Shackles of Honor

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Thank you, milord!” Robin exclaimed, turning, nodding to Cassidy, and nearly knocking her over in his hasty retreat.

  Cassidy was covered in panic, but she approached Mason Carlisle slowly and as if nothing had unsettled her. “I see you’ve met Robin,” she greeted him.

  “Would that be the lad’s name then?” he asked. Cassidy tried to keep her eyes from studying the massive forearms revealed from his having pushed back his sleeves. His chest as well was inappropriately exposed to some extent and boasted solid, well-formed contours.

  Holding out her hand, palm up in a gesture of expectancy, Cassidy said simply, “I believe you have something that was meant for me.”

  His expression was angry at once. “Apparently, Miss Shea…the whole of my existence was meant for you,” he growled hatefully.

  “I refer, sir, to the document that you received at Robin’s hand.”

  Cassidy felt it difficult to keep her temper. His expression was so completely mocking. As he stretched his arms out to his sides, forcing an expression of daring, she nearly flew at him, wanting to beat at his magnificently attractive smirk. Inhaling deeply and drawing from her courage, she reached out, took hold of the top of the letter exposed above his belt, and pulled the document from his trousers.

  Instantly one of his powerful hands bound her wrist. “You must break from him at once! I’ll not tolerate your consorting with another man when you have thus become my property,” he growled threateningly.

  “I,” she spat, ripping her wrist free of his grasp, “am not your property.”

  “Know this,” he mumbled. “I’ll strike dead any man who touches you.” Then he expertly mounted his stallion, bareback as it was, and rode off at a mad gallop.

  Looking down at his vest that had fallen from the horse’s back during his hasty departure, Cassidy bent, picking up the garment. It was soft and pleasing to the touch, no doubt made by the finest tailors from the finest fabrics. Holding the garment in her hands, the letter from Gavin beneath it, she buried her face in it to hide her tears of torment and heartache. Instantly, however, she withdrew her face from the folds of the fabric, for it smelled of him. A pleasant, musky, masculine aroma exuded from it, and defiantly she threw it to the ground.

  The note from Gavin begged for a meeting between them, and Cassidy hurried to the dense forest that bordered the west gardens. Still, with every footstep drawing her nearer to this man she had been so sure she loved, she felt guilt at not having thought of him once that day until his name was mentioned. She hesitated for a moment, uncertain that she could face him with such news as she bore. Upon seeing him waiting anxiously for her amid the trees, however, Cassidy thought angrily of Mason’s warning and ran to Gavin, throwing herself into his arms and the safety of his embrace.

  “Gavin, Gavin!” she cried against his shoulder. “Oh, Gavin! What is to become of me?”

  “Cass? What is it?” he asked, obviously unsettled by her unexpected emotion.

  “The stranger,” she began, looking into his dazzling blue and innocent eyes. “The master of the bay…”

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “His name is Mason Carlisle. He has come here…he is here to…” She couldn’t force the words from her throat.

  Gavin’s frown was deep and anxious as he studied her face. “What, Cass? Why is he here?”

  “Gavin…” she stammered. “I am…I’m to return to his home with him. I…I’m to marry him, Gavin.”

  The horror, the utter horror, on Gavin’s face was all too apparent. Cassidy rebuked herself silently, for it was only at that moment she realized what she had done. She had known, known all along, that she could never belong to Gavin. She had known that she wasn’t certain that she wanted to. She had been living in a dream—telling herself she would be allowed to make her own choices, even though the mantle of her social position demanded otherwise.

  “What?” he breathed in disbelief. “Marry him? A stranger unknown to you? You knew nothing of this?”

  Cassidy could only shake her head. “He’s so angry all the time…so cruel in his manner toward me. How will I ever endure it?”

  Gavin’s jaw clenched tightly, and Cassidy could see the jealousy in his eyes, the instant hatred of Mason Carlisle burning in them. “He can’t have you, Cass. Tell your father that you refuse to…”

  His words were lost as Cassidy hung her head guiltily. “I…I’ve already agreed to it, Gavin. It is what my parents want. It’s—”

  “You agreed to it? You mean…you had a choice and you—”

  “Not really. They…my father would’ve given me the choice, but I…I couldn’t fail him. Not when it seemed of such great importance to him.”

