He didn't ease his hold. She found herself watching the pulse at the base of his throat with a deadly fascination. She felt weaker than she had ever felt in her life. She had thought she knew how to match her temper to his.
But maybe she didn't.
He pressed her up against the door frame, hard. 'Shannon, you can get out of this later. You can say that you were coerced. But for the love of God, get over there now.'
Some demon steamed inside her then, and she didn't know quite how to control it. All of her seemed awhirl in a tempest of hot blood and raw emotion. His anger fed her own. And for once, he was powerless against her.
'I don't like the way you're asking, captain,' she told him icily.
He wasn't powerless, not in the least. With a swift turn on his heel, he dragged her along after him into the center of the room. She was stunned when he fell down on one knee, maintaining his firm grip on her before the preacher and the Haywoods. 'Miss McCahy!' he hissed, the words dropping like sharp icicles from his mouth. 'Dear Miss McCahy— beloved. Do me the honor this day of becoming my lawful wedded wife!'
'That wasn't exactly voiced the way I always thought that I'd hear the words!' Shannon retorted.
'Please, please, please, my beloved darlin'!' he said, rising swiftly, his eyes like knives that sliced through her. She was shaking, knowing that she pushed him. But he could have protested, too. He could have done more than he was doing.
'One more please, captain. And make it a good one.'
'Please,' he said. She had never heard anything that sounded less like an entreaty. He looked like some savage creature, and he didn't just want to chew her all up, he wanted to skin her alive first. But her demons told her they shouldn't be doing this.
He didn't wait for her answer, but turned to the reverend. 'Go ahead, preacher man,' he said dryly. 'Get to it.'
'No!' Shannon protested.
Mr. Haywood cocked the shotgun. The preacher began the ceremony.
Shannon listened to him in a daze. She could no longer run screaming into the street, because Malachi held her in a vise. Nor could she really risk it. Maybe Haywood would hang Malachi. She just didn't know.
The preacher was nervous. Looking at Malachi would probably make anyone nervous. Only the Haywoods seemed complacent.
Malachi answered the preacher in a cold raw fury, biting off each of his words. He spoke loudly and with a vengeance, enunciating each word. Love, honor and cherish. Till death did them part.
When her turn came, Shannon couldn't answer. She turned to him with one last fervent plea.
'Malachi, we can't do this—'
'Love, honor and obey!' he snapped at her.
'Malachi—'
'Say it!'
Shivering, she turned to the preacher. She stuttered out the words.
'The ring,' the preacher said, clearing his throat.
'The ring?' Malachi said blankly.
'I've got it, Reverend Fuller,' Mr. Haywood said. He stepped forward and placed a small gold band in Malachi's hand. Malachi stared at the man for a moment, fingering the gold. Then he slipped the ring on Shannon's finger, despite the fact that she was shaking so badly that her hands weren't still at all.
'We owe you again, Mr. Haywood,' Malachi muttered.
'Don't worry. Price of the ring will be on your bill,' Mr. Haywood said complacently.
'Hush, Papa! This is a beautiful rite!' Mrs. Haywood murmured.
It fit her tightly, snugly. Shannon felt the gold around her finger as smoothly and coldly as Malachi must feel the steel of the cuffs around his wrists. His eyes touched hers with a searing blue hatred and she thought that she could not wait to remove the ring.
Seconds later the preacher was saying that by the authority vested in him by the law of the great State of Kansas, and the greater authority vested in him by the glory of God on high, he now pronounced them man and wife.
Mrs. Haywood let out a long sob, startling them all. They stared at her. She blew her nose and smiled wistfully. 'Don't mind me, dears, I always cry at weddings. Papa, release the groom from those shackles. He probably wants to kiss his bride. Reverend Fuller, could you do with a touch of Madeira? We've no champagne, I'm afraid. Maybe we've some across the way.'
Reverend Fuller said that Madeira would be just fine. Mal-achi stared at Shannon venomously as Mr. Haywood came to him with a small key and freed him from the handcuffs.
'Captain Slater, a glass of Madeira?' Mrs. Haywood began.
But Malachi, freed, paid her no attention. He dragged Shannon into his arms and forced his mouth hard against hers with brutal purpose. His fingers raked her hair at her nape, holding her still for his onslaught. His tongue surged against her lips and forced them apart, raked against her teeth and invaded the whole of her mouth with ruthless abandon. Finally his mouth left hers and his lips touched her throat where it lay arched to him with deliberate possession. Then his mouth demanded hers again. His fingers trailed over the white lace of her gown with idle leisure and abandon, cupping lightly over her breast. The savage fury and heat of his kiss left her breathless, and with a searing sense of both clashing, tempestuous passion, and of deep, shattering humiliation that he would touch her so before others.
She felt the wrath in him deeply. It burned around him, and emitted from him in waves. She was amazed that he had married her; that he hadn't told the Haywoods to go ahead and hang him, and be damned. She hadn't thought that Malachi could be coerced into doing anything that he didn't want to do, but it seemed that they had managed to coerce him.
She tore away from him; he let her go. The back of her hand rose to her lips, as if she could wipe away his touch. 'They should have hanged you!' she hissed.
He blinked, and opaque shadows fell over his eyes. He bowed to her in a deep mockery of courtesy.
'You were trying hard enough, weren't you?'
He didn't give her a chance to answer. He swung around to Mrs. Haywood. 'I thank you for your hospitality, ma'am,' he drawled with a sure trace of sarcasm, 'but I think I've a mind for something a little stronger at the moment.' He strode toward the front door, then paused, looking back. 'I have fulfilled your requirements to escape the hangman, haven't I?'
'Sign your name on the license, and you're free to go,' Mrs. Haywood said.
Malachi walked to the marble-topped table where the license lay. He signed his name with an impatient scrawl and looked at Mr. Haywood, his jaw twisted hard, his hands on his hips.
Mr. Haywood nodded to him grimly. Malachi cast Shannon one last glare and then he threw open the door, slamming it in his wake. Shannon stared after him as cold fingers seemed to close over her heart.
'Madeira?' Mrs. Haywood offered her with a winning smile.
Shannon mechanically accepted the glass of wine. She cast back her head and swallowed it down in a single gulp. It wasn't enough. Malachi was right about one thing—they both needed to head straight for the whiskey.
She set her glass down. The wine tasted like bitter acid in her present mood. 'I'll give you your dress back, Mrs. Haywood,' she said simply. She turned, nodded to the preacher and to Mr. Haywood, and ran up the stairs. She found both keys on the bedside table, and picked them up, biting into her lower lip with such force that she drew a trickle of blood.
Malachi might really be her husband now, but he wasn't coming into this room again. Ever.
Ever!
She couldn't admit it, not even to herself, that her fury came mainly from the fact that she was afraid that he wouldn't even try.
He had slipped a ring upon her finger, forcing her to issue vows, and then he had left her.
For a red-haired whore.
No, he wouldn't be coming in the room again. Ever…
