“You’ll eat first, lass. You must eat. You must feed the babe as well as yourself.”
“Yes, I’ll eat. When I wake up, perhaps. I promise I will.”
Henna stood reluctantly, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Okay, then. I’ll leave ya to rest.”
She went back out into the corridor. No, that wasn’t how she’d expected it to go at all. Something wasn’t right. Something was amiss. She felt it in her bones. She knew it in her heart.
* * * * *
Cait lay back on the bed, appalled beyond belief. She had thought the beatings were the worst part, the pain and fear, the ever present threat, but no. No, this was the worst part. Beyond all things on earth, this was the worst.
She was carrying a child at long last, and it wasn’t her husband’s. It wasn’t half-Cait, half-Duncan at all. It was half Cait and half Devil, the true Devil, the abominable, beastly old earl. How could it happen? How could her husband love her, seed her for so many months, and only now, in the last two weeks of violence and rape at the earl’s hands, had seed finally taken root? How could it be? She wanted to cry bitter tears. It was so unfair, so against reason she couldn’t get past the disbelief to give her grief voice.
She lay still, staring off into nothingness. What would she do? It would have to be kept secret. She would have to let Duncan believe he’d fathered it. But she...she would always know. She would have to live this lie, Lord Douglas’s lies and secrets forever, even after the horrible old man ceased to live. Perhaps he would outlive her. Perhaps she would die bearing his child. It would satisfy him greatly to cause her death. How could she love such a baby, a baby begotten in misery? A bastard, she thought suddenly, just like her, just like Duncan. A bastard for a bastard, her father had scoffed once. They will understand each other, will they not?
No, she couldn’t hate the baby, she wouldn’t. It was not the baby’s fault, and she couldn’t let the child grow up alone and unwanted as she’d been. But the world, Cait realized now, was a horrid, awful place, a place she didn’t want, a place she’d never belonged, a place she never would belong. She could no longer believe that life would bring anything but pain and grief.
She sat up at long last and checked beneath her garments. The welts and scabbed marks were still there. It had been over two weeks. He might return now, any moment, and he would want to see her in his bedroom. He would expect her to disrobe for him and make love with him as if nothing was amiss, as if she wasn’t pregnant with the old earl’s child and covered all over in the marks of his violence and hate. She thought suddenly, against all reason, that she didn’t want Duncan to come.
She had thought, when he arrived, she would be safe at least a little while, that her mind would be at peace at least for a time. Now her peace was gone forever. How could she keep secrets from him? He would look at her and know. What if he found out? What would he do? Lord Douglas would find a way to blame her. It was too terrible a thought. She must hide it all, the baby, the marks, the secrets and lies.
At last, defeated, she slept and dreamed of horrible, nightmarish things.
* * * * *
Duncan rode ahead of the men. He was so close to home, it was impossible not to put his heels to his horse and run the rest of the way. He was so close, so close to his wife. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.
He thought he would kill her from the weight of his unsatisfied desire. It would take hours and hours of using her to take the edge off the craving that drove him to her now, hard and fast and wild through the woods. But he would have to be gentle, tender, let her rest when he exhausted her...she was with child now, he remembered.
Even so, he would exhaust her with sheer pleasure, the lucky woman. He wouldn’t leave her alone until they’d both been to heaven and back. And then...then he’d get an accounting of all her mischief. He laughed softly to himself. Then the fun would really begin.
He stopped to bathe in the lake on the rise, then continued down to the keep, throwing his reins to the stable boy when he arrived at the courtyard.
“The other men arrive soon,” he said. He greeted those who greeted him, but his mind was on the one he sought. Henna bustled over, embracing him.
“Welcome home, my lord. How are the Simpsons?”
“Thank you, Henna. They are better now, better than when we first set upon them. Where is Caitlyn?” He frowned as he saw the concern in her eyes.
“What? What is it? The baby?”
“No—”
“What? Is she ill?”
