The Barefoot Bride (29 page)

"Khan," she murmured down to him, her fear coagulating in her throat. "We been through too much fer you to leave me now, you ornery thang. Y'know I cain't abide this Boston place withouten you by my side. I know yore right at the hinge creak o' death, but you got to fight, boy. Please don't die on me, Khan."

As her hands caressed him, his hind leg twitched once. His body shuddered violently.

And then his chest ceased to rise.

"Khan? Khan?" She snatched her hands away from him and tried to take a breath. But there seemed to be no air in the room. The only thing around her was death. Before her, beside her, everywhere, death. She felt lightheaded with grief. Finally, she was able to inhale a jerky breath. "Khan!" she wailed. "Khan, oh Khan!"

"Keely!" Saxon crossed the room in three strides, his black cape whipping behind him. He pulled her into his embrace. "Keely, what—"

"Saxon, Khan died!" She buried her face in his shoulder, her knees trembling and then buckling.

He caught her as she fell and carried her to the bed. "What happened to you? Keely, who—"

"He's gone," she whispered, her eyes dazed. "He left me, Saxon. I tole him not to go, but he—"

"I'll need privacy if I'm to work, Saxon," an elderly man with a black bag said from the doorway. "I've already spoken to the maid, and she'll be here shortly with what I need. I'll call you and your wife when I'm finished."

Saxon went to him and urged him back out into the hall. "Dr. Larson, it appears we have no need of your services. The wolf has died. I'll have my driver take you home."

"Step aside, Saxon," Dr. Larson instructed, already going back into the bedroom. He went directly to Khan and crouched over him. "Knife wounds sometimes cause a condition I like to call false death." He opened his bag and removed his stethoscope. "The medical term is coma, but that sounds too scary to most people."

"What's he a-doin?" Chickadee asked, and sat up in the bed.

"He's listening for a heartbeat. But Keely, what hap—"

"A coma is a state of profound unconsciousness, Mrs. Blackwell," Dr. Larson said. "If you're not familiar with it, you can indeed mistake it for real death."

Hope climbed like rising steam. "Y'mean he ain't dead?"

"Precisely." Dr. Larson studied the room. "Clear off that table over there and lay a clean sheet on it. Saxon, you help me with the wolf. And you," he said to Candice when she arrived with a length of white cloth, "tear that into strips."

After everyone had done as ordered. Chickadee watched the doctor place several shiny instruments on the surgery table. "Tell me what to do to hep, Mr. Doctor Man."

"Keely, we'll disturb him if we stay," Saxon said, taking her arm. "Surely you don't want to disrupt his concentration?"

"Let her stay," Dr. Larson said. "This animal is her pet, and I may be able to use her assistance." He studied Chickadee. "Do you have a strong stomach, young lady? Because if you faint, I'll leave you on the floor and continue with the operation."

"She can't stay, doctor," Saxon barked. "I've yet to find out what happened, and—"

"Saxon, you try a-takin' me outen this room, and I'll lay you so low, you'll be able to wear a top hat and walk unner a snake's belly!"

Dr. Larson chuckled. "Better leave before she makes good her threat, Saxon. I cannot possibly do two surgeries at once."

With a tremendous sigh, Saxon left the room, knowing full well no power on earth could induce Chickadee to leave Khan.

When he was gone, Dr. Larson picked up a scalpel. "Talk to your wolf," he instructed Chickadee. "Tell him you're here. Tell him the things you always tell him. Remind him of life."

Chickadee nodded and bent close to Khan's ear, speaking so softly, only Khan and God could hear her.

*

Saxon threw another heap of soiled straw into the wheelbarrow. The barn was the only place he could think of to go while waiting for Khan's surgery to end. The house's walls had seemed to be closing in on him.

"Mr. Blackwell, sir," Josh, the stableboy, said. "I've just come from putting the horses out to pasture and was going to—Well, it's my job to muck the stalls."

"Take the day off, Josh!" The boy hurried away, and Saxon leaned against the handle of the pitchfork.

