Shackles of Honor

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Cassidy audibly gasped at the vision and shook her head violently to dispel it. “Why?” she wondered irritatedly. Why did her mind persist in weaving romantic fancies about Mason? In an effort to divert her thoughts, she looked to the nearby woods. A walk there might be refreshing, “And with plenty of reality to view,” she whispered to herself.

  

  The woods were distracting. They were beautiful, holding many wondrous varieties of flora and fauna. Enormous vine maples rose upward toward the sky. All manner of pines joined them, and plush, green ferns of several varieties covered the ground like thick green carpets. Nature mesmerized Cassidy, and in exploring it she had always demonstrated a weighty flaw in her character. When nature surrounded her, especially something new, she forgot that such a thing as time existed. It wasn’t until she noticed the sunlight streaming through the treetops was not as bright as it had been when she first set out that she realized how long she must have been about. She had neglected to bring her timepiece, and yet she knew the hour must be well past that when Lady Carlisle normally served dinner. Furthermore, if she did not hurry, the sun would surely set, and the woods would be as dark as moonless midnight. Dark and unfamiliar woods did not make the best company.

  So with not just a bit of concern, Cassidy began making her way back along the path she had traveled. It was when she made to step onto and over an enormous, uprooted tree trunk that barred the path that her first inconvenience visited her. She felt her boot slip and lodge tightly in a deep furrow in the bark, and she heard an odd crackling noise of sorts accompany sharp pain in her ankle.

  “Blast!” she exclaimed in a whisper as her hands struggled to free her foot. With a heavy sigh, she sat on the tree trunk and endeavored to remove her foot from the place in which it was wedged. But it was stuck tight, and she knew the only way to free herself was to unlace her boot and remove her foot from it first. As she began tugging on her lace, however, she again sighed with frustration when a terribly bothersome knot developed in it. Completely aggravated, she grumbled as her fingers fumbled unproductively with the knotted lace.

  Suddenly something caught her attention. It wasn’t exactly a noise—but something caused an eerie fear to begin within her. She looked about. She had the oddest sensation that someone stood watching her—that she was some poor, defenseless animal that had happened upon a hunter’s trap. Surely, it was the lateness of the hour—the fact that the forest was darkening because of the arrival of dusk. Still, she felt panic begin to rise within her, and she struggled frantically to free her foot.

  “For the love of Pete, girl! What are you about?”

  A small shriek escaped her throat, so startled was she at the sound of Mason’s voice. She sighed and shook her head. Why, oh, why had she tarried so long? She looked up to where Mason approached her, a deep frown all too apparent on his brow. On his heels were two other men. Havroneck was one, and Cassidy recognized the other as one of the stablehands, Nobel. Immediately she felt her face turn crimson. How utterly humiliating that someone, Lady Carlisle doubtless, should feel the need to instigate a search for her in light of her obvious and quite rude absence.

  “I’ve only just wedged my boot here. I’ll be out in a moment,” Cassidy assured Mason. But he reached her in the next moment and bent down to investigate the situation. Immediately, for propriety demanded it, Cassidy dropped the hem of her skirt, in an effort to hide her exposed ankle. She had pulled it up to nearly mid-calf in struggling herself with the criminal boot.

  His frown deepening, Mason pushed the bothersome fabric back up her leg. She in turn dropped it again.

  “How is it then that you expect me to assist you if you insist on obstructing my view of the problem?” he nearly shouted as he pushed the hem of her dress up again.

  Once more Cassidy endeavored to return her skirt to its proper length. As Mason sighed heavily and looked up at her angrily, Cassidy glanced quickly at Havroneck and Nobel standing nearby.

  Through gritted teeth, Mason growled, “Nobel…Havroneck, would you please avert your attention? The girl proves modest to a fault.”

  Obediently the two men turned their backs to Cassidy and Mason. Then, rather too defiantly, Mason took hold of the hem of the skirt, pushing it up and up until it came to rest shockingly on her knee. His expression was that of daring, and Cassidy would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how fully astonished she was. There, for all the world to see, was Cassidy’s leg, bare to the knee save for the stocking.

