The Barefoot Bride (9 page)

"I ain't seed you do nothin' I cain't do 'cept write! And you said yoresef I can larn how to write too. As fur as I can see, thur ain't no difference in a man and a woman but what's betwixt thur legs!"

She flounced away then. Saxon picked up his rifle and stormed after her. His eyes centered on her back, he didn't notice how wildly the laurel thicket was moving. It wasn't until a bear cub meandered out of the brush that he realized the danger.

Though the cub was behind her. Chickadee felt fear replace the marrow in her bones. She whirled to face the little animal, her mind swarming with prayers the bear wouldn't whine. She motioned for Saxon to circle around the cub. "Don't even look at it," she whispered. "Git around it quick but stay fur away from it."

But the path was narrow, hedged with the thick ivy. Though he did his best to give the cub a wide berth, it wasn't wide enough to suit the small beast. The cub opened its mouth and called for its mother.

"Lord o' mercy!" Chickadee ran to Saxon and grabbed his hand. But they ran only a short distance before Saxon stepped into a tangle of vines. He tried to yank his hand out of Chickadee's, but her hold on his wrist was unbreakable. Their fall sent Chickadee's rifle sliding into the thicket beside them. She tried to reach for it, but Saxon lay atop her, preventing her from moving.

"Git offen me!"

The worst sound he ever heard froze him in mid-action. The mother bear came thrashing out of the brush, black eyes shining with fury, huge mouth open wide. Khan bared his teeth and lunged at it, but with one vicious swipe, the bear threw the wolf into the laurel.

Every muscle in his body taut, Saxon knelt, put the stock of his rifle to his shoulder, took aim, and fired. The bear screamed but continued to run toward them. Again he cocked his weapon, sure he'd only wounded the bear, but before he had time to pull the trigger, the monster swayed and then crashed to the ground, its enormous head mere inches from Chickadee's feet.

He stared at it briefly before he remembered Khan. "Khan!" Much to his relief, the wolf came slinking out of the thicket, apparently unharmed.

Chickadee hugged her pet when he came and licked her face. "Whar'd you larn to shoot like that, Saxon? You got that bahr directly in the heart, and that ain't easy. 'Specially when the bahr's a-runnin'."

"While you may find this hard to believe, you aren't the only person in the world who can handle a gun," he said smugly.

"Don't recollect a-sayin' I was. Jist didn't know a outlander could shoot like that."

He stood and pulled her to her feet. "Are you hurt?"

She started to tell him in no uncertain that a little fall to the ground wasn't something that would hurt her when she remembered she'd asked him the same question a short while ago when
he'd
fallen. Suddenly she understood what he'd been trying to tell her.

It was pride that made men different from women. Her own was hurting, and now she realized what Saxon had been going through these past weeks with her.

"Reckon I'm a mite bruised," she lied, rubbing her bottom. Instinct told her that was the right thing to say.

Saxon nearly burst with self-satisfaction. But when he saw the merriment dancing in Chickadee's eyes, his anger returned with a vengeance. "Why don't you reach out and pat me on the head, Keely? That action would certainly complement your patronizing thoughts!"

His abrupt fury confused her. "Dang it, Saxon! When I do thangs you thank only menfolks can do, it riles you. And when I try and make you feel more like a man, yore still riled! Jist how the hell do you want me to act? I ain't never tried to be nobody but who I am, but I'm a-tryin' to git along with you, and—"

"Just stop patronizing me!"

"I ain't never heared that word in my life, but iffen it riles you when I do it, I'm gwine do it ever' second, ever' minute, ever' day!" She glared at him, her eyes traveling rapidly over his face. "What is
patronizin'?
Reckon I need to know what it is afore I can do it to you."

His anger was doused by a sudden stream of amusement, and his laughter echoed as deep as the mountain ravines. When he got control of himself again he saw Chickadee staring at him as if he'd lost has mind. But he felt perfectly sane.

Suddenly, he knew he was going to make the wisp of a girl who stood before him his bride.

*

Covered with blood from head to toe, Saxon literally tore the shirt from his back and kicked off his boots so frantically they flew into the nearby bushes. His breeches soon followed, and he took a headlong dive into the clean stream. The soap smelled strong, and ordinarily he might have wondered if it would eat through his skin, but at this moment the only thing he could concentrate on was working it into a lather as swiftly as possible.