“No, no. Calm yourself. It only seems that pregnancy does not agree with her much. She has been...strange.”
“Strange?” Duncan looked around the hall. “Where is she?”
“Above stairs. Sleeping.”
“Something’s wrong. You’re just not telling me.” He headed for the stairs. “I knew, I knew I never should have—”
“Now, Duncan.” Henna stepped in front of him. “You’ll not begin already with this worry and agitation. She will be pregnant for many more months, and she will need you to be steadfast.”
“Edana said she was in danger, she was in peril—perhaps this is what she meant! Perhaps she’s ill.”
“I put no belief in her threats, and neither should you. The girl is fine, just breeding, and all that goes along with that, and you, of all people, must remain calm. If you wish to go to her, you must calm yourself first. I’ll not allow it otherwise!”
Duncan took a deep breath and then laughed softly, composing himself, looking down at the frowning matron before him. She was half his height and portly as a fir bush, but he had no doubt she could prevent him passage if she wished.
“I’m calm, Henna,” he said. “Calm and eager to see my wife. Let me pass and greet her before the other men arrive and I’m swept up in work.”
“She is in her room,” said Henna. “Kindly remember she is tired, and hasn’t been eating well.”
Tired? She may be tired and weak as a kitten, but he would still sink inside her before the hour was through. He scaled the stairs and walked quickly down the corridor. He stopped and knocked on the door before he opened it.
His wife. She was asleep, curled up under the covers. Ah, to see her pale, lovely skin, to feel her beautiful curves. He crossed the room to climb in beside her and pull her close.
“It is nearly noon, wife,” he teased, “yet you laze here in bed.”
She awakened with a start as his arms came around her. She had far too many clothes on. He began to pull up her skirt.
“No!” she gasped, pulling away from him.
He froze. She burst into tears, reaching out for him.
“Duncan, I’m sorry.” She clung to him, sobbing bitterly, practically strangling him, but the next moment pulled away from him again. Henna was right. Pregnancy had addled her mind. He tried to soothe her.
“I want you, Cait. I want to hold you. I’ve been missing you. I’ve been away from you too long. Undress for me.”
“But...but...it’s daylight.”
“I don’t care.”
He stood and began to take his clothes off. She rose unsteadily from the bed and backed away.
“I...I cannot lie with you, my lord,” she stammered.
Duncan smiled. “Is there something you want to tell me, dearest? Some news? I promise you, it won’t keep me from your bed. Not now, not in your ninth month.”
Caitlyn shook her head, anxious and pale. Her eyes looked positively wild. He grew still, half undressed. Something was wrong. Henna was right. She wasn’t well.
“What is it, Cait? What are you afraid of?”
“I’m just...I... I haven’t seen you in so long...”
“Even so, we are not strangers to one another. You know very well what I want, and that you will enjoy it. Come, you haven’t even given me a kiss.”
He held out his arms, but she didn’t come. She didn’t come.
“It’s only...it is only that I didn’t bathe last eve. My gown is...dirty...my
underthings... I must go bathe,” she said in a rush, darting out the door.
And he would have caught her, he would have stopped her if he wasn’t so shocked to see her lie, bold and outright, to his face. She lied to him. But why? Why?
He dressed again and made his way after her to the kitchens. He nearly caught her at the door to the washroom, but then, against all reason, his wife shut and locked the door.
She was mad. She’d completely taken leave of her senses. All around him, the kitchen staff stopped their work and stared. He banged on the door nonetheless, blind to everyone but his strange, mad wife.
“Caitlyn, if I have to break this door down you’ll regret it. Open it, now!”
Henna bustled in and scolded the open-mouthed staff back to work. She came to join Duncan at the door.
“She’s locked me out,” he said. “You’re right. She’s not well. Something’s wrong with her.”
Henna rattled the door. “Lass. Let me in.”
“Caitlyn! Open this door right now or I’ll redden your behind!”
“Hush!” scolded Henna. “You let her be. She’s just—”
“Just what? Just running and hiding from her own husband? She looked at me and backed away as if I intended her harm!”
