Shackles of Honor

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  No thought of me was in your mind.

  No thought of me.

  And I watched you.

  A swan called to you from the lake, and you looked to her.

  Put aside your book as you looked to her.

  And you thought of her beauty, no doubt,

  Of the pure white of her feathers…

  And I watched you.

  Cassidy gasped aloud, one hand going to her mouth as she felt hot, stinging tears filling her eyes. Setting this parchment aside, not even finishing the reading of what was written, she plunged her hand into the drawer, withdrawing multiple documents. Some were not documents but only bits of paper torn from something else. Rummaging among them, she could tell at once that each was written in a similar style. One read:

  I held you this night, and I knew heaven.

  Should I pass from mortal life this moment…I am fulfilled.

  I am made of deviancy,

  For it is fear that drives you into my arms…And I am glad.

  For only fear would send you to me. Only fear would find you in my arms…In my bed…

  Safe in both.

  “It cannot possibly be,” Cassidy whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. The next seemed to confirm her suspicion.

  The panic, the pain…are both of them evident…as your eyes plead for deliverance.

  Deliverance at my hand. My hand. Mine own hand…the cause of your pain. Of your panic.

  They have hurt you with their words, with their cruel glances.

  Hurt the warm copper of your eyes…now moist with tears. And I will not fail you.

  Selfishly.

  Selfishly…for your pain gives me cause to touch you.

  How I have begged, however silently, for cause to touch you. To feel you. To have you.

  So I will touch you.

  Finally feel you.

  Have the warm softness of your form at last in my arms.

  As they watch with critical, prying expressions…

  My hands will caress you and relish the satin of your shoulders.

  And I will taste…

  Taste of you.

  Taste the essence of your skin beneath my lips.

  Let them dare to mock you now!

  Let them say what they may of what is or is not between us.

  For your gown…of creams and browns…is all that keeps me from you this night.

  As if hit by a thunder clap, Cassidy’s mind was flooded with memories—memories of sitting beneath a tree soon after she arrived, reading a book, and watching the swans in the lake beyond—memories of Mason once referring to the color of her eyes as like unto copper. Her gown had been that of brown velvets and cream laces the night of the engagement ball when he had salvaged her pride in the garden by means of intimate caresses. And she had slept in his bed, in his arms, on the occasion of being frightened so terribly by the spiders in her room.

  Then she remembered the description of a woman sleeping that she had found on the floor of Mason’s study. How it had angered him that she had found it! Had it, had all this, been written of her by Mason’s own hand?

  She found the drawer unable to close, for there had been far too many parchments and pieces of parchments stuffed into it. Removing them all, she was astounded to see one parchment with her own name written on it over and over again. The same parchment was cluttered with notations such as, “Have Dilton Simms investigate condition of eastern properties. Old Mrs. Bartholimu is ill and needs physician. Clinton Monilla is interested in purchasing the property in Holton.”

  Obviously this was a paper on which Mason had written small reminders to himself—business reminders. But here and there among the notations was written “Cassidy” or “Mrs. Cassidy Shea Carlisle” or “I shall have her soon. My Cassidy…My Bliss.”

  The poems, the pages of verse, the descriptions of things she had done were seemingly endless. It was too much to take in—to even attempt to imagine they were all for her, all about her, all about feelings that Mason Carlisle had for her. It was unbelievable. Surely she was only reading, hoping to find herself in them. Hurriedly she began shoving the parchments back into the drawer.

  “Are you searching for something in particular, miss?”

  Cassidy closed the drawer tightly as the hair prickled at the back of her neck. It was Havroneck’s voice that addressed her. She was undone, for she had been completely lost in the mystery of Mason’s writing, having miraculously forgotten the horror of the events she had learned at the lips of Katie’s Nanna. Trying to keep her breathing even and attempting to remain composed, or at least give the impression of composure, she stood and faced him.

  How odd that such a dashing young man, such a serious and diligent worker, should hide such maniacal intent and deeds, she thought as she looked at him. And what of Nobel? Why had he not warned her of Havroneck’s approach?

