The Taming of the Wolf

by Dare, Lydia

  “Ye’ve accepted her, even though ye ken she’s a witch?”

  “She’s a witch?” Dash knew his eyes must have rounded with surprise. That possibility hadn’t even occurred to him.

  Mr. Macleod closed his eyes and shook his head, sighing deeply. “Aye, it’s where she gets this power.”

  Dash felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. “Power?” he echoed.

  Her father nodded. “Aye, just like her mother, she can see the futures of all those she comes in contact with. In an unfamiliar settin’, she’s assaulted by continual visions of what’s ta come. Supposedly, it can be quite painful.”

  A million thoughts raced through Dash’s mind as he replayed their journey from start to finish. That’s how she knew about the villain in the room beside hers at the first inn along the way. That’s why she wanted to drive straight through, to avoid the horrors of one inn after another. That’s why MacQuarrie kept going on and on about predetermined fate.

  A witch! Niall Forster hadn’t been insulting Cait’s mother when he called her that; he was just being accurate.

  Then one particular moment from their journey stuck out, and Dash frowned. “Is that how she was able to make me sleep for days, some magical power?”

  Mr. Macleod finally chuckled. “Aye, that’s how. She doesna make potions very often. She must have been quite angry with ye.”

  “She’s angry with me a lot,” Dash admitted. Dear God, what else was she capable of? He’d claimed a witch? His Caitie. It was still hard to believe.

  “Is she, now?”

  The man’s question brought Dash back to the present. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Ye said she’s angry with ye a lot.”

  Dash nodded. “Aye, but I think it’s because of what’s between us.”

  “And what would that be exactly?”

  No matter that Mr. Macleod had laid the truth about Cait at Dash’s feet, he wasn’t about to tell the man he’d claimed his daughter under the power of a full moon. No man would want such a future for his daughter.

  “I love her,” he confessed, instead. Witch or not, she was his future, and he did love her. “I want to marry her. I want to be with her forever. I don’t care if she can see futures or put hexes on people.”

  Mr. Macleod chuckled. “She’s hardly that sort of witch.”

  Well, Dash supposed that was good. He wasn’t sure. He sighed. “I just want time to make her see that we can make this work. May I have your permission to marry her?”

  “Oh, aye,” her father said as he waved his hand absently. “Do ye think I tell just anyone that my daughter is a witch? No, Lord Brimsworth, I was goin’ ta insist ye marry her as soon as I learned she couldna see yer future. That indicates ye’re the one for her. No’ yer desire ta have her.” He shot Dash a telling look. “And certainly no’ that ye’re an English lord.”

  “There’s not much I can do about that fact, sir.” Dash grinned.

  “Ye canna help it that ye were born outside Scotland.” Mr. Macleod rummaged in the drawer of his desk until he finally found what he sought. He pulled out a small box and handed it to Dash.

  “I’d be delighted if ye used her mother’s ring. I’m sure ye have one with yer own crest, but I’d like for Cait ta have this if she wants it. And it might buy ye some of her favor if ye’re the one ta present it ta her.”

  “You know her so well,” Dash murmured. Truth be told, he had no ring to offer his future wife. And he didn’t have any Thorpe heirlooms on him. His father had never thought him worthy of even looking at the family crest, much less wearing a reminder of it at all times.

  He opened the small box and looked at the delicate golden band, adorned with a ruby so dark it was almost black.

  “There’s a legend about that stone,” Angus Macleod told him. “They say it was once the eye of a dragon.”

  Dash snorted. What rubbish. Lycans and witches were one thing, but dragons were something else.

  “Ye can laugh all ye want,” her father said. “Fiona’s mother, God rest her soul, said her grandmother told her time and again how the Còig defeated the fearsome creature.”

  “The Còig?”

  “Aye.” Mr. Macleod looked directly into his eyes. “I want ta be very clear on one thing. If ye hurt my daughter or make her suffer in any way, it willna only be her powers ye should fear. Do ye ken?”

  “I understand completely.” Though he hadn’t a clue what the man meant. Did Mr. Macleod mean that he would have to answer to him? Or to an even higher power?