Chickadee sauntered to the edge of the stream. "Did you lose yore supper?"

He threw her a nasty look and soaped up his hair.

"Reckon you ain't never seen bahr innards afore, have you, outlander? Turn yore stomach, did it?"

Saxon scooped up water and threw it at her. She deftly avoided the shower and laughed at him.

"When you have to shoot somethin', the leastest thang you can do fer it is make use of it. We couldn't leave that bahr thar to rot, Saxon. Had to skin it and make it ready to eat. It's gwine meat us fer a month."

"I'll never eat bear meat again in my life."

"You'll eat it. Bahr meat don't differ from any other kind o' meat, the way I see it. Yore jist not used to a-havin' to skin—"

"Nor will I help you skin anything again, Keely. If you enjoy being up to your elbows in blood and guts, by all means indulge yourself. But I'm not doing that again!" He scrubbed his arms until they reddened.

"Thought you was a man." She backed up and sat on a good-sized rock, waiting for him to rise to her challenge. She was well aware of how her statement would make him feel, but she no longer cared about his pride. He'd made her mad that afternoon, and he wasn't going to get away with it. She still wasn't exactly sure what
patronize
was, but she suspected it had something to do with upsetting his pride.

Saxon glowered at her. "I'm in no mood to argue about my masculinity. If my dislike for skinning a
bahr
makes me less manly in your eyes, so be it. Think exactly what makes you happy."

She propped her rifle upright and leaned on the stock. "You still got blood on yore cheek."

Saxon washed his face and promptly got soap in his eyes. "Oh hell! What's in this soap anyway?"

"I ain't much fer soap makin'."

"I don't give a damn about what you're much for! I asked you what was in this soap!"

"Reckon Betty Jane uses wood ashes and animule fat jist like ever'one else."

Wonderful. He was cleaning himself with ashes. Belatedly he remembered he still had a bar of bay rum scented soap in his saddlebag. Now he was going to smell like the inside of a fireplace. What the hell else was going to happen to him today? "Do you have a good reason for coming out here to watch me bathe?" he snarled. "Perhaps you think I might drown?"

"You embarrassed?"

He squeezed the soap so hard it flew out of his hand. As he watched it descend, he knew if he failed to catch it, Chickadee would laugh at him. She was taking great delight in making fun of him, and he knew she was now doing it on purpose.

The soap, as if guided by heaven, landed directly in his palms. He threw her a smug look but was maddened anew when he saw her condescending smirk.

"You ashamed o' yore body, Saxon? Is that why yore allus a-runnin' fer cover when you ain't got no clothes on?"

"I do
not
run for cover!"

"Yes you do."

"No I—" Dammit to hell! Why was he arguing with her? Who cared what she thought anyway? Still, it was just a little too much to bear. "You're not married, and you've had little intimate contact with men, Keely. So how is it you are so well-acquainted with the sight of a nude male?"

She picked up a handful of small pebbles, and one by one threw them his way. "Me and T.J. Howe used to go a-swimmin' buck-naked. Our mamas never knowed."

"Have you done that recently?"

"Nope. Don't seem right now that I'm growed."

Saxon's eyebrow raised. "What's the matter? Are you ashamed of your body?"

"Nope."

"Then get in here with me."

"Done washed already."

"Who said you had to bathe again?" Saxon, on his knees, started to get to his feet. As he did, he noticed Chickadee looked away. "Are you afraid I'll rape you?"

"Seems we done had this conversation afore."

Saxon settled back into, the water. "Yes we have. But I was wounded then, remember? My injuries are healed now."

Chickadee quivered. He was doing it to her again. Making her feel that strange way. Like... like she was pining away for something only he had the power to give her.

"Come in with me." He stood, his body completely revealed to her. She jumped from her rock and ran back to the cabin, Saxon's laughter ringing in her ears. "What happened to all your bravado?" he called after her.

As he finished bathing, he thought of his marriage plans again. How was he going to convince Chickadee to become his bride? From what she said about her mother, he realized she believed in that ridiculous fantasy called love. But Saxon had no such beliefs, nor would he pretend he did: Chickadee would see right through him. But dammit, there had to be a way! A way to make her want to be with him.