  “You have knotted the lace too tightly,” he mumbled.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, then,” he grunted as he placed his powerful hands into the wooden crevasse, “we will not bother with it.” The aged bark crackled as Mason broke it away from Cassidy’s foot.

  Standing erect and dusting the bark off his hands, Mason concluded dominantly, “I believe you should be escorted at all times from now on.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Cassidy argued. “It could’ve happened to anyone. I would’ve freed myself had you not been here.”

  “Is it broken?” he asked, ignoring her comment.

  “No. Just bruised a bit.”

  “Can you walk then?”

  “Yes, of course!” She was miffed that he assumed her to be so weak.

  “Then make yourself modest once more, and let us be off.” His expression was angry, but Cassidy thought she caught a hint of amusement in his manner.

  Dropping the hem of her skirts to cover her ankles once more, Cassidy stepped down from the tree stump. The pain was so intense upon putting her weight on the ankle that she crumpled to the ground. Instantly, Nobel and Havroneck turned around, each offering her a hand in assistance. But Mason’s hand was at her elbow at once, and he pulled her to her feet as she favored the injured ankle.

  “What have you done?” he asked, concern truly evident in his voice. Then, dropping to his knees, he again lifted her skirt to investigate her injury. “It has begun to swell. That’s good,” he mumbled to himself. “Havroneck,” he addressed the man as he pulled from his boot the same knife he had held at the throat of the dastardly man at the inn, “go back to the house and inform my mother that Miss Shea is injured slightly…but safe and well otherwise.”

  “Yes, sir,” Havroneck answered, turning and leaving without pause.

  Mason cut the laces of Cassidy’s boot to loosen it. “The swelling is a good sign,” he told her. As he tugged on her boot to remove it, Cassidy began to lose her balance. She had to place her hand firmly on his shoulder to steady herself as he crouched before her. He handed the boot to Nobel, and before Cassidy could foresee his next gesture, he stood, swooping her easily into his arms and making toward the house.

  “I am able enough,” she argued, yet she found that her arms could not wait to entwine about his neck for support.

  “Do you take me for a fool?” he asked, irritated.

  “No, sir,” she answered.

  “You’re forever wandering off, girl,” he grumbled. “You’ve got my mother in a state of perpetual worry over you. And well you know, her worries are far too great as it is.”

  “I am sorry. But I—”

  “I ask you to please inform someone of your intended destination before you venture off from now on. If you cannot locate me or my mother, just let Havroneck know.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cassidy agreed obediently. She would have agreed to anything to be held so by him longer. Still, she thought of approaching Havroneck and felt uncomfortable somehow. He was always so severely serious. But then again, his position called for such an attitude.

  As Mason continued toward the house, Cassidy became more and more conscious of her own weight in his arms. She was fully aware of what an inconvenience she was to him, and she said, “Please, sir. Let me down, and give me your arm. I am well enough to walk, if awkwardly.”

  “Do not speak such absurdity, Miss Shea. It’s obvious that you’re injured, and I assure you I’m well enough to carry you to the manor
,” he grumbled.

  “I do not doubt you are well enough…only the necessity of your having to do it. Truly I can—”

  “We’re nearly there, Miss Shea. Am I foul smelling? Or is your allergy to me giving rise to some sort of rash about your being?”

  “No! No, of course not. It’s simply that—”

  “It’s simply that my mother will have my head on a platter for letting you injure yourself. I must at least appear your rescuer, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “I am sorry then, on both accounts—for having inconvenienced you and causing you to bear disfavor with your mother,” she said humbly. Her heart ached that he should give such reasons for helping, rather than having been worried about her whereabouts or that he was concerned for her well-being. Only to please his mother had he sought her out.

  “Well, don’t apologize at this moment. I’ll find some way for you to repay me for rescuing you and bearing my mother’s scolding.”

  She looked at him quickly to find a rather mischievous expression about him. Was he indeed implicating…was he…did he attempt to flirt with her somehow? What else could the mirthful glint in his eye and the half grin at his lips imply?

