The Taming of the Wolf (27 page)

Upon further reflection, Caitrin thought it might have been a bad idea to tell Dash about his brothers. He’d thrown on his trousers and shirt and fled from the room without another word. No amount of pleading or calling his name had brought him back to his senses. It was the second time in as many days that he’d stalked off, leaving her alone.

“
Mo chreach
,” she grumbled to herself. “Temperamental wolf.” It was so frustrating that she couldn’t see his future. It would have brought a bit of relief if she could at least know he was safe.

Cait sighed as she quickly dressed herself without the help of a maid and then arranged her hair in a simple chignon. She and Dash were going to have a serious talk about his ill-mannered departures and propensity to brood.

Just as she started for the door, she heard a faint scratch. She opened it to find the butler in the hallway, grimacing. “Price, what is it?”

The old man shook his head. “It’s his lordship, Lady Brimsworth. He’s fading away before my eyes, and—”

“I’ll get him ta eat somethin’, Price.” Cait smiled, hoping to comfort the man. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she lied. Though “fine” was probably a relative term. What she did know, what she could clearly see, was that the Marquess of Eynsford would not make it another day. What she didn’t know was whether or not he would find peace with his son before he passed away, and vice versa.

Steeling herself for a difficult day, Cait followed Price to the marquess’ suite of rooms. “I’ve never seen his lordship take to someone like he has you, my lady. I am glad you’ve come to visit.”

Cait squeezed Price’s hand. “Ye are ta be commended for yer loyalty.”

The butler preened a bit at her words, which warmed Cait’s heart. She knocked once on the marquess’ door before letting herself in. “Good morning, Lord Eynsford,” she called brightly.

The drapes were drawn closed and very little light filtered into the room. The marquess’ labored breathing could be heard from the door, and Cait quickly crossed the room to his bedside. She wished Elspeth was here, as she could ease the man’s passing.

Cait settled into a chintz chair beside him and straightened his wig. “I understand porridge is on the menu for breakfast, my lord.”

He glowered at her. “I’m not eating
that
. Not even for you.”

Cait laughed softly. “It’s no’ my favorite either,” she confessed. “A dear friend of mine is always makin’ the horrid stuff. I doona ken how she stomachs it.”

“I’m dying, Lady Brimsworth.”

“I ken.” Cait studied his ancient face. Even the bit of color he had the day before was gone, but his mind was still sharp, his tongue just as biting.

“And I’m not going to eat anything I don’t want.”

She could see his point. Cait placed her hand on his. “I willna force the porridge on ye then, my lord. Is there somethin’ ye do want?”

The marquess shook his head. “Just stay here. Talk to me. It’s been forever since anyone just talked to me.”

Cait nodded. “Of course, my lord. What shall we talk about?”

“Scotland,” he suggested before coughs racked his body, shaking the bed beneath him.

Scotland? He was literally on his deathbed, yet he wanted to talk about inanities? “How about Dashiel?” she suggested instead, offering him a sip of water.

Eynsford shuddered and refused the drink by clamping his lips shut.

Cait resumed her seat. “Ye said yerself that ye were dyin’, my lord. Wouldna ye like ta be rid of the animosity between ye and Dash before it’s too late?”

He shook his head. “What’s done is done, my dear. It doesn’t have to be so for you, however. The moon is full tonight, but it’s not too late for you to come to your senses and hide yourself away from the monster.”

Cait tried to be patient with the man. He was old. He was dying. He didn’t understand. “He’s no’ a monster,” she said softly. “The line of Lycans is a benevolent one.” Or so Benjamin Westfield had told her often enough. “They have helped to shape history as ye ken it, and Dash is as noble as his ancestors.”

He frowned at her, folding his thin arms across his chest, but Cait could tell he was listening. She took a deep breath and continued.

***

Watching the sun begin to set from his father’s old desk, uneasiness washed over Dash and he refocused on the ledger before him. He’d been dreading the coming of this moon more than any before, though he’d never been particularly fond of any of the moonlight-drenched nights. Until a month ago, he had always spent them shackled and chained, alone, fighting the pain that came with being out of control.

He hadn’t confided his plans yet to Cait, as she’d been holed up with his father, whispering for most of the morning. He hadn’t wanted to interrupt. He hadn’t wanted to see either of them. And now as Eynsford Park was swathed in the glow of a sun-filled day, he decided it might be best to take the coward’s way out, to sneak off like a thief and face the moonful alone, rather than have her bewitch him into staying there and accepting the risk that he could hurt her.

He simply couldn’t. It wasn’t conscionable. He would not, under any circumstances, be with Cait during the moonful. The only way she’d be safe was if he was shackled and chained in the same room where his father had first left him to face the beast within him on that moon-soaked night so long ago. Dash would spend it wrapped up in the irons he hated, but she would be safe, which was the most important thing.

He’d briefly contemplated leaving Eynsford Park before the moonful, but without adequate ways to secure himself, he’d just smell her honeysuckle scent across the river. Hell, he’d probably smell it if he was all the way back in London. Then he’d be traipsing through the woods to get back to her. And he’d probably make it. So, shackled in the room below stairs would work well, or at least it was the best he could do for now.

He considered sending someone to clean the room, to make it a bit more habitable. But he’d spent years with the cobwebs and dust. He could spend one more night.

He remembered the way she had awakened in his arms that morning, her sweet breath tickling the hair on his chest and her hands upon his skin. Lust immediately began to cloud his brain. And then he heard her soft footfalls down the corridor. Bloody hell. Of course, she would seek him out when he was feeling melancholy. She would find him the very moment he grew hard with want for her.

The study door cracked, and she poked her head inside. “Dash,” she called softly. He fought to ignore her for a moment. He just needed long enough to clear his head. “Dash,” she tried again, this time more urgently.

