The Barefoot Bride (28 page)

For what seemed like hours, the horses raced as if the devil himself was after them. Chickadee was powerless to keep herself from being thrown around in the bed of the wooden cart. With each lurch of the vehicle, she was banged against its hard planks.

She felt no pain, she could only think of Khan, wounded or perhaps dead. But the time for sorrow would come later. For now, there was only time to hate the men who had kidnapped her; only time to ready herself for what she would do to them once she had the chance.

That opportunity never came. The wagon hit another rut in the road, this one deeper than the ones before. Chickadee crashed toward the back of the cart, her weight and the momentum of her slide forcing the flimsy gate open. She tumbled to the cold, litter-strewn ground of a dangerous and seedy section of Boston.

The wagon, its drivers oblivious to their loss, was soon far away, and Chickadee, helpless, afraid, and jarred, was left to the mercy of the North End.

Chapter 15

"Faith, and what have we here, I'm askin' ye laddies?" Shane said as they reached the rolling bag.

"'Tis a live thing." Gallagher backed away. "What with the kickin' and fightin' it's doin', 'tis an animal. A wild one at that. Leave it be, I'm warnin' ye."

"'Tis a coward ye are, Gallagher," Shane said. "Afraid before ye even know what yer afraid of!"

"Freein' it is what we'll be doin', Gallagher," Killian said as he bent to loosen the bag's ties. "Run if 'tis what yer guts tell ye to do, man, but have a care in case it comes after ye!"

When the sack was open, homemade leather shoes, the feet in them still flailing wildly, were the first things the men saw.

"Sweet Mary above, 'tis a person!" Gallagher shouted, his deep voice echoing down the alley and sending rats scurrying hither and yon.

"Ye were scared fer naught, Gallagher!" Killian responded. "Because if ye care to have a look, ye'll see these legs have nae a hair on them! Smooth and soft as the silk of corn. 'Tis a lass, to be sure it is."

"'Tis takin' the bag off her we need to be doin'," Gallagher said, joining Killian on the ground.

"Ho! Ho!" Shane exclaimed merrily. "Afraid he was, Killian, but now that he knows 'tis only a lass, 'tis wantin' to be the first at her he's doin'!"

"Ye'll have yer chance, Gallagher," Killian said, pushing his friend away. "But 'twill be meself who—"

"Yerself?" Shane roared. "'Twas I who found the bag, Killian! Ye dinna see it first, so—"

"And who was it who opened it, might I be askin'?" Killian demanded. "'Tis only fair that I—"

"Ye've been divilin' me the whole night, Killian," Shane warned. "Ye said ye'd buy the drinks, but 'twas nothin' but lint ye had in yer pockets when the time came to pay! And now ye've got a fine nerve to be wantin' first turn at the lass! Nae, Killian. The Lord help ye, the only thing ye've got comin' to ye is me fist!"

Gallagher watched his two friends fight, until a muffled scream erupted from the bag behind him. "'Twould serve them both right if 'twas pockmarked and painful to the eye ye turned out to be, lass," he told the struggling female as he dragged the sack off. But his hopes were dashed as he gazed down at Chickadee. Never had he seen such a lovely woman—nor a more indignant one.

"Shane! Killian! 'Tis disbelievin' ye'll be when ye see the little colleen!"

At his shout, the men ceased their ruckus and stumbled to where Chickadee lay. "Bonny she is, or I'm nae an Irishman," Shane remarked and wiped at his cut lip. "'Twas worth fightin' fer her."

"Aye, 'twas at that," Killian agreed, rubbing his bleeding knuckles before he bent to touch a red curl.

Chickadee responded to his actions by throwing him to the other side of her. One down, she stood quickly and motioned for Shane and Gallagher to try and come for her. When neither man moved, she ripped the smelly gag off.

"Don't reckon I can lick all o' you-uns, but I'm fer God-burn shore gwine bang you up afore I'll let you lay a hand on me! Saxon tole me you Irish folks is a mite fighty-fied, but so is mountain folks. Come on, you dang-blasted furriners!"

Shane and Gallagher, their eyes never leaving the furious slip of a girl, went to help Killian to his feet. Now standing side by side, the three amazed men watched as Chickadee dared them with her balled fists. She danced before them, her feet never slowing, her body in constant motion as she moved in a small circle while waiting for one of them to come toward her.

