The Taming of the Wolf (8 page)

Dash sincerely doubted he’d ever been as angry in his life as he was at that very moment. He’d been chasing after Caitrin Macleod for days. Every day, he followed her honeysuckle scent, the trail leading him closer and closer to her and the Scottish border.

The rain had obscured the scent for the past several hours, but it would be foolish to leave the Great North Road on which they’d been traveling. He’d catch up to her sooner or later. However, he would really like for the rain to stop so he could catch her scent again, just to be sure.

His carriage was light. And fast. And he’d pushed each set of horses far beyond what he normally expected of such creatures. In fact, he’d pushed his coachman to the point where Renshaw did nothing but glower at him.

Dash looked up at the clouded blackness of the storm-laden sky and let the water rush over him. He’d given up his futile efforts to stay dry after being pelted with heavy rain until his Hessians pulled at his feet like anchors stuck in the mud.

He’d felt a supreme sense of satisfaction when he’d seen Caitrin’s coach stopped on the side of the road, its wheels sunk so deeply in the mud that he doubted a team of six could pull the conveyance free.

With a preemptive look of scorn on his face, he’d jumped from his own carriage and stalked toward Caitrin’s. Her servants were attempting to unharness the horses as the frightened beasts stomped and danced from side to side.

He ignored them and strode toward the door. He opened it and stuck his head inside, expecting to see Miss Caitrin Macleod sitting in relative comfort. But the coach was empty. Blast it!

“Where is Miss Macleod?” Dash called to her drivers.

The one who’d caught him kissing Caitrin turned and pointed down the road. “Walkin’ toward the inn.”

“There’s an inn near here?” he yelled back, struggling to be heard over the rain.

“She said there was,” the man replied as he finally freed the horses and the two coachmen jumped atop them.

“You let her go off alone?” Dash growled, the hair standing up on the back of his neck. If she was hurt, he’d do serious harm to her incompetent servants.

“No, she has Jeannie with her,” the coachman called back before he turned the horse and disappeared into the darkness, the other man following. They were swallowed up almost immediately by the noise and heaviness of the storm. And Caitrin had gone that way.

Dash stalked toward the fallen tree that made the road impassable and lifted it nearly effortlessly, happy that Renshaw couldn’t see into the darkness. When the way was clear, he stalked back to his coach.

“There’s an inn up ahead. That’s where we’ll stop.” He thought he saw the man nod beneath the soggy brim of his hat. He climbed into the coach and tapped his fingers in consternation. When he got to the inn, he would find Caitrin, be sure she was all right, and then drag her to a private room where they could talk. He would make it very clear that he did not appreciate being poisoned and left for dead. He would demand an explanation for her behavior. And an apology. And her hand in marriage. Perhaps not in that order.

His coach stopped in front of The Black Swan. He stepped out and jumped down, immediately sinking into the mud until it sucked his boots right under. He pulled his feet free with a curse.

He stepped into the inn and stopped short. Her honeysuckle scent obliterated the smell of ale and wet bodies. She was most certainly there. Somewhere. He shook his head, flinging water droplets in every direction.

Then he saw her. Even soaked to the skin with her hair plastered to her head, she was radiant. He snorted. God, he was a besotted fool even after what she’d tried to do to him.

But then he saw
it
. Her hand was pressed into a man’s, and he had his lips to her knuckles. His look was much too familiar for Dash’s comfort. He took two large steps forward so that he stood beside Caitrin.

“If you’d like to keep those fingers, I’d suggest you remove them from Miss Macleod’s person,” he growled.

The man’s eyes shot up and the grin disappeared from his face, but he didn’t loosen his hold on Caitrin. “The lips, too,” Dash barked. “You’ll find it quite difficult to smile at her without them.”

“A friend of yours, Miss Macleod?” The stranger’s brow rose with mild amusement.

