by Henry, Jane
“She most certainly does not, ya wanker,” I say, my temperature rising.
“Most certainly does,” Carson says, his brows raised in surprise. “You haven’t even questioned her yet?”
“I have,” I protest, but I know what they mean. Have I tortured her, demanding answers? No. But they don’t know what I do, that she’s never been in the company of men. Her innocence paints her expression. I’m not sure she’d know how to lie if she tried.
Christ. I have to answer to my men tonight, and they’ll expect answers.
She’s had enough time alone and with mam. I’m going home.
“I’m going back to my place,” I say, rising. “If there’s anything else you need from me, you know where to find me.”
On the way out, Catrina stops me. “You’ll have a full report this week, sir,” she says. “I’ve been promised.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
I’m going back to Caitlin.
Chapter Eight
Caitlin
I sit on the bed, my wrists still bound, trying to observe anything and everything I can until it bores me. I manage to wriggle off the bed and walk about the room, noting as many details as I can.
There’s a small bookshelf filled with books, though they look like they’ve never been opened. If I didn’t have my wrists bound, I’d peruse them. I hope I get a chance before they send me home.
There’s a massive bathroom, with a large, round, circular tub in it, an intricate vanity and mirror, and an enormous shower. Our tiny bathroom consisted of a stall shower and tiny toilet, the mirror old and streaked, so I could hardly see myself.
But this one… this one takes my breath away. I stand in front of it, staring at my reflection. I’m tall and thin, and it shocks to see the tattered, threadbare clothing that clings to me in the bright overhead light. Clearly too small, clearly outdated, and practically disintegrating.
And for the first time in my life, I’m ashamed of how I look. Keenan looked so fine when he was preparing to leave, so put-together, wearing a suit and tie and shoes that shone, reflecting the overhead lighting. And I look like a street urchin. Like an overgrown child.
I hope Maeve comes quickly. I want out of these old clothes.
I close my eyes and press my forehead against the cool, pristine tile.
Why did you do this to me? I ask my father. Were you hiding things?
Why would it surprise me if he was hiding things?
He hid me.
I start when I hear a door open, my heart racing like butterfly wings against my chest. Someone comes into the room. Is it Maeve? Would she come in unannounced?
I don’t want to be taken by surprise, or for anyone to think I’m hiding, so I turn the doorknob and exit the bathroom. I freeze in the doorway when I see Keenan’s father walking into the bedroom. Involuntarily, I step back into the bathroom. He’s a dangerous man, and I need to hide. But he’s seen me, and I know it’s foolish to think I can get away from him.
“There you are, lass,” he says, and though his words are casual, his voice is hard. It makes my pulse quicken. “Come here.”
I take one step forward and don’t go any further. His eyes narrow, and he crooks his finger at me. “Closer.”
Keenan won’t like this. Not at all.
I swallow hard and obey. He nods. “Good. Seems he’s training you well, then.” His eyes roam over my body. “I see no marks, though,” he says disapprovingly. I swallow hard.
“I’ve been punished, if that’s what you wonder,” I tell him, a note of anger evident in my tone. What does he wish to see? Bruises on my shoulders or neck? I shudder.
His eyes darken. “Show me.”
Revulsion churns in my stomach, and my cheeks flame. It isn’t right. No. Keenan won’t like this. He’ll lose his mind if he knows his father did this, that he violated me and came in here.
“I—I can’t,” I whisper, faltering. “I don’t think Keenan would approve.”
He stares at me, and I wonder how he’ll react. I can’t swallow or blink. I’m frozen in place, at this man’s mercy, when the door opens again, and Maeve steps in.
“Oh, there y’are, Seamus,” she says, beaming at him. “Came to visit the lass?”
She’s laden with bags, and Seamus walks over to help her carry them. I release the breath I was holding. He takes them in hand, nodding.
“Aye,” he says. “Looks like you’ve got an errand with her, then. I’ll leave you.”
Relief floods through me all at once.
