Tamed By Your Desire Part 3

Fayth stared at the door, gripping the vial so hard she was in danger of shattering it. What if Carlisle wasn't cruel? What if Mona was mistaken? Fayth knew he had a son, several daughters, and an a.s.sortment of b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Back at home, before she'd been barred from speaking to the servants, she'd heard talk of Carlisle and his children-of beatings and incest. Of them running away, only to be caught and tied to poles like animals. There was even a rumor he'd killed one of his b.a.s.t.a.r.d sons for fancying lads.

Fayth surveyed the room. The gleaming walls were paneled and hung with Turkish carpets. A huge canopied bed dominated the room, set on a raised platform. Fayth shuddered and backed away.

She went to the door and opened it. The guards were Grahams, not Carlisles. d.a.m.n. The Grahams were well versed in Fayth's ways and immune to her wiles.

"Get back inside," one said.

She ignored him and tried to walk between them, but they crossed their lances, barring her way. She ducked beneath the lances. One of them planted a huge hand on the top of her head. He turned her and shoved her back into the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

"By G.o.d, you're a knave!" she shouted at the door. How dare he handle her so! Her pride stung from the indignity.

She scanned the room, her gaze falling on the narrow window deeply recessed in the wall. Fully aware of the multiple flights of stairs she'd been forced up, she threw open the shutters and stared down at the people milling about below, worrying her already ragged fingernails with thoughts of lashing sheets together and scaling the wall. Her shoulder ached with the memory of the last time she'd attempted that feat, pulling her arm right from the socket. She rubbed her shoulder, grimacing.

A sharp knock on the door startled her from her contemplation of the ground. She turned her back to the window, knowing whoever it was would not wait for permission. The door opened and Ridley entered, his insouciant gaze finding her. He was so pleased with himself these days. Fayth's mouