'You don't need to tie us up, Captain Slater.'
'I'm sorry, but—'
'You're going to need us, I think. We're not going to turn you in. If what you tell us is true, we'll try to help you.'
'Why?'
'Why?' Mrs. Haywood stood up, strangely noble despite the water that dripped from her nightcap over her bosom. 'Why? 'Cause somewhere, Captain Slater, the healing has to start. Somewhere, it has to quit being North and South, and somewhere, we have to stand against the men going against the very rules of God!'
'Malachi!' Shannon urged him. 'We need them, if they will help us. We need this base. We need…we need the information that we're supposed to get in the next few days.'
Malachi thought furiously. Iris said that these were good folks. And Iris said that she could get to Fitz, and she could probably help him with information that he could never get on his own.
'Malachi! We have to trust them.'
Slowly, he lowered the Colt. Then he tossed it onto the bed.
'Shannon, I pray you aren't going to get us both killed,' he said savagely.
'Hmph.' Mr. Haywood stood, as stout and proud as his wife. He went over and picked up his shotgun. He didn't wave it at Malachi, but he held it in his hand, shaking it.
'So you ain't a bushwhacker and you don't deserve to hang for that! But you aren't this young lady's husband, either, and you should be strung up for seducing an innocent, and that's a fact.'
Shannon was surprised to see the flush that touched Malachi's cheeks. 'That's none of your business, Mr. Haywood,' he said.
'It is our business, captain,' Martha Haywood warned him severely. 'You were living in sin, right beneath our roof. What do you say, Papa?' she asked her husband.
'I say that he hangs.'
'What?' Malachi exploded. He made a dive for the Colt. Mrs. Haywood moved faster. She grabbed the gun and aimed his way. 'Now, captain, where are your manners? I never did meet a more gallant boy than a cavalry officer, and a Southern gentleman at that. You should be ashamed of yourself.'
'Ashamed! Where have the values gone?' Mr. Haywood said fiercely. 'Pride and gallantry and good Christian ethics. The war is over now, son.'
'Sir—' Malachi took a step forward. A shot exploded in the room, and he stood dead still. Mrs. Haywood knew what she was doing with a Colt, too, so it seemed. The ball went straight by Malachi's head, nearly grazing his ear.
'Shannon,' he said through his teeth, keeping his eyes warily upon Mrs. Haywood. 'Shannon, I am going to wring your neck!'
'No, captain, you're not. You're going to marry that girl, that's what you're going to do.'
'I'm not going to be coerced into any marriage!' Malachi swore.
'Well, son, you can marry her or hang,' Mr. Haywood guaranteed him. 'Mrs. Haywood, would you like to go for the preacher? A Saturday morning wedding seems just right to me.'
'No!' Shannon called out.
Malachi looked at her, startled. She was wrapped in the sheet, her hair a wild tangle around her delicate features and beautiful sloping shoulders.
Her eyes were filled with flashing blue anger. 'Don't bother, Mrs. Haywood. I won't marry him.'
'Well, well, dear, I'm afraid that you'll have to marry him,' Mrs. Haywood insisted. 'Right is right.'
'That's right, young lady. You marry him, or we'll hang him.'
Shannon smiled very sweetly, glaring straight at him. 'I will not marry him. Mr. Haywood, you'll have to go right ahead. Hang him.'
'Shannon!' Malachi swore. He swung around to stare at her in a fury. He was unaware of Mr. Haywood moving around behind him. He really did want to throttle her. His fingers were just itching to get around her neck.
His fury did him in.
He didn't see Mr. Haywood, and he certainly didn't see the water pitcher.
He didn't see anything at all. He simply felt the savage pain when the pitcher burst as Mr. Haywood cracked it hard over his skull.
He was still staring at Shannon, still seeing her standing there in white with her hair a golden, glowing halo streaming angelically all around her…when he fell to the floor.
And blackness consumed him.
Two hours later Shannon found herself in the store, standing on a stool, while Martha Haywood fixed the hem of the soft cream gown that Shannon wore.
It was a beautiful, if dated, bridal gown.
It had been Martha Haywood's own. A lace bodice was cut high to the throat with a delicate fichu collar over an undergown of soft pure satin. Ribands of blue silk were woven through the tight waistline, and the lace spilled out over the full wide skirt. Tiny faux pearls had been lovingly sewn into much of the lace.
'Mrs. Haywood, you don't understand,' Shannon said urgently. She dropped down at last, catching the woman's nimble hands upon the hem. 'Mrs. Haywood, you and your husband can't keep threatening Malachi. I don't want to marry him. And I don't believe you. You can't hang him if I refuse to marry him.'
'We can, and we will,' Mrs. Haywood said complacently.
'But I don't want to marry him. Please!'
Mrs. Haywood stared at her with her deep brown eyes. 'Why? Why don't you want to marry him? You seem to be with him by choice.'
'I am with him by choice. No…I mean, yes! But it's more circumstance than choice.'
'That still doesn't explain why you don't want to marry him.'
'Because…because he doesn't love me. I mean, I don't love him. It's just all—'
'Love comes,' Mrs. Haywood told her. 'If it isn't there already,' she muttered. 'The way you two came in here, the way we found you together… You explain yourself to me, young woman.'
'You just crawled into bed with him just like that…because of circumstances?' Martha Haywood's tone sent rivers of shame sweeping into Shannon. She felt as if she was trying to explain things to a doting and righteous aunt.
'You must have felt something for him. But then again, I'm not arguing that. Did you hear what you told me? You said that he didn't love you. So maybe you do love him. And maybe you're just afraid that he doesn't love you.'
Shannon shook her head vehemently. 'I promise you that he does not love me. And I do not love him. I was in love, once, during the war. I was engaged to marry a Yankee captain. He was killed…outside Centralia.'
Mrs. Haywood finished with the hem and stood. 'So you can't love again, and that's that. Why? You think that young man who did love you would want you spending your life in misery.' She shook her head slowly and gravely. 'The world has a lot of healing to do. And you should maybe start with your own heart. This Captain Slater seduced you under my roof, young lady. And you were curled up to him sweet as a princess bride this morning, so you're halfway there.'
'Mrs. Haywood—'
'Papa has gone for the preacher. He is the local magistrate, so he's the law here. Oh, don't you worry none. Papa and me won't ever let on to anyone that we know your man's really a Slater. And the reverend will keep the secret, too. That is, if you two do the decent thing and marry up.'
'You can't hang him for not marrying me!'
Mrs. Haywood laughed delightedly. 'Maybe not, but there ain't no law against hanging a criminal. Captain Slater understands. Papa explained it to him real clearly.'
'Mrs. Haywood—'
'Lord love us, child, but you do look extraordinarily fine!' She stepped back from the stool, gazing over
