“Yes, sir.”
“And Cait,” he added, tilting her face up to his. “I expect to see you in the hall this evening sitting at my side, no matter how much the sitting hurts. Do not think for a minute of testing me and not being there.”
“No, sir.”
He looked at her another long moment, and she wasn’t sure what she read in his eyes. She still saw anger. She didn’t know why. He said he was no longer angry with her, that afterward all would be forgiven. Perhaps he assumed she was terribly disobedient and expected her to disappoint him soon again. Well, she wouldn’t. She would be the perfect wife. She would do whatever she had to do, whatever it took, if she could only get him to hold her like a treasure again.
* * * * *
It was absolutely intolerable what the girl did to his mind, not to mention the more sensual regions of his body. He pressed his cock in frustration. Down, boy. Not now. Not ever. He had no sympathy for her. He’d suffered at least as much as she had from the spanking, probably more.
He had work to do. He had to get his mind off her, but he’d see her at table. He decided that every day he would spend time with her at the evening meal. That would have to be enough. It would be safe; there would be nothing harmful he could do to her within sight of the entire hall. Time together with him would soothe her insecurities as a wife. He would give her his undivided attention, ask her about her day, gently touch her hand, share his cup with her. It would have to be enough. It was all he could safely give her. It would have to be enough for them both.
He thought for the millionth time that he ought to move her to a different bedroom. As it was, she was far too near. He fought the urge every night to stride through her door and drag her back to his bed. Or take her right there in her little maiden’s bed. What difference did it make as long as he was buried deep inside her? No, no, no, no, no.
There were other ways to be inside her. He would need to teach them to her soon or else risk going mad with lust for her, or risk getting her with child, which he wasn’t going to do. Soon he would have to teach her, when the drive, when the desperate need wasn’t so strong and he could be certain of staying in control.
Spanking her bare bottom hadn’t helped matters. Even now he was replaying her punishment again in his mind. The lovely cries, the hapless kicking and squirming and struggling against him. The tensing of her supple, round, perfectly shaped buttocks—it was a miracle he hadn’t come in his trousers from administering the punishment. And for some godforsaken reason, he’d walked the horse back to the grounds at slower than a snail’s pace just to feel her fidget and shift in his arms. She was a sickness. Torture, plain and simple. She galled him and stole his reason and peace of mind.
He threw his energy into his duties and expended all his frustration on the practice fields where his men noticed a new edge to his fighting. He stayed longer than he should have, and found himself without much time to bathe before the dinner hour. To make matters worse, Henna came in to attend him, taking the opportunity to pour recriminations in his ear.
“Duncan! What are you about now?” she lectured as she scrubbed his back. “She’s upstairs crying on her bed looking as forlorn as a lost lamb!”
“What did she tell you?”
“She wouldn’t say a thing, but I can see she’s hurtin’. What did you do to the poor wee lass?”
“The poor wee lass disobeyed me directly and taunted me from the top of an apple tree. She got her bottom spanked for it.”
Henna gasped in outrage.
“You didn’t!”
“I did, and I will again if she won’t stay safely by her guard. She knew the rule as well as the consequence, Henna, so keep your judgments to yourself.”
“Well, I didn’t raise you to be one of those who hurts a weaker creature than yourself, I really didn’t! Especially a woman.”
“Henna, I’m a soldier and an earl. I have to hurt ‘weaker creatures’ all the time. For what it’s worth, I don’t think much more was hurt than her pride and her sensibilities.”
“For a woman, that kind of pain is the most humiliating and cruel.”
“I have to disagree with you. It was important for me to show her who was in charge, and how important her safety is to me. I know it will surprise you to learn that I’m coming to care about the little scamp.”
“Ha! If you cared about her you’d act differently. You refuse to make an honest wife of her and take her to your bed, and yet you’re happy to turn her over your lap and punish her like an errant child when she makes one mistake. How do you think she feels, that you’ll torment her defenseless bottom but haven’t yet performed your husbandly duties as you should—”
“She feels nothing, because the ignorant chit has less than no idea what husbands and wives actually do. And I’d prefer it to stay that way as long as possible,” he added with a stern look at Henna. “I’ll introduce my wife to the intricacies of the marriage bed as soon as I see fit.”
“Well,” Henna harrumphed, scrubbing his back so hard he was sure she left marks, “I can’t say I agree with the way you’re treating her. Thought I raised you better, I did. Sometimes I think you’re as cold as your father deep down inside.”
“I am not like my father!” Duncan snapped. He bit his tongue hard to keep from saying words he’d regret, and stiffened under her hands. “Leave me now, Henna. I can abide no more of your squawking. Just leave me alone.”
Wisely, in the face of Duncan’s anger, the portly old woman made herself scarce.
Duncan sank back in the water with a frown. He was not his father’s son. He never would be. No. His father was cold, emotionless, incapable of showing love or even empathy. Duncan was nothing like him, nothing at all. Was he? No, he wasn’t, he couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be.
He rose up out of the tub and began to dry himself. It was time for dinner, time for him to sit and eat beside his wife. He needed to see her, desperately needed to be near her. Somehow her beauty, her innocent gaze, her crooked, uncertain smile would make it all okay.
