by Dare, Lydia
“Aye, I did.”
He growled again. God help MacQuarrie after Dash got his hands on him.
“I had ta ken,” she said softly, bringing his attention back to her.
“You had to know what?”
“I had ta ken…” Her words came out broken, choked by a sob. “…if his kisses make me feel like yers do.” She sniffed loudly. “A-and I had ta tell him good-bye.”
Dash felt physical pain within himself when her eyes filled with tears. He loosened his hold on her hands, and she buried her face against his jacket.
“And his kiss… did it make you feel like mine?” His whole world hinged on her answer to that one question.
“No,” she mumbled against his chest.
“No?” Dare he hope?
“Has somethin’ happened ta yer hearin’, Dash?” she groused at him. “I ken better than anyone that ye heard me just fine.”
“Say it again.”
“No one makes me feel the way you do,” she admitted.
Then Cait stuck out her chin, and Dash couldn’t resist the invitation. When he touched his lips to hers, she shivered in his arms and her pulse pounded like mad.
“I want to rip your clothes off and lay you upon the bed. Then make love to you for hours,” he whispered close to her ear.
“Then what’s stoppin’ ye?”
“You’ve yet to say your vows to me.”
“Ye’ve yet ta ask me.”
“I did ask you, you little witch!” Dash growled at her obstinacy.
“No, ye never did, ye beast!” She punched his shoulder.
“I am a beast,” he muttered. “Bloody hell.” She looked up at him, her eyes still wet with the pain that he’d caused. He dropped to one knee before her.
“Caitrin Macleod, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
“Is that the best ye can do?” she asked, tears shimmering on her lashes but a smile on her face.
“What more do you want of me, Cait?”
She turned her body and sat down on his extended knee. Then she cupped her hand around the shell of his ear, leaned close, and whispered, “I want all of ye.”
***
Cait squealed as Dash swept her up in his arms, kicked the bedroom door shut, and tossed her into the center of the bed.
“Naughty little girls who tease big, bad wolves deserve to be mauled,” he said, a half-smile upon his face as he landed on top of her and pushed her toward the headboard.
“Did I ever tell ye about the time I was mauled by a wolf?”
He stilled above her. “By a Lycan?”
“No, by a real wolf. Elspeth had ta heal me.”
His eyebrows knit together as he rolled from atop her and propped his head on his hand. “What happened, Caitie?”
“It was poor judgment on my part that put me in the situation.”
“That I don’t doubt,” he teased. “Tell me, anyway.”
Cait sighed. “At the time, I was wholeheartedly opposed ta Elspeth’s relationship with Benjamin Westfield, and I’d gone on a walk in the woods with Jeannie ta clear my mind. I get a little annoyed when people doona heed my counsel.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He smiled at her. “What happened?”
“Well, I wasna payin’ attention ta where I was, and I stumbled across a wolves’ den.” She shrugged. “The mother was just protectin’ her pups.”
A shadow of something crossed his face.
“What is it?” she asked as she smoothed his hair from his brow.
Dash closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against her hand, then turned and kissed the center of her palm. “It’s nothing,” he said absently.
Cait sat up. “It’s no’ nothin’.”
“You’ll think I’m daft.”
“I already think ye’re daft, ye big lout. Now tell me what ye’re thinkin’. I canna read yer mind, ye ken.”
“That’s right. I’m the only man you cannot predict.” He playfully tugged a lock of her hair.
“Doona remind me,” she grunted. “And stop changin’ the subject.”
Dash closed his eyes and breathed, as though steeling himself. “Will you be as protective of our pups as the mother wolf was of hers?”
Cait crossed her legs beneath her, tucking her skirts around her. “We willna truly have pups, will we?”
Dash chuckled. “Of a sort, I believe. Although I’m not completely sure. I never even knew what I was until I met the Westfields. I thought I was some sort of monster, an anomaly, a cruel trick of fate. ‘Revelations’ was a particularly difficult book for me to get through in my theology studies.”