Ain't nothin' like hard work to cure a ailment in the mind, outlander
, he remembered Chickadee telling him once.
It's a knowed fact that when you sweat? Well, that sweat wrenches you dry of the uneases.

He went back to work and cleaned each of the thirty stalls. Two by two, he brought the horses back to their fresh compartments, fed and watered them, and then took up the pitchfork again.

"It didn't work, Keely!" he raged, breaking the wooden handle of the tool over his knee. "Dammit, what happened to you? Who took you?"

Still muttering to himself, he walked out of the barn and looked up at the mansion. For many moments, he stared up at the window of his bedroom where Chickadee still remained before he finally went to relieve another Blackwell employee of his job. Heedless of the cold wind that bit at his moist skin, he ripped off his shirt. Over and over he swung the ax. He split log after log, sending splinters flying every which way, his muscles straining with both exertion and anger.

It might have been you instead of Khan, Keely,
he seethed inwardly.
You with the wounds... the blood.
The picture he painted in his mind was so vivid, he gritted his teeth and flung the ax far away. Talking in great gulps of air, he sorted through his tortured emotions and tried to understand why he was so terribly, deeply disturbed.

Chickadee was fine. She'd shown no signs of injury whatsoever. So why couldn't he relax? "Because you could have been killed, Keely!" he screamed, spinning on his heel to stare at the bedroom window again.

She'd been up there for hours, dammit, and that was long enough! Khan or no Khan, she was going to leave that room and tell him what had happened. He'd been out of his mind with worry when he'd discovered her missing, and when he'd found Khan, no dread he'd ever felt had been worse. He'd notified the police immediately and then set out to scour Boston on his own. For hours on end, he'd ridden through the streets, calling her name. There was no way in hell he was going to wait another minute to find out what had happened to her.

He stormed toward the house, his emotions so frenzied that when he entered the mansion and slammed the door, servants scurried out of his path. When he was halfway up the stairs a knock at the door stopped him. Realizing it could be the police with news of Chickadee's abductors, he rushed to answer it.

Cynthia Hamilton stood on the doorstep, her pink lips curling when she saw Saxon's bare chest.

"What do you want, Cynthia?"

She swept past him, her heavy perfume making him wince. "Saxon, do be civil," she chided, and handed him her fur cape. "I've come to congratulate you on your marriage."

He threw her wrap toward the coat stand and missed. "Thank you. Now, if you will excuse me, I was just on my way upstairs." He started for the steps.

"Oh my!" Cynthia exclaimed, her hand on her forehead, her body swaying. "Saxon, I do fear I'm... I'm going to faint!" Artistically, she began to crumple.

Saxon was at her side immediately. "Dammit to hell, Cynthia," he said and lifted her into his arms. "What's the matter with you?"

She embraced him. "Take me to the parlor sofa."

He looked at the staircase, every fiber in him longing to race up and take Chickadee into his arms. But he couldn't very well leave Cynthia lying in the foyer. Aggravated beyond belief, he stalked toward the parlor.

Having heard the front door slam, Chickadee stood at the top of the staircase. She looked on in anguish as Saxon carried the blond beauty into the privacy of the drawing room.

Chapter 16

"I'll send Thatcher in with some cool tea," Saxon said and tossed Cynthia to the sofa. "Your fur probably made you overly warm."

Her fingers toyed with the front of her gown. "I am warm, Saxon. So very, very warm." Her large breasts sprang free from within their pink silk prison, Saxon stared at the white globes. Revulsion rose within him. "Cover yourself, Cynthia. You look disgusting."

Her ivory complexion reddened. "You used to—"

"Perhaps. But no longer. However, if you simply must have a man right now, Thatcher—"

"How dare you!"

"Cynthia, fix your wig. It's askew." With that, he left her to cope with her impotent rage alone. As he stepped into the foyer he met Dr. Larson. "Doctor, how's—"

"If infection doesn't set in, the wolf will be fine. But your wife is rather out of sorts."

Saxon paled visibly. "You mean she's been hurt?"

