Shackles of Honor

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Mother,” he growled between clenched teeth, “this intricacy is not solved with a kiss as was my injured knee healed as a child.”

  “Are you so very certain, Mason?”

  Angrily he took hold of Cassidy’s other hand, binding both her hands at her back with his own. As she struggled, he was somehow able to secure her hands firmly behind her with but one of his. His free hand pressed firmly against her back, causing her body to become flush with his own.

  “Shall we test your theory, Mother? This moment? And with Miss Shea?” he growled. Cassidy felt his breath hot on her face, the scent of raspberry permeating strongly with it. “What say you, Miss Shea? Shall we, once and for all, give my mother the satisfaction of witnessing our very first behavior in intimacy?” He bit his lower lip as he glared down at her, pressing her even tighter against his solid, powerful form. “Do you expect, as she does, that a passion will erupt the like that has never burned on this earth before?”

  Something in Cassidy Shea was disappointed at once when his mother ordered, “Stop it at once, Mason! I’ll not have you behaving like a beast toward this girl!”

  “Would you have her treat me with suspicion and accusation, slandering my character?” he shouted, releasing Cassidy suddenly. Cassidy stumbled backward, her knees giving way beneath her. Yet even as he argued with his mother, Mason managed to reach out and catch her arm once more, steadying her before letting go once and for all. “This girl has less desire to accept me than she does my dog!”

  “Have you accepted her then?” Devonna asked calmly.

  “Had I not accepted her, she would not be here!” he shouted. “Would I have brought her home…endured her low estimation of me had I not accepted her?”

  “Yes,” Cassidy answered for both of them. “For if I’ve learned one thing about you, Mason Carlisle, it’s that you’re dutiful to a fault, sir! Your desire to do what is honorable in your father’s eyes is what finds me here.”

  “What finds you here, dove, is my desire to one day find you in my bed!” he shouted—enraged.

  “Mason!” Devonna scolded shrilly. “Enough of your temper! You will quench this angry fire at once. At once!” Mason stood wrathful, jaw clenched shut, eyes narrowed, and massive chest rising and falling dramatically with breathing heavy with frustration. “Now, you find something else at which to fling that frustration, my boy, before you find yourself in any more disfavor.”

  With one final glare at Cassidy, he stormed out of the room, fairly ripping the door from its hinges in his fierce departure. Devonna shook her head and sighed heavily. “That boy of mine. His biggest fault, my darling,” she said to Cassidy, “is his inability to hold his tongue when he is provoked. He must be wholly intrigued by you, else he would not be so easily vexed.”

  Cassidy sat down wearily in her chair. The table before her was gone, her breakfast along with it, for Mason had thrown it aside. Still, though she had no appetite whatsoever, she felt weakened and starved for something other than sweet breads.

  “He’s all too correct in his appraisal of me. I…I did intend to provoke him. He seemed so utterly docile. So reconciled to this…this agreement. And I know he is not! I see it in his expression. And I know about…” She stopped before confessing she had a sure knowledge of his affinity toward Gabrielle Ashmore.

  “If you indeed provoked him intentionally, whether consciously or not, my darling…then it is bravo, I say!” Devonna told her. “The only way he will ever learn to control his frustration is to face it head on or release it completely. You have him tightly by the reins, Cassidy, and he does not know how to react to it, for it’s unfamiliar to him, you see. He has always been in control of himself. He truly will be forced into nothing that he does not himself deem worthy or right.”

  Devonna pulled a chair next to Cassidy and then sat down and took her hand comfortingly. “It’s why I know that he chose to honor the agreement between your parents and his own. He too must have known it was right, or believe me, darling, you would never be here now enduring his tantrums.”

  Cassidy was silent, for the tears had begun to stream down her cheeks. Devonna reached down, retrieving a napkin from the strewn service at their feet. “You know, there was a time when I wondered if he would be given the gift of making good and right decisions. I remember in his sixteenth year Mason decided, irrevocably, to become a pirate.”

  “What?” Cassidy inquired, uncertain as to whether she had heard Devonna correctly.

