The Barefoot Bride (49 page)

She shivered at her memories, and it was many moments before she spoke again. "Once, I thought your father, Grayson, loved me. But he left me for that common woman, Sadie. When they died, and I came to be with you, I saw the light of rebellion in your eyes—just as I had always seen it in Grayson's—and I knew you were not going to love me either. But I needed
something
from someone, Saxon! Money and fear! They were the only means I had to make you respect me as a good grandson should respect his grandmother.

"Beware of love, my boy," she continued. "It will only bring you heartache. Do not love, and you will be protected from hurt. You must heed my advice." She sighed heavily and then raised her arms and curled them about Saxon's neck, her feet shuffling on the floor.

He yanked her hands down. "No
wonder
you told me countless times about how ironclad your decisions were! No
wonder
you supported your declarations with grandiose descriptions of your legal armies! Attorneys spread all over the damn world! You were afraid I would discover the truth!"

She began to hum again.

"Grandmother, you have committed countless atrocities, and I intend to see that you—that you—" Abruptly, he was silenced by an inner voice so dear, it made him tremble to hear it. Chickadee's words, when she'd spoken of her father, came rushing back to him.

I was so wrong. I didn't have nary a right to do this to him. What he did to mama—Saxon, it warn't my place to punish him.

Chickadee. In the end, she'd forgiven her father and seen to it that Barton received aid.

Saxon looked deep into Araminta's eyes and saw nothing in them but a lunatic sheen. She was insane. Perhaps she always had been. No prison cell would be worse punishment than that. His anger began to wane.

He continued to look into the broken woman's pale eyes. Deeply.

Compassion filled his soul.

"Grandmother," he said gently, "I'm sending you back to England. I'll make arrangements for the estate there to be made ready, and a full staff of servants will await your arrival. Thatcher will accompany you, and you may take anything from this house you wish to take. From now on, you may depend on me to take care of you."

"You have never once, in all our years together, asked me to dance, Saxon! You will do so now, or you will suffer the consequences of your lack of respect. The trunk. I'll lock you in the trunk! Maybe being in the dark will teach you not to disobey me! Maybe—"

"There is no need for the trunk," Saxon assured her and put his arms around her.

There was no music other than Araminta's off-key humming. But Saxon danced as if they waltzed to the music of a superb symphony. As he twirled his grandmother around the small room, he found it in his heart to forgive her. And when he did, he marveled again at the wonderful thing called love and lamented the fact Araminta had never known it. Had she experienced it, her life would have been happy instead of bitter and selfish.

Again, pity for her welled up within him. "Grandmother," he whispered into her tiny ear, "there is no doubt in my mind Father loved you. What boy doesn't love his mother? For that matter, what grandson doesn't—"

Could he say what he felt he should without the words becoming lodged in his throat? Did it matter if he didn't really mean them? Would a lie be so terrible if it might mean the whole world to the insane old woman in his arms?

His embrace tightened around her. If he let this chance to tell her what no one had ever told her before pass by, she'd die before hearing it, for he was certain no one but himself would ever say it to her. Bending, he pressed a tender kiss to her wrinkled forehead.

"I love you, Grandmother."

Chapter 26

Saxon didn't wait for the coach to stop before he jumped out of it and raced up the pine-straw-littered path that led to the Mansfield home. The trip to North Carolina, though it had been as speedy as he could make it, had seemed an eternity to him. And there had been so much to do before ever setting foot on the boat! Stopping the divorce proceedings, sending Araminta off, explaining things to Myrtle... Damn! Her screeching still echoed in his ears.

He reached the sturdy wooden door and pounded on it. That action not enough to assuage his impatience, he began to kick at it also. "Dammit, Heath, where are you?"

"Just a second!" came a voice before the door opened. "Who—Saxon!" Heath grabbed his friend and embraced him.