  Gavin took Cassidy’s shoulders between his strong hands and looked determinedly into her eyes. “Listen to me, Cass. We will run away together. By the time they find us, we’ll have wed, and it will be too late.”

  Cassidy shook her head slowly. “No, Gavin. I…I should never have let you think we would—”

  “Drop your hands from that girl, boy!”

  A shiver surged through Cassidy at the sound of Mason’s voice behind her, at the look of hatred in Gavin’s eyes as he looked up and beyond her. Whirling around, Cassidy found herself staring up at Mason Carlisle astride his violent bay. His hair was windblown and mussed; his shirt hung untucked from his trousers, completely unbuttoned, and blowing behind him with the breeze. His eyes were blazing with anger and his jaw set firmly.

  “Ride on, man,” Gavin ordered. “I have no desire to spend my life rotting in prison for murder.”

  “Nor do I,” Mason growled. He dismounted immediately and strode to stand before Cassidy. “She has told you of what she is bound to do?” he asked Gavin.

  “She has. And she is loath to do it,” Gavin muttered.

  “Gavin!” Cassidy scolded, irritated that he would speak her feelings for her.

  Mason glared at Cassidy, but his words were still directed at Gavin. “Such is the plight of society.” He then looked to Gavin and spoke again. “I can beat you into the dirt this minute, boy. Or…” And Mason Carlisle produced a large roll of paper currency from his pocket and tossed it on the ground at Gavin’s feet. “Twenty thousand to turn and leave her without ever thinking on her again.”

  Cassidy gasped at Mason’s crude offering. Certainly Gavin was no mere man who could be bought! She was appalled at Mason’s flaunting his wealth and position. She watched in agony as Gavin bent, retrieving the roll of money from the ground at his feet. He would take the money offered for her? He would betray her heart for a rich man’s wealth? But she was proud once more when he tossed the roll at Mason, who caught it swiftly in one powerful fist.

  Spitting disgustedly on Mason’s left boot cuff, Gavin growled, “Put your filthy money back in your coward’s pocket, and ride on! I will think on her always! But I will keep from her be it for her own sake…for I’ll not be cause to dampen her good name.” Then, releasing Cassidy, he said to Mason, “’Tis grateful I am…that I was born a common man and will not have to buy a wife.”

  “’Tis grateful you should be,” Mason spat, “for were you in any way my equal, your blood would be soaking the ground this minute.” Turning his attention to Cassidy, he mounted and slipped back, sitting firmly on the horse’s back quarters, and motioned to her, saying, “Come now, chit. You’ll return to the home of your father and consider on this boy no more.” Holding out his hand to her, he gestured that he would help her to mount his horse. Her pause gave him reason to say, “Do not provoke me further, Miss Shea. My anger cannot be exacted on you, thereby leaving your little lover boy to bear the brunt of it.”

  “Go on, Cassidy. I’ll keep you in my heart always. Forever,” Gavin told her, nodding sadly.

  With no other venue before her, Cassidy made ready to mount the beast of a horse. “Help me to mount at least, Gavin,” she asked, knowing the feat was impossible alone.

  “You need no assistance other than my hand, g
irl,” Mason growled. Lifting her skirt and petticoats, Cassidy placed her foot in the stirrup. With one powerfully swift movement, Mason took hold of her arm and hefted her into place before him. Taking the horse’s reins tightly in hand, he looked to Gavin and threatened, “It will be your head on a platter if I see you near her again.” Then he shouted to his mount, and the horse lurched forward and into a gallop.

  Cassidy’s balance was taken from her in the startling motion, but Mason’s arm was instantly about her waist to steady her. It was overly tight, his grip on her, nearly painful, but she would not admit to him were he to ask. Not once did he slow the fiery steed’s gallop, and upon reaching the stables, he pulled the animal to an abrupt halt. The horse reared once in its excitement, and when it stood firm once more, Mason let Cassidy slip from the horse’s back quickly. She glared up at him, unable to say anything for the burning anger in her throat.