  “A pirate, my darling. When he was sixteen, Mason’s life ambition was to become a pirate. A pirate, of all things! I was sickened to know that my son was inclined to villainy. And he did indeed run off with his friends one day, and we did not see him for several months.”

  “Are you saying that he actually did—”

  “No. He did not join with a crew of pirates, as such. Thankfully, he had common sense enough to see that villainy was in fact…real and, well, rather villainous! He did, however, sail on a ship that belonged to a friend’s father. We were sick with worry and angry at him! Frightened for his safety night and day. And when he arrived at our stoop one morning, hair long to the middle of his back, golden rings adorning his ears, we thought sure we had failed as parents and lost him to corruption. But he had his adventure and learned what honor, virtue, and wisdom were worth and what adventure, rebellion, and selfishness were not. And though it took us a year or so to convince him to rid himself of his golden earrings, he grew, and is growing, into a valiant, noble, and very good man, Cassidy.”

  Devonna dabbed at Cassidy’s tears, which had stopped more in shock at the revelation of Mason Carlisle’s entertaining the notion of piracy than anything. “He’s now frustrated…for many reasons. Some of which you can never understand. He’s worried about his father, about your rejecting him, about…other matters as well. This is why I’m patient with him…why you must not take these outbursts so to heart. You will learn that many things he says in temper are true to his feelings, so listen earnestly. He’ll accidentally reveal much to you when you least expect.”

  “I always dreamed of a man like him,” Cassidy confessed in a whisper. “Every girl everywhere does, I’m certain.” She swallowed with difficulty and continued, “But in my dreams, things were always perfect—a tall, attractive lover…sweeping me away in his arms to…”

  “Lover being the important word, am I right?” Devonna prodded understandingly.

  “It is a severe cruelty inflicted upon women…that we should be the ones who so desperately need love…affection…acceptance. And yet we suffer, many of us, for lack of it throughout our entire lives,” Cassidy mumbled.

  “That’s a pretty dismal philosophy, darling,” Devonna said, smiling. “And I’m sure you will find that it is less common than you believe. I promise you, it will not be your fate.” Standing, she said, “Come now. I will cheer you and bring that lovely smile back to your face.”

  “Where do you take me now?” Cassidy asked somewhat hesitantly.

  “You’ll see. Perhaps it will help to view the imperfection in the perfect in a very visual manner.”

  

  “I cannot…I cannot believe it!” Cassidy exclaimed. “I would not believe it were I not actually seeing it before me!”

  Devonna smiled. “You must admit, darling…he would have made quite a handsome pirate.”

  “Yes,” Cassidy agreed. Still, she stood in utter astonishment gazing at the portrait of Mason that hung on the vast wall of portraits before her. It was indeed Mason, and though his mother had told her he was sixteen when he ran away to sea, she was astounded at his physical maturity portrayed in the painting. He stood on a beach, barefoot, in black trousers, a white and very soiled shirt unbuttoned and billowing open in the breeze. His hair was long and blew in the wind. About his head was tied a red scarf, and from each ear hung large golden rings.

  “He paid a local man to paint it for him. It’s rather a good piece of work! We would never have allowed someone to paint
him thus, but we kept the painting anyway. One never knows what might be of value and why, later in life,” Devonna commented as she too studied the painting.

  “He was sixteen in the painting?” Cassidy asked, still unbelieving.

  “Yes,” Devonna answered.

  “But did he indeed have the full mustache and goatee?”

  “You mean to ask if the artist embellished the portrait? No, indeed not. Mason has a heavy beard. In fact, I’ve no doubt that you shall find his kiss quite chaffing at times because of the fact.” Cassidy looked to Devonna in astonishment. Devonna smiled. “I have very strong opinions concerning affections between a man and a woman, Cassidy. I expect there can be no true surrender of heart if the kiss is not offered and received of the soul.”

  “What a beautiful sentiment,” Cassidy sighed, smiling. She was beginning to endear this woman to herself more and more. She found it very refreshing that a woman of such age, position, and grace should feel so about the more tender affections.

