The Barefoot Bride (16 page)

Chickadee squirmed around in the saddle to wave. Never in her life had she felt so afraid or dispirited, but she forced herself to smile. Her bright grin was the last thing Betty Jane and George Franklin saw as their special girl disappeared from sight and headed for the faraway—and unsuspecting—city of Boston.

Chapter 8

As they traveled toward Moore County, where Saxon had decided they would marry, they stopped to send Araminta a telegram requesting that she send one of the Blackwell steamboats back to the port of Wilmington. He made no mention of his new bride, only notifying his grandmother he was ready to return to Boston.

No inns along the way would allow Khan entry. Saxon tried to convince Chickadee the wolf would be fine outside, but she refused to stay at a place where her pet wasn't welcome. And so, though the snap of autumn was in the air, they slept under the sable quilt of night, the Carolina stars twinkling down at them.

Once in Moore County, they headed straight for the Mansfield home. Heath was delighted with Chickadee. The two became immediate friends, their closeness causing Saxon's eyebrow to rise frequently. He convinced himself it wasn't jealousy he felt, only surprise. He was learning many things about his fiancée, and her special ability with people was one of them.

At Tyson and McNeill Mercantile, Saxon purchased Chickadee's first "boughten" gown. Since it was to be her wedding dress, he tried to persuade her to buy a white one. But Chickadee spied a tomato-red frock and would have no other.

And so, when the day came, Saxon escorted his red-clad mountain girl to Bethesda Presbyterian Church at the head of Rockfish Creek, a rustic setting that suited her nicely. The Mansfield family and a few of Heath's friends were the only guests attending the small wedding, other curious spectators shying away from the white wolf who lay sleeping in the churchyard.

After the reception at the Mansfields' home, Heath and his parents offered the newlyweds their bedrooms. But Chickadee wouldn't hear of it. The Mansfields argued, but her stubbornness won out, and Saxon soon found himself waving good-night to the family as he and his bride headed out for another night in the woods.

"Warn't it purty, Saxon?" Chickadee snuggled down into the bearskin with him. "The weddin', the cake—Miz Mansfield spended all mornin' on that fancified cake."

Saxon smiled. The cake had been void of all the usual wedding decorations, the icing white and plain. He reached for Chickadee and held her close. "Keely, why didn't you accept Heath's offer to let us use his bedroom? I'd never have taken his parents' room, but Heath could have slept—"

"That's a small house, and you make a lot o' racket when yore a-makin' love. Most times you jist moan, but ever' now and then, when it's a-gittin' real good, you holler. I was jist a-savin' you from embarrassment, outlander. Mr. and Miz Mansfield prob'ly wouldn'ta said nothin', but Heath woulda loved a-teasin' you about it tomorrer."

Saxon chuckled. "Yes, I imagine he would at that."

Chickadee ran her hand over his broad chest and down his flat belly, and slid her fingers into the soft matting of hair at the apex of his thighs. Slowly, her hand curled around his rigid masculinity.

Saxon moaned.

"See what I mean, Saxon? We ain't even done nothin' yet, and yore already a-groanin'."

His laughter was muffled in her thick hair. "Am I really that loud?"

"Iffen I didn't know better, sometimes I'd thank somethin' bad-awful was a-happenin' to you. The way you carry on, it's like you was a-bein' tortured or somethin'."

"Oh, and you don't make a sound?" He pulled a piece of pine straw from her hair and tickled her cheek with it.

She grinned impishly. "I don't go inter franzies like you do. I reckon I might holler when it's good enough to holler over. But till it is, you ain't gwine hear me carry on over it."

"Just how much better do you think it could be?" Saxon jerked the bearskin up over his shoulder. "You're the wildest woman I've ever had in my bed, yet you—"

"You been with other women? How many? Who—"

"Jealous?"

"What of? What you done afore we met up ain't none o' my business. I was jist a-wonderin'."

"Why do you want to know?"

