pent-up breath rushed out when he trailed his palm over her hip and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Soon, though, he grew still again, his hand limp, heavy, and wonderfully warm. She clutched the knife more closely and smiled, remembering how gruff he'd sounded as he handed it to her. Empty gesture though it was, not many men would have bothered to make it. The fact that he had meant more to her than she could say.