The Barefoot Bride (2 page)

"You mean I actually have a choice?"

She frowned. "I do not appreciate your sarcasm."

"None intended. Are you really giving me permission to choose my own bride?"

"As long as you choose one soon, yes."

He immediately decided it would take him at least forever to find the right bride, since no such woman existed. Yes, forever was soon enough for him. "I'm young and have plenty of time." Looking at his grandmother's portrait again, he decided smashing a glass against it wouldn't suffice. It would look better set afire.

"Unfortunately for you, Saxon, I do not have the same amount of time. You know my heart is weak. I could die any day. And if I do—"

"Your heart, Grandmother? It's always been my belief that you don't possess one."

Her brow lifted. "If you are finished taunting me, may I—"

"Continue? Oh, by all means. Let's see... you were regaling—I mean explaining to me the details of your will, were you not?"

"You will not be making light of the situation if I die before your wedding. In that event, Desdemona
and
my fortune will go to my distant cousin in England. You know very well that pitiful sister of yours will never marry, so the responsibility of providing an heir to the Blackwell fortune is yours. It's time you face up to that obligation, and my new will forces you to do just that."

She made her way to the door, her long chin sticking out far ahead of her face. "I will leave you to deliberate in solitude. No doubt you wish to figure out how you will contest my will. But I warn you now, Saxon. It, like my decision, is ironclad, and I've a bevy of attorneys."

"I know. Here and in England. Here, there, everywhere, a veritable pack of lawyers, all snapping at each other for the privilege of doing your bidding."

"And I've had employed them for years. Do not forget that. Ever."

He didn't miss her arrogant demeanor, and glared at her. Contesting the will was exactly what he'd been planning to do. But her group of counselors was like an unseen army. Saxon wasn't even sure where they all were or which aspects of Blackwell Enterprises they oversaw.

And she never enlightened him.

His gaze fell to the onyx brooch at her wrinkled throat. It looked like a Cyclops's eye. Sometimes he thought that ugly piece of jewelry was connected to Araminta's brain. It seemed to tell her everything she needed to know. Even now it was transmitting his thoughts to her: that was apparent in the way she smiled before she left the room.

He snuffed out the memories her malevolent sneer brought to him and walked to the window, snatching at the tassel of the heavy damask draperies.

"Araminta Blackwell," he whispered. "A true witch if there ever was one. I don't know how, and I don't know where, but I swear I will find a magic more powerful than yours."

*

Saxon stared at the crystal chandelier above the dining table without really seeing it. Several weeks had passed since Araminta had demanded he marry, and he hadn't thought of a single way to postpone it, much less get out of it.

Until now. Until Araminta herself had given him the means. But he couldn't let her see how excited he was about her idea. He knew her so well. If she saw his elation, she'd change her mind.

"Saxon! Did you hear what I said?" The bones in Araminta's hand fairly clanked together as she rang the breakfast bell.

He hoped the reflection of the chandelier disguised the twinkle of delight in his eyes. "Uh, yes. Grandmother," he mumbled. "You want me to go to North Carolina and investigate the possibility of buying land there." He picked up a knife and let it dangle between his fingers, allowing his action to further demonstrate his seeming indifference.

"Pine trees, Saxon." Araminta scowled and banged her cane into the thick rug. "How many times did you mention the pine forests in North Carolina after the war ended? You were utterly fascinated with them. Your stories of them came back to me last night. You do know what pine trees mean, do you not?"

"They meant shade when I was traveling through them with my regiment."

Araminta sighed, the air rattling in her throat. "Pine trees are green gold mines. They mean turpentine! The nation is in dire need of it now. You will go to North Carolina and make a detailed report for me. I want to know everything there is to know about turpentine production."

Another thrill whipped up in him. He was actually going to escape Araminta for a while, and time in North Carolina meant a temporary respite from the problem of marriage too! "Very well. I'll go," he said with feigned resentment. He let his head hang over the top of his chair as if completely annoyed.

"Why don't you look up your acquaintance down there?" Araminta smiled smugly at her bread. "There's no sense in paying for lodging when you can stay with him for nothing."