For one short moment she was silent, but her grin was tremendous. "Well, I'm gwine find them women when we git to Boston so's I can ask 'em what all they did in the bed with you. I'm purty new at all this Saxon, and I was a-figgerin' maybe them other ladies could tell me—"

Saxon laughed uproariously. "If you ever approached one of those prim, pristine... uh,
virgins
with what you've got in mind—" He laughed again. "Good God, Keely! You wouldn't really do that, would you?"

Her lips moved slowly across his. "Naw. I got more sense'n that. But thur really
are
thangs I wonder about."

"Such as?" he asked, amused by her boldness.

"I could show 'em to you better."

"Why don't you just tell me what they are, and I'll tell you what I know about them?"

She shook her head and wiggled under the bearskin. "Some thangs are better larnt by yoresef."

He felt her lips nipping at his belly. "Learn, Keely," he said softly, his fingers tangled in her hair. "Learn."

"A-aimin' to." She found his navel and thrust her tongue into it. Saxon's body jerked spasmodically at her actions, and her lips spread into a smile upon his skin. "You smell so good. That bay rum stuff's powerful fancy, ain't it, Saxon?"

"Bay rum," he mumbled absently, feeling her kisses meandering closer and closer to the base of his manhood. Even now, her cheek was brushing against it.

Like fast-disappearing smoke, his many past lovers floated through his mind. Those icy maidens had probably never even
heard
of what Chickadee was doing right now. And if they had, they'd certainly never entertain the notion of doing it.

That was his last thought as Chickadee did exactly what he'd hoped she would. Her lips, like a tight circle of warm velvet, sought, found, and loved him. She now repaid with gentle, sensual homage that which had given her such joy so many times. He groaned. He'd never felt such exquisite bliss. "Keely, oh sweet Keely," he gasped as her soft, heated mouth continued its tender torment.

She was glad she'd decided to try making love to him in this way. He'd often done this same thing to her, and the way she saw it, she owed him the same pleasure. She wasn't sure if she was doing it right, but with Saxon carrying on so loudly, she suspected she wasn't doing too badly.

Though the air around him was cold, Saxon's body burned as if with fever, his every nerve aroused. Moan after moan escaped him as her tongue and her kisses caressed him in a way no one else ever had.

She shivered with delight at his joy. Pleasing Saxon gave her a satisfaction that had no equal. After a few more long moments, she got to her knees and straddled him, careful to keep the bearskin over them both.

Saxon opened his eyes, and with the help of the bright moonlight, saw mischief in her sparkling gaze.
"Now
what are you going to teach yourself?"

"I done good, huh?" She leaned over him and kissed the tip of his nose. "I'm a fast larner, Saxon."

His arms went around her, and he started to roll her back to the ground, afire with his need for her. But she forced him still. "I ain't done a-larnin' yet, outlander."

"But—"

She pinched his lips closed and inched her torso downward until he slid into her. Saxon's eyes widened, and with every ounce of willpower he possessed, he tried to be silent. But when Chickadee sat up and began to rotate her hips, a quivering yell escaped him.

"Go on and holler outen yer jollies, Saxon. Ain't nobody around to hear you."

He reached for her waist, lifting and lowering her. But Chickadee would have none of it and took his hands away. "Y'know," she said, still circling slowly, "yore allus on top. And that ain't fair a'tall, the way I see it."

"Not fair," he murmured shakily.

"Yore allus in control o' our lovemakin', and I thought this a-bein' our weddin' night and all, it was time to try new thangs." She tightened her knees around him, all the while continuing to keep him in the silken, ever-moving hold of her femininity. "I had me a hankerin' to know what it was like a-bein' on top. Hope you don't mind none."

"Don't mind," Saxon muttered, his teeth clenched.

She leaned back against his bent knees, her hips still rotating, ascending, descending. "Y'know, I could git used to a-bein' on top like this. I got control o' ever' feelin' I'm a-feelin'. I got control over yores too, huh?"

"Con-control.'

"Yep, I can go fast like this," she chimed, circling rapidly, "or I can do it real slow-like." The cadence of her lovemaking dwindled down until Saxon grabbed her waist once more, again trying to move her.