  “Well, if it isn’t his majesty Lord Carlisle,” a raspy voice said suddenly from somewhere in the woods surrounding them.

  Mason stopped abruptly and let Cassidy’s feet fall to the ground, though one of his powerful arms still held her securely about the waist. “Show yourself,” he demanded. Then quietly to Nobel, he added, “Be on your guard, man. Something is amiss here.”

  Much to Cassidy’s dismay, six rough-looking men emerged from the woods at various angles to surround them. Each brandished either a large knife or heavy stick. Cassidy instantly nestled herself snugly against Mason’s powerful form, for she knew instinctively they were in grave danger.

  “What are you gentlemen about?” Mason asked firmly.

  “We’re about collecting wealth, milord,” one of them answered. “And women, and it seems you have more than enough of both.”

  “Mason?” Cassidy heard her own voice squeak as one of the men approached her from the opposite side. Mason’s arm moved from Cassidy’s waist to about her shoulders as he pulled her around in front of him and held her securely to him.

  Nobel stepped between Mason and the undesirable and warned, “Only a litter of fools would meddle with Mason Carlisle and Wesley Nobel!”

  “As he says, lads, do not make to meddle with us,” Mason growled, “for I would just as soon split your ugly heads open and spill your pitiful lack of brains upon the ground as to walk away and let you live.”

  “What?” one of the men chuckled. “You? You in that lovely white shirt and this lapdog you call a servant?” All the men chuckled. “Have at us then, milord. And whoever is left standing takes the woman as prize.”

  “Mason?” Cassidy breathed as he released her suddenly.

  “Very well,” is all he said.

  The moments that followed seemed to be merely that—simply moments. As Cassidy watched in astonishment, Mason simply walked determinedly over to the nearest man and, drawing back his fist, let it go with the force of a hammer at the man’s face. The man stumbled backward and fell flat on his back, completely dazed. Instantly the other five men were upon Mason and Nobel. Cassidy was astounded at how quickly such a large man as her betrothed could maneuver. Ducking as one of the blackguards threw a fist at his beloved face, he stood, straightened instantly, and, bending his arm, knocked the adversary squarely in the nose with his forearm and elbow. As the man reeled back, the sole of Mason’s boot met brutally with his stomach, and this man was also left doubled over and groaning on the ground.

  One of the remaining four men stood momentarily stunned at seeing his counterpart so disabled. Without pause Mason reached up, taking hold of the man’s hair at the top of his head, and bringing up his knee in one swift motion, he brought the dastard’s face downward. The man fell to the ground in agony.

  Cassidy screamed as one of the remaining men swung a large club, hitting Mason squarely in the back. Mason grunted and arched his back in pain. Turning swiftly around, he caught the man’s wrist in his own hand, deterring another blow.

  “You’ve angered me now,” Mason growled. He easily stripped the club from the man’s hand and used it against its owner, striking him solidly once over the head, rendering him unconscious and lying on the ground.

  Nobel struggled with the remaining man, having obviously disabled another who lay nearby. Mason approached to assist him. Suddenly the first miscreant who had been temporarily dazed by Mason’s initial blow appeared behind Mason, drawing a large knife from a sheath at his belt.

  “Mason!” Cassidy cried out in terror.

  Instantly Mason turned, narrowly escaping injury as the villain lunged at him. Cassidy knew Mason carried a knife in his boot, for he had only just used it to cut the laces of her shoe. However, he did not even attempt to draw it. Instead, he adeptly eluded the man’s lunges. Cassidy feared the fiend’s weapon would be buried deep in Mason’s chest, yet in a moment Mason had taken hold of the man’s wrist, pulling the man toward him with incredible force and compelling the blackguard’s face to meet with one powerful Carlisle fist.

  Mason stood inhaling deeply as Nobel put his fist to the final man’s face, sending him tumbling to the ground as well.

