The Taming of the Wolf (14 page)

“That is a relief, sir.”

“Well, I just hope ye’re no’ too late. Ye have a rival, ye say?”

Dash nodded.

“Ye can tell me all about him in the coach. I’m too old ta run all the way ta Edinburgh.”

At this pace, you should be in Edinburgh tomorrow. Dash’s words echoed in Cait’s ears. He’d certainly been wrong about that, hadn’t he? Just another line to add to his growing list of sins. Not that he could have foreseen the muddy roads that threatened to swallow MacQuarrie’s coach along the way, slowing their process by tenfold. It had even been too late for Cait to say anything that would have prevented the situation when that particular bit of future flashed in her mind. It didn’t matter. She was still laying the blame at Dashiel Thorpe’s feet.

As soon as she saw the Scotch Arms come into view from her window, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was far from pleased about staying the night in another inn, but she was even less desirous of traveling the perilous road at night. At least if Dash had been with her, she could have blocked the uninvited futures from her mind.

She sighed, kicking herself for wanting to be with him so much.

“That’s another sigh, Cait,” Alec informed her.

She glared at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m just bringing it to your attention. You’ve done nothing but sigh for the last several hours. Are you feeling all right?”

Cait snorted. “Aye, Alec. I love nearly bein’ washed off the road, limpin’ along in yer coach, and freezin’ ta my bones.”

The coach rambled to a stop, and Alec himself sighed. The irony was not lost on Cait. Then the man opened the door and helped her out.

“I was hoping to have this time to change your mind, Caitrin.”

She didn’t even bother to look at him. What was the point of engaging in the same argument yet again?

“Ye’ve known me my whole life, Alec MacQuarrie. Have ye ever known me ta change my mind once it’s been made up?”

Alec didn’t have time to answer her before the taproom door opened and raucous laughter filtered out into the frigid coaching yard. Ready to wash the dust of travel from her skin, Cait brushed past Alec toward the entrance. She couldn’t wait to stretch out on a bed, not that she dared hope for a comfortable one; but at this point, any bed would be a godsend.

Cait stepped inside the taproom, thankful for the warmth that emanated from a large hearth at the far side of the dark room. Her back and legs were so sore that she felt as though she’d walked all the way from Hampshire. She released a sigh of relief, but then her momentary feeling of comfort came to an instant halt.

Instinctively, Cait took a step backward, bumping into what felt like a brick wall. She cocked her head to one side and found herself staring up into the dark eyes of one of the most strikingly handsome men she’d ever seen.

A slight grin settled on the man’s face, making his chiseled jaw more pronounced. “Madam.” His eyes locked on the side of her neck where Dash had marked her. “Forgive me, I didn’t see you there.”

Cait couldn’t quite find her voice. There was something a bit intoxicating about his presence, and she swallowed. Quick flashes of a gruesome medieval battle interspersed with bare flesh in Cait’s mind.

She caught her breath and stared at the well-dressed gentleman.

“What are ye?” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

She knew he heard her, however, when one dark brow rose in mild amusement. “The better question, my dear, is what are you?”

In Cait’s mind, she saw a trickle of blood on a woman’s slender neck, which was arched in pleasure. She instinctively reached up to cover the mark on her own neck as the vision of this man biting a woman of his own flashed through her mind. She should have been afraid. She should have run back out into the chilly night. She should be sent to Bedlam for simply gaping at the man like a dolt.

“Caitrin!” Alec called from the doorway. “Do you think it’s possible you could wait for me?”

The gentleman’s smile grew wide. “Ah, sir, I believe your wife was simply hoping to chase the chill from her bones.”

Cait snorted, which was quite unladylike, but she couldn’t help it. “Wife, indeed,” she muttered to herself.

The handsome gentleman sucked in a breath at her statement, and Alec’s eyes narrowed on Cait. “Must you attract attention everywhere we go?”

A cold finger tipped Cait’s chin up to meet the English gentleman’s dark gaze. “This man has dishonored you?” His gaze fell again to her neck.

Alec had certainly annoyed her, but he had never been dishonorable. “Nay, sir, he’s just an old friend, an irritatin’ one.”

A look of sadness crossed the man’s face. “Old friends can be irritating until they’re gone. Then you find you miss them terribly.”

Cait wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, and she didn’t get the chance to ask. Alec grasped her arm and tugged her away from the stranger. “Have you lost your mind?”

