The Barefoot Bride (22 page)

"How dare—"

"I ain't afeared o' Thatcher no how. I come in here to speak at you, and that's what I'm gwine do. Go on and rang fer that sniffin' cuss iffen it'll keep you from a-gittin' all grum and chuff, but I ain't a-leavin' till you and me's backed and forthed!"

Araminta quaked with ire, but seeing Chickadee's determination, she nodded haughtily. Chickadee, aware she'd just been given permission to have her say, smiled again at Araminta's royal attitude. "Put yoresef level in a char."

"I prefer to stand," came Araminta's icy reply.

Chickadee walked closer to her, so close she could see the powder-filled pores on Araminta's pallid face. "You
prefer
to do a sight o' thangs, but thur's some you ain't gwine do no more. Leastwise with me."

Araminta backed up as much as she could, the mantel behind her preventing her from making much progress. When she was pressed up against it, she began to move sideways.

But Chickadee's arms shot out on either side of Araminta's scrawny neck, imprisoning her. "I want to know why you hate Saxon, and yore gwine tell me."

Araminta lifted her chin. "I'll tell you nothing. The Blackwell affairs are none of your concern."

"Yore disrememberin' I'm a Blackwell now too, Granny. Saxon's my husband, and I got ever' right to know why—"

"You have no rights in this house. You and Saxon are fools if you believe you can antagonize me and—"

"Shet up." Chickadee moved her face even closer to Araminta's. "Saxon ain't no fool. I can take whatever sass you flang at me, but you scandalize Saxon's name one more time, and I'll hang yore hide on a fence, Spider Woman. When he's around, he can take keer o' you with no hep from me, but when he ain't around, you best not lay no slurs on him.

"I didn't come here to flang no rocks at nobody, Araminty, but you been a-hurtin' fer this ever since you commenced a-bedevilin' Saxon when you come here to Boston. He didn't tell you nothin' then on account o' he was little and afeared o' you. And you made shore he
was
skeert, huh? I got it all figgered out real good. Spent near all night a-thankin' about it, and thur's somethin' about Saxon that really ills you. Now what is it?"

Araminta's look of horror gave way to one of malicious calculation. "If you will free me from this position, I would like to ask you a few questions myself."

Chickadee yielded to the request, and Araminta settled herself into the sofa. "What means did you use to coerce Saxon into marrying you? You aren't, God forbid, with child, are you?" Her sharp, pale blue eyes raked Chickadee's slender form.

Chickadee was unable to resist plaguing the worried woman. "I'm in the rise o' my bloom, and Saxon? Well, he's wilder'n a peach-orchard boar. And we done our weavin' at the same loom many a time, so I reckon my apron could commence a-ridin' high here afore too long."

Araminta shuddered and made an oath she would never acknowledge the heathen grandchild's existence. "If you think Saxon cares for you, you are—"

"Well, o' course he keers fer me," Chickadee snapped, her heart thumping oddly as she said the words. "Why else would he a-married me?"

Araminta cackled. "Saxon is a cold man whose only devotion is to money. Oh, I realize he believes he cares for Desdemona, but I suspect his pitiful display of affection for that feebleminded chit—"

"Araminty, I been a-layin' off to slap the hell outen you, but I ain't gwine hold off no more iffen you say one more word about Desi." Chickadee stalked wrathfully to the sofa, and Araminta shrank back into the velvet cushions.

"Very well, we will leave Desdemona out of this," Araminta agreed shakily. "But as I was saying, Saxon—"

"Warn't real shore how to love nobody till he met up with me. I love him, woman, and he loves me!"

Araminta, sensing she was treading a very fine line, wisely refrained from shouting back. "Sit down so we may converse in a civil manner."

"I
prefer
to stand," Chickadee said, mimicking Araminta's haughtiness. "'Sides that, what I got to say ain't gwine take long. I know you hate Saxon, and I done seed what that hatred's done to him. But I'm a-tellin' you, Araminty, yore time's come. You can make yore threats, call fer Thatcher, send fer them Boston sheriffs, and throw a mess o' fits. But you ain't Queen Araminty no more!"

"You—"

"Hesh up! I ain't finished a-cleanin' yore plow yet." Chickadee reached out and took hold of Araminta's pointed chin. "I ain't never knowed a person as fractious as you. Why, I reckon even ole Misery or Lareny Lester back home couldn't hold no candle to you, but that's neither here nor thar. Saxon's done ever'thang you tole him to do. You said fer him to marry, and that's what he done. You ain't got no leg to stand on. Spider Woman."