“She’s breeding. She’s addled. Just let me handle this!” She turned to the door and softened her tone into a motherly croon. “There now, lass, let mama Henna in. Let me in, and I’ll help you wash your hair.” You go away, she mouthed to Duncan under her breath.
He shook his head firmly and then, as both of them leaned on the door, the lock gave way. The door flew open and they saw Caitlyn huddled in the corner. She took one look at Duncan’s scowl and Henna’s puzzled stare and fainted dead away.
They both ran to her.
“Loosen her clothes,” said Henna. “I’ll tell them to bring some water for a warm bath.”
The servants bustled in, filling the tub. Duncan wet a cool cloth and swabbed her pallid face.
“Henna, she’s ill.”
“She was not ill before. I didn’t realize she was ailing so!”
Not just ailing. It was as if she’d lost her mind, thought Duncan. The woman who’d avoided him, stammered over her words, lied to him was not the Caitlyn he knew. As the servants filed out, he and Henna undressed her. She was still clearly with child, the changes subtle but noticeable. But she was so pale and thin.
“Lift her into the tub,” Henna told Duncan when Cait was fully undressed. “Carefully...” She followed behind and then with a horrified gasp, she cried, “No!”
Duncan spun with her in his arms. “What?”
“No, no, no!” Henna repeated again and again, her face drained of color. “Her back, her back! Oh, what evil—”
He sat and leaned her forward in his lap, taking in the sight of his wife’s back and buttocks. His breath left him. He stared at the angry marks, disbelieving. He couldn’t form the words he needed to say. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t do what he needed to do, which was murder whatever man had done this to his wife. Whatever man had defiled her, hurt her this way, he would tear him to pieces with his bare hands. He would torture him until he begged for death, and then he would give him death, agonizingly slow and painful. But first...first he would know his name.
Henna was already returning with armfuls of salves and ointments. “Hold her. Let me tend these...these...wounds before they fester.” As she worked, fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know, my lord. I still don’t know, I swear. I have no idea where... What...how...”
Blood rushed in Duncan’s veins and beat in his ears. “When I find out...”
“She comes to. Hush. Don’t frighten her.”
Cait shifted in his arms with a moan as Henna tended to her back. Somehow, he knew not how, he kept his temper and waited for her to wake before speaking to her quietly.
“Cait. I need to know right away what happened to you. I need to know who...beat you.” He could barely say the words, it was so outrageous. He would viciously murder whoever did it. He would tear them limb from limb.
“Tell me,” he prompted when she didn’t answer.
“I...I... I fell from a tree.”
“Caitlyn—”
“In the orchard. I fell from the top. It was terrible—”
“Caitlyn, who? Who are you protecting? One of your guards? Which one? Give me the name.”
“No!” she cried out, horrified. “No, it was not one of them. It was... I...I fell from a tree. I swear.”
“I will bring your guards here,” he said, “and I will torture them one by one until you tell me the truth.” It was an awful thing to say, a trick he’d learned from his father. Threaten to harm those loved the most, to get your way. His father. A trick he’d learned from his father. His blood ran cold.
“I fell from a tree,” she wailed. “No one harmed me. You must believe me!”
“What did he say? What did he tell you?” Duncan said, his heart thumping in his chest. “That he would kill someone if you told? My father did this to you.”
“No, no, no!” she insisted hysterically. “I...it was no one... I fell from a tree!”
“My father did this. Tell me!” he ordered, suddenly enraged. “Tell me the truth!”
She sobbed. “I...I can’t!”
He backed away from her and left her to Henna. He wanted to soothe her. He wanted to care for her, but his rage, his fury was too great. He needed revenge. He would kill his father. He strode to the courtyard to find the devil and his men already fled.
He called his men to arms. He would catch them on the way back to their castle. He wouldn’t rest until revenge was his.