Saxon tried to end the hug, for he had not a minute to lose. "Heath, I need to leave my sister with you. Dammit, Heath, let me go!"

Heath complied. "Your sister? Where is she?"

"Here! Right here!" Saxon turned around, but Desdemona wasn't there. He swore again and spun on his heel to race toward the waiting coach. After assisting Desdemona and Candice out, he asked the coach driver to saddle Hagen and get Desdemona's baggage.

Heath was immediately captivated by the shy, lovely girl who was hanging on to Saxon's arm. "Heath Mansfield," he introduced himself and bowed gallantly.

If he wasn't in such a hell-bent panic to get to the Blue Ridge, Saxon would have taken the time to tease Heath over his obvious attraction to Desdemona. But as it was, he could think of nothing but Chickadee.

"Heath, I've a tremendous favor to ask of you," he started, and then turned to snap at the coach driver who was taking too long to saddle Hagen. "I'm leaving this very minute to find Keely. I don't have time to explain, but my sister, Desdemona, will tell you everything you want to know. Heath, can she and her maid, Candice, stay here with you until I get back? I know I'm asking a lot, and it's all very sudden, and I should ask your parents, and—"

"Nonsense," Heath cut him off and held out his arm for Desdemona. "Never havin' had a daughter of their own, Ma and Pa'll be tickled to have your beautiful sister stay with us. And as for myself... Miss Blackwell," he addressed Desdemona, "have you ever walked through a pine forest at dawn when the dew is still glistenin' on the needles and the air is fresh with—"

"Uh, Heath, could you begin your courting after I'm gone?" Saxon queried, finally grinning despite his rush. He handed his friend a satchel. "This contains some important papers. If anything should happen to me, those papers are Desdemona's inheritance documents. I know you'll safeguard both them and her."

Heath tucked the satchel under his other arm. "I'll protect them both with my life," he said, winking at Desdemona and grinning when she blushed.

"Money," Saxon said, his brow wrinkled in dismay. "Dammit to hell, what did I do with the money?" He turned back to the coach, jumped inside, and began to throw the cushions to the ground in his haste to find the funds he intended to leave for Desdemona's support.

"Sax-Saxon?" his sister called and smiled. "I have the m-money." She held out another bag.

"Right," Saxon answered and leaped out of the coach. "I'll be back soon, Desdemona. I'll be back, or I'll send for you. Either way, we'll begin all the plans we discussed on the way here. We'll-—"

"Go," she told him, her smile broadening. "G-go and f-find her!"

"Yes, hurry, Mr. Blackwell!" Candice echoed.

He needed no more urging. He flew onto Hagen's back and headed his faithful steed west.

West, where blue-green hills sheltered his emerald-eyed, freckle-faced, redheaded mountain girl.

*

Saxon's first sight of the Appalachian Mountains sent a thrill whipping through him. Their verdant peaks punctured the azure satin of the Carolina sky, and he wondered why he'd ever thought he preferred the bustle of Boston to the tranquil beauty he beheld now.

His only stop before he sped toward Chickadee's cove was in the town of Lenior. There he conducted a certain item of business with all the cunning and skill he'd acquired while running Blackwell Enterprises. His brilliant smile rivaled the shine of the sun as he left the small town.

Finally, a few days later, he reached Chickadee's mountain area. "Let me remember how the hell to get to her cabin," he prayed. "Dammit, why do all these trees have to look the same? Every rock, bush, and stream—Hagen, do you know where you're going?"

The horse snorted and shook a fly off his ear. "I take it that means no," Saxon said and felt no embarrassment at talking to an animal. After all, Boston was far away. This was the Blue Ridge! Here, he could talk to a damn stick if he wanted to. There was no one here who would criticize or shun him.

It was a few more hours before he began to recognize things. And when he saw the stream he'd once bathed in when he and Chickadee had finished skinning the bear he'd killed, his impatient happiness was of such magnitude, he could no longer contain it.