I could kiss Maeve. To my surprise, when he draws near to him, she gets up on her tiptoes and kisses him full on the lips, then wraps her arms around his neck, as if she hasn’t seen him in ages. He pulls her to him, bags and all, and stoops down, hugging her. He whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle.
“Go on with you, now,” she says. “Out you go. We’ve got girl stuff to tend to.” She winks at him.
He looks to me, puts the bags on the floor, and nods. “You answered well, lass,” he says, before he turns and takes his leave.
What? He’s pleased with my answer?
Was he testing me?
Maeve looks at me curiously, her head tipped to the side. “What was that about?” she asks. I tell her about the brief exchange. Her large, luminous eyes widen, and a soft smile spreads across her lips. “Sweet girl,” she says. “You told the Chief his son wouldn’t approve?” She breaks into a full on grin. “You’ve got spunk, I’ll give you that. Now let’s get you out of these clothes and prepared for dinner.”
I’m still shaking, but I soon forget what’s on my mind when I look at the piles of items she’s dumping onto the bed. They’re all so foreign to me. Why did she bring so much?
Talking to people drains you. I miss the isolation and solace of being alone, the quiet and peace of holding my own counsel. I stifle a yawn as she arranges things. I’m tired. So tired.
But before we get to the clothes, I have questions.
“Was he going to hurt me?” I ask her.
She straightens in surprise, looks to the door, then back to me. She mulls her response over before answering. “He might’ve,” she says thoughtfully, and it’s strange how the honest response doesn’t seem to trouble her. “He’s a stern man, Seamus. But if he’s told Keenan that you’re his charge, I can’t imagine he would betray that.”
“He asked me if Keenan punished me,” I whisper.
She nods, then goes back to unpacking the bags. “He would, yes. What did you do to earn a punishment?”
She’s asking me this as if it’s normal and expected. I tell her, and her brows go up.
“Well,” she says. “Did he punish you?”
I nod. He did. My cheeks flame. I’m suddenly embarrassed to be having this discussion, but she doesn’t seem the least bit bothered.
“Then you’ve nothing to worry about,” she says. “We have a code here, and you broke it. You didn’t know, I understand. But that rarely impacts retribution or consequences. You’ll see.”
I have so many more questions I want to ask her, but she’s got a job to do. She lifts my bound hands and unties the bounds with matter-of-fact efficiency.
“Now, pretty girl,” she says. “Off with this tattered clothing.”
“May I go to the bathroom and—”
“No,” she orders, her voice harder now. “You’re going to be put to the test, Caitlin,” she says. “You’ve been taken prisoner by some of the most powerful men in all of Ireland. It’s absolutely crucial you learn to endure whatever trial they put you through. You’ll have to learn to swallow that pride.” Her final words come as a blow, sharp as a whip. “Now off with your clothes.”
She’d have to be fierce to be married to the likes of Seamus, to have raised a man like Keenan. Still, I’m a little taken aback.
I swallow hard but do what she says. My hands tremble, and I want to die, but she’s my ally in this. I have to trust her.
She looks politely away while I undress, turn
ing her back to me. “Now, on with your bra,” she says. “And your knickers.” She hands me pretty lace white things. I put them on, fumbling with the clasp on the bra, and she turns. “Holy Mother, have you never seen a bra before, lass?”
“Not one like this.”
She purses her lips but asks no questions, and quickly helps me dress.
“Aye, I’ve still got a good eye,” she says with a smile. “They fit you like a glove, they do,” she says. She lays out several dresses on the bed, but points to the blue one on the far right. “That one,” she says. “It’ll go with your eyes, and he’ll love it.”
I don’t really care which one. I just want her to pick one out and I want to be dressed. I lift my arms when she gestures for me to prepare, then the pretty, silky fabric glides over my body. I sigh involuntarily. I’ve never felt anything so soft and luxurious.
I spin with my arms outstretched.
I wonder at how much I’ve missed. I’ve never worn new clothes, never felt the soft luxury of silky fabric. And clothing is the simplest of luxuries. How much more does the world have to offer? “It’s beautiful,” I say in awe.