Araminta stood, waited for Chickadee to move, and then proceeded to the far corner of the room. "Are you quite finished? Because if you are, I—"

"No, I ain't finished. You still ain't tole me what I come in here to find out, lady. Saxon ain't had no affection since his mama and daddy jumped the buckeye log, and a-seein' as how I love him as much as I do, I—"

"Grayson." Araminta spat out the name of her son before she turned her back to Chickadee and stared out the window. To herself she whispered, "Ah, Grayson. Your rebellious blood runs in your son's veins."

Chickadee, her ears trained to pick up even the slightest sounds in thick mountain forests, heard Araminta's muttered statement. She backed up until she met with the chair behind her and sat down. As she studied Araminta's back, her mind raced.

Grayson Blackwell had given up a fortune for the girl he loved, and in doing so, he had defied and left his mother. When he and his wife died, wasn't it possible that Araminta saw little Saxon as another Grayson? Chickadee's insides lurched as she sorted through the fragments of the puzzle.

In all probability, Saxon had been made to suffer for his father's sins, and Araminta, determined to keep him from committing those same sins, had raised him only with cruel threats. Maybe she'd even successfully forced Saxon to count on wealth for any and all satisfactions life had to offer. As young as he was at the time, he'd been soft clay in her hands, and she'd molded him into exactly what she wanted him to be.

A puppet whose strings she held.

Loathing filled Chickadee. Saxon was right. She hadn't understood what genuine hatred really was, before now. Not until she'd seen it with her own eyes and felt it invade the very depths of her soul. A shiver zig-zagged down her spine.

"Araminty, yore so low, you'd have to reach up to touch hell," she charged, her voice dangerously soft. "Jist now whilst I was a-settin here a-thankin' on what all you done? Well, them feelin's o' hatred you got is so dang strong, I could feel 'em inside me. I ain't never felt nothin' so drearisome in all my days. It was like a power o' rain a-pourin' down on me, and it was cold. Colder and bluer'n a possom's balls in a skift o' snow."

Araminta's leer reminded her of the way a single hair curls when it's burned. And burning was exactly what Araminta deserved. Right at the stake like the true witch she was.

Araminta swept toward the door. She would write to the asylum this very afternoon. There was no time to waste in getting rid of the mountain creature. Her brooch glittering to the tempo of her regal stride, she reached the door and started to open it.

But suddenly, Chickadee was there, staying her hand. "I love Saxon, Spider Woman. And a-tryin' to keep love away's about as useless as a bug a-arguin' with a chicken. I'll admit hatred runs a close second, and to you Blackwells, money's in the race too. But love? It's powerful strong, and thur ain't nothin' in this here world that can lick it.

"Yore smart, Araminty," she continued. "I ain't a-takin' no credit from you. Yore slicker'n snot on a doorknob, but yore kind o' thankin' won't never git you nothin' but heartache, and that's a dang shame. But the way I see it, you deserve ever' bit o' hurtin' you git!"

At that moment the door opened. "Is something amiss?" Thatcher sniffed.

Bolstered by her servant's presence, Araminta smiled smugly. "Escort this
person
out of here, Thatcher, and then fetch Saxon from bed and to my study."

Thatcher glanced around, and when he didn't see Khan anywhere, he reached for Chickadee's shoulders, his black eyes aglow with pleasure at what he was about to do. Chickadee allowed him to place his hands on her before bending at the waist, pushing her head into his belly, and throwing him over her back. He landed with a loud thud. Khan loped out from behind the sofa, his blue eyes bright with feral challenge as he sniffed at the prone man.

"Ain't nobody gwine pester Saxon, Araminty. And iffen you dare go up thar, yer gwine meet up with me and Khan at the door. You sip yore likker from a glass, and I take mine from the jug, but y'know what? You'd have better luck a-tryin' to cut up a big hog with a little knife than you'll have a-tryin' to lick me."

She smiled down at Thatcher, threw another sassy grin at the openmouthed Araminta, and flounced away, her red curls waving farewell over her shoulders.

*

When Saxon woke up and couldn't remember the night's activities. Chickadee took great delight in relating them. She'd looked forward to seeing his expression when she told the story, sure his grandmother's anger would bring him great satisfaction.