  “No, Havroneck. Nothing in particular,” she answered calmly. His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to study her intently. “Were you unable to locate Doctor Pratt?” she asked innocently.

  “Indeed, miss, I was unable to find him,” he mumbled.

  “Well,” she sighed casually, making to move past him. “You’ll let me know when Mr. Mason returns, will you not, Havroneck?”

  Fear and impending doom gripped her as he reached out and took hold of her arm fiercely. “You’ve never before called me Havroneck,” he stated. Cassidy was alarmed by the sudden fire in his eyes. “Mr. Havroneck, yes. Even sir. But never Havroneck.”

  “And you have never taken such a liberty with me, sir,” she reminded him sternly, trying to disengage her arm from his grasp as she began to tremble. Where was Nobel? Had Havroneck caused him harm as well?

  “He’s gone,” he whispered. “Nobel.”

  “Let go of me,” she demanded suddenly. The expression in his eyes was indeed mad! She sensed danger heavy in the room.

  “I have…dealt with Nobel,” he told her. “And I have sent the servants out to look for you. I’ve told them you’re out and that I am worried.”

  “You will unhand me now!” she shouted, wrenching her arm free of him. “Mathias!” she called. “Mathias! Come!”

  Havroneck chuckled, “That infernal dog is unable to help you. Well you know that! Why do you run from me, Miss Shea? Me, Havroneck. Your lover’s trusted manservant.”

  Cassidy did indeed run then. Lifting her skirts and petticoats above her ankles, she ran furiously toward the great oaken doors of the front hall.

  “Syndle! Syndle!” she heard Havroneck calling from behind her. “At once, Syndle!”

  She wanted to scream for Fieves or Dalton, but she knew that to take them away from Lady Carlisle’s side would put her in danger, and she would not endanger Devonna’s life any further than it already was. So she ran—ran out into the wind and stormy skies. Though it was merely late afternoon, the skies were dark, the sun unable to break through the heavy storm clouds that had gathered and now hung low in the skies. It would rain soon. Already it was cold. But there had been no time to snatch a shawl or cape.

  Syndle appeared suddenly as Cassidy rounded the corner of the manor and dashed toward the stables. “Whatever is the matter, Miss Shea?” the girl asked innocently. “Why do you look so frantic? Are you ill?”

  “Stay away from me!” Cassidy shouted, turning and running in the other direction. When Havroneck again appeared, lunging for her, she somehow eluded him and ran frantically into the wind. She could hear him shouting at Syndle, ordering her to the stables for horses. She could never outrun horses. She must hide! Must hide herself, protect herself from harm at Havroneck’s hand until Mason returned. Why had he left her? Why?

  Each time she thought she may have found a place to hide, a bush, a tree, something to conceal her whereabouts, she would hear Havroneck approach. Or Syndle. They would not give up, and they would find her before Mason returned. She knew it! And it had begun to rain, hard and mercilessly. It choked her and caused her to shiver.

  Wh
en Cassidy heard the thunderous, torrential crashing of the waves against the shore below, she realized that Havroneck and Syndle had succeeded in driving her to the cliffs. She knew in her soul they had intentionally pursued her such that she would eventually reach this very destination. She heard the ominous pulsating of the waves, even above the fierce pounding of the rain. Such noise Cassidy had never experienced, and it was painful to her ears.

  Stopping only inches from the edge of the cliff, she turned to find Havroneck and Syndle blocking her only avenue of escape. Behind and below were the rocks of the beach. She thought then of Jillian, of Jillian and Katie’s mother. And she felt their fear! The fear they must’ve experienced the night they plunged to their deaths—just such a night as this one was to be!

  “He’s meant for me,” Syndle shouted. “For me! Why did you not refuse him when he went to Terrill to claim you? Had you refused him…there would’ve been no necessity of this.”

  “What? What do you mean?” Cassidy cried out.