“As are you,” she replies. “Now let’s freshen you up.” She leads me to the bathroom and lays all kinds of things I don’t recognize on the counter. I imagine they’re beauty products, cosmetics and the like.
“Something tells me you’re not familiar?” she asks, looking my way.
I shake my head and speak the truth. “I’ve never left the lighthouse. I—I’ve not been around people, much less used or owned things like that.”
If she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it, and I realize she’s likely learned the skill of schooling her features, living with men like these and being married to Seamus.
“Aye, he’ll never let her go, then,” she whispers to herself, then shakes her head when I give her a quizzical look. “Right, then,” she says, as if what I told her was the most natural thing in the world. She gives me a lesson on washing up properly and taking good care of my skin, “though your skin’s got a natural glow that’d be the envy of any woman,” she admits. When I’m done, she spins me around to look at myself. I blink in surprise. I hardly look familiar. My eyes are brighter, my skin glows. My hair’s piled onto my head, and a delicate silver necklace graces my neck.
Maeve’s eyes grow a little wistful, and she speaks as if to herself. “You remind me so of someone I once knew. The resemblance is uncanny. But it’s not possible.”
I hear footsteps in the hall and look to the door just as Keenan enters. He looks more handsome than I even remembered, his hair tousled, his sleeves rolled up, revealing corded forearms. His eyes come immediately to me. He freezes.
“Holy Mother of God,” he mutters.
Maeve smiles, gives me a quick hug, then turns to Keenan.
“I guess I did a right job of it, then, didn’t I?” she asks. “See you at dinner, you two.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes. “Stay brave, sweet Cait.”
I like that. Sweet Cait.
Stay brave?
And then she’s gone.
I never knew my mother, and for one brief moment, I’m filled with a sort of desperate longing. But I can’t decipher the meaning of it. As soon as she’s left the room, Keenan’s crossing the room to me. I take a step back, afraid of what he’ll do when he reaches me. He stands in front of me, tall and stern, his beautiful green eyes cloudy, before he takes my chin in his hand and holds my eyes to his.
“None of them will touch you,” he whispers. “None of them.”
I nod. I don’t know why he’s making this declaration or what he’s anticipating they’ll do.
“You’ve told me the truth, Caitlin,” he says. “You know nothing of what you held.”
“No, sir,” I say, remembering my instructions from earlier.
He nods. “And when you say you’ve never left the lighthouse, you mean that?”
I nod.
“Then how is it you know anything at all? Explain.”
“I’ve read a book a day for as long as I can remember. All sorts, all types. All I know has been gleaned from the pages of a book. Thousands upon thousands of books.”
“Right, then.” He looks at me again. “Fair enough. I must confess, your new clothing pleases me very much.”
“I’m glad you like it. I like your mother.”
“My mother’s the absolute best,” he agrees.
“She seemed to really be crazy about your father,” I murmur. “When he came in the room, she—” His sharp tone interrupts me, and I stop speaking mid-sentence.
“Excuse me?” he asks in a deadly voice.
I can’t reply. My mouth won’t seem to work properly.
“I asked you a question,” he says. “And I want an answer.”
“He--he came in before your mother did,” I stutter, speaking in in a small voice. “He had some questions for me.”
“Like what?” his voice is hard and demanding, and I try to take a step back from him but can’t.
“He... he asked me to show that you punished me. He wanted to see marks.”
Keenan curses so hard and angrily I close my eyes with the onslaught. “Son of a fucking bitch,” he says. “Testing both me and you.” Then he stills, bends to me, and holds my chin in his hand again. His fingers are rough, but his tone is gentle. “Did you show him?”
I shake my head. “I told him I didn’t think you’d approve,” I say. I don’t know what he’ll say to this, how he’ll react, but what he does shocks me. He grins.
His face breaks into the most brilliant smile, and once more I’m reminded of an angel. My goodness.