"'Tis mad she is," Shane said softly. "Doin' a jig like that. Lost her wits, she has."

"She tossed me to the cursed ground!" Killian growled. "Caught me by surprise, and she'll nae get away with outwittin' Killian Rafferty!"

"No?" Chickadee challenged. "Come on then, Killy, or whatever the hell yore blasted name is! I'll give you a knock-fight the likes o' which you ain't never had!"

Killian smiled at her bravado. "'Tisn't a fight I had in mind, lassie," he said, walking slowly toward her. "Nae, 'tis pleasurin' meself with ye I've a mind to do. We'll be gentle with ye, colleen, to be sure we will."

"We mean ye nae harm," Shane said. "We'll let ye go when we're finished. A lass with yer bonny looks has had a man before, so ye've nae need to worry about the pain."

"Leave her be," Gallagher said. "Faith, she's so young, laddies. Less than twenty years, if me eyes don't deceive me. Surely ye'll nae have another peaceful night's sleep if ye do this to her. She's a wee lass—"

"I don't need no defendin' from you!" Chickadee yelled. "You was jist as hot to git at me as they was! I'm as miseried as I can be over how poverty-poor you-uns is here in Boston, but poverty ain't no reason to turn on folks who ain't done nothin' a'tall to you! I'm jist as agger-pervoked with this dang city as you-uns is, and—"

"Does she nae make sense?" Gallagher pleaded. "What has she done to us to deserve—"

"What more is it yer thinkin' ye know about us, lass?" Shane asked Chickadee and ignored Gallagher. "And where are ye from? Tis plain yer nae from here."

"Yeah? Well neither are you, so I reckon we're even."

"A point well taken," he replied. "But ye dinna answer me question."

"I ain't gwine answer nothin' but yore sneakin' grin! Answer it by a-knockin' ever' dang one o' them teeth you got outen yore head! You-uns got some kind o' powerful gall to thank you can rape me, and me let you do it! What do you thank I am? Some sorter feather-legged, sissified pansy?"

Unable to control himself, Shane burst into laughter, and Gallagher and Killian soon joined in his mirth. "All right, lassie," Shane said. "Ye win. We won't touch ye. 'Twould seem Gallagher was right in bein' afraid o' ye, aye, that he was. Shane Flannagan's me name, and this lad is Gallagher O'Neill. Eh,
Killy
here, ye've met."

Chickadee lowered her fists. "You-uns talk real strange."

"And 'tis the Queen's English yer speakin', I suppose?" Killian teased her. "From where do ye come, colleen?"

"My name ain't Colleen. It's Chickadee. Chickadee McBride Blackwell."

"McBride, is it?" Gallagher asked, walking up to her. "Are ye Scotch? Irish?"

With the aid of the flickering streetlamp, Chickadee noticed his eyes were as green as hers. And so were Shane's and Killian's. They looked to be about the same age as Saxon, maybe a bit younger, and were powerfully built. Shane and Gallagher had black hair, but Killian's hair was almost orange. All in all they didn't seem to be bad men. Just a mite snockered.

"I reckon I got a smidgeon o' Scotch or Irish blood in me," she finally answered. "Maybe both. My people come acrost the ocean-sea jist like you-uns done. Heared tell they was Irish, but warn't nothin' writ down in my family, so it's a mite hard to tell. All's I can tell you is I'm from the North Caroliner mountains. I live here now though."

"And what were ye doin' in that bag, lass?" Shane asked. "Were ye stolen from yer home?"

"Yep, and Khan coulda been kilt, so I cain't waste no time a-gittin' back."

"Is Khan yer mate, Chickadee?" Gallagher asked.

"He's my wolf, and them bushwhackers knifed him afore they tuk me away," she explained hurriedly, her fear for Khan increasing steadily. "Only I don't got no way to git back. Left my dang weddin' rang on the dresser, so I cain't trade that, ain't got no money with me, and the Blackwell estate is—"

"Estate?" Killian repeated. "Are ye a maid there?"

"No, I'm Saxon Blackwell's wife."

Shane and Killian laughed, but not Gallagher. "Pay them nae a bit o' mind, Chickadee. If ye say yer the mistress o' the estate, I'll believe ye. Come, 'tis gettin' money fer yer cab fare we need to be doin'."

She let him take her hand. "You got any?"