Saxon gave a slight nod. He'd already planned to find Heath Mansfield.

"I still do not understand why you consider a
Southerner
a friend," Araminta continued. "As a Union soldier, it was your job to get rid of as many of those backward creatures as possible."

Saxon lifted his head from the back of his chair. "Whether you approve or not, Heath
is
my friend and, as such, I'm sure he'll be more than willing to share with me whatever knowledge of turpentine he has. At the very least, he can put me in contact with experts. So instead of wishing for the demise of that
backward creature,
I suggest you—"

"I care nothing for your suggestion, that man, or your friendship. However, perhaps it is good you didn't kill him after all. He will undoubtedly be useful to me."

Saxon laid his knife aside before it could find its way into her chest. "I'll see him and get myself invited to stay with him. Heaven forbid I spend any more money than is necessary."

Araminta smoothed back her wiry white hair. "You will leave as soon as I make the arrangements. And Saxon?"

"Yes?" he answered, watching the gleam eye of her brooch.

"You will marry as soon as you return."

*

The day of his departure arrived, but not soon enough to suit Saxon. Grabbing his saddlebag, he left his bedroom and proceeded quickly down the dark hallway that led to the staircase. But as he passed his sister's bedroom, his pace slowed. With a heavy sigh, he dropped his bag and looked into the room.

Desdemona sat near the window, sunshine flickering through her long ebony hair. As he watched her, the years fell away, and he saw her as a little girl. He could still hear the sweet sound of her voice, could still recall her bright, happy smile. But most of all, he remembered the warmth of her tiny hand when she used to touch his cheek.

But her voice had been silent for years. Her soft, full lips never smiled, never opened for anything but the meager amount of food she ate. And her slender hand was always cold. Saxon was sure only a miracle could remove her from her remote world and return her to earth.

Sighing again, he knelt beside her. "Desdemona, I'm leaving today on a journey to a state called North Carolina. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but when I come back I'll bring a gift for you. Something from North Carolina that will help you to understand where I've been."

Her amethyst gaze remained directed at some imaginary vision on the floor.

He took her cold hand and placed it on his warm cheek. "Remember when you used to touch me like this, Desdemona? Remember how it was your favorite thing to do when you wanted your own way? And remember how it always
got
you your way, no matter how badly I wanted to refuse you?"

The familiar sadness welled up within him when she did not respond. "You might not remember, Desdemona, but as long as I do, you will still be that same happy girl."

He twined his strong fingers through her fragile ones and pressed her hand to his mouth before he stood. After one last look at her lovely face, one last touch of her silky hair, and one last, long sigh, he turned and left.

*

He sailed South aboard one of the Blackwell steamboats. When the vessel reached the port of Wilmington, North Carolina, he mounted his horse, Hagen, and headed toward Moore County, where Heath lived.

The ride from the coast took three days, but now, as he rode through the majestic forest and breathed deeply of the cool, pine-scented air, his saddle-weary body relaxed. The place was as beautiful as he remembered it when he'd ridden through with General Kilpatrick during the war. Staring down at all the white sand, he wondered once again how it got there, miles away from the seashore. He had no answer, but he didn't mind. Part of the charm of this area was its mystery.

He stopped Hagen, and reached up to pull a pine cone from a low branch, grinning over the favor Araminta had unwittingly done him. Allergic to joy, she'd break out in hives if she could see how happy he was at this moment.

Of course, there was no way she'd let a lucrative business like turpentine production slip through her fingers. Though he'd pretended ignorance the day she brought up the subject, he knew very well it could mean another fortune. He had no doubt Araminta would buy acres of land here. Hell, he wouldn't put it past her to try and buy the whole damn state. And she'd send him here to check on things often. He'd never leave the social whirl of Boston forever—he relished the fast-paced life he led there. But returning to North Carolina for short periods wouldn't be distasteful in the least. Especially when it meant leaving the wife he'd already decided to detest.

