Shackles of Honor

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Cassidy glanced to the table where Mason sat with several other men. She was completely unnerved when she found that his attention was entirely upon her and not the conversation at hand. His eyes were narrowed with a taunting look of triumph somehow, and she looked away quickly and back to her mother. His manner was indeed changing as they neared his home. He had been unwelcome and uncomfortable at Terrill. But now, now that he neared his own property, his own family, his confidence was rising as his temper seemed to calm itself.

  “No. I will go up as well.”

  

  Hours passed, hours in which Cassidy struggled to find the venue to sleep. But as her body tossed and turned in the bed next to her mother, her mind was in a state of far more turmoil. She could not get the vision of Mason Carlisle out of her mind. His astounding face and form kept appearing before her tightly closed eyes no matter what her brain endeavored to think on.

  At long last she crept quietly from the bed, shivering as her feet touched the cold slate floor as they searched for her slippers. Rising and going to stand before the fire, she added another enormous log to it, jabbing at the glowing embers with the poker. It was an oddly cold night, and she longed for sleep.

  In that moment, she heard the scuffling of feet just beyond the chamber door in the corridor and, she thought, a quiet, feminine giggle. Mason’s chamber was just across the corridor from hers, and immediately she thought of the tart serving maid that had made such vulgar insinuations to her concerning Mason earlier that evening. Quietly, she went to the door of her chamber and rested her ear to it for a moment. She could hear voices, hushed in secretive tones just beyond—a man’s and a woman’s. Immediately her heart began to pound angrily. Yet everyone had assured her that Mason Carlisle was a man above others in moral character.

  Still, carefully she unlatched the door and pulled it open just slightly. Peering out, she discerned that no one stood directly in front of the door. She opened it wider and tentatively looked out. The corridor was dark, even with the wall lamps that burned lowly every several feet. It was difficult to see clearly, but she could make out two figures leaning up against one wall some way down the corridor.

  “You scoundrel,” the woman giggled, and Cassidy recognized her voice at once. It was the serving girl from earlier in the evening. The man she was toying with was large, exactly as large as Mason. Though Cassidy could not see him clearly, she felt sickly certain that the man was indeed Mason Carlisle. After all, the girl had nearly marked him as her prey for the evening.

  Stepping into the corridor, Cassidy closed the door quietly behind her. She would force him to show his true colors to everyone now. Men like him did not, as a general rule it seemed, practice fidelity, especially to a wife, or rather betrothed, that was unwanted. But now…now everyone would see him for the miscreant that he was. Straightening, Cassidy walked boldly yet slowly toward the couple. She wanted to scream at him, fly at him physically, letting her fists beat at him wildly. But as she neared, the serving girl glanced up for a moment and caught sight of Cassidy.

  “She’s caught us, she has,” the girl giggled. She pushed the man away, took his hand in hers, and led him away quickly, further down the corridor, around a corner, and out of sight.

  “Stop at once!” Cassidy ordered in a whisper, pursuing them. “Stop this instant, or I will…”

  Her threat was interrupted as a large man suddenly stepped from the shadows, barring her way. She recognized him at once as the man who had tended the coach and horses when they arrived.

  “Pardon me, please,” she stammered, making to move past him.

  “I saw you arrive this evening,” he said in a deep, quiet voice that made Cassidy’s skin begin to prickle with trepidation. “You’re a pretty one. And I bet you taste just as pretty as you look.”

  Instantly Cassidy realized the monumental peril of her situation. Taking a step back, she muttered, “If you will excuse me, I must return to—”

  She gasped as the man reached out and took hold of her throat tightly with one grime-coated hand. Before she could even have another thought, she found herself pushed brutally back against the corridor wall, the man’s free hand fumbling with the ribbon at the bodice of her nightdress. Her hands went to his that held her throat, squeezing so hard that she knew she would soon lose consciousness if he didn’t release her.

  “Me? I usually stay away from rich little tarts like you. They can be bad for a man’s health, you know,” he mumbled.