How many times had she been asked that in the last fortnight? “I doona need ye ta rescue me, Alec MacQuarrie.”

The enchanting gentleman laughed. “Forgive my manners, sir. Allow me to introduce myself. The Earl of Blodswell at your service.”

Alec’s mouth dropped open. “Blodswell?”

“Do I know you?” the man asked.

Alec shook his head. “Alec MacQuarrie. The Third Crusade was a particular interest of mine.”

With a bashful smile, Blodswell shrugged. “It is often difficult to live in a famous ancestor’s shadow.”

Cait looked from one man to the other. What were they talking about?

Alec must have seen her confusion, because he smiled and took pity on her. “Sir Matthew Halkett became the first Earl of Blodswell. He fought alongside Richard the Lionheart. He was a brave Norman knight of legends. Those who faced him fled in fear. Even after all his heroics on the field of battle, the man returned home completely unscathed, not even the slightest scratch.

“But blood gushed from his sword each time he took it up. Hence the name King Richard gave him—Blodswell, or blood-swell,” Alec explained. “An earldom was bestowed on the knight upon his return to England.”

A smile lit Blodswell’s face. “I’m certain Sir Matthew would have been honored to know his legend lives on even in this day and age.”

“Of course,” Alec gushed. “I spent a large part of my time in Cambridge researching the crusades. Fascinating in an academic setting.”

“Quite fascinating in a contemporary setting as well,” Cait said under her breath.

As Alec turned from them to talk with the innkeeper, the Earl of Blodswell’s gaze returned to the mark on her neck. “That is not the mark of my kind.”

“If I had knowledge of yer kind, my lord, I could probably formulate a more appropriate reply.”

A corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. “I could say the same.”

A flash of the future hit her, bringing so much comfort that she sighed with relief. “Ye will ken enough about my kind in time, sir.” She turned from him but then threw back over her shoulder, “Enjoy the fine weather, my lord, while ye still can.”

***

Cait tossed and turned in the lumpy inn bed. Visions of bloody broadswords and cudgels flashed in her mind. Then she saw Blaire running beside a frozen loch being chased by a dark figure.

She woke with a startled cry and bolted upright, gasping for breath, dripping in sweat. A dream. It was just another awful dream. But she knew it wasn’t. Blaire was in trouble; Cait could feel it in her bones.

She fell back against the threadbare pillow, accidentally banging her head against the wall in the process.

A soft knock sounded at the door. “Caitrin?” Alec’s whispered voice filled the room.

She sighed, slid from the bed, and padded across the cool, wooden floor. Cait pulled the door open and folded her arms across her chest.

“Just what do ye think yer doin’ knockin’ on my door in the middle of the night, Alec MacQuarrie?”

A look of relief crossed his face. “I heard you scream and wanted to make sure you were all right.”

She wished Dash was the one standing before her, but Dash was gone.

“I’m fine,” she grunted as she rubbed the sore on the back of her head.

“Just a bad dream, then?” Alec asked.

The worst dream ever. Blaire was in mortal danger. Cait was certain of it. She closed her eyes and tried to see Blaire, tried to find her aura; but it was no use. All Cait could envision was sweeping darkness.

No! She grasped the doorjamb to keep from falling. Blaire wasn’t in mortal danger; she was dead. If only she herself had been home, maybe then she would have seen this sooner.

“Cait!” Alec’s panicked voice barely filtered into her mind, but Cait pushed it back out.

She focused on her coven. She saw Elspeth in Hampshire and knew she was safe and happy with Benjamin and his family. An image of Rhiannon flashed in her mind. She was alone at Arthur’s Seat, looking out at Edinburgh under a fresh blanket of snow. And Sorcha. Cait called to Sorcha’s aura. The youngest witch slept in her room, warm and comfortable, with a bit of potting soil under her fingernails.

“Caitrin!”

Again Cait tried to focus on Blaire, called her into her mind; but there was nothing. Never before had she been unable to find someone she was looking for.

Alec’s strong arms grasped her shoulder and began to shake her. Cait’s eyes flew open, and she blinked back tears.

“I just want ta get home,” she said softly.

Alec nodded, panic etched across his brow. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“No. Now!” she insisted. There was no time to waste. No more stopping, no matter what. “If ye willna take me, I’ll do it alone, Alec.”

“Caitrin,” he began.

“I need ta go home, Alec. Now. No more stops.”