“Her fiancé,” Dash broke in before Cait could respond. Then he took her forearm in his grasp and turned her toward him. “And we need to talk.”

Caitrin’s eyes narrowed at him, but his gaze was more focused on the bluish tint to her lips as she chattered out, “I am busy at the moment, Lord Brimsworth.” She jerked free of his hold. For someone so small, she was quite strong. But of course, she was no match for a Lycan. He let her pull away. “And I doona recall acceptin’ yer proposal of marriage. Nor do I remember ye
askin’
.” He didn’t miss how she stressed that last word. Yet asking her was not on his agenda.

The man snickered. “She won’t accept mine, either,” he said, and extended his hand toward Dash. “Alec MacQuarrie,” he introduced himself. “I’m an old friend of Miss Macleod’s from Edinburgh.”

Edinburgh? Dash didn’t even consider reaching to accept the man’s offered hand.

Caitrin elbowed him hard enough in the stomach to make him grunt. “Pretend like ye have some manners,” she hissed.

He begrudgingly took Mr. MacQuarrie’s hand, but huffed as he did so.

“This obnoxious oaf is Lord Brimsworth.” Cait wrapped her arms around herself, shivering indelicately.

“The two of you are traveling together?” MacQuarrie asked. His eyebrows scrunched together with concern.

“Yes,” Dash started.

But Cait said, “No,” at the very same moment. “Just because we’re travelin’ the same road doesna mean we’re travelin’ together.”

“I’ll have that word with you
now
, Caitie,” Dash said slowly, perfectly sounding out his words. He would not be rebuked, and certainly not in front of MacQuarrie, who seemed entirely too interested in the situation.

“Caitie?” MacQuarrie muttered, scratching his chin. Obviously the man was trying to figure out how close they truly were after hearing Dash use her given name.

Caitrin sighed. “I’m goin’ ta my room ta dry off,” she said. “I’ll see ye a bit later, Mr. MacQuarrie? Ye’re no’ leavin’, are ye?”

“Not now I’m not,” he said, smiling at her as she disappeared up the stairs. “Join me for dinner?” he called to her retreating back.

“We’d be delighted,” Dash growled. “Thank you so much for the offer.”

***

Caitrin stepped into her room, happy to see a fire blazing in the hearth. Her teeth chattered so loudly she feared she’d wake her neighbors as she lifted her shaking hands toward the flames. She plucked at her sodden garments, wanting nothing more than to take them off. But Jeannie hadn’t yet come upstairs since she’d wanted to wait for Lamont to arrive.

But if she didn’t get out of her wet clothes, Cait was afraid she’d catch her death. She stood up and tugged at her laces with shaking fingers that refused to work.

A loud knock sounded on her door. “Caitrin,” Dash called.

“Go away,” she replied, her jaw shaking so much she doubted even he could hear her. How dare he show up at her door after the spectacle he’d made of himself in front of Alec?

“Cait?” he called again. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she forced through painful lips.

“You don’t sound fine,” he replied. Then the door opened a crack.

“Go away!” Cait snapped. But he just pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him. “Ye shouldna be here. It isna right.”

“It’s perfectly right, and you know it,” he said brusquely as he stalked toward her and tipped up her chin to look her in the eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothin’,” she stuttered out. “I’m just c-cold.”

Dash ran his hands up and down her arms. “You have to get out of your wet clothes.”

She held up her fingers and said, “I canna work the laces. Can ye go find Jeannie for me?”

Within seconds, his agile fingers tugged at her dress until he’d undone all her fastenings, grumbling something about her inept maid. The front of her gown fell loosely forward. Cait clutched it to herself, but she wanted nothing more than to let it fall to the floor.

“Can ye go now?” she asked.

“Not until you’re warmed up.”

“I can manage by myself,” she said, wishing for nothing more than for him to vanish so she could shed the weight of her sodden traveling dress.

“I won’t look,” he said quietly as he took her hands from her bodice and let the gown fall over her hips. She closed her eyes to avoid the intensity of his stare.