  “Do you know what we have had to endure to come this far, Miss Shea?” Havroneck asked, rather too calmly. “Do you know?” Cassidy could only stand, trembling violently with fear, as the rain soaked through her clothing and caused the ground to become sloppy and uncertain beneath her feet. “Years and years of working as servants to the man who owed me so much! Years of servitude! I thought Robert Minson would never die. And he would not have for many years. So…I helped him. I’m educated, after all, miss. Poisons are my specialty.”

  “Hush, Blythe,” Syndle instructed.

  “Nonsense! The chit will tell her tale to no one, darling.” Havroneck chuckled and sneered at Cassidy. “I poisoned the old idiot. I did it. Then I stepped, and very nimbly if I do say so, into his shoes, so to speak.”

  “You killed Jillian because she spurned you. And your own mother because she loved Jillian,” Cassidy shouted. She could not stop the accusation from escaping her lips.

  “Jillian was an idiot!” he shouted. “I would’ve loved her like no other could have! But…she was blinded by wealth and position. And we could not allow her to marry and bear an heir that might have any sort of claim on a portion of what was deservedly ours!”

  “Hanging is all that is deservedly yours!” Cassidy shrieked.

  “Then I could see how strong LaMont Carlisle really was. He endured his daughter’s death, the loss of old friends, and still he did not give up the ghost and leave his money to his son. So, being that my skills are what they are…I took it upon myself to rid us of the impediment of him.”

  Cassidy could only shake her head in disbelief at the confessions of the murderous monster before her. Havroneck had killed Lord Carlisle. Murdered him! Poisoned him in his own house. The powerful man had been undone by trust in his fellow man.

  “And you,” he continued, “we had heard Devonna and LaMont talking of how strong you were. Of how in control of your own destiny you seemed to be, and Syndle and I were certain you would deny Mason. That way, Mason would be free to pursue Syndle. They would’ve married. Do not doubt it. For Blythe Havroneck always gets his way.”

  “You think Mason would, for one moment, contemplate marrying your sister?” Cassidy gasped at the sharp sting of Havroneck’s open palm hitting her cheek.

  “He would’ve married her, and she would become heiress to his fortune. That is, after Milady Carlisle was…dead. But you,” he growled. “You came into his life, and all his rational thinking is now gone from him! He displayed the inclination of an idiot and fell in love with you. I could see it the day you arrived. The great Mason Carlisle reduced to a sniveling idiot over a woman.” Havroneck again chuckled. “Two idiots you are, the both of you. For I see by the look on your face that you do not believe what I say.”

  Taking hold of her bodice in one fist, he snarled in her face as he spoke. “I’ve seen the fire and the pain mingled in his eyes when he looks at you. I’ve seen his great form tremble like a weakling calf after he has had you in his arms and tasted your lips. He takes you to his bed for the duration of an entire night, not laying a hand on you, and you think that is normal? Do you think a man who did not love a woman would respect her virtue as he has done yours? I’ve seen him outside your bedchamber, in the worst state of dishevelment, his fists and head pressed against your bolted door as he battles the obsessive desire he has for you against his moral code of honor. I’ve seen him sitting at his desk for long moments writing epistles to your beauty!” Putting his face very close to hers, he lowered his voice and said, “I’ve seen him kneeling before his mother like a small child needing comfort as he labors to keep from you. I’ve heard their conversations.”

  At that moment, Cassidy felt the earth beneath her feet begin to give way. Screaming, she reached out, taking hold of Havroneck’s arm, her only means of escape from the fall.

  “He’ll hate these cliffs all the more now, will he not?” Havroneck chuckled. Then he tore Cassidy’s hands from his body and held them away from him. As the ledge beneath her feet gave way, he released her. She slid down and away from him.

  Cassidy screamed, and her arms flailed madly, reaching in vain for anything that might stop her fall. There was nothing but mud and rocks and rain. She was dying—falling to her death as Jillian had. “Mason!” she cried out. And then nothing. But something! She stopped falling. She couldn’t possibly be to the beaches below, for she was still living and unharmed. Even in the darkness, she could see she had been saved. A small ledge further down from the one above still resisted the eroding rains. It was small, for she nearly rolled off trying to stand.