Chapter Five
Duncan’s hair was still wet when he arrived at the hall for dinner. His face hardened when he saw she wasn’t there, but then he saw her approaching from the corridor. She turned her head a little, dropping her eyes from his. She was so charmingly shy. Or was she fearful? Ashamed perhaps? When she drew near he offered his hand and she took it, sliding him a look he didn’t understand.
Well enough. Who understood women? Her duty now was to sit and eat beside him and as long as she did that, he didn’t care what was going through her addled head. She sat on his left side, eating very little and speaking even less. She fidgeted plenty though, until he put a hand on her leg. She stilled, looking up at him.
I know. I meant for it to hurt.
“Aren’t you hungry? You should eat. Your gowns are practically falling off you.”
“These aren’t my gowns.”
He frowned. Why didn’t his wife have any gowns of her own yet? He’d have to ask Henna to remedy that quickly. She needed gowns that hugged every gorgeous curve. She should have a hundred beautiful gowns, all of them bright yellow, red, orange. Garish blazing colors so he could keep track of her when she ran off and climbed into trees. He chuckled under his breath.
“What is it?” she asked, pushing her food around her plate.
“Nothing.” He watched her toy with her meal. It was obvious she was uncomfortable; not just uncomfortable sitting, but uncomfortable sitting next to him. It annoyed him, but he understood. “Put your fork down if you’re finished eating.”
“May I be excused?”
“No.”
She placed her fork beside her plate and put her hands in her lap. Duncan swirled the wine in his glass, then offered her a sip.
“No thank you.”
“Don’t enjoy wine?”
“Not very much.”
“Perhaps you’ve never had really fine wine.”
“Perhaps I’ve had no wine at all,
” she said. “I’m just a nobody from a cottage in the woods.”
He looked over at her sharply. “You aren’t a nobody. You’re my wife.”
“I suppose.”
I suppose. I suppose? What did she mean by that? “There’s no supposition about it.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re my wife. The priest married us.” She made no reply to that comment, only sat very still with her hands clasped in her lap.
“A cottage in the woods?” he asked, changing the subject. “You were not raised at court?” She shook her head. No, of course not, he realized. If she had been, she wouldn’t be such an innocent.
“My father hates me. No, I wasn’t raised at court. He wouldn’t have tolerated me there.”
“He hates you? Why?”
“Because I remind him of my mother, and she was a liar and a slut.”
He nearly spit out a mouthful of wine. “Who told you that? Your father? I’m sure it isn’t true.”
“I don’t know. I never met my mother.”
“Then who did you live with in your little cottage?”
“My old nursemaid, Erma. She died a few weeks ago.”
“And she didn’t tell you anything about your mother? Or your father?”
She shook her head. “I never knew either of them.”
“And you didn’t ask? You weren’t curious about your circumstances?”
“I didn’t care. I didn’t think about it. Erma was my family. I was happy there.”
He frowned, not missing the insinuation. She was happy, but not anymore. “Can you not be happy here? I’ll have some gowns made for you.”
Gowns. Idiot. She was no typical, vain woman to be mollified with the promise of new gowns or pretty ribbons. He thought of the way she’d thrown the perfect apple down for him just a few hours earlier.
“I enjoy dining with you, Caitlyn. You’re not a nobody to me.”
“Thank you for saying that.” She was obviously unconvinced. Then she asked again, “May I be excused?”
He sighed and nodded. “Yes.”
* * * * *
Time passed, a couple of weeks, and Cait was pleased to be given many lovely gowns, but no more spankings over her husband’s knee. It still occurred to her in lonelier moments to draw his attention through mischief, but the result was really too painful to make it worthwhile.
So she behaved as well as she could. She tolerated whichever surly young soldier followed her around and did her best to stay out of the earl’s way. She loved to be outside, strolling through the town watching the townspeople. She enjoyed watching the animals in the yards and the many children at play. The children avoided her for the most part, although she smiled at them. She supposed her strange appearance scared them away.
She found herself alone a lot, but it didn’t matter. She was well cared for, content as she might be. She had plenty of fresh air and not many duties to attend to, although she begged for chores. She wanted to be put to work to escape her boredom, but Henna chased her from the kitchen and the laundry rooms whenever she lingered too long. The gardener at least let her help tend the gardens. The earl rolled his eyes when he discovered her dirty fingernails. He picked weeds from her curls and told her she needn’t till the soil like a common laborer. Thankfully, though, he didn’t make her stop. If it wasn’t for the solace of the garden, she would lose her mind.
The earl still ignored her as much as possible. He sat with her at dinner, yes, but they barely touched. They had trouble finding things to talk about since they knew each other so little. When he looked at her, which he did often, she always developed a lump in her throat that kept her from talking, from asking, from confiding, from saying any of the things she wanted to say.
How can I please you? What will make you like me? When will you hold me again?
She couldn’t say them, so they went unanswered and life went on as it was. And so it was that one day she was headed to the garden, hoping to catch a glimpse of the earl up on the rise when a strange man, tall and forbidding, stepped into her path.
She drew back. No man besides the earl dared come so near to her. She looked at her guard for guidance. He bowed to the man and said, “Good morning, my lord.”