He had no idea how much she needed to be somewhere familiar. Somewhere she could curl into a ball and sob. Somewhere she could rest.

“Cait, it’s too dangerous. My driver will fall asleep holding the reins if we don’t take a break. Ever since we left Leeds, I’ve pushed him too hard, just trying to keep up with you.”

She begrudgingly nodded. MacQuarrie’s driver was just a man after all. He would need to rest along the way. “Can we at least leave at sunup?”

“Of course,” Alec affirmed. He held a question within his gaze. “Your dream. Did you see something?” he asked. “Something that scared you?”

She shook her head quickly. “It’s no’ what I see, Alec. It’s what I canna see.”

“I don’t know what you’re speaking of, Caitrin. I’m not familiar enough with your gift.”

“It’s more of a curse than a gift,” she bit out.

“Tell me what you saw. Or didn’t see.” He shook his head in confusion.

“I canna find Blaire.”

“She’s probably at home practicing with Aiden Lindsay’s broadsword. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“If she was at home, I would be able to
see
it,” she whispered fiercely. “I would be able ta feel her. I would ken where she was.”

“Truly?”

“Aye. But I canna see her at all, no’ in all of Edinburgh.” Tears burned her eyes, and she swiped at them viciously as they rolled down her cheeks. “I think she may be dead.”

“Has this ever happened before?” He dipped his head low, peering into her eyes.

“Never. Well, with Brimsworth, I canna see his destiny. But it’s no’ the same thing.”

“Where did ye get the idea that ye need ta control the beast inside of ye?” Niall Forster asked as he leaned back against the squabs of his well-sprung coach.

What a ridiculous question. Dash shook his head. He’d come to Forster for real help. “If I don’t have control of the beast, then I could hurt Caitrin. I can’t allow that to happen.”

Forster’s green eyes focused on Dash. “Ye doona get ta decide what ye allow or no’ allow in regard ta yer Lycan side. It canna be repressed and hidden away, Dashiel. It is part of ye just as much as yer blond hair and English heritage.”

English heritage. Dash held in a snort. Who was to say his heritage was English? His sire might just as likely be a Frog or even an Irish dog.

“This isn’t helping me, Forster. I won’t be able to trust myself with Caitrin unless I can control that aspect of myself.”

“Ye need ta embrace it, lad.”

That seemed like exactly the wrong thing to do. “You don’t appear reckless. Neither did the major nor any of the Westfield men. But I always feel it right beneath the surface. Masking it has taken years, but it’s always there. I know it is.”

“Of course, it’s there. It’s part of ye. And ye’re right. I doona feel reckless. I’m comfortable in my skin. And if ye want the same peace, ye need ta accept that part of yer bein’.”

Dash folded his arms across his chest and sighed.

Forster smiled at him as though he was the simplest of simpletons. “I can see ye’re goin’ ta be a stubborn Sassenach about this. So I’ll change tactics for the time bein’. What do ye ken about the Macleod lass?”

That she was the only woman for Dash. “She’s gorgeous.” He smiled envisioning her cheeky smile. “And she’s clever. Has a mind of her own, which no one has a hope of changing without divine intervention.”

The old shipbuilder chuckled. “Sounds like her mother.”

Dash’s mouth fell open. “You know Caitie’s mother?”

Forster frowned. “Nay, but Desmond had more than a few encounters with the old witch. Heard about her for years. I hope, for yer sake, the lass is a bit more malleable than her mother.”

“Witch” was a fairly uncomplimentary thing to say about his future wife’s mother. Dash growled low in his throat.

“Ah, so ye use the beast ta intimidate others.” Forester’s gaze swept across Dash. “No wonder ye’re scared ta accept who ye are. Ye’ve intimidated yerself as well.”

“Major Forster told me you’d help me control the beast.”

Forster shook his head. “I highly doubt that. His letter ta me said I was ta mentor ye. That’s no’ the same thing, Dashiel.”

***

Just when Caitrin was beginning to think she would never see the skyline of Edinburgh again, it finally came into view from the small carriage window. She heaved a sigh. For the last two days, she’d searched for Blaire to no avail. The hope she had of saving her friend had slowly vanished.

With a heavy heart, she smiled sadly at the familiar sight of Charlotte Square and her father’s home.