“What is it, Cait?” he barked, immediately sorry for his tone. But he didn’t even raise his gaze to hers. He couldn’t. Because he didn’t want to see her love for him shining there. Finally, he couldn’t keep from glancing up at her ever so briefly.

“Ye sure are in a fine temper, Dashiel,” she said sternly as she placed her hands upon her hips and glared at him. God, those hips that he just wanted to hold onto so he could ride her through the night.

He slammed his desk drawer, trying to draw himself from his desire. “I’m busy, Caitrin.”

“Aye, I can see that. And so am I, ye big lout.”

He finally threw his quill down on the desk and slouched back. “What have you been doing?”

“Oh, now he has an interest?” she asked sarcastically.

“Cait,” he groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger in frustration.

“Yer father’s cough grew worse durin’ the night, and he’s havin’ a difficult time of it.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Dash mumbled, lowering his head back to his ledger to regard the numbers he’d lined up in neat rows. They swam before his eyes. Almost as though they wanted to swarm together and spell out her name.

“Damn it,” he said as he slammed the book closed. “Why are you here, Cait?”

“Do I need a reason ta visit my husband?” Her blue eyes sparkled with irritation.

“No, but I imagine that you have one. So out with it.”

Cait crossed the room toward him, her stockings whispering softly as she moved slowly in his direction. It made him think of the last time he’d removed her stockings and the new way he’d made love to her.

“Ye need to go and visit yer father, Dash. I’m afraid his time here will no’ be much longer.”

“Are you hoping I’ll wrap my hands about his throat and ease his passing? If so, let’s hasten to his room, Cait.”

Dash saw the subtle warning that was anger in the reddening of her face. She turned quickly and picked up a vase on a table and threw it with all her might, straight at his head.

He ducked and the vase flew right by his ear, so close he could feel the wind it created. “Cait,” he growled as he took in the broken shards that lay scattered on the rug.

“Ye’ve run from me twice, Dash. Ye havena sought me out all day, and I’ve been patiently waitin’. But the time has come ta an end, and ye need ta go and see yer father.” She stomped her tiny foot. “Ye will regret it if ye doona go. He’s askin’ for ye.”

Dash’s ears perked up. “Why would he do such a foolish thing? He abhors the very ground I walk upon.”

“He needs ye.” She shrugged. “That’s all I ken.”

Dash scrubbed a hand down his face and took a deep breath.

“Do ye need me ta go with ye?”

His words escaped on a heavy sigh. “No. I can do it alone. I just cannot guarantee he’ll be any better because of my visit. If he survives it.”

“I’ll go with ye,” she resolved.

“If you think that’s best,” Dash grumbled as he strode quickly past her, holding his breath as he neared her for fear of unleashing the beast within him simply by inhaling her beautiful scent. “Stubborn witch,” he mumbled.

“Irritable lout,” she murmured at the same time.

“I heard that.”

“I meant for ye ta.”

Dash tried, unsuccessfully, to bite back his smile.

***

Cait followed him, fully aware of the battle that waged within him. The beast in him wanted to rule, while the man in him wanted to wrest control back. And the little boy in him still wanted his father’s approval.

That was the saddest part, knowing how much Dash craved Eynsford’s love. Knowing how much he needed to belong, if only for a moment. Just as one misplaced word could leave everlasting scars, one well-thought word could heal old wounds.

Dash knocked lightly on the door before he stepped into his father’s set of rooms and walked slowly toward the bed. The marquess lay so still, she immediately saw the fear in Dash’s eyes that he’d been too late. She saw the regret, and it tore at her heart.

“My lord,” she called to the sleeping form.

Then she smiled when he grumbled softly at her, “Go away.” She heard the weakness of his tone and saw how he fought to open his eyes.

“Dashiel is here,” she said.

The marquess opened his eyes, searching the room until he found Dash standing at his side. “Did you come to finish the job?”

“I came because Caitrin said you’d asked for me.” Dash glowered at her.

“Why in the bloody hell would I do that?”

She shrugged her shoulders when the marquess confirmed her lie. But what else was she to do? They were both too stubborn for their own good, even now at this late hour.

Dash looked as though he could commit murder. Only it was directed at her this time. Cait fought to keep from shuddering. “If he’d been thinkin’ clearly, he would have asked for ye,” she said, hoping that both father and son would simply take advantage of the time that was left to them.

“It appears as though my wife has taken it upon herself to torture us both,” Dash growled. “And since neither of us has a desire for me to be here, I’ll take my leave.”

The marquess said quietly, “Since you’re here, you may as well stay.”

Dash sat down so quickly on the edge of his father’s bed that Cait tugged her earlobe, wondering if she’d missed the command to sit. But there he sat, looking as eager as a pup waiting for a treat. It nearly broke her heart.

“How are you?” Dash asked.

“Dying,” the old man choked out, coughs raking through his body.

“I’m sorry,” Dash said quietly.

Cait immediately wondered what he meant. Was he sorry his father was dying? Sorry for the way he suffered? Sorry for past actions? Sorry for being a bastard? She waited, nearly as eager as Dash appeared to be.

Tears pooled in her eyes when the old man reached out and covered Dash’s hand with his own. “It’s I who should be sorry, son.” She could swear Dash trembled a bit. But he sat quietly and let the marquess continue. “It appears as though I love your wife.”

Dash chuckled, his voice only shaking a bit. “I’m not too worried about you stealing her away from me.”

The marquess motioned to Cait and asked, “Will you open the curtain there?” He pointed toward the one that concealed his late wife’s portrait. Cait happily scrambled to reveal the picture of the beautiful, smiling woman.

“That’s it, now,” Eynsford murmured, settling peacefully against his pillows, a weak smile upon his lips.