She looked back at the man warily. He looked very much like her husband, but he was older and his eyes were not nearly so kind. This man’s eyes were hard and sharp, and they made her flush even though she’d no reason at all to feel ashamed.
Cait dropped a reserved curtsy. Her eyes went to the guard again, but he looked at the ground. It was Mitchum, the guard she’d gotten in so much trouble the first day. She’d apologized at least three times but he still treated her with subtle disdain. Now she felt glad to have him there, and sidled closer under the stranger’s skewering gaze.
“Are you the earl’s new wife? My daughter-in-law?”
“Yes. Yes, sir,” she replied.
“I am an earl too,” he said with a sniff, “and your elder. It would be more courteous of you to refer to me as ‘my lord.’”
Her gaze darted to his and she felt indignant, but she only took a soft breath and curtsied again.
“Like most women, I suppose you rely on your charms rather than your manners to bring those around you to heel.”
She raised her chin a bit. “I don’t bring anyone to heel, sir. My lord,” she remembered with a small frown.
He laughed, and his laughter didn’t have a mirthful sound. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” He looked at Mitchum, sizing him up. “Run along, boy. I’ll talk to my new daughter-in-law alone.”
Cait’s gaze flew to Mitchum’s in alarm. He looked back at her with an unfathomable look and stood up a little straighter. “I’m not to leave my lady. Direct orders from my lord, the earl. For her protection,” he added with a hint of pride.
“Protection? And what harm will come to her in my company, in full view of the keep and the townspeople below?”
Mitchum seemed to consider. It would be most impolite for him to contradict the older man’s order, but Cait didn’t want him to leave her alone. He looked at Cait briefly.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but I serve the earl.”
She spoke up in his defense. “I’m not permitted to be without a guard no matter what. Or my husband punishes me,” she added, coloring a bit.
“Oh, does he?” That seemed to amuse the earl greatly. “And how does my son punish his wayward wife?”
Cait bowed her head. “I...I cannot say. I would rather not.”
The earl laughed long and loud then. “You will not say. I see. Aren’t you a sassy bit of a wife?”
“No, sir. My lord.”
“But I say you are. I can see you are a most insubordinate type. Never mind. Where is my son? I’ll go and find him. I can offer plenty of advice on how to subdue a willful wife. I’ve had enough of them,” he added archly, before turning on his heel and dismissing them both with his broad back.
She stood there, shocked to stillness by his rude behavior. She turned to Mitchum, who looked back at her in silent accord.
“What an unpleasant man,” she said. “Thank you very much for not leaving.” She started towards the garden, her mind troubled. “I don’t think I’d care to be with him alone.”
“I need no thanks. The earl charges me to stay by you, lady, and so I do.”
“You can call me Caitlyn if you like. My friends call me Cait.”
“I canna call you Cait or Caitlyn, lady. But I appreciate the offer all the same. And I think...” His voice trailed off uncertainly. “I think you would do best, lady, not ever to be alone with the older earl.”
She stopped again, looking at him soberly. “Thank you for your sage advice. I’ll be sure to let the earl know how faithfully you serve him.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Mitchum with a shadow of a smile.
* * * * *
That night at dinner Cait was relieved that the older man, Lord Douglas, was seated on the opposite side of her husband. She still heard his
jibes to his son about his saucy wife. If she had her wish she wouldn’t have come to the table at all while he was there. She would rather have stayed to her room until he was gone. She couldn’t explain it, but Lord Douglas caused her a deep uneasiness. Even her father had not frightened her so much. And though she didn’t look at him, had no intention of ever meeting his cold hard eyes again, she felt them on her and it made something shivery and sick coil in her belly. Surely it would anger the earl if she showed disrespect to his father, but she didn’t think she could smile at him no matter how hard she tried.
Fortunately her husband seemed to sense her discomfort. He sent her to her room the minute she’d finished her meal. Perhaps he only tired of listening to his father’s disparaging banter about her. Either way, it was with relief that she stood to exit the hall.
“Wait!” his father said. “Is that how you take leave of your husband’s table?”
Cait froze, and her gaze flew to her husband’s.
“It is no matter,” Duncan said. “We don’t keep formal manners here.”
“We do at my keep, and I’m accustomed to the ladies taking their leave with a pleasant curtsy and a ‘good eve.’”
Her husband looked at her, the color rising around his neckline, whether from anger or embarrassment, she didn’t know. She dipped into a half-hearted curtsy and managed, through great effort, to meet the awful man’s eyes.
“Good eve to you, my lord.”
“And good eve to you, lass,” he replied in a voice dripping with disdain.
Cait felt absolutely humiliated.
“Good eve, Caitlyn,” said Duncan quietly, although she heard the fury in his tone.
She fled to the shelter of her room and shut the door. It was a warm night but she shivered violently. She climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her head. But she couldn’t get warm and she couldn’t rest even when the keep quieted around her. She felt a strange agitation that wouldn’t let her sleep. When she closed her eyes, Lord Douglas’s visage rose before her, and she feared if she fell asleep he would come to her in her dreams.
Cait and the Devil Page 5