Cait tried to work out the problem in her head. “So, the father who wasna yer father never told ye what ye were, either? Ye grew up completely without any idea that ye’re a Lycan? With no one ta stand up for yer best interests?”
Caitrin could see that she’d touched a place where no one else had been before with him.
“Think of it as though you had your gift of clairvoyance but you were only permitted to use it every so often. And when you did use it, it was uncontrollable. So much so that you had to be bound to prevent you from using that part of yourself. A part you’re born with. A gift that is supposed to be a part of you, if you could only figure out how to use the bloody thing.”
“That would be positively dreadful.”
“And when you were permitted to use it, you had no idea how to control it.”
“Ye only turn ta a wolf the night of the full moon?”
“Only that one night. Correct.” He suddenly looked very serious.
“So, I’ll be able ta see what ye look like in yer wolfen form. Which’ll prepare me for our pups.” She laughed with that last word, exaggerating it more than necessary. “I’ll be fine with it. But I’ll tell ye right now that ye’re the only one who’ll be allowed ta nibble on my fingers.”
He took her hand in his and squeezed it. “No. It will not be like that.”
“What do ye mean?”
“I mean I’ll share every part of myself with you, Caitie. And I’ll make you happy. I’ll be a good father. I might even nibble various parts of you. But I’ll not share the night of the moonful with you.”
“But Ben and Elspeth are together when the moon is full. And so are the other Westfield brothers and their wives.”
“They’re not like me.” He sat up and took her hands in his. “They’re not wild. They’re controlled.” He peeled back the shoulder of her gown. “Look how I hurt you. And I didn’t even intend to.”
“Ye just wanted ta seduce me.”
“Oh, I still want that. Quite a lot,” he growled as he sat up and rolled her beneath him. His knee quickly slipped between her legs and parted them.
“Wait.” She tapped his shoulder, forcing him to remove his lips from the side of her neck, where they tickled a path up toward her ear.
“Yes, angel,” he sighed as he lifted his head.
“I need ta tell ye somethin’.”
“Can it wait? I’m making love to you here.”
“Doona brush me off by play-actin’ ta change the subject, Dashiel Thorpe. I can see right through ye.” She took his face between her hands and forced him to look at her, his eyes like amber pools she could surely drown in.
“I’ll love our pups. And I will protect them with my life, if needed. The fact that they could be Lycan will no’ make me treat them any differently. Unless, perhaps, it’s ta love them more because they’re part of ye.”
He kissed her softly and tenderly, until he could do so no longer. When he had her panting beneath him, he pressed his forehead against hers and breathed, “If you don’t get out of my room, I won’t be responsible for what I do to you.”
“I dare ye,” she giggled.
“No,” he said as he rolled from atop her. “I want to do this right.” He pulled her to her feet and prodded her toward the door.
“But, Dash,” she complained. If anyone had ever told her she would be beg
ging a feral Lycan to make love to her, she’d have thought them daft.
“I’ve never done anything honorable in my life, angel. Until now. Out.”
Their parting was almost painful, and Cait couldn’t wait until the next day to marry the big oaf. Dash finally shoved her from his room and firmly closed the door behind him. Then the lock clinked as he put one last barrier between them.
“Dashiel,” she whispered softly through the crack in the door.
She heard him chuckle on the other side. “Go to your room, Caitrin, before I forget my vow to wait and do this properly. I’ll have your skirts up around your ears, and you won’t even remember what happened.”
“Promises, promises,” she teased back.
She assumed the thunk she heard was his fist hitting the door.
***
Mentors should be useful, or what was the point in having one? Dash knocked again on Forster’s door. Where was the man, for God’s sake? Then he heard the old Lycan shuffle up the steps. Dash turned around and watched the shipbuilder stop on the final step, a twinkle in his green eyes.
“I assume everythin’ turned out well with yer betrothed.”
Dash scowled at him. “I need your help, Forster.”
The man shook his head and gestured for Dash to enter his room. Then he joined him and shut the door behind them.
“What help do ye need, Dashiel? It sounded as though ye had everythin’ well under control.”
Control. He said the word as if it was a curse. “I’m marrying Caitrin tomorrow.”