  “Can you see her, Blythe?” Syndle’s voice echoed from above.

  “No. No. She is gone. It is done, my darling,” Blythe laughed.

  Cassidy resisted the urge to scream. They did not see her. In her dark clothing, combined with the evening dusk and the rain, they could not see her clinging to her saving ledge. She would wait, for there was naught else to do. Simply wait. She clung to the muddy wall of the cliff as the rain poured down upon her, nearly smothering her in its heavy intensity. Dare she call out? What if Havroneck and Syndle were waiting—still waiting to make certain of her demise? She had begun to tremble with cold and from being wet. How long she had been clinging to her lifesaving, yet slowly eroding, ledge she knew not. All she could think of was living—living for Mason. Living to complete her promise to him—her promise of confession. Her promise that she would tell him of her love for him when he returned.

  “Mason,” she whispered. “Mason, Mason, Mason,” over and over and over until the whisper turned into a cry. Then she cared not whether Havroneck and his evil sister heard her, for no one would if she did not cry out. She began to scream, praying for her voice to be heard above the torrent of rain. “Mason!”

  She paused, for she heard something—something wonderfully familiar yet impossible! She wondered if indeed her senses were quickly leaving to make way for madness to enter her mind. It was Mathias’s bark she fancied she heard. Over the torrential beating of the rain, she thought she heard the bark of her friend. But that could not be, for she knew he lay at home gravely injured. She surmised that it must be her imagination. But as she ceased in her own cry, she could hear the bark coming ever closer until it sounded as if it were just above her at the crest of the cliff.

  “Mathias?” she screamed. “Mathias!”

  The dog’s answering bark inspired hope within her. Merciful heaven, Mathias had found her! A moment later, above the wind came another voice, more beloved than any other!

  “Cassidy?” Mason shouted. Though she could not see him, she could hear his blessed voice. “Cassidy? Are you there?”

  “Mason!” she cried, sobs wracking her body with anticipated rescue and relief.

  “Cassidy!” he shouted, with relief heavy in his voice.

  “Help me, Mason. The ledge is melting beneath my feet!” There came not another word from him. And she again called, “Mason?”

  A few moments passed befor
e she saw see a dark form coming toward her from above. And, oh, so quickly, Mason was at her side, a rope tied around his waist.

  “Mason!” she cried. “Oh, Mason! They tried to kill me! It was Havroneck! All this time! And your father…”

  “In good time,” he commanded. “Now put your arms about my neck,” he instructed as he awkwardly put an arm about her waist. His other hand held securely to the rope; his feet were planted solidly into the muddy side of the cliff.

  But Cassidy’s body would not obey her mental commands. “I…I cannot let go. I…”

  Mason did not argue or scold. He simply ordered, “Here then…turn and put your arms about my neck.” The authority in his voice and the power of his arm about her gave her unconscious courage. She did indeed turn, throwing her arms about his neck and clinging to him helplessly. “Don’t look down. Simply sit on my legs…astride as a man would sit his mount.” She obeyed, awkwardly, for her skirt and petticoats were cumbersome. Once she was somewhat secure against him, she startled as he whistled sharply and shouted, “Mathias!” The rope began to slowly pull them up the cliff, Mason walking its face by planting his feet solidly in the cliff’s wall as they moved upward. Again Mason shouted, “Mathias!” and whistled sharply. The thought floated swiftly through Cassidy’s mind that Mathias was not strong enough to pull them up. Who then was at the other end of the rope? In the next moment they reached the top. Mason stumbled onto solid ground, collapsing on top of Cassidy as they fell to the wet, grassy meadow floor.

  Cassidy could not release him! Her arms continued to hold him tightly about the neck as they lay there in the grass. She cried fiercely, her fear, her relief, her fatigue, her love overtaking her in that moment. She would never let him go again. Never!

  “Mason! Mason! I knew you would come for me. I knew you would,” she sobbed, pressing her cheek firmly against his.