But it was true that he should have rested.
"The leg feels good, thanks." He buckled the food into his saddlebag. The bay mare shuffled nervously, wanting to be gone.
Shannon stepped back. Malachi nodded to her, lifting the reins. "Take care of Gabe. I'll be back with Kristin as soon as I can. I hope Cole will hear of this and come back, but we can't rely on that. Be ready. We'll have to take her somewhere. She'll have to hide now, too, or they'll come after her again."
Shannon nodded. "I'll be ready."
"I'll bet you will. Goodbye."
She lifted a hand and waved. He saluted, swung the bay around and rode into the night.
Shannon could barely stand still. The second he was out of sight, she swung around and raced up the steps. She burst into the house and ran up the stairway. She didn't pause to change, but wrenched her saddlebags from beneath the bed and tore down the stairs again and into the kitchen.
Delilah was there. Shannon ignored her as she packed her own food, then she hurried over and hugged Delilah fiercely. "Take good care of Gabe, Delilah."
"Shannon, Shannon, you shouldn't be going! I thought that he would know, I thought that he would stop you—"
"No one can stop me, Delilah. You know that. Please, please, promise to take good care of the baby!"
"You know that I will, missy, you don't need to say a word."
"I know that. Oh, Delilah, you and Samson were God sent! I don't know what we'd ever have done without you."
"You might not be able to run off like this."
"Delilah, she's my sister. I have to go for her."
Shannon kissed Delilah quickly on the cheek, swept up her bags and left the kitchen.
In the hallway she plucked the second Colt from the wall and stuffed her bag full of ammunition. Delilah hovered behind her.
"Shannon, you take care, young lady. Don't go off impetuously and get yourself in trouble, you hear?"
Shannon nodded and threw the door open. She started to hurry out, and she hurried straight into Malachi's waiting arms.
"Malachi!"
"Shannon!"
He set her back on her feet, a broad, smiling barrier in the doorway. He took her saddlebags from her hands. "Going somewhere tonight, Miss McCahy?"
"Yes!"
She tried to snatch the bags from him. His smile faded from his face, and he tossed the saddlebags on the floor of the porch. The sound reverberated, but neither of them heard it. Their eyes were locked.
"Malachi Slater—"
"You aren't coming, Shannon."
"Damn you, you can't—"
"I am sorry, Miss McCahy, but what I can't do is let you get yourself killed."
"Malachi—" She cried out in soft and wary warning. He stepped forward anyway and dipped low, catching her in the midriff and throwing her over his shoulder.
"Put me down, you damn Reb!" she ordered him. He just kept walking. She pummeled his back. "Malachi, Slater, you—"
"Shut up, Shannon."
"Scurvy bastard—"
His hand landed firmly upon her derriere. "This is such a delectable position!" He laughed, his footsteps falling upon the stairs.
She burst out with every oath she knew, beating savagely against his shoulders. He didn't seem to feel a thing, protected as he was by the heavy padding of his greatcoat.
Despite her wild fight, they came quickly to the second floor. His long strides brought them down the corridor to her room. He pushed the door open, and a second later tossed her hard upon her bed. Her skirts and petticoats flew around her, and she scrambled first for some dignity, pressing them down.
"Temper, temper, Shannon," he murmured.
"Temper!" She jumped to her knees, facing him. He arched a brow but didn't take a single step back. He seemed to be waiting for her next move, just waiting.
Shannon smiled and sank down on her pillows, comfortably crossing her arms over her chest. "Go ahead. Lock me in."
"I intend to."
"Aren't you forgetting?" she said sweetly. "This is so very foolish. The second that you're really gone, I will crawl right through that window. Now, it would just make so much more sense if you would be a reasonable man and—what are you doing?"
Shannon sat up, tensing, for he had turned away from her and was prowling through her drawers.
"Malachi?" She rose to her knees again, then leaped from the bed, accosting him. She pulled his hand out of her top drawer. A pair of her knit hose dangled from his hands.
"You're letting me come?" she said curiously. Then she realized from the grim determination on his features that he had no intention of letting her come. She still wasn't sure just what he meant to do.
Then he reached for her, sweeping her off her feet and plopping her down on her bed once again.
"Malachi, no!"
"Shannon, darlin', I'm sorry, yes!"
She let out a spate of oaths again, struggling fiercely against him. She didn't have much chance. He quickly had a grip on her wrists. No matter how she swore and raged and resisted, he tied them to the bedposts with her own knit stockings.
"I'll get you for this, Malachi Slater!"
"Maybe you will."
"I hope that your leg rots and falls off. Then I hope that the infection spreads, and that everything else rots and falls off."
Leaning over her, securing the last of the knots, he smiled. "Shannon, I don't think that was a very ladylike comment."
She narrowed her eyes. "This is no gentlemanly thing to do."
When he was done, he sat back, satisfied. She stared at him in trembling fury. A frightening and infuriating vulnerability drove her to try to kick him. He laughed and inched forward. He touched her cheek gently, almost tenderly.
"You're not coming, Shannon. I tried to warn you."
"Don't you dare touch me. Let me loose."
"You look lovely in bed."
"Get off my bed!"
"All that passion! It's quite—stirring, by God, Shannon, it is. I hope it remains if I'm ever tempted to take you into my bed."
"Malachi Slater, I promise you," Shannon grated out, straining at the bonds that tied her wrists and staring at him with rage and tears clouding her eyes, "the only way you'd ever get me into your bed would be to knock me out cold and then tie me to it!" She jerked hard upon her wrist.
He laughed, rose and bowed to her deeply, sweeping down his plumed hat. Then he came very close, and suddenly teased her forehead with the briefest touch. It might have been a kiss.
"Miss McCahy, I promise you. If I ever decide to bring you to bed, no ties or binds will be needed."
She gritted her teeth. "Get out!"
He swept his hat atop his head and offered her his slanted, rueful smile.
"Take care, Shannon. Who knows? Maybe the possibilities are worth exploring." He paused for a second. "And I promise you, darlin', that I will not let anything rot and fall off."
With that, he turned and left her.
CHAPTER FOUR
"You can't just leave me tied like this!" Shannon called in amazement to him as the door closed in his wake. She bit lightly into her lower lip. "I could rot and fall off and die!"
She heard the husky sound of his easy laughter—and the twist of the key in the door. "Delilah will be up in a few hours. You won't die, Shannon." He seemed to hesitate. "And you might well do so if you were to come with me. Delilah isn't going to let you go until my trail is as cold as ice, so just behave."
"Malachi!"
It was too late. He had gone. She could hear his footsteps as he pounded down the stairs.
With a cry of pure exasperation, Shannon jerked hard upon her wrists, men slammed her head against her pillow. Tears formed in her eyes.
How could she have been so incredibly stupid?
She tried to breathe deeply, to regain a sense of control. She stared at her left wrist, then tried to free it. He was good with knots, she determined. The ties did not hurt her, but they seemed impossible to loosen.