  The stench of his breath was so strong that Cassidy’s stomach began to heave. Opening her eyes, she looked at him pleadingly, but he only smiled and finished unknotting the ribbon of her nightdress. Cassidy inwardly prayed that she would indeed faint away before the man was able to torture her further. As she continued to look at him, tears now streaming from her eyes from both fear and the pain she felt, hope sparked within her as a long steel blade of a large knife suddenly appeared at the man’s throat from somewhere behind him.

  “Do you choose to live or to die this night?” a voice from the darkness growled. Instantly Cassidy began sob with relief at the sound of Mason’s angry voice. “The choice is yours, you depraved bastard.”

  At once the man released Cassidy and put his hands out to his sides, a look of fear visible in his expression.

  “No harm done, sir. Just teasing the girl,” the vile man stammered.

  Cassidy winced as Mason stepped from the shadows and pressed the blade of the knife even more severely against the man’s flesh. “This one is not for teasing,” Mason growled.

  “Yes. Yes, of course not,” the degenerate gasped.

  “Oh, please, sir. Don’t hurt Rolf. He was only…we were…” Cassidy glanced over to see the serving girl appear from around the corner. Obviously it had been this man she had been toying with and not Mason. Cassidy wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood frightened and ashamed as Mason glanced to her, glaring angrily.

  “Get out of my sight! The both of you,” Mason growled. Both man and woman rushed into the shadows and around the corner.

  Immediately Mason’s attention turned once more to Cassidy, and he glared disapprovingly as he stuck the blade of the knife into the waist of his trousers. He shook his head; his bare, flawlessly sculpted chest rose and fell with irritated breathing. Humiliation and embarrassment overtook Cassidy entirely.

  “That is a very dangerous manner in which to carry such a blade,” she whispered for lack of something to say under his disapproving scrutiny.

  “Not in comparison with your thoughtless action this night,” he grumbled. “Now get to bed where you belong, girl.”

  “Do not address me as if I were some child left in your care,” Cassidy demanded.

  “You act like a child. Why should I not treat you as such?”

  “How so have I acted as you accuse? I merely—”

  “Traipsing about the corridors of an inn at an unsafe time of night surely would apply.”

  “And how would someone know that it was unsafe? Surely you go out and about it.”

  “I am a man. You are a girl. Now that I have made certain you have been properly educated…I expect to be able to leave the rest to common sense.”

  Cassidy’s fear was fading, and in its place arose growing frustration and resentment at his implications that she acted stupidly, even though she knew she had.

  “You’re a spoiled boy who knows no better than to sheathe his knife in the waist of his trousers!” Reaching out, she quickly yet carefully drew the knife from its place at his stomach and tossed it to the floor at his feet.

  He nodded, his jaw clenched tightly. “And you,” he growled, taking hold of either strand of ribbon that, when tied, secured her bodice. “Is it so much the wiser to leave your chamber in an inn full of men attired only in this gossamer—and quite revealing—cloth?” His eyes traveled the length of her from toe to head. “Which of us is more unwise, Miss Shea?” Releasing the ribbons, he placed his index finger at the hollow of her throat an
d let it travel slowly up and over her neck to her chin. Stooping down, he retrieved the knife and slid it once more into the waist of his trousers.

  Cassidy dropped her head, for she knew he was right. Her virtue may indeed have been compromised had he not arrived. “Forgive me for inconveniencing you,” she muttered humbly.

  “You’re not to doubt my moral character…even for the provoking attitude of a serving girl.” He almost smiled, and his eyes indeed twinkled somehow with understanding, which only served to further humiliate Cassidy.

  “Now then,” he continued as he rather clumsily tied the ribbons of her bodice into an awkward bow, “let us return you to your chamber before your mother awakens in a panic at finding you gone. Shall we?”

  He did not offer his arm to her but rather, taking her by the shoulders, turned her toward her chambers as if directing a child to a solitary corner for confinement as punishment for bad behavior. With a slight push at the small of her back, he urged her forward. She obeyed, for indeed she had no wish for her mother to awaken and worry.