"No, but she seems sad. Strangest thing, really. She was fine during the operation, and when we finished she was ecstatic. Went flying out of the room to tell you all the news but returned shortly."

Dr. Larson rubbed his chin and shook his head. "She was disturbed when she got back and said she couldn't find you. Maybe that's all it is. You know how women are when they have thrilling news. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. But she
is
overly tired from her ordeal. My advice to you is to let her rest before you start interrogating her. Now, I really must be leaving."

"Thank you for coming, Dr. Larson. You've no idea how much your kindness means to us."

Dr. Larson laughed. "You'll be getting my bill, but I'm not really sure if I deserve to be paid. I don't know who did more for the wolf, me or your wife. During the entire surgery, she dribbled some sort of concoction into his mouth. Said it would help stop his bleeding, and I'll be damned if it didn't. I'm a good surgeon, but I couldn't have stopped the bleeding that fast. That strange brew she fed the wolf worked. Never did understand what she said it was, but I remember the smell. I'm off to sniff every herb I can find in this city."

After seeing the doctor out, Saxon raced up the stairs and into the bedroom. Chickadee sat by the fire, Khan's head in her lap. "Keely?"

When she didn't answer, he went and took her hand, dismayed when her fingers didn't curl around his. "Keely, what's the matter?" he asked and knelt beside her. "Are you still worried about Khan? Dr. Larson said—"

"Khan's gwine be fine." She turned away and gazed into the fire, her chin held high, her shoulders thrown back so far it seemed to Saxon they would soon meet in the middle. Why was she sitting like that, so unyielding to him?

Maybe last night's events were finally hitting her, he reasoned. What with her worry for Khan and the surgery, she'd had no time to dwell on last night until now.

Surely she could give him a few brief details. He realized her weariness was great, but his impatience was greater. "Will you tell me about last night? I'm anxious to know, but I'll understand if you're too tired—"

"Khan got knifed, two men throwed a bag over me, carried me to a wagon, and tuk me to the city. The wagon gate opened, I falled to the ground, them men went on, then three other men come. They let me outen the bag, give me cab money, and I come home. Here I am, none the worser."

He deliberated. He expected to hear a frightening tale, but the way she told it, the story seemed more of an adventure than anything terrifying. "Did the men say anything at all that might help me find out—"

"Never heared 'em say a word about nothin'. They jist drived to the North End—"

"The North End?" Horror choked him.

"Cain't be shore iffen that's whar they was a-takin' me or not. The North End's whar I falled out, and I'm gwine back as soon as Khan gits a mite better."

Somehow, he was able to keep from protesting. There was something in the way she was looking at him that told him not to object right now. "So the three men who helped you get home were Irishmen?"

"Nicest men I ever knowed. And I owe all three of 'em."

"I'll see to it they're well rewarded."

"Somebody a-givin' 'em money ain't what they need. They'll jist spend it and be broke agin."

Her sharp tone jarred him. "Fine. We won't give them any money. But why are you so irritated with me? Keely, do you know now worried I—"

"You a-carryin' on behind my back, Saxon?"

"What? Carrying..." His mind reeled at the accusation. "What the hell would make you think..."

Cynthia, he realized.

Chickadee must have seen him with the conniving bitch! That explained the odd, rapid mood change Dr. Larson had described. His heart jumped at the thought of having inadvertently hurt her. "Keely, you don't understand. Cynthia—"

"Cynthia! You a-warmin' over old soup?" She rose.

"I am not carry—"

"Call it whatever suits yore fancy, you dang—"

"Keely!" Saxon jerked to his feet. "You—"

"Yore a dang-blasted, God-burn tomcat! As hot as a billy goat in a pepper patch! As—"

"I am not seeing Cynthia Hamilton!"
He grabbed her shoulders, saw blazing fury in her eyes, and understood then she was showing every green symptom of jealousy.

His first impulse was to soothe her and lay to rest her doubts about his fidelity. But when he realized how desperately he sought just the right words to convince her, anger overcame him. What right did
she
have to be so possessive, and what the hell had gotten into
him
for worrying that he'd hurt her! When and how had this happened?