The feel of her lips on his came to mind. She'd enjoyed that kiss. And her body had told him she wanted more.

He'd seduce her. Saxon knew he was famed for his abilities to entice even the most proper of Boston women into his bed. And women, blue-blooded or mountain-blooded, were all the same.

The way he saw it.

*

"You look beautiful, Keely."

Chickadee whirled in the middle of the cabin, her mother's skirts wrapping around her legs. "It swallers me."

The dress was too big, but the indigo blue of the homespun cloth was lovely on her, and instead of hiding her shapely form, the gown emphasized her slenderness. Saxon knew every maiden in Boston would be put to shame beside her.

"It's large, but you're still pretty in it."

She stopped spinning. "Y'mean it?"

Saxon sat by the fire. He withdrew a cheroot from the pocket of his shirt and lit it, a blue haze of smoke surrounding him. "Why don't you believe my compliments? Do you think you're ugly?"

"I ain't had many other womenfolks around me to compare mysef with. But one time I seed this girl with hair so yaller it looked like it was made o' sun. You like girls with yaller hair?" She sat at his feet.

He picked up a lock of her hair. "As a matter of fact, blonds were the only women who attracted me. But I find I'm beginning to prefer redheads."

His warm fingers played in her hair and heated her body. "I like black hair," she said. She snapped for Khan and, as if it were the most important thing in the world to do, she examined her pet's fur, keeping her head low lest Saxon see her flush.

"Ah, so you like my hair. What else do you like?"

She raised her gaze. "I like the smooth way you talk."

She liked the way he talked? He'd thought she was going to tell him how handsome he was! He chuckled at his own conceit. "Let's go to bed." He slid out of his boots and shirt and reached for the fastening of his breeches.

The widening of her eyes stilled his actions.
Go slowly
, Sax, he told himself.
Gain her confidence first. Frighten her and you'll never succeed.

He left the pants on. "We don't have to sleep together anymore, Keely. I'll make a pallet on the floor."

"Naw. Ain't no need fer that. I reckon iffen you was gwine try somethin' with me, you'd already o' tried it. 'Sides, yore too much of a gentleman to do that."

Gentleman? Guilt engulfed him. His plan was proof he was no gentleman, "Then shall we?" he asked, sweeping his arm toward the bed.

When they were both in it, he took her hand and brushed it across his mouth. "You know, Keely, I've known scores of women in my lifetime, but never one like you."

She wanted to pull her hand away before she was burned alive by the fire inside her, but that same fire welded her hand to his. She found she had neither the strength nor the inclination to stop his feathery kisses. "I—I ain't never knowed a man like you neither."

His trail of kisses meandered down to her lower arm and wrist. "I suppose that gives us something in common. I wonder what else we have in common?"

Chickadee's eyes fluttered shut. "I... don't know."

"Do you like to dance?"

"Yes," she managed to choke out. "One time me and T.J. Howe danced to George Franklin's fiddle music."

Saxon smiled. "And how did T.J. hold you then?"

"By my hands."

'"That's not the way I dance."

"How do you do it?"

Again he smiled, glad the dimness of the room prevented her from seeing his grin. "Well, I hold a woman in my arms... like this." He slid one arm beneath her and the other over her. "I hold her close... like this." He pulled her toward him until their bodies touched. "And if I really enjoy being with the lady, I bend my face to her ear and whisper into it." Lips to her ear, he murmured, "Like this."

Chickadee trembled from head to toe. Her insides went from freezing to burning. Ice and fire, both within her, both too intense. But she wanted to understand.

"Isn't this better than just holding hands?" Saxon whispered. "Don't hear a fiddle, Keely. Listen to a symphony. Imagine soft, slow music. Feel how it wafts into your ears, sweeps through your mind, and makes your body feel like floating."

His lips met the warm satin of her neck and journeyed to the silken hollow of her throat before they wandered to her mouth. Her breath, as sweet as the mountain air, blew over him just before he kissed her.

Her lips were not pursed this time. Her mouth was soft and yielding, and Saxon savored the taste within it. Like a bee in a beautiful blossom, he gently plundered the exquisite nectar he found.