  The horse circled once, sensing its rider’s anxiety. “Inform your family that we leave on the morrow for Carlisle Manor. There is no good consequence from lingering here longer,” he growled. His eyes were filled with angry pride. It had vexed him to find her with Gavin. This gave Cassidy a sort of morbid pleasure.

  “Please endeavor to make yourself presentable before dinner this evening, Mr. Carlisle,” Cassidy commanded.

  His eyes narrowed, and he clenched his jaw tightly. Cassidy’s eyes widened in astonishment as he fairly tore his shirt from his body and ceremoniously tossed it at her feet. Never had she seen a man in such a state of undress. It was alarming to say the least—somehow corruptively fascinating. Cassidy gasped twice in quick succession: once at the sight of his magnificent torso bare before her and next as his hand reached down and took hold of her chin tightly.

  Leaning down so that his mesmerizing features were only inches from her own, he growled, “Do not make to order me about, Miss Shea. I don’t hold well to taking orders from certain people.”

  “Nor do I,” Cassidy retorted through clenched teeth.

  Releasing her face rather roughly, he said, “’Tis obvious.” Then after the impatient circling of his mount yet again, he rode away at a stiff gallop.

  

  “You must break bread with him, so to speak, Cassidy,” Calvert grumbled angrily. “Your mother is beside herself at having to prepare to travel so quickly.”

  “Break bread with him, Father?” Cassidy cried. “He is a beast! Cruel, unfeeling, and selfish!”

  Cassidy had hoped that when she informed her parents of Mason Carlisle’s pompous orders to her to inform her family that they would leave the next day, her father and mother would recognize his controlling, dictatorial manner and stand up to him. It was chagrined she found herself, mouth gaping open, when upon her mother’s argument regarding Cassidy’s situation, her father insisted that they conform to Mason’s wishes.

  “I suppose he is a beast of sorts,” Calvert agreed.

  “At last!” Cassidy exclaimed, relieved at finally gaining his support.

  “And I suppose it is our fault that he is so.”

  “What? How can you constantly defend him, Father? I’m your own daughter! And yet you side with him at every turn.”

  “Lower your voice to that of respect to your father, child,” he scolded calmly yet firmly. “He is a wounded lion backed into a corner. How else should we expect his behavior to be? I have no doubt that he recognizes his anger and impatience. As well he recognizes that it should improve once he’s at home, in his own ranks.”

  “Yes. And I shall be alone among the enemy.” Cassidy was angered greatly by her father’s continued support of Mason’s cause. Couldn’t he see what kind of a brutal man in whose hands he placed his daughter?

  “LaMont and Devonna are far from your enemy, Cass,” Calvert retorted. “And I suspect you’ll find that Mason will be quite different in disposition once he feels less like your executioner.”

  

  The early spring flowers were fragrant, their colors soothing, as Cassidy sat quietly in their midst in the west gardens in the late afternoon. Her eyes had long since depleted themselves of tears. She had no more to cry. She sat contemplating the fact that in the past twenty-four hours her life had changed utterly. Reversed completely. Yesterday she had lingered in the gardens with Gavin Clark, gazed into the beautiful blue of his eyes, and thought she had known love. Yesterday she knew that her own parents would never enslave her to a man simply because of wealth and title as Marietta Longswold’s parents had sold her to Lord Rapier. Yesterday life seemed wonderful, the future full of hope, beauty, and promise.

  But today, today reality had captured her. Today she had come to realize that her parents were, in a manner, no different than Marietta’s. Today she knew that she did not love Gavin Clark. She knew her feelings for him were fondness of some sort, but not love. Yet she could not blame that on her new situation, for it had begun to reveal itself to her in the stable when he had kissed her. That revelation would have come about anyway. Still, there was Mason Carlisle. And to be sure he was no Lord Rapier. No, indeed not!

