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He shifted, growing hard just thinking about it. His son obviously had his father’s blood, for she was no stranger to the perverse ways he took her. That had disappointed him. He had wanted to make her quake and cry in shamed outrage. He had had to be rougher, more brutal to get the reactions he craved. When he’d slaked his lust, then he beat her. For that, he had to gag her first. She did try to be quiet. She didn’t want her guards to be alerted to what was happening any more than he. But he wasn’t willing to beat her any less brutally, so he resorted to a gag, a dirty piece of cloth he shoved in her mouth and tied with a leather belt around her head. He bound her hands too. He had to. He bound her completely when he wanted to mark her well. Sometimes he left her unbound for the fun of it, so he could stalk her around the barn with his lash. It was so thrilling to see the pleading, terrified eyes she turned on him. He never blindfolded her. No. He loved to see her eyes. It usually worked him up so much, beating her, that he was ready to use her again.
And he loved to see her now, sitting beside him at the table, every fiber of her being desperate to run away, to shrink away from him in horror. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t. It was too perfect. He would miss their afternoons. Tomorrow, he would have to beat her soundly enough to hold him over until next time. But he could still use her mouth, her ass, her cunt. He would. That would leave no telltale marks, not if he was careful. He could even beat her, if he was careful not to mark her. Oh, hell, in that case, what was the point? Why bother if he couldn’t mark her, make her bleed? He wouldn’t beat her. Next time. Next time.
No, he couldn’t have Duncan discovering things. If his son ever learned what he’d done to his wife, he would kill him, cut him down in cold blood. Tomorrow was the absolute last day he could risk it. Tomorrow, he’d beat her well.
* * * * *
The gag impeded her breathing. She tried to calm herself, but the world spun before her eyes. She couldn’t die. She mustn’t die, or she’d never see Duncan again. She needed him so desperately. She thought of him at times like these, when the pain was too much. The beating was too brutal. She was going to pass out. She wished she would. At least then she wouldn’t feel it. But she never passed out. She was certain he knew exactly how far he could push her so she didn’t reach that relief.
Breathe, breathe. Draw a breath in. Don’t think about the bile rising in your throat. If she vomited she would choke. It had happened before. She just had to breathe and let her mind go away. Duncan, Duncan, Duncan, Duncan. Every time she thought of him tears came to her eyes. How would she survive? She had to survive it. She had to survive until he came home.
But then what? Douglas told her what would happen if she told him, poured threats in her ear, threats too vile to bear repeating, threats against Henna, her guards, even the children in town. She wished that she didn’t believe him, but she did. She knew he was capable of murder, torture, any of those things. No one could do the things he’d done to her, say the things he’d said to her if they weren’t depraved enough to take an innocent life.
He would take her life. He would. If he kept on beating her, whipping her, she would die. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Long slow breaths through the gag. She had to survive.
Finally he dropped the whip. She stayed curled up in the corner where she’d crawled just to brace against the wall, just to lean her forehead against the cool dirt there. He yanked her by the ankle, pulling her on her belly back into the center, holding her hips roughly to thrust inside. He used her bottom. He preferred it. She was so limp from the beating it barely hurt. Or maybe she was just so numb she couldn’t feel his invasion. Either way, she was grateful the beating was done.
“You’ll remember that for a while, my sweet, won’t you?” he hissed in her ear as he defiled her. “You’ll remember it until the next time I can get you alone. And believe me, there will be a next time.”
She moaned behind the gag. She didn’t want to. It always made him use her even more brutally, but the idea of a next time, it was impossible to bear. Duncan, Duncan. Help me. He couldn’t help her. She couldn’t risk telling him. He might keep her safe from Douglas, but he couldn’t keep every innocent safe, every man, woman, child in the town. She couldn’t bear to be the cause of anyone’s death.
“I won’t beat you again,” he said when he’d finished and pulled away from her. He removed the foul gag. “You’ll need time to heal before your husband returns.”
Before your husband returns...before your husband returns. Duncan would return soon. He had to return.
“But I’ll still use you, you dirty, wretched slut, since that won’t leave marks. You’ll report here just as you have been until the day your husband rides back into the courtyard. Now put your clothes on and get out of my sight.”