"If I had but one cent to me name, I'd give it to ye, colleen, to be sure I would," he said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "But 'tis a rare occasion when I have money to lend. I make little on the docks, and—"

"'Tis spendin' his wages on whiskey he does," Shane broke in. "Nae, lassie, ye'll get naught from him."

Chickadee looked over her shoulder at the street behind her. She had no idea how to get back to the estate, she only knew it was far from here. And with no money... She'd just have to walk. If she asked for directions and met with no mishaps along the way, she'd make it by morning.

"I admired a-meetin' all you-uns. But I cain't stay. I'm worried somethin' awful about Khan." She turned to leave the alley.

"Surely 'tisn't walkin' yer plannin' on doin'?" Killian called after her. "Come back, lass. We'll get the money fer ye. Won't we laddies?"

"Aye, we will at that," Shane and Gallagher promised.

She turned. "Right honorable o' you-uns, but I cain't ask you to steal."

"'Tisn't stealin' but
sellin'
we'll do to get ye the money," Shane informed her, winking at his comrades. "Now, will ye be trustin' us, or would ye rather walk alone at night on some deserted road?"

She wrinkled her nose. "What you got to sell?"

"Come with us, lass, and we'll show ye," Gallagher requested. "'Tisn't too far from here."

"And ye'll be with us," Killian added. "We'll nae let any harm come to ye."

Sensing their eagerness to help her and realizing money would get her to Khan's side faster than her legs ever could, she nodded and joined the "dangerous" Irishmen who had quickly become her friends.

*

"Well, iffen that don't beat all," Chickadee murmured when she saw the rows of little pots on the ground, each containing homemade rye whiskey. "Irish likker."

"Have a taste, lass." Shane handed her a dipper.

She sipped a bit but promptly spit it out. "Lord o' mercy! That's the worstest stuff I ever did try to swaller! Thur ain't no way you-uns is gwine sell this."

Gallagher kicked the bushes that hid the whiskey pots. "'Twas only a few weeks ago we started makin' it. We're nae knowin' how to do it properly yet."

"'Tis Keefe Delaney who makes a fine whiskey, but he willna' show us how," Killian grouched. "Us, his kinsmen, tryin' to make a livin' just as he!"

"Aye," Shane agreed. "The curse o' the divil be on his black soul fer turnin' on his own brothers. But we've nae given up, colleen. We'll keep tryin' till we find the right recipe. 'Tis only a matter o' trial and error."

Tentatively, Chickadee sampled another sip of the whiskey and shuddered. "I allus thought this was what pizen would taste like iffen I ever did git pizened by somebody."

"Poison?" Killian repeated. "Now that's a fine compliment if I ever heard one."

"I don't tell no lies, Killian. The stuff's bad, ain't nobody gwine buy it, and I ain't gwine git the money I need to git back to Khan. I orter a-walked. I done wasted nigh on a hour a-comin' here with you-uns, and now—"

"Oh we'll sell it, to be sure," Gallagher told her, picking up a few containers of the whiskey. "We know a painter. But he's nae a painter o' art. Roy paints houses. We'll go awaken him now and make the sale fer ye."

"Y'mean this Roy feller actually
likes
this mess?"

"He's never tasted it," Killian said sheepishly. "But he says 'tis the best paint thinner he's ever used!"

*

Though dawn had barely broken, a small lamp lit the room sufficiently for Chickadee to see. At the sight before her, she staggered for the bedpost.

Candice hurried to her. "Chickadee! Oh thank the dear Lord! Mr. Blackwell has been looking for hours—"

"Is... is he dead, Candy?" Chickadee whispered.

Khan, lying on a blanket on the floor, was motionless. There was barely a spot of white on him, his thick fur was so matted with dark blood.

"No," Candice said softly, leading her to the wolf.

Chickadee sank to the floor and reached out to touch Khan. The blood had turned crusty, and scary, and horrible.

"I did everything I could for him," Candice squeaked. "Mr. Blackwell said he would bring a doctor back and—"

"We ain't got time to wait. Git a pot o' water a-bilin', brang whiskey, scissors, a needle and thread... and fetch me my yarbs."

When Candice left, Chickadee cradled Khan's snout in her hands, her heart stopping when she noticed the bloody saliva oozing from his mouth. Something in him, one of his innards was wounded! Bleeding from the inside...
Lord o' mercy!
She didn't know how to repair him
inside!