  “Well done, Nobel,” Mason expressed gratefully with a nod of approval. Without another word, Mason returned to where Cassidy stood in awe and horror at what had just transpired. He swooped her up in his arms once more and made toward home.

  “As I said,” he grumbled, “you will inform someone of your traveling plans upon your next desire to adventure.”

  “Yes, sir,” was all she could say. What more could be said? What if he had not come looking for her? Would she have indeed been left to the mercy of the men in the forest? What if he had been injured? It would’ve been on her head! She would be more careful. For some reason she did not think it was by chance the men happened upon them in the woods. The odd sensation of impending doom that sometimes found its way into her mind was again whispering a warning, and she simply allowed Mason to carry her back to the house in silence.

  

  Devonna was truly upset when Mason carried Cassidy into the house.

  “Darling! Oh! My darling! What happened to our dove?” Devonna cried. Then, looking to Mason again, she gasped, “Oh, Mason! What has happened?” Mason laid Cassidy gently on the sofa in the library. Oh, how she hated to leave his arms! How she wished to be held by him forever, to never walk again as long as she could be cradled warmly against his strong body.

  “Nobel and I were involved in an insignificant incident with some undesirables in the woods, but we are well, and that is of no consequence,” Mason explained casually. “Cassidy, however, has hurt her ankle, Mother.” Cassidy instinctively knew that Mason meant to protect his mother from further worry by minimizing the seriousness of the attack in the woods. She too held her tongue.

  Quickly Devonna knelt at Cassidy’s side, caressing her cheek lovingly. “I was beside myself with worry, darling,” Devonna whispered. The moisture was profuse in her eyes. Cassidy was touched at her concern and yet almost unsettled at its severity. “If Mason were to lose you…if I were to lose you…oh, Mason,” she exclaimed, looking up pleadingly to her son. “I could not bear it. I could not lose another—”

  Mason took his mother’s hands from Cassidy’s face and pulled her to her feet, embracing her tightly. “You will not lose her, Mother. I’ll make certain of it.”

  Again, Cassidy sensed the overwhelming air of secrecy in the room—not simply about what had happened in the woods but the other secrets, the ones being kept from her. For some reason, her thoughts were drawn to the portrait hanging next to Mason’s in the grand hall, the portrait of Jillian Devonna Carlisle, Mason’s sister. When Katie had spoken of her so quietly, as if she were revealing the deepest buried secrets, Cassidy felt tha
t tragedy was affiliated with that name. Now she felt it again as she watched Devonna’s rather overindulgent worry for her sake and Mason’s immediate comforting.

  “I’m sorry I caused you anxiety, milady. I-I simply like to walk…to collect my thoughts, and…I am very sorry,” Cassidy stammered, feeling awash with guilt.

  “Oh, darling, no!” Devonna exclaimed, again kneeling near to Cassidy and looking lovingly into her face. “You’re fine. I…I just tend to become overly concerned, I suppose. Do not feel badly because I’m overly protective of Mason’s treasure.”

  “I’ll send for the doctor. She’ll be fine, Mother,” Mason said. “Have Katie attend to Miss Shea, Havroneck, and send Syndle for something soothing from the kitchen. I’ve business to attend to before dinner.” Mason turned and left them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The doctor confirmed Cassidy’s ankle was not broken. Yet it was badly sprained and caused her some discomfort for near to a week. There was nothing to do to keep busy except read and talk with Devonna and Lord Carlisle. Mason was gone most of each day on business. So Cassidy busied herself with needlework and books and conversation with his mother. She received letters from her father, mother, and Ellis, feeling warmed by their concern and diligence in writing.

  She tried to ignore the hand mirror that had been broken somehow as it lay on her vanity. She ignored the sound of breathing in a corner of her room one dark night and the ever-increasing feeling she was being watched. She brushed the worries from her mind or, at least, tried to.

  One day, Cassidy sat in the library looking out through the open doors that led to the veranda. She so relished the warmth of the sun and blue of the sky. Suddenly Havroneck appeared, startling her. He was rather ominous-looking at times; his eyes seemed to see into the very depths of her private thoughts.