  “It’s more than sentiment to me, darling. It is fact.” Then Devonna turned to face the other side of the room, saying, “Now, there is a man worth living for.” Turning to join her, though there were numerous other paintings in the room that Cassidy desired to study, she was instantly struck by the almost eerie resemblance between this painting of LaMont Carlisle and Mason. “Is he not entirely divine?” Devonna sighed, her eyes twinkling merrily. “It’s how I remember him when first I saw him. I was about your age,” she said, nodding in Cassidy’s direction. “Oh, I thought him the most horrid, pompous bully that had ever been put to earth that day,” she said, laughing. “But he is dearer to me than life itself. Was he not the handsomest man?”

  “He still is,” Cassidy agreed.

  “Yes,” Devonna whispered, the lovely smile fading from her face momentarily, a concerned frown puckering her delicate brow in its place. She seemed to pull herself quickly from her disheartening thoughts, however. “Now, we must get to work on your gown for the ball,” she stated, taking Cassidy’s arm and directing her toward the doors through which they would exit the grand portrait room. “I do believe that ivory, creams, and all manner of the colors of earth adorn you best, darling. What do you say? Ecru laces? Brown satins?”

  “So soon?” Cassidy inquired.

  “Yes, darling! The betrothal ball has been set, two weeks hence. Your mother and I arranged guest lists more than a month ago, and the invitations will go out at the week’s end.”

  “A month ago?” Cassidy gasped. “My parents were so certain I would accept this agreement that the lists were designed a month ago?”

  Devonna smiled and pressed her warm cheek to Cassidy’s. “Oh, please don’t be vexed with us all, darling, but yes. We were all of us confident that you would make the right choice. Though I will say Mason was a bit concerned. Oh, how he went on ever so dramatically with foreboding tales of his spirit waking one morning at Terrill only to find you had plunged a dagger into the chest of his mortal body once you were told of the betrothal!” Cassidy rolled her eyes in exasperation at the man’s wild imaginations. Devonna only laughed lightly once more and said, “Do not take him so seriously, Cassidy. After all, he is only a pirate!”

  Chapter Seven

  Walking in the gardens later that afternoon, Cassidy still found her mind whirling with thoughts nearly too arduous to comprehend. In less than one week, she had gone from debutante to the betrothed of a strange man—from feeling complete trust in her parents and innocent to the ways of the world to feeling abandoned and overwhelmed with responsibility. Not even the beauty of the day, the fragrance of early spring flowers perfuming the air, could pull her from her dismal thoughts and confusion at her own feelings. For if the truth be told by her own heart, she was beginning to accept her situation. In truth, to more than accept it…to, in some odd way, look forward to it.

  Slowly she meandered through the gardens, along the banks of the lake, and into the dense maze of rosebushes. There were no blossoming roses, but many leaves and buds were visible. Never had she seen such abundance. Many had been directed to grow in perfectly formed arches over the pathway, and Cassidy could well imagine how beautiful the rose garden would be in full bloom.

  Suddenly, she heard a man’s voice and then a woman’s hushed as in secret exchange and intimate in tone. The hair prickled at the back of her neck as she recognized Mason’s voice. Carefully she made her way nearer to the group of bushes from whence the voices seemed to come. Crouching down, she looked through a small opening in the thicket of thorns and leaves. There before her she witnessed a nightmarish scene! She felt painfully sickened as she saw Mason, his hands placed tenderly on the small, delicate shoulders of none other than Gabrielle Ashmore!

  Cassidy held her breath for a moment as panic gripped her. She knew all too well the severity of the consequence were she found out. Eavesdropping was an intolerable failing, but she could not leave this situation. She must know what was said between the lovers that were being torn apart by honor’s duty. She shut her eyes tightly, struggling to breathe in silence. Then she heard Gabrielle’s voice, sweet and alluring, as she spoke to Mason.

  “Mason! Darling!” she exclaimed, throwing herself against Mason’s broad chest, her arms encircling his shoulders as she gazed lovingly up at him. Her smile was that of a woman completely in love. “For pity’s sake! You have kept me waiting far too long. I am mad without your arms about me.”