It wasn't hard to find Heath Mansfield. Everyone knew him, and Saxon was given directions to Carthage, the largest community in Moore County. He left Hagen in front of the brick courthouse located in the town's center and quickly found the carriage factory where Heath worked.

Their reunion left the townspeople to wonder about their sanity. They shouted, hugged, playfully knocked each other around, and then shouted, hugged, and playfully knocked each other around again. Their display of excitement went on for so long, Heath's boss finally got tired of waiting for his employee to return to work and gave him the rest of the day off. Heath showed Saxon around town, and later the two visited with Heath's parents.

It was the first time Saxon had ever seen Heath's home, and he was appalled at his friend's poverty. But though the Mansfields had very little, they shared generously with him. He resolved to find a way to repay their kindness.

After supper he and Heath rode through the pines until they arrived at the exact spot where they'd met a few years ago. The memory of the two of them standing in that pine forest, their guns pointed at each other, neither having the heart to shoot ... Both of them had laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

"Why didn't you shoot me that day, Sax?" Heath asked.

"Probably for the same reason you didn't shoot me. I thought maybe you were a better shot than I was and hoped if I didn't shoot, you wouldn't either."

Their laughter filled the cool, tangy woods. "You know," Heath began, "I still don't know if you can shoot straight. All we did that day was talk about how much we hated the war."

"That, and keep you and your mother's silver spoon collection from being found by my regiment, that pillaging gang of ruffians."

Heath's smile faded and was replaced by a look of gratitude. "I never got the chance to thank you for hidin' me and Ma's box of treasures, Sax."

"It would have been much easier to hide only the spoons, but since you wouldn't relinquish the box to me, I had to hide you with it," Saxon said and laughed again.

"If any other of General Kilpatrick's soldiers had found me, they'd have shot me without a thought. You were a traitor for those ten minutes it took you to cover me with all that brush. Why'd you do that? You barely knew me."

Saxon studied Heath's blond hair, brown eyes, and crooked grin. "You look like a good friend of mine in Boston—Max Jennings. You even smile like him. He fought, too, but rode with a different company. I'd sure as hell have wanted someone to help Max if he'd been in the same situation. I guess that ridiculous smirk of yours saved you, Heath." Saxon held out his hand, and the warm handshake that followed expressed all the unspoken feelings between them.

Heath pointed to a distant tree. "See that lone pine over there? It's got a low-hangin' branch with two pine cones on it. Squint and you'll see 'em. Now, you try for the one on the left, and I'll try for the one on the right."

Saxon squinted, nodded, and readied his rifle. When both men were ready, they aimed and fired.

Both pine cones exploded off the branch.

Both men doubled over with laughter. "Damn, Heath! It's a good thing we didn't shoot that day, or we'd be
buried
here!" His laughter faded, and he sat quietly in the saddle for a moment. "Tell me a little about turpentine,"

"You'll need to go on over to Jackson Springs," Heath said. "And you might want to take a look at Blue's Crossin' too. Your grandmother's right about the turpentine industry. If she's able to purchase timberland, there's no tellin' how much money y'all can make."

"You mean
Grandmother
can make. It'll be
her
money buying the land,
her
money starting the business," Saxon said bitterly.

Heath gave him a sideways glance. "But won't you inherit it all one day?"

Saxon's jaw clenched. "On one condition. I've got to marry first."

"Got somethin' against women?"

"I like everything about women except marrying one. But Grandmother is adamant. Either I marry or I'll be disinherited."

"Saxon, you're a Harvard graduate. Make your own fortune!"

"I'm proud of Blackwell Enterprises, Heath. It's a fine, strong company. Although it belongs to Grandmother, I've worked hard to make it what it is. Don't get me wrong, though. I've no doubt I could make a fine life for myself without Blackwell Enterprises. I tried once, but my new place of business burned to the ground, and the man who'd financed it for me left town the next day. I never found proof Grandmother was behind it all, but I know she was. After that, she informed me that should I ever attempt to leave Blackwell Enterprises again, she would send Desdemona to an asylum for the insane. And there's no way in hell I'll let something like that happen to my sister."