  “Good. Then it’s settled. Tomorrow ye’ll be married and—”

  “But the banns,” Dash began.

  The older man laughed. “Ye are in Scotland, Brimsworth. Havin’ time for the banns would be nice, but we doona have the luxury for such foolishness under the circumstances. It would be better ta see ye and Cait bound by marriage as soon as possible. I’ll be fined for havin’ an irregular marriage, but it’s certainly doable. So Mr. Crawford will marry ye tomorrow, and that’s that.”

  Dash stood and shook Caitrin’s father’s hand. He supposed, all things considered, it had gone better than he’d expected. What a relief it was not to have to wait an additional three weeks to officially make her his!

  “There’s a matter of a dowry ta discuss, my lord. But it can wait until tomorrow.”

  “I’ve no need—”

  “But I do. Ye’ll understand when ye have a daughter of yer own.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dash acquiesced. He could afford the man that bit of pleasure, if it was truly what he wanted. “I’ll need to find Caitrin,” he remarked as they stepped out of the study and into the corridor.

  “That will be a bit difficult, sir,” the butler announced from just a few feet away.

  “Why is that?” both men asked at the same time.

  “She’s gone.”

  Twenty-Three

  Caitrin had only paced her room for a moment before she’d washed and changed her dress, then went in search of her friends. She was about to be locked in a marriage she didn’t want. There was no way she’d be locked in her room, too, like a child who had been scolded and sent to bed with no supper.

  The window creaked only a little when Caitrin pushed it open and stepped over the edge. Her foot easily found the rose trellis that hugged the wall, all the way up to the roof. She quickly climbed down and landed on two feet when she jumped over the rosebush at the bottom. Learning to do that had taken years, else she would have come home with a dress full of thorns and scratches on her legs. There could be no proof of her late-night meetings with her coven sisters.

  She closed her eyes and immediately saw that Rhiannon and Sorcha were in the Fergusons’ orangery. She smiled as she struck out in that direction.

  Sorcha squealed and threw herself into Cait’s arms as soon as she stepped over the orangery threshold, and Rhiannon smiled softly.

  “I’m so glad ye’re home. How’s Elspeth? Did ye make it ta Hampshire in time?” Sorcha pelted her with question after question, while Rhiannon just smiled. Rhiannon was much more the sort to create a gentle wind to brush across your cheek than to hug you. And Cait had always appreciated that about her.

  “Did ye see Lord William?” Sorcha asked, with a dreamy quality to her voice.

  Cait sighed. Why Sorcha was obsessed with Lycan men she had never understood, not until recently, however. “Aye, and I met his wife.”

  Sorcha’s dark eyes widened at that. “Wife?”

  “It’s for the best,” Cait told her as soothingly as possible. “We have enough Lycans in our midst as it is.” That was quite the understatement, but she didn’t want to go into those details at the moment.

  Sorcha frowned. “I canna agree with that. None of them are in our midst. Even Benjamin isna here.”

  “Aye,” Rhiannon agreed. “But he and Elspeth will be back soon enough, isna that right, Cait?”

  She nodded. “Ye ken that she’ll deliver their daughter here, in our circle.”r />
  “She was worried the Westfields wouldna accept her. Is she all right?” Sorcha bit her bottom lip.

  Cait told them all about the trip, or most of it, while they sipped tea in the orangery. Then Rhiannon stilled as she looked over Cait’s shoulder toward the door. “Looks like we have visitors,” she murmured.

  Cait groaned aloud as she heard her father’s voice behind her. “See, I told ye we’d find her here,” he said loudly. She turned and was surprised to find him standing with Dashiel.

  “And I thought I was finally free of them. If only for a moment.” She let her face drop into her hands.

  “Cait,” Dashiel called. “May I speak with you a moment?”

  “No’ right now, Lord Brimsworth,” she called back. “I’m a bit busy.”

  “I think I’ll go visit Seamus Ferguson and leave ye ta face the wrath of the women, Brimsworth,” her father chuckled before he abandoned Dash, laughing so loudly he could be heard through the closed door.