Since that fateful night in the inn, Alec had been fairly quiet. He grunted occasionally as he shifted his arms and legs about, trying to stay comfortable as the carriage pushed through the treacherous roads. But for the most part, he’d said very little. Evidently, talk of her gift had scared him into silence.

She berated herself for even saying anything about it. The fact that she was a witch was secret. It was a secret she was only to tell her spouse. The one she was destined to spend her life with. No one else should ever know of her abilities. It was much too dangerous for all the members of the
Còig
.

Finally, the coach slowed in front of her home. She didn’t even wait for it to stop moving before she jumped out and ran up the stone steps to the entrance. Findlay opened the door just as she approached.

“Welcome home, Miss,” he said as she shrugged out of her pelisse and handed it to him.

“Where is my father?” she asked quickly. She had to find him. She had to talk to someone who knew everything about her. She had to tell him everything, or she would simply lose her mind. She needed someone safe.

“I believe he’s in his study, Miss,” Findlay informed her. She took off in that direction, only stopping briefly when he asked, “What shall I do with Mr. MacQuarrie, Miss Macleod?”

“Just… Put him somewhere,” she said with a negligent wave of her hand. Then she continued down the corridor.

Her father’s study smelled like home, like all things familiar. The odor of a recently smoked cheroot hung in the air. Her father’s woodsy-scented shaving lotion greeted her nose, and she inhaled deeply. What a relief to be home.

She flew across the room and into her father’s waiting arms before he could even remove his reading glasses.

“Oh, Cait, I’ve missed ye so much. I’m so glad ye’re home,” he crooned as he hugged her, his strong arms easing some of the burden she carried.

“I am, too. I need ta talk ta ye.”

“Are ye all right?” he asked, a vee forming between his eyebrows as he appraised her from head to toe.

“Why does everyone keep askin’ me that?” she breathed as she raised a hand to rub her forehead.

“Because ye look terrible, love. When was the last time ye slept? What’s wrong?” He led her over to the settee and sat down beside her. “Tell me yer troubles.”

“I canna find Blaire.”

“Ye canna find her?”

“Aye, I canna
see
her. No’ at all. I think somethin’ has happened ta her. Has it, Papa? Did she die while I was gone?”

“Oh, dear, ye’ve gotten yerself worked up over nothin’. A sennight ago, Captain Lindsay received a notification from his solicitor about a piece of property near Loch Calavie, I doona remember the name. Anyway, the lad was so anxious ta lay eyes on it, he packed his coach up with Blaire and Brannock and set out ta see it for himself.”

“Loch Calavie?” Cait didn’t think she’d ever heard of the place before. She felt some of the weight lift from her heart. She wouldn’t have known to look for Blaire there, wherever it was.

“Aye.” He stood and crossed to his desk, rifling through his correspondence. “A note came for ye just yesterday from her.” He held it out to her.

Cait tore into it like it held the moon and stars. She unfolded the paper and smiled at Blaire’s bold, fairly masculine script.

Dearest Caitrin,

I do hope that I have returned before you receive this letter, but if that is not the case, I do hope everything went well with Elspeth. I am sure you arrived in time. You always do. Rhiannon is watching after El’s stores, and Sorcha is in her own little world, like always.

Aiden was beside himself when he learned of his inheritance. While any sane person would wait for the snow to melt and the ice to thaw before setting out across the Highlands, my brother was quite impatient to make the journey. You should be relieved that you are not here with me. Briarcraig Castle is absolutely dreadful. The entire place reeks of must and decay. I keep thinking something died in here and no one took the time to bury the poor thing. It is easy to understand why the Grants left this crumbling castle to us. No one else would be fool enough to want it.

Brannock and I are quite anxious to return to civilization, as you can imagine. We are waiting for the roads to be safe enough for travel, and then we will leave this place. Whether Aidan returns with us or not, I neither ken nor care.

Missing you,

Blaire Lindsay

Cait pressed the letter to her heart and took deep breaths as she wiped happy tears from her eyes. She’d never been so happy to read a missive before in her life.

Her father poured himself a tumbler of whisky. “Feel better now?”

“Oh, aye,” she sighed. “I thought somethin’ dreadful had happened ta her. Not bein’ able ta see her nearly drove me mad. I’ve never been unable ta see anyone I wanted, before. Well, no’ until my recent travels. But that’s neither here nor there.”

A small smile tipped the corners of his lips, as though he knew a secret she did not. “Ye met someone whose future ye canna see?” He scratched his chin. “It wouldna happen ta be a man, would it?”