"Fast," he grunted. "Fast, Keely."

She removed his hands and laughed, the silvery tinkle of her laughter dancing through the thick, cool woods. "Reckon the time fer talkin' is over now, outlander," she told him merrily as she lowered herself down onto his chest. "I'm gwine make serious love to you now."

She rested her face in the crook of his shoulder and concentrated on the feelings building within her. Her movements were slow, but as her desire heightened, her rhythm increased, and she was soon gyrating her hips to the beat of her and Saxon's mounting pleasure.

Saxon knew his end was near, but he struggled to contain it—an almost impossible task since Chickadee was in command. His past lovers having been more passive, he'd had no idea what it was like with the woman on top. But he did now.

It was hell. Sheer, wonderful hell.

With strength that bordered on desperation, he held back, every fiber of his body burning and melting with the need for release. And when he felt Chickadee tense, he prayed she was every bit as ready for the sensual explosion as he was. He reached around her and cupped her bottom firmly, guiding, coercing her into that sweet paradise he could barely wait to reach.

"Oh, Saxon." She moaned softly and shuddered.

He shouted his own bliss but never heard himself yelling. Throbbing wildly within her, he spilled his seed, his muscles quivering with the pent-up need, finally assuaged.

"It's over," he heaved. "Thank God."

*

Wilmington buzzed with all the usual activities of a seaport. Chickadee's nose wrinkled at the scent of the salty, fishy air, but she was enthralled by all the sailors loading and unloading ships' cargoes. She stared at the clippers, schooners, and steamboats, wondering how such large, heavy vessels could possibly stay afloat.

"Which one's yore granny's?" she asked Saxon.

He scanned the water, soon spying the
Sea Siren,
Araminta's most opulent steamboat. She usually reserved it for her own travels or for the magnificent parties she gave aboard it. Sending the
Sea Siren
was probably her way of reminding him of the Blackwell fortune, Saxon mused.

As if he could ever forget anything concerning his grandmother. Quickly, he squelched the little-boy fears, the bitter torment he could not seem to lay to rest.

"Keely, you're in for a real treat. She sent the
Sea Siren,
and you're going to sail to Boston in style."

But in Chickadee's eyes, stylish in no way described the baroque elegance of the steamboat. Standing in the great central compartment, she stared up at the molded ceiling, her gaze riveted to the crystal chandelier. Rich, thick carpet lay beneath her feet, and all around her were paintings in gilded frames hanging on rosewood-paneled walls. Mirrored pillars, their tops and bottoms decorated with golden sea creatures, supported two balconies of staterooms. The very air she breathed had the odor of what she decided must be the fragrance of wealth.

"Do you have a preference of rooms, Mr. Blackwell?" The steward stood stiffly eyeing the white beast who was sniffing his pant leg.

"Grandmother's."

The steward's eyes bulged as Khan's snout inched up into his crotch. He tried unobtrusively to push Khan away with his knee. "Uh, will the dog be staying with you, or shall I take him—"

"He goes whar I go." Chickadee snapped her fingers and Khan ceased his intimate investigation of the red-faced steward. "And Khan ain't no dog. He's a wolf."

The steward swallowed audibly. "Please excuse my ignorance, Mrs. Blackwell." He bowed and turned to Saxon. "I will escort you to your stateroom now, sir."

When they reached Araminta's personal quarters, Chickadee gasped. She stood on the threshold, her lower jaw hanging open. Saxon walked around her, removed his coat and hat, and hung them both on a brass hatstand. "Keely, I'm going to go check on Hagen, but I'll be back shortly." When she didn't answer, he turned and looked at her. "Aren't you going to come in?"

"What?"

He smiled and pulled her into the room. Khan followed and jumped to put his paws on Saxon's chest. Ever since the fire the wolf had shown him respect, obedience, loyalty, and most of all, affection. "Yes, Khan," Saxon said as Khan drenched him with wet wolf kisses, "I like you too." He gave the wolf a brief ear rub, ruffled Chickadee's hair, and left, the steward following him.