"Shannon, apologize to the man."
She had been silent for several minutes, a long time for Shannon. She had stood behind him and at his side, quiet and meek. He gripped her fingers, drawing her in front of him. He hissed against her ear. "Shannon! Apologize."
"I will not!" she exploded. "He is a bloody, vicious, sadistic murder—"
Malachi's hand clamped over her mouth. Justin stood in a silent fury. Frank James laughed, and Jesse didn't make a move or say a word at all.
"Your woman don't obey you real well, Captain Slater," Frank observed.
Malachi swept his arm around her, jerking her beneath his chin, laying his fingers taut over her rib cage and squeezing hard. ' 'She's gonna obey me just fine." He lowered his voice, whispering against her earlobe. '"Cause if she doesn't obey me damned fast, I'm going to leave. I'm going to tell Justin to go ahead and enjoy himself to his heart's content—"
"He is a cold-blooded murderer!" Shannon whispered back. He sensed the tears in her voice, but he couldn't afford to care.
"Apologize!" he told her.
She inhaled deeply. He felt the hatred and the fury that swept from her in great waves, and he wondered if he would always be included in that pool of bitter hatred and rage. "I'm sorry that I tried to kill you," she spit out to Justin. She lowered her head. "And I'm sorry that I failed!" she whispered miserably.
Malachi tightened his hold upon her so that she gasped, but as he looked around, he realized, thankfully, that he was the only one who had heard her last words.
He smiled. "All right?"
He didn't want to give them all time to think. "Thanks, boys. I never would have made it against the Red Legs without your help. Be seeing you."
He adjusted his hat and shoved Shannon around, daring to bare his back to the raiders. They wouldn't shoot a Confederate officer in the back.
Even bushwhackers had a certain code of ethics.
He walked several feet, hurrying Shannon ahead of him.
"Slater!"
He stopped, pushing her forward, turning around.
Justin was walking toward him. "Captain Slater, they're letting you take the woman. I'm not."
Malachi stiffened. He stared at Justin. It was a direct challenge, and there was no way out of it.
"No, Malachi!" Shannon cried, racing to him. He shoved her back again, not daring to take his eyes off Justin.
"Then I guess it's between you and me," he said softly.
"That's right, captain. That's what it boils down to."
"Swords or pistols?"
"Draw when you're ready, captain—" Justin began, but he never finished. His eyes suddenly rolled up in his head and he fell to the ground with a curious, silent grace.
Jesse was standing there. He had just clobbered Justin with the butt of a Spencer repeater. He smiled at Malachi.
"I don't know what would have happened, captain, but you've got a powerful reputation as a crack shot. Of course, Justin is pretty damned good himself. One of you would have died. And I'm just sick of the bloodshed, you know. I figure the Yanks killed enough of us that we don't need to run around killin' one another, not now, not when we're all trying to get home for a spell. So you take your little hellcat and you go on, Captain Slater. Head for Mexico, as fast as you can. The best of luck to you, captain."
Malachi turned from the man on the ground to Jesse. He nodded slowly. Then he turned around. Shannon was still standing there, and he grasped her elbow firmly and pulled her along with him. "Come on!" he whispered to her when she seemed to be balking.
Jesse was still watching them. Malachi put his arm around Shannon's shoulder and pulled her close against him. She looked back once and didn't seem to want to protest, not one bit.
He hurried them down the slope to the embankment of the spring, then rushed along the embankment.
Darkness was coming once again. He wanted to sleep…badly. But he wanted to put some mean distance between them and Justin before he paused to sleep.
He didn't need to urge Shannon along. As soon as they had left the raiders behind, she broke away from him and started to run. Her hair streamed behind her, and in the darkening twilight, he heard the soft, sobbing gasps of her breath as she hurried.
Groaning, he ran after her.
She meant to put distance between herself and the raiders, too. She ran so hard and so fast that she was quickly past the spot where he had tethered their horses.
"Shannon!"
He hurried after her. It was almost as if she hadn't heard him. She was probably furious, he thought wearily. She was angry because he had made her apologize. Because he had kissed her.
He had more than kissed her. He had kissed her and touched with an invasion so deep that the intimacy invoked could never be forgotten.
Nor, for her part, he was certain, forgiven.
"Shannon!"
Cursing the pain in his leg, he ran after her with speed. At last he caught up with her. She stumbled and fell, rolling down the grassy slope until she was nearly in the water. Malachi followed, dropping down beside her. Her eyes were huge and luminous and moist, a beautiful, glittering blue, still wet with tears. She stared at the sky unblinkingly while he knelt by her.
"Shannon! Damn it, I'm sorry. You fool! You damned bloody little fool. Didn't you understand? I had to get you out of there. Justin is a murdering sadist, and that's exactly why you don't mess with a man like him." He sighed. "All right, hellcat. Stay angry. Tear me up again whenever you get the chance. But for now, we've got to get on the road. We need to ride—"
"Malachi!"
She shot up suddenly and ran straight into his arms. She laid her cheek against his chest, and he felt the terrible beating of her heart and the shivering that seized the whole of her body. The soft cream mounds of her breasts rose above the pink-flowered white cups of her corset, brushing against the rough material of his wool greatcoat. Her hands seemed frail and delicate where they fell against him.
"Oh, Malachi!"
And she burst into tears.
He put his arms around her and he kissed the top of her head. He held her tight against him.
Hellcat. It was an apt name for her, but his little hellcat had broken. The war had made her build an impenetrable shield around herself. She was strong as steel and tough as nails, and no one, no one commanded Shannon McCahy.
But now…
Her shield had shattered and broken, and he wasn't sure that he could stand up to the soft and delicate beauty beneath it.
"It's all right. It's over. It's—"
"Malachi, thank you. Oh, my God, you came for me. You—you took me from him. Thank you!"
He curved his hand around her cheek, and he smoothed the tears from her face with his thumb. She stared at him, and her eyes were earnest and glorious, her hair a shroud of gold, cloaking her half-bared shoulders and breasts.
He swallowed hard and managed to stand. He reached down for her, lifting her high into his arms. "We have to ride," he told her.
She nodded trustingly. Her head fell against him. His boots sloshed through the stream as he walked toward the horses.
CHAPTER SIX
When she was set on the black gelding, Shannon seemed well and eager to ride. Malachi was glad of it. He didn't know how long he could stay awake himself, but as long as they could, they would ride.
They crossed the stream, then followed along it. No words passed between them. When Malachi looked back in the darkness, he saw her slumped low in the saddle, but she didn't complain or suggest they stop. He had given her his greatcoat; her shirt was nothing but tatters now, and he didn't want to take the time to dig through his belongings for a new shirt for her. He wanted to move.
It was too late to steal Kristin back before the Red Legs left Missouri. They would have to travel deep into Kansas. The only benefit to that situation was that it was unlikely Justin would follow him into Kansas. There might be a bounty out on Malachi, but at least he had been regular army, not a bushwhacker. A man recognized as a bushwhacker in Kansas might not stand much of a chance.