“Aye, a man. It’s strange, Papa. I couldna see his future at all. I get nothin’ whenever I try ta concentrate on his destiny. It’s been quite frustratin’.”

“This is a good thing,” her father said and then released a long sigh, a full smile now crossing his lips.

Cait frowned at him. She would hardly refer to her dealings with Dashiel Thorpe as a positive experience. “Why is this a good thing?”

“It’s the way with those who have yer gift, Cait.”

She rubbed her forehead. Why had her father taken to speaking in riddles?

“Let me put it this way.” He sat down beside her, still grinning like a fool. “Yer mother couldna see my future, either.”

“No.” Cait shook her head. He was wrong. “Mama told me that as soon as she saw ye, she kent ye were hers.”

“Love at first sight,” he agreed, patting her leg. “But she never could see my destiny.”

Cait gaped at her father, and the room started to spin just a bit. This didn’t make any sense at all. “Are ye certain?”

That seemed a rather important thing her mother left out of her training.

He chuckled. “Aye, lass, I ken for certain.”

“Well, why no’?” Cait asked, sure that she was missing some vital detail that would make everything clear.

Her father shrugged his shoulders. “I’m no’ sure. And there are no texts ta explain it. We always assumed it was because I was the one who was meant for her. And that what transpired between us was destined ta be natural and no’ forced by any visions. A marriage couldna survive one member always bein’ angry with the other one for things he hadna even done yet.”

Cait ignored the wisdom in that, because it just wasn’t fair. For years, she’d been waiting to meet the man she would marry. She wanted to see their whole happy life displayed before her when she first laid eyes on the man. She saw everyone else’s futures, good and bad. She should get a glimpse into her own.

“The man canna possibly be meant for me,” she whispered.

“I beg to differ on that,” a deep voice said from the doorway. She turned to find Dashiel Thorpe standing there, looking just as delectable as he had when he’d left her. And with his Lycan hearing, he’d heard each and every one of her father’s comments. She groaned aloud.

Findlay frantically tried to block Dash as he stepped into the room, but the butler failed miserably. “I told his lordship I’d announce him, but apparently he had a mind of his own.”

“A mind of his own, ye say?” Cait’s father remarked as he crossed the room and accepted Dash’s outstretched hand. “It’s a very good thing when yer mind can be yer own. Particularly when ye have someone like Cait around.”

She wasn’t quite certain she liked the way her father said that.

“Dashiel Thorpe, the Earl of Brimsworth, heir to the Marquess of Eynsford,” Dash introduced himself, full of pomp and circumstance, as he offered a slight bow.

Her father’s smile vanished a bit. “Ah, English, are ye?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dash replied with a mock frown. “Your beautiful daughter berated me over that fact all the way from Hampshire. Until I met Caitrin Macleod, I had no idea that I needed to apologize for my nationality.”

Her father laughed at that. “An Englishman with a sense of humor. How novel. Tell me, Lord Brimsworth, what brings ye ta Edinburgh?”

“Well, sir, I’ve come to ask for your daughter’s hand.”

A squeak escaped Cait’s throat. She nearly swallowed her tongue. First he abandoned her and then, with no warning, appeared out of nowhere asking for her hand? When she got her hands on his neck…

“I see,” her father continued. “And where are ye stayin’ in town?”

Dash shook his head. “We were racing so fast to get here, sir. I haven’t had time to give it much thought. Is there a nice inn you can recommend?”

Her father seemed to study Dash with his astute eyes. “Did ye truly travel all the way from Hampshire with my daughter?”

Cait gulped, remembering one moment of impropriety after another she’d experienced at Dash’s hands along the Great North Road. She turned away to hide the blush she was sure crept up her cheeks. Heaven help her if her father ever learned of her indiscretions.

“Well, most of the way,” Dash amended. “We were separated a few days after I was given a particularly potent sleeping draught. And then again when I had to go in search of a friend.”

“A friend,” Cait echoed. Some whore from his little book, no doubt.

But her father ignored her words, focusing instead on Dash’s story. “Ye doona make potions,” he flung at Cait.

“I made an exception.” She glared at Dash. How dare he bring that up? And how dare he abandon her to search out some trollop in Glasgow?

Her father chuckled again. “Well, in that case, Lord Brimsworth, ye probably should remain here as our guest.”