  Soon she stood before her chamber door and reached out to unlatch it, but his next utterance caused her to pause.

  “To think you would assume that I would lower myself to consort with the likes of that girl,” he mumbled. Then he added, in a near whisper, “I lay claim to higher standards than do you when choosing my lovers.”

  Before she could even ponder her action for one moment, she turned and slapped him soundly across one cheek. “How dare you speak to me so!” she exclaimed in an angry whisper. “How dare you!” His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightly clenched as he glared down at her. “You have no right to speak to me so. I take no lovers! And Gavin Clark is a good man with great common sense and humility. From what I have seen in you, there is a great lack of that latter quality in your character. How dare you speak to me of such things! How dare you even make mention of other women tending to you with their affections!” She was furious and even more so, for she knew the blurring of her vision was caused by the profuse tears brimming in her eyes.

  “Speak not to me of the virtuous Gavin Clark!” he growled, barely able to keep his voice quiet. “I will grant him selfish common sense, but never humility, never worthiness! And for the subject of affectionate attentions…surely you don’t intend to feign that weakling of a boy did not taste of yours.”

  Mason’s harshness, the lateness of the hour, and fatigue overcame Cassidy. She could no longer withhold her tears of frustration and hurt. They spilled from her eyes like water from a shattered glass. Angrily she brushed the moisture from her cheeks and felt all the more humiliated as the man before her closed his eyes tightly for a moment, shaking his head with irritation. Then, looking at her intently once more, he mumbled, “I deserved the slap. That I give you.”

  Looking up to him, she whispered, “You are the cruelest man I have ever encountered.”

  “Then you had best reconcile yourself to the fact, Miss Shea.” With that final growl, he turned, crossed the hall to his own chamber, and slammed the door violently behind him.

  Quickly Cassidy entered her chamber, closing the door quietly and glancing over to see that her mother still slept soundly. How thankful she was for that fact. She wouldn’t have wanted to explain her absence and the events of the past few minutes.

  Sleep did not come easily, and when her mother’s voice called to her through her tormented dreams, she felt as if she had not slept in weeks.

  

  Mason was only silent and glaring as he assisted Cassidy’s mother into the carriage. Duty insisted that he help Cassidy as well, but his eyes did not look at her directly, and his jaw continually clenched and unclenched angrily.

  “It occurs to me,” Cylia said as the carriage lurched forward, “that our Mason is not in the most jovial of spirits in the morning.”

  “I doubt that the beast is ever in jovial spirits, Mother,” Cassidy mumbled.

  “Come now, Cass,” Cylia cooed, reaching out and taking Cassidy’s gloved hand in her own. “’Tis a beautiful day! The rains have gone, the sun is shining, and you have in your possession a uniquely wonderful man. I give you my promise that his parents will be instantly dear to you, darling.”

  “I do not have to wed his parents, Mother,” Cassidy reminded her shortly.

  “No, indeed, but a man can often be discerned by his family, especially when he tends to hide his true self protectively from the world.”

  “Are you aware that Mason has a lover, Mother?” Cassidy asked bluntly. She felt the hot sting of humiliation rise to her face as her eyes again brimmed with tears.

  “Mason has no lover, Cassidy,” her mother stated. “His heart belongs to none other. Furthermore, the men at Carlisle Manor are not the immoral sort to keep mistresses.”

  “But I’ve heard him speak of her,” Cassidy whispered, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Her name is Gabrielle.”

  Cylia sighed heavily. “Mason has no lover, darling. I can assure you. And anyway, to whom did you hear him speaking of this Gabrielle?”

  “She exists, truly! And I heard him speaking of her to his horse,” Cassidy answered, immediately irritated at how ridiculous the confession must sound.

  Cylia smiled understandingly and yet a little too amusedly for Cassidy’s comfort. “I believe, oddly enough, that he speaks to his horse, darling. But if there is a Gabrielle somewhere near to him…I assure you once more that she is not his lover now, even if she shares a past affectionate tie with him.”