“Aye, I heard. Congratulations.”
Dash raked a hand though his hair. How could the man not see his anguish? “What do I do, Forster? When I have Caitrin all to myself?”
The old man laughed. “I’m sure ye’ll figure that part out, lad. Do ye really have a journal of debauchery?”
Dash groaned. So Forster had heard every word Cait had said to him, not that he should have been surprised. “That was a lifetime ago.”
Forster dropped into a wooden chair by a window and shook his head. “Ye’ve clearly been with women in the past, Dashiel. I doona ken what ye’re askin’ of me.”
Dash scrubbed a hand across his face. Niall Forster was going to be the death of him. “I have had my share of whores, sir. But Cait…”
“Before, in yer previous lifetime, how did things go with the lasses ye bedded?”
No one had ever asked such a question of him before, and he’d really rather not discuss the details. The old man shook his head, a look of impatience crossing his face. Though Dash didn’t think Forster had any right to be impatient about a bloody thing.
“Were ye able ta control yerself, or did the beast inside ye take over?”
That’s what he was asking? Dash breathed a sigh of relief. “I struggled to be in control.”
Forster nodded his head. “I figured as much, just wanted ta be sure.” He drummed his fingers atop the arm of his chair. “Ye have ta accept what ye are, Dashiel. Yer Miss Macleod seems as though she accepts the truth about ye. Try takin’ a page out of her book, so ta speak. Doona shield yerself from her. Let her in ta every part of yer soul.”
“You’re saying to let the beast have its way.”
Forster sighed. “Ye talk about it as if it wasna a part of ye. Its way. Ye are the beast, Dashiel. Embrace it.”
The man was daft. Embrace it. What a bunch of drivel. The beast would hurt Caitrin, and Dash could never allow that to happen.
“When was the last time ye had a refreshin’ run?”
Dash shook his head. Forster truly was daft. “A refreshing run?”
“Aye, just ye runnin’ through the forest or across an open meadow, the crisp air whippin’ through yer hair?”
“I ran all the way from County Durham to Glasgow.”
A beleaguered sigh escaped Forster. “That was no’ a refreshin’ run.”
“Hardly,” Dash agreed.
“That’s no’ what I’m askin’ ye, Dashiel. Ye were in a bit of a hurry when ye ran from England. What I’m suggestin’ is a wild run through the park. Helpin’ ye get in touch with the beast inside ye. Let him loose in a safe place.”
“A safe place?”
Finally, Forster smiled. “I ken just the place. Arthur’s Seat is the highest point in Edinburgh. It’s what’s left of some ancient volcano. Anyway, legend has it that the place has magical properties. Healin’ ones at that.
“Go ta the base of the hill at Dunsapie Loch, and have yerself a refreshin’ run. Doona think about reinin’ in yer beast. Doona think about yer impendin’ nuptials. Doona think about the trouble ye left behind in England. Just listen ta the breeze. Watch the gentle lap of the loch. Close yer eyes, absorb the nature inta yerself, and run ta the top of Arthur’s Seat.”
Go for a run. That was his mentor’s advice? Dash’s shoulders sagged forward. He was truly doomed. He needed to learn to make the beast do his bidding. To learn to rein it in. To learn to control it.
He didn’t need to become one with it. He didn’t need to accept it as part of himself. What nonsense. Obviously, Major Forster had sent him on a fool’s errand when he sent him to his cousin. Perhaps that was his penance for torturing Lord William and Prisca Hawthorne the way he had. He sighed deeply.
“Stop thinkin’,” Mr. Forster urged as he spun Dash around and gave his shoulder a none-too-gentle shove. Dash stumbled forward, a growl in his throat. He turned back toward the old shipbuilder, so frustrated he was ready to bare his teeth at the wizened Lycan. But before he could even raise his lip, the old man raised his hand and thumped Dash right in the middle of his forehead.
“Ow!” Dash cried as he reached up to rub the offended area. “What did you do that for?”
Mr. Forster shook one finger in Dash’s face. “If ye think ye can intimidate me with yer scowl or yer snarl, ye have another think comin’, pup.”