“You passed the test, then, lass,” he says. “Now let’s see if you’ll pass mine.”
A test? I don’t like that anyone’s testing me.
He releases me, steps back toward his bed, and leans against it, folding his arms across his chest. “Go to my desk,” he says, making a little twirly motion with his finger to indicate I’m to spin around. “Lift your dress and show me.”
It feels as if something warm glides through me, even as my nerves are fraught.
“What?” I whisper.
He leans slightly forward, his voice dropping to a lower octave.
“Go to my desk,” he repeats. “Lift your dress. And show me the marks I left from your belting.”
Oh.
It was his belt, then. He struck me with his belt. And he wants to see the marks he’s left.
I shiver. I passed the first test. Will I pass this one?
Why does he want to see? Is he proud of hurting me? Is a twisted, perverted part of him attracted to the marks he left? Or does he just wish to set me off kilter?
There are words for men like him, men that take pleasure in inflicting pain, but they escape me. I feel strangely lightheaded. A bit trembly. I do know I pleased him with how I answered his father, and it’s crucial that I obey Keenan now.
So I do. I walk to the desk, and turn to face it, conscious of his eyes following my every move. I take the silky hem of my dress and raise it, lifting it so all he can see are my bare legs and the white lace of my undergarments. I feel as if time is suspended while I wait for his response.
“Motherfucker,” he mutters. I hear him stepping toward me. I’m still holding my dress, my belly pressed against the cool, firm hardness of it, when I feel his warmth and presence behind me. I turn slightly to watch, then my body goes still when he drops to his knees.
His knees. This powerful, fearsome man kneels on the floor behind me, like a servant.
His large, warm hand caresses the white lace across my backside. I hold my breath when he grasps the elastic band and drags the lace downward, baring me. I begin to tremble. This isn’t right, and yet a part of me would be woefully disappointed if he stopped now. My mouth is dry. I don’t blink. Watching him. Waiting. His beautiful green eyes rove over my naked skin, and little goosebumps rise as if his very look caresses me.
“You bear my mar
ks well,” he says in a throaty, husky whisper. The lacy panties glide down my bare legs to my ankles. My shaking intensifies. He could hurt me right now. He could violate me. Yet I don’t want him to stop.
He anchors his hands on my hips, his rough, calloused palms grazing the tender, soft skin. I freeze.
I should be embarrassed. I should want to cover myself in modesty or push him away. But I don’t. I’ve lived a sheltered life, and yet here, with him, I’m somehow still sheltered. He’s got me under his watchful eye, but there’s more to it. The way he looks hungrily at me makes me feel… I don’t know. It’s all too foreign, too overwhelming.
But I know one thing. I don’t want to hide from him. There’s nothing short of adoration in those brilliant green eyes of his, and I want to keep that focus on me. The more he hungers for me, the more I want him to. It’s all so new to me, so unexpected, I don’t know how to react except to welcome him. I close my eyes and relax into his touch.
Leaning closer to me, he places gentle kisses to the stripes of red. His marks. The feel of his sensual mouth and the roughness of the whiskers send a tremor through my body. Heat pulses between my legs, warmth and pressure throbbing. I’m filled with the need to have him closer to me. My pulse races when he kisses every inch of my aching, throbbing skin.
“You’ve never been with a man, Caitlin.”
He isn’t asking a question but stating the obvious. I’m not sure why.
“Of course not.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“You will.”
I want to. I don’t know why or how, but I’ve tasted his bold, uncompromising possession… and I want more.
More.
He returns to kissing the marks he left, his mouth traveling upward until he reaches the valley at the small of my back. It tickles, so I can’t help but giggle when he kisses me there.
“Does it tickle?” he asks, his voice husky and affected.
“Yes.”
“Does this?” he asks, dragging his tongue along my naked skin. I close my eyes at the warm, sensual feel, and moan.
“No,” I gasp. “Not that.”
Then he stops. Pressing his forehead to the small of my back, he holds my hips in his hand and sighs.