“Do I l-look daft ta ye, Dashiel?” she chattered, her jaw aching from the cold.

His voice sounded a bit more gravelly when he replied. “I’d never accuse you of being daft. Beautiful, yes. Gorgeous, absolutely.” His eyes roamed across her. “Delectable, most definitely.” Beneath his breath, he said one last word that sounded like “mine.” But she couldn’t be certain.

“Pretend ta be a gentleman, will ye?” she said. But she was so happy for his assistance that she couldn’t send him away. Already the warmth of the fire was heating her skin. Or was that his gaze, which made him look almost as though he could devour her?

When she stood there in her chemise, he paused, his hands gripping her hips as he knelt before her, his eyes skimming her body until her traitorous nipples responded. But then he simply slid his hands below the sheer fabric and pulled it over her head.

Cait immediately crossed her arms over her breasts and turned away from him.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured from behind her. A groan followed. One that was laden with… something.

Cait squeezed her eyes shut tightly. “Ruined and mortified, all at once,” she said. Her teeth chattered loudly. A blanket dropped around her shoulders, and she clutched it to her.

“No need to be mortified, angel,” he said as he spun her to face him. He grinned sheepishly at her. “Pardon me for commenting. I’m nothing more than a man. A man who just had a glimpse of everything he wants in life.”

“Me? Naked?” she gasped.

“Absolutely.” He leaned down quickly and kissed her cheek.

“Thank ye,” she said, finally meeting his amber stare. “For helpin’ me off with my things,” she clarified.

“I’ll play your lady’s maid any day, angel.”

There was a fire brimming below the surface of the man, she was well aware. His lids were half closed with desire and she saw a pulse jump in his neck.

He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it across the room as he drew in a deep breath. “Lycans have an amazing amount of body heat,” he explained as he undid the buttons on his waistcoat.

“I’m glad someone does,” she chattered as he finally tugged his shirt over his head. She couldn’t draw her gaze away from his chest. His shoulders. His stomach. The little line of hair that disappeared into his trousers. He chuckled lightly before he picked her up and sat down in a chair close to the fire.

Tucking her into his lap, he said, “You probably won’t like this, but you have to touch my body, Caitie. My skin against yours.”

Oh, she liked it very much. But instead said, “Ye wish,” and moved to get up from his lap. But he tugged her back down with one arm wrapped around her waist.

“I just want to take care of you,” he said softly as his hand moved to cup her face. He looked so sincere that she let her body soften against his. He tugged the blanket until it was pulled from between them, and then he readjusted it around her shoulders. He was nearly as warm as the fire in the grate.

Her breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest.

“I should get a commendation for this,” he murmured. “Valor in the face of confrontation. Cait—” he started. But she interrupted.

“Take care of me,” she whispered.

“As long as you’ll let me,” he said as his hand moved in a slow circle against her naked back.

Cait closed her eyes as she rested her head against his bare shoulder, and a contented sigh escaped her lips.

He chuckled. “I missed you, too.”

“Arrogant as ever,” she replied, letting her fingers trail across the expanse of his shoulders, letting his warmth heat every part of her.

“Is that why you left me for dead?”

Cait must have misheard him. She raised her head to look in his eyes. She saw pain reflected in his face, and her heart ached at the sight. “Left ye for dead?”

“You poisoned my tea. Perhaps you remember that?”

Comfortable as she was on his lap, she wasn’t about to let him call her a murderess. “I most certainly did no’ poison yer tea.”

He raised one brow indignantly, his eyes boring into hers.

Cait cringed from the intensity. “I dinna poison yer tea,” she repeated. Then she gnawed on her bottom lip. “I-I gave ye a sleepin’ draught.”

“I slept for
two
days!” he growled.

“It might have been a strong sleepin’ draught,” she admitted as she squirmed, trying to remove herself from his lap.