Cait crawled to the door to put on her gown. She prayed the blood wouldn’t stain her shift so much that she couldn’t hide it from Henna. She’d destroyed three of them already, ripped them to shreds and buried them beyond the garden so there would be no questions to answer about the blood. She wished she could crawl into the ground herself. She was so tired. So tired.
He pulled her roughly to her feet when she’d dressed, and kissed her on the mouth. “Smile, Caitlyn. Pretend you’re happy,” he said. “Or else.”
She pushed open the door shakily. She took a deep breath, another. The outside air was bracing. It was getting colder. She could blame her breathlessness and shuddery shaking very easily on the chill. Desmond jumped up from the tree he leaned against when he saw her. She managed a tired smile.
“Hello, Desmond.”
“How does your work come? What are you making for Lord Duncan?”
She looked at the ground, blinking, trying to think up a lie. “I...whatever I was working on...my surprise... I was trying to make him something, but I failed. I was trying to build... I was...” She grew silent. She was so tired. “I miss him so much.”
She would fall to pieces if Desmond kept looking at her that way. He knew, he knew. He suspected.
“Are you unwell, lady? Is there anything I can do for you?”
She had to smile. She had to reassure him. Not you, Desmond. He couldn’t kill you. “I’m fine, I’m only missing my husband.”
“He’ll be returning soon. He said it would be just a couple of weeks. He’ll be home soon, you’ll see.”
“I hope so.” But it couldn’t be too soon. She was going to need time to heal. She couldn’t even ask Henna for salve or medicine to help the healing. She had to sneak down and bathe as quickly as possible when Henna was busy at the other end of the keep and she could be sure of no one else attending her.
Soon, he would be home. Soon...
He had to come soon, or she’d throw herself from the rock herself.
Chapter Fourteen
Henna made her way down the corridor, chewing her lip. Something wasn’t right. Something was amiss, she knew it for sure.
The lady was miserable. Yes, she was breeding, and yes, missing her husband too, but her grief was so deep, so all-encompassing. It wasn’t natural for a lass to fall into such a spell. Henna assured her every day that the earl would return soon, that she wouldn’t be missing him too much more, and then she’d lift herself out of her gloom with such false happiness that she seemed a different person altogether. Forced smiles, inane talk, an unnatural brightness in her eyes that made Henna wonder if she still possessed her wits.
Henna shook her head, looking down at the tray she carried. Try as she might, she could barely get the lass to eat. She tried every delicacy she knew to tempt the lady’s appetite. At night, Cait sat pale and still at the table and looked positively green. Pregnan
cy, bah. It was a burden for women. Made ’em sick, made ’em strange and emotional-like. Well, Henna thought it was time to let her in on the secret. That, at least, would lift her spirits until Duncan returned.
She knocked softly and let herself in to find Cait already dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed. Again she forced one of those strained, false smiles.
“Good morning, Henna.”
“Good morning, lass. How are ya doing? Perhaps this might be the day...”
“I hope so,” she murmured without much conviction.
“I’ve brought you a tray. I want you to eat it. And mama Henna wants to have a talk with ya, if you don’t mind.”
Cait looked suddenly uneasy. “A talk about what?”
“A talk about that wee little lad or lass that you’re carrying now, love.” Henna beamed and waited for Cait’s reaction. But to Henna’s surprise, instead of excitement, a look of consternation washed over her face.
“I don’t... Are you sure...What... How do you know?”
“Have your courses come lately, when they should?”
“No. They haven’t come this month. But perhaps it is only...some other reason...”
“And ye’ve been queasy and emotional. I can see you don’t want to eat, and your moods, beggin’ your pardon, they’ve been rather...unusual. It’s clear to me you’re carrying a babe. Won’t Duncan be so happy to hear it? He’s going to be a father, and you a momma at last, just as you wished.”
Well, thought Henna as the silence stretched out, if the girl didn’t look on the verge of tears!
“There now, don’t you worry about nothing,” Henna soothed. “Some women have trouble birthing babies, but you won’t be one of those women. You mark my words.”
“Oh, I know,” said Cait, opening her hand on her middle. “I’m just...don’t mind me. I just...don’t know what to think. I didn’t expect this. I didn’t even think about this happening...” She closed her mouth and shut her eyes tightly. “Anyway, I think I shall rest.”