"Keely!" he thundered, his shout echoed many, many times before it faded away. "Keely, little one!"

He tried not to worry when she didn't answer. She was probably deep in the woods looking for
yarbs
or battling
bahrs.

"We'll find her, boy," he assured Hagen, patting the horse's mane. "You know how she is. Could be she's watching us at this very minute, planning on jumping out of the laurel and scaring us."

Though he might have reassured the horse, his confident words did nothing at all to relieve his own anxiety. A slowly unwinding dread twisted through him when he reached the clearing where her cabin had once stood. He'd been sure George Franklin would have rebuilt it, yet there was nothing but charred remains as evidence a cabin had ever even existed there.

"Well, of course he'd choose a different spot," Saxon told Hagen nervously, his eyes darting all around. "Here, Keely would be reminded of those wanderers who attacked her."

But his distress rose. Something wasn't right. Even if Chickadee's new cabin
was
in another spot, she'd still know he was here. She knew everything that went on in these mountains. And if she didn't discover it herself, Khan made her aware of it. She was one with these hills, and nothing escaped her notice.

"Keely, I love you!" he bellowed to the sky. "Dammit, Keely, I love you!"

The only answer he received was the screech of a disturbed bird. His jaw twitching, his eyes narrowed, Saxon turned Hagen toward the Beasley cabin, leaning way over the horse's neck as Hagen tore down the moss-strewn path. Low-hanging branches slapped and bit at his face, but the pain didn't stop him. In fact, he welcomed it. Anything was better than the ominous foreboding that sluiced through him.

His dread heightened further when he reached the Beasley place. The yard was overgrown with weeds, and inside, Saxon discovered, dwelt nothing but spiders and frightened squirrels. There was more than an inch of dust on the floor and not a splinter of furniture to be seen.

Dammit! Without the Beasley's aid, he'd never be able to get word to Chickadee. Had the two elderly people died? Saxon searched the grounds for burial places, knowing they'd want to be laid by their cabin, but he found no graves.

"I'm going to find you, Keely Blackwell!" he shouted at the hills. "And when I do, I'm going to wring your neck for hiding from me! Do you hear me, you stubborn twit?"

Resolve as hard as the mountains themselves filled him as he raced Hagen toward Chickadee's special place. The spot where she and Khan liked to be. It was the last place he could think of where he might find her.

And he didn't even want to think of what he would do if she wasn't there.

Her beloved paradise was just as he remembered it. As beautiful and as natural as the girl who loved it. Saxon slid to the ground, his boots disappearing into a thick bed of colorful wildflowers.

"Keely!" he called, his voice shrill with anxiety. He hunted everywhere for signs of her, all the while continuing to call her name. The mountains, as if scornful of him for trying to hurt their mistress, threw his shouts back at him.

Finally, after over two hours of screaming and searching, Saxon, his throat raw, his heart bleeding with grief, sat down on the ridge and stared out at the hills. Their beauty escaped him now. The world and everything in it was loathsome and ugly without Chickadee by his side.

Something had happened to her, he knew. These mountains were full of perils and one of them had finally caught her off-guard. It was the sole explanation as to why he couldn't find her. Only death would have kept her from coming to him.

Memories of her cascaded through him. The pain that lanced into him was so deep, he was certain it would soon kill him and he would join Chickadee wherever death had taken her. He closed his eyes and waited for it to happen.

His eyes flew open at the sound he heard behind him, and he knew that if indeed death had come for him, it had not come in the form of heartache. The grim reaper, he realized, was a roaring bear.

He felt fear burn through the marrow in his bones as the ground around him began to shake with the bear's tremendous weight. In mere seconds it would reach him and kill him.

And he would do nothing to stop it. Desdemona was now wealthy in her own right, and he was sure Heath would see to her well-being. That one and only worry resolved, Saxon sat still, waiting for the bear's claws to end a life that wasn't worth living without Chickadee.