“You didn’t have to hit me,” Dash mumbled as he absently rubbed his head.
“Ye should be happy I dinna take some rolled-up newsprint ta ye, ye ungrateful little mutt,” Forster mumbled to himself as he turned away from Dash. “I come here for a love story, and all I get is a sulkin’ Lycan who willna listen ta what I tell him. He’s even afraid ta go for a simple run at Arthur’s Seat, as I have instructed.”
“I’m not afraid,” Dash tried to explain.
“Aye, Dashiel,” the old man said. “Ye are afraid. Afraid of what ye’ll find when ye allow yerself ta be all that ye can be.” He turned back around, the sadness in his eyes instantly making Dash regret his belligerence. “I can tell ye right now that a Lycan canna love another until he learns ta love himself, Dashiel.”
He loved himself. Didn’t he? And he loved Cait. He knew he loved Cait. If he didn’t, it wouldn’t hurt nearly as much when he wasn’t with her, would it?
“Ye can stand there and lament about what a daft old man I am, or ye can go and follow my instructions. The choice is yers.”
Dash groaned inwardly as he turned and slunk from the room, feeling like a scolded puppy with his tail between his legs. Mr. Forster was disappointed in him. Just like his father had been his whole life.
The difference was that he actually cared if Mr. Forster was angry at him or not. Unlike his father, the old man had tried to help him. He owed it to him to at least heed his advice. Dash had no doubt that it was a fool’s errand. But it was the old man’s request. And he’d do it.
Dash stepped out into the cold and tugged his cloak tighter about his body. “Become one with the beast,” he chanted to himself. “Enjoy a refreshing run.” He snorted out loud at the last.
Dash focused on not reining himself in and just let his body move. He had a fairly good idea of where Arthur’s Seat was located, though it was impossible to see through the dense fog that clouded the area.
As he ran, the coolness of the night crept across his skin. Rather than curse the cold, he embraced it. He let it buoy his senses. The air smelled cleaner. The sounds of the night wer
e the innocent sounds of water lapping against the loch. They weren’t his own thoughts of what a disappointment he was. It was somewhat freeing just to enjoy the quiet of the night, he had to admit. He took a deep breath. The beast within him calmed, just as he did.
The fog grew even thicker as he reached the base of Arthur’s Seat. He’d never seen a mist so heavy and all encompassing, as though it wrapped around the base of the hillside, hiding it from view. Dash blindly searched for hand- and footholds as he climbed the side of the small mountain.
The wind picked up, buffeting him as he continued to scale the wall. It was a matter of pride at this point. He would find the tip of Arthur’s Seat. Dash closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then quickly and stealthfully ran toward the peak.
He embraced the strength that came with being Lycan, for it allowed him to heave his body up the craggy mountainside. He reveled in the sinewy cords of his body, for his muscles did not fail him.
When he finally reached the top, he turned to look down at the city of Edinburgh. Yet the fog was so thick that he could see nothing. He couldn’t even see the ground beneath his feet.
He stepped forward and was surprised to find himself suddenly in an area clear of fog where a toasty fire burned slowly. He cocked his head to the side and listened as he heard a soft voice chanting nearby.
And that was when he noticed the heap of clothing lying on the ground by the fire. A woolen gown. A chemise and drawers. Stockings. He turned to look around, completely bewildered. Had he stumbled upon an assignation? A tryst between lovers?
“I should have guessed that ye would no’ pay heed ta the heavy fog I laid in yer path, Lord Brimsworth.”
“Beg your pardon?” he called back toward the sound.
“The wind that nearly knocked ye from the side of the hill. And the fog that obscured yer path. That was all my doin’. I wasna in the mood for company. But ye were relentless.”
Dash glanced down at the pile of clothing. “It would appear that you were not expecting company,” he agreed. Then he turned his back to the pile of clothes. “Which one are you?” he asked, fully aware that he must be talking to one of Cait’s coven sisters. If only he could remember which one had which power. One of them could control the weather. Not the wood sprite. The other one.