  “It infuriates me! It makes me nauseated,” Cassidy mumbled, glancing past her mother and out the back carriage window to where Mason rode severely behind them.

  “To think of him with another woman held in the power of his arms?” her mother whispered, leaning forward.

  Cassidy immediately turned her attention once more to her mother indignantly. Quickly she countered, “No! Of course not! But to think that he deems himself so noble and honorable when he has such dalliances with women.”

  “Come now, darling. The truth,” her mother coaxed, smiling mischievously.

  “I speak the truth, Mother!” Cassidy exclaimed, feeling her face turn crimson with a blush. “Please. Please, let us not speak of it further, Mother. I didn’t sleep well for one moment last night in that horrid inn. I would like to rest.”

  “Of course, darling,” Cylia agreed as Cassidy let her head lean back against the seat of the carriage. She closed her eyes and tried to banish the vision of a featureless woman held passionately against the powerful form of Mason Carlisle—the powerful, unclothed torso that she, Cassidy Shea, had witnessed firsthand in the late hours of the night before.

  Chapter Four

  The remaining trip from the inn to Carlisle Manor was less miserable than the travel the day before, since the weather was cooperative. Near to three o’clock in the afternoon, they arrived. Cassidy Shea arrived at what would soon be her home.

  It is rather grand, she couldn’t help thinking as they approached through a long tunnel of large, ancient trees that ran the length of the road to the manor. The manor was elegant yet radiated strength and power at the same time. Much of the stone wall at its front was covered in ivy vine, and bright early spring flowers bloomed everywhere.

  “It’s far lovelier even than I remembered,” Cylia commented.

  “I expected something else,” Cassidy admitted aloud.

  Soon the carriage stopped before the large front doors of Carlisle Manor. Fieves quickly assisted Cassidy and her mother from the carriage. Looking about, Cassidy could see no sign of Mason’s whereabouts.

  At once the large doors before them swung open, and through them fairly floated the loveliest of women. “You have arrived, at last!” the woman exclaimed. “Come in! Oh, come in! We have been beside ourselves with anticipation!” Cassidy knew that the woman must be Mason’s mother, for she had the air of a grand lady and was beautiful beyond description.

  Tentatively, Cassidy followed her mother into the house and was im
mediately struck by the fragrance of vanilla—the same fragrance adored by her own mother and used to scent the air at Terrill.

  Upon entering, Cassidy’s attention fell to a tall, youthful man standing near them. The man bowed low and slowly to Cassidy before standing erect to meet her gaze with oddly disturbing eyes. “Havroneck,” the man introduced himself. “Blythe Havroneck. But you may call me simply Havroneck.”

  He was very handsome, Cassidy noted. And quite young to be holding such an important position as first man in the household. He stood tall, nearly as tall as Mason, broad shouldered, but thin and lanky. His eyes were the deepest of blues, his hair black as jet. There was something superior in his demeanor, as was the case in most menservants of his high position.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Havroneck,” Cassidy managed, and the man nodded slowly in acceptance.

  “Havroneck has been with us since Zeus was a babe,” Lady Carlisle mentioned, smiling at the young man.

  “Not nearly so long as that,” Havroneck corrected jokingly but without breaking a smile.

  “Any messages, Havroneck?” Mason grumbled as he burst through the doors and into the room.

  “Yes, sir. Numerous. In the study, sir,” the man answered.

  “And Father? Does he fare well, Mother?” Mason asked, going to his mother and surprising Cassidy by sweeping the woman into a firm embrace and planting an affectionate kiss atop her head.

  “Well enough, I suppose. No worse than when you left. Still…no better either,” the beauty of a woman answered. Then, releasing her son, she turned to Cassidy’s mother. “Cylia, I cannot get over how well you defend yourself of any sign of aging.”

  Cylia smiled, yet Cassidy sensed something uneasy in her mother’s countenance. Uncertainty perhaps. Still, Cylia answered in a friendly manner, “Flattery was always one of your greatest gifts, Devonna.”