"I can't believe we did it," he muttered, grimacing into his pillow. "Do you realize how
expensive
those things we broke were? Why didn't you stop me?"

The lights in her eyes dimmed. "Money ain't more important'n feelin's! You was a-hurtin' last night, and it done you good to shatter Araminty's thangs. You didn't never tell me what all she said to you last night, but—"

"Nothing she hasn't told me time and again. She's disappointed in me and claims I'm a replica of my father."

"So what's the matter with a-bein' like yore daddy-man?" she asked, bringing his breakfast tray. "He give up a fortune fer yore mama-woman, and a man who does that? Well, he ain't nobody's fool, Saxon! He—"

"Keely, please stop shouting. Even a whisper would sound like a cannon to me this morning."

She mumbled a curse and went to the dresser for the bag of Betty Jane's herbs. After she'd mixed some with water, Saxon swallowed the bitter potion down, experience telling him the vile concoction would indeed make him feel better.

"Saxon, them thangs you broke—"

"I won't discuss it any further. What's done is done."

But she was by no means finished. "I know you don't mem'ry nothin' about last night, but you was happier'n a dog in a slaughterhouse a-tossin' them thangs around. Ever' time one broke, you was a-thankin' on Araminty. And now yore as worried as a frog with a busted jumper on a busy road. Worried over money! Cain't you never thank on nothin' else? Ain't thur nothin' else—"

"No! There isn't! Is that what you wanted to hear, Keely?" He snatched his plate from the tray, viciously bit into a flaky tart, and then picked up his fork.

"Yore wrong," she said hotly. "Thur's a sight o' thangs more important'n money. You ever give a thought to the possibility that I might be a-childin'? Ain't a baby—"

"Are you... with child?" His forkful of food stopped right before it reached his mouth.

"I warn't last month, but it's too soon to tell about this month. Like I tole Araminty, you and me's been a-saltin' our beans right reg'lar, and a baby's somethin' we're gwine have to thank on."

He returned his plate to the tray and got out of bed. He went to his desk, shuffled through some papers without really looking at them, and then turned back to her. "If you have a child, I'll see to everything. I'll keep him here with me, and—"

"But he'll be
my
baby too, and he ain't gwine be raised around Araminty! I ain't about to let what happened to you happen to my young-un!"

"What are you talking about?" Saxon stormed toward her. "What happened to me?"

Though his irritation was obvious, she faced him defiantly. "My young-un ain't gwine be brung up a-thankin' he's got to have money to be happy! He's gwine come up with all the love I can give him. He might not have much more'n that, but that'll be enough, the way I see it."

"Are you saying I wouldn't... care for my own child?"

"Keerin' and lovin' differ, Saxon. If we have us a young-un, are you gwine
love
him or jist keer enough that he has ever'thang yore dang-blasted money can buy him?"

He ignored the challenge in her emerald eyes. He was in no mood to delve into the fairy-tale subject of love with her again. "There's a perfect solution to this problem," he announced quietly. "No more lovemaking, no baby."

As his answer sank in, her eyes made a thorough journey down his bare length, the sight making her smile in appreciation. Saxon's suggestion would never work. She knew she didn't even want to try it. "That idee's about as useless as tits on a boar hog."

She slipped her arms around his waist, and his anger fled as quickly as his solution to their problem. Staying mad at Chickadee was impossible. "Keely," he moaned into her hair when she pressed against his desire for her.

"The onliest way you and me can stop a-makin' love is iffen we're separated, Saxon," she explained, her lips nipping at his shoulder. "I'm as hot as a June bride in a featherbed fer you, outlander, and—"

His laughter cut her off. "Then what do you suggest?" He slid his hands beneath her shirt and found her breasts, rolling their hardening peaks between his fingers.

She looked up at him, the luminous adoration in her eyes causing his own to widen. There was no mischief, laughter, or teasing in her gaze.

Just the whisper-soft sheen of devotion.

Never having seen it before, his first instinct was to move away from her, from the uncomfortable, bewildering emotions her tender look brought. But, as though he'd suddenly sprouted roots that bound him to the floor, he couldn't move a muscle.

She sensed his uneasiness and leaned into him. "Y'know, Saxon, I been warm and happy in right many places afore. Ain't nothin' like a-settin' on a ridge with the sun a-pourin' down on you, and a featherbed's near about the most comfortable thang thur is. But here in yore arms? Well, I reckon they beat both ridges and featherbeds. I cain't even thank of another place whar I'd ruther be."