* * * * *
Lord Douglas and his men traveled west, not south. As soon as he’d seen Duncan ride into the courtyard, he’d readied his soldiers to go. He knew it was too soon. Stupid bitch. If she hadn’t driven him on, driven him to beat her ever harder, long past the time he safely should have...
Stupid whore. This was all her fault.
Duncan wasn’t nearly as stupid as his sluttish wife was. He would figure out in short order who had marked her gorgeous back and legs and ass. His son would fly to Southbrook to confront and accuse him, but he wouldn’t be there.
No, he had a better plan, brilliant in its simplicity. They rode west a short distance from Inverness and waited for it to grow dark. He couldn’t return to Southbrook, not until his son was dead or incapacitated, or until he got over his fawning affection for his wife, which probably wouldn’t be anytime soon.
Until then, he would not be safe at his own holding, or anywhere near Inverness and Duncan’s lands. But he knew a small, unremarked hideaway in the wild woods near Dunain. He would take his few men and go there and consider what to do. But not yet. He wouldn’t go yet, not until he tried one last caper just for fun.
* * * * *
Cait lay awake in bed, unable to sleep. Her husband was gone. He had left her in a fury of anger and disgust. He knew. Of course he had known. She hadn’t been able to hide it from him.
He would know everything and he would revile her for it. He would pretend he didn’t revile her, but he would. And what would Lord Douglas do now? His many threats battered around in her brain. If he hurt anyone, it would be all her fault. The men of the keep were scattered, and the entire house was at ends, only quieting now, finally, in the dark hours of the night.
She was so tired, so tired. Her mind spun wearily. The men were gone. She was left behind again. She was just as she would always be...unwanted and despised. She couldn’t bear it. It was too sad.
She heard a soft, scratching knock at the door. She was too bereft to stir.
“Madam!” a voice whispered through the door. “I’ve come from your husband. I have a message for you.”
Cait sat up, suddenly alert. He’d sent a message. She went to the door and cracked it slightly.
One of Duncan’s men stood outside, although he was not familiar to h
er.
“My name is James. Your husband sent me to fetch you.”
“Where is he? Where is my guard?”
“He’s readying the horse for you so we can get away quickly. Your husband wants to see you. He doesn’t want you to be alone on this difficult night.”
“Has he been to Lord Douglas’s keep?”
“Not yet, lady. Come, we shouldn’t waste time in talk. Your husband says he wants you to come.”
Her husband wanted her. She wanted him too.
“Come quietly, lady,” the guard cautioned. “The household sleeps.”
The courtyard was empty, and he led her under cover of the shadows to a waiting horse. There was only one. But by the time she realized he wasn’t who he said he was, it was far, far too late to scream.
Chapter Fifteen
Six weeks, Duncan thought miserably. It had been six weeks since he’d left her alone, gone running after a man he had yet to find, leaving her behind to be plucked right from under his fingertips. His father had his wife. He knew not where.
He only knew he was harming her, if she wasn’t already dead.
He took another deep drink. Henna frowned from the door, and Connor sighed across the table. He didn’t care. Let them all mutter and stare, and turn away from him in pity. He was not giving up. He would never give up. But he had to drink to sleep. He had to drink until his mind stopped working, until he could stop remembering the livid marks he’d seen, stop imagining how many more were on her now.
Cait. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t even say...
It didn’t matter how sorry he was, how much he regretted letting go of her. He should have held her. He shouldn’t have let her go. But he’d left her, stormed off thinking only of his own bitter vengeance. He hadn’t even taken the time to say goodbye.
He buried his head in his hands. Goodbye. Goodbye. More and more, he feared he would never see her again. She could be anywhere. Douglas could have taken her out of Scotland, or tossed her to the bottom of the firth. No one knew better than he that his father was heartless. And he, for some reason, had left her with him. He’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, his own pleasure, his own needs and wants and duties. He hadn’t even considered her fears and apprehensions. He had taken her for granted, thought her a silly, overemotional girl. He had left her with his father.
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