  Mason was in all aspects inspiring to look upon, in all aspects masculine, nearly to a fault. He was young yet matured and powerful. He was attractive—magnetic in his being. Cassidy had no doubt that she would be the envy of all women that knew him. Still, there was this Gabrielle, and her mere existence vexed Cassidy nearly beyond endurance, for hate him or love him, Cassidy would be faithful to him and the vows of marriage. But if Mason Carlisle appeared at her own father’s threshold demanding his betrothed when his lover awaited his return at his home, then what kind of a man was he in other character?

  All these things battled against one another in her mind and heart as she plucked at long blades of grass from around her, sitting quietly, contemplating her fate—all these and so much more. Could she endure the touch of a man who despised her so? Why did she continue to wonder if she could endure his touch because of his loathing of her? Why did she not plainly wonder about simply being able to endure his touch because it was his? What matter was it that he despised her? He was a complete stranger to her. Of course she should not be able to endure his touch. Yet something in her rose to excitement at the thought of being at his leisure. He was the most handsome and attractive of men! She scolded herself in the next instant for thinking on him so positively even in brevity.

  Having missed dinner, and not caring a whit about it, Cassidy waited until dusk before she returned to the house. All was quiet. It seemed there was not a soul about. As she wearily started for her own chambers, she glanced within upon passing the library.

  The sheer power exuding from Mason Carlisle captured her attention as she watched him, hands clasped at his back, visually sifting through the endless titles of books on the shelves. She found herself studying him meticulously—the fantastic breadth of his shoulders, the way his hair moved as he tipped his head up and down in his study, how powerfully the muscles in his legs appeared even as he merely took one step forward. He professed to be a man of honor. Of duty. And so…she would test him.

  Mustering her courage and dignity, she entered the library and plainly asked, “Will you at least tell me what no other, even those closest to me, will reveal?”

  He did not appear startled, for he did not quickly turn to look at her. Rather he paused as if he hadn’t heard her. Then, just when she was deciding whether to turn and flee or represent her question once more, he slowly turned, his piercing gaze fixing on her.

  “That being?” he growled as he studied her from head to toe slowly and with seeming nonchalance.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why is this to be? Who are your parents to mine that this would be so arranged for so long?”

  “Your father refuses you this information still?” he asked angrily.

  “Yes.” She continued quickly. “I am not so witless that I cannot at least discern that there is something anomalous about it. There is much more to this story than persisting of family lines or saving one name or the
other from financial ruination. What is so deviant in it…so wicked that I am not to be told?”

  He paused and studied her once more, saying, “You appear as a wilted flower, withering to death after having been torn from your mother plant.”

  She knew he was squandering time as his mind decided what answer to give her. His words were too tempting not to merit rebuke. So she said, “If I appear wilted this day, only wait until I’m harvested on the morrow.”

  His eyes burned with irritated indignation, and drawing in a deep breath, he spoke simply, “It’s not my place to reveal all to you, for it’s not my secret. The burden of revelation rests on the shoulders of your parents…or my own.”

  Cassidy turned to leave, but his words halted her momentarily. “This I can tell you. In my opinion, you should be told. Should’ve been told long before I arrived here to cut your stem and wither your soul. And I will say that there’s no wickedness in the reasoning. Though I find the reason ironic and questionable because of irony, it is not deemed wicked in my eyes.”

  She turned to face him again, and he strode toward her. “Further, I’ll promise—for it does you credit that you choose to honor your duty on such questionable terms—that has not all been revealed to you before we are wed…then the truth of it will come from me on that very day. For then, I’ll be your husband and you my wife, and there must be nothing but complete honesty betwixt us.”

  “You’re asking me to trust in your word…to trust you? You whom I have known but one day?” she asked.

  “Faith in your father or flounder. Those are your choices. I leave it to you.” And he walked past her and away.

  

  Cassidy considered on his words as she stood before the glass in her chamber brushing her hair. She would retire soon and could only pray for respite in blessed sleep. But there came a sudden knock on the door, and before she could bid the person enter, Ellis let himself in, closing the oaken slab tightly behind him.

  “Cass,” was all he could say, the pity and pain at knowing she was leaving evident in his voice and eyes.