  Cassidy could not deny that Gabrielle was breathtaking. She swallowed hard to try to fracture the hard lump of strange emotion that formed in her throat. She watched as Mason cupped the exquisite woman’s face in his powerful hands, affection for her on his face.

  “The time is upon us, my dear,” he mumbled as he gazed into her eyes.

  “Oh, do be quiet and kiss me, darling,” Gabrielle teased, raising herself on the tips of her toes in an effort to meet his height. Cassidy felt ill in the pit of her stomach. She felt anger and resentment as she watched Mason caress Gabrielle’s lips tenderly with his thumb. She wondered if she could endure to watch. Would it cause her to fly at him, screaming hateful remarks about his infidelity to their betrothal arrangement?

  “You and I have already shared our last kiss, Gabrielle,” he told her, much to Cassidy’s surprise.

  Gabrielle laughed airily and smiled. “Poppycock, Mason. Now do as you’re told, and kiss me.” Hastily Gabrielle took Mason’s handsome face between her hands and made to kiss his mouth. Mason quickly turned his face from her, and she managed only to kiss him on the cheek. Cassidy watched, still skeptical of his determination. Mason firmly yet gently pushed Gabrielle away—turning to face her once more with nothing but conviction apparent in his expression.

  “We must sever this association. It is done, Gabrielle. And it was done the moment I left Carlisle for Terrill.” His words were stern, his voice seemingly void of emotion.

  “Sever?” Gabrielle exclaimed. “Postpone temporarily. Perhaps recess! But not sever!” She was angry. The hurt that was beginning to throb in her veins was obvious. Her pleading eyes would be irresistible to the strongest of men, and Cassidy was sure Mason could not deny her, could not possibly deny such loveliness. Yet Cassidy noted the deep inhalation by Mason that indicated resolve. “You belong to me, Mason Carlisle,” Gabrielle stated. “This…this irritant will pass. You don’t really intend to marry the trollop?”

  “I do. And really, Gabrielle…it’s well you know that she is hardly a trollop. Please ease the dramatics. My loyalty to my mother’s wishes, my duty to my father, and my honor demand that I fulfill this marriage agreement. I’ll not turn my back to it.” Mason spoke the words plainly and with great firmness.

  Gabrielle’s breathing increased, and Cassidy sensed that the woman’s heart was breaking, that she was furious and barely restraining her desire to erupt verbally as well.

  “She is quite beautiful. I’ll give you that. But is this creature you have agreed to marry at your mother’s insistence…is she
as beautiful as I?” The resentment toward Cassidy, whom Gabrielle had seen but twice, was all too apparent in the emotion of her voice.

  Cassidy found herself anxious. She wanted to hear Mason’s answer to Gabrielle’s question yet at the same time dreaded it.

  “That is irrelevant,” was all he said.

  “I beg to differ, darling,” Gabrielle spat. The pain on the woman’s face caused Cassidy to wince, and the same growing pain in Gabrielle’s voice stung Cassidy’s own ears. After all, it wasn’t Gabrielle’s fault that Mason had been thus betrothed for these many years. Yet it was obvious that she had known of it. “It’s quite relevant,” Gabrielle maintained, “for you see…you’ve given me up far too easily.” The first tears of increasing, unendurable heartbreak escaped Gabrielle’s eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “I can only assume, then, that this child you have brought back—for you told me yourself that she is but seventeen—I can only conclude, therefore, that she must be far more beautiful by your perception than by mine.”

  “As I said, Gabrielle,” Mason began, “her beauty or lack of it is irrelevant. It is but my honor that—”

  “Oh! Hang your honor, Mason!” Gabrielle cried out. “You wouldn’t give me up…if you…if you truly care for me. Oh, I know that you’ve been telling me for ever so long that this day would come, Mason. But…but I never thought it really would…or at least that you would truly follow through with this…this farce!”

  “I do care for you, Gabrielle. And we have been nothing if not good friends. At your own admission, you knew this would come. You knew that I—”

  “But I did not know I could love you so desperately,” she interrupted quietly.

  Mason winced as if something undesirable had only just pressed upon his pallet. “Gabrielle, please, don’t—”