  Rhiannon said quietly by her ear, “Lightnin’?”

  “No’ indoors,” Cait hissed.

  “I can use just enough ta shock him out of his trousers.”

  Dash approached until he stood directly behind Cait. “I appreciate the sentiment, but the only one who will be getting me out of my trousers is Cait. Tomorrow.”

  A gasp was Rhiannon’s only response, and Sorcha covered her mouth to giggle. Then she flushed and giggled louder.

  “Did ye just wink at her?”

  “Not me, angel.”

  Cait stood up beside him. “Behave,” she said as she elbowed him in the belly.

  “Introduce us ta yer friend,” Sorcha suggested.

  “Sorcha Ferguson, Rhiannon Sinclair, this is Dashiel Thorpe, the Earl of Brimsworth—and he’s no’ my friend,” Cait complained.

  “That’s right. I’m just her fiancé.” He put his arm around her shoulders.

  “Fiancé?” Rhiannon questioned, and Cait was certain her hazel eyes couldn’t get any wider.

  “We’re to marry tomorrow,” Dash informed her, sounding quite a bit proud of that fact.

  “We are?” Cait groaned. But a little piece of her heart leapt at the thought.

  He chucked her chin. “We are. So, stop pouting.”

  “I’m no’ poutin’.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Rhiannon leaned over and mumbled something to Sorcha, which made her giggle again.

  “What did ye say?” Cait demanded.

  “Nothin’.” Rhiannon shrugged, a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.

  “What did she say, Sorcha?”

  But Dash interrupted. “She said she thinks you may have finally met your match.”

  “How did he hear me?” As Rhiannon stood, a strong wind whipped at Dash’s hair.

  “It’s nothin’ nefarious enough ta require one of yer storms,” Cait hissed.

  “Then, how?”

  “He’s a beast!” Sorcha clapped her hands with glee. “I bet he is, just like Lord Benjamin and his brothers! Am I correct?”

  Dash raised an eyebrow at Cait, as though asking for permission to answer the younger girl’s question. She nodded quickly and shrugged her shoulders. “They do know about the Westfields.”

  “Ah.” Dash smiled, charm oozing from him in waves. “Then yes, it is true. I am a Lycan.”

  “Oh, a beast of yer very own!” Sorcha cried. “I want one!”

  “Ye have ta be careful of this one,” Cait informed her. “He bites.”

  Dash pinched her on the bottom, and she shot him a look that would have made most men slink away.

  “Ladies, I know you’ve only just been reunited with Caitrin, but it’s imperative that I talk with her. Will you be too perturbed with me if I steal her away?”

  “Oh, no need ta steal her away.” Sorcha laughed, tugging Rhiannon by the elbow. “We’ll let ye have some time ta yerselves.” As Sorcha walked by them, she reached over and lovingly rubbed a closed rose bud. After it opened beneath her caress, she plucked it and held it out to Dash. He took it with a small smile and a bow, and then tucked it into the buttonhole of his jacket.

  When they were gone, Dash just stood and looked down at her. “More witches, I presume?”

  So he knew? Her father must have told him. Not that Rhiannon or Sorcha had made much of a secret of their powers. She supposed it was a good sign that he hadn’t run for the hills. And it was inevitable, she supposed, that he’d learn everything else, especially since she didn’t have any choice about this marriage. “There are five of us.”

  Dash surprised her by saying, “I’ll not force you into a marriage you don’t want.”

  “Ye willna?” Cait’s heart fell.

  “No. But I do ask you to give me ample opportunity to sway you.”

  “And how might ye do that?” she breathed when his lips hovered just above hers.

  “I plan to seduce you.” Then he bent and covered her lips with his, insistently pressing until she opened for him and his tongue could sweep inside.

  All conscious thought left her head when he lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck. She gratefully went up on tiptoe to press back against him.

  “Easier than I thought,” he mumbled, smiling against her lips before he pulled away.

  She tugged at his neck to bring him back down to her. Don’t stop now. Seduce me. Please. “Dash,” she complained.

  “How big is this orangery?” he asked, smiling broadly. Let the man gloat. She didn’t care. “Cait?” He nudged her back to reality.

  “It’s huge, why?”

  Dash swept her up in his arms and turned a corner, winding through rows and rows of plants, trees and other items Sorcha used in her work. When they reached the back wall, the only one not made of windows, he slowly released her and let her slide down his body. He grunted when she slipped across the bulge of his trousers.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, unsure of what she was sorry for. But the man appeared to be in pain.

  “Don’t be. You can fix it tomorrow.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he laughed as he started to tug at the laces of her dress.

  “What are ye doin’?”

  “Seducing you.” His lips trailed down her neck and across her collarbone, as soon as he’d bared it. He stopped briefly to tenderly kiss the bite mark he’d left on her.

  “Ye canna seduce me, here.”

  Dash tugged at her hair until she tilted her head to expose more of her neck. He licked and nipped his way down her chest.

  “Is that a challenge, Cait?” Even in the shadows of the orangery, she could see the twinkle in his eye.

  “No’ a challenge,” she said as he pulled her dress from her shoulder and exposed the top of her breast. “It’s a fact. It isna proper.”

  “You think I give a damn about proper? If so, you don’t know me very well.”

  His hand cupped her breast, his thumb brushing across the turgid peak until she feared she would melt right through the table. Then he took her a step further and bent to take her into his mouth.

  Cait groaned aloud as she cupped the back of his head, her fingers threading through his hair.

  “Shhh,” he laughed, the sound like warm water over a waterfall, wild and untamed. “It isn’t proper to make so much noise.”

  “Oh, shut up.” She drew him even closer. “Dash,” she pleaded.

  “Yes, angel?”

  “What are ye doin’ ta me?”

  “Seducing you,” he said absently as he began to gather her skirt in his hands, his fingers brushing up her thighs, across her garters, and to the slit in her drawers.

  “Are ye makin’ love ta me?”

  He raised his head and breathed across her mouth, “Do you want me to?”

  She trembled beneath his intensity.

  “I want—” She stopped, unable to put it into words.

  “What do you want?” His fingers probed at her heat, his thumb pressing lightly but insiste
ntly against the place that ached the most.

  “You!” she cried. “I want you!”

  “Then you shall have me,” he said, withdrawing from her body. Then he righted her clothes and even fixed her hair, which had become untidy. “Tomorrow.”

  He kissed her forehead and turned, leaving her standing there alone, her pulse still thumping and her most secret of places drumming with a want she couldn’t satisfy.

  But he could. And he was well aware of it.

  Twenty-Four

  Dash grinned as he left the orangery, quite pleased with himself. She wanted him. He’d known it, but hearing her say the words brought more joy to him than he could have ever imagined.

  He marveled at his own ability to walk away from her. The smell of her desire and the rapid rhythm of her heart, beating with excitement, would have been a prelude for disaster before he’d met Cait. But, for some reason, he wanted to do everything right with her. He wanted to be respectable. He wanted to be her husband.

  So, he’d tamped down his own lust, pushed the beast further away. He wouldn’t take her like a common doxy in a public place. He’d tempted fate just by holding her bare breast in his hand as he brought it to his mouth.

  Dash adjusted his trousers and reminded himself that tomorrow she would be his.

  He started down the corridor, hoping a servant could direct him to Mr. Macleod. Then he heard an unhappy grunt, and a man the size of small ogre stepped into his path. The fellow’s arms were the size of tree trunks, and he glared menacingly at Dash.

  “Ye’re Brimsworth?” he asked.

  Shocked into silence, Dash nodded.

  “And ye think ta take my Caitrin from me?”

  Who the devil was this man? And why did he think he had a claim on Cait?

  “Exactly who are you?”

  “Wallace Ferguson. And I understand ye’ve asked for Cait’s hand.”

  Dash nodded once more. He had asked Cait on more than one occasion who was waiting for her back home. Already he’d run into Alec MacQuarrie and now Wallace Ferguson. How many other Scots were there waiting in the wings for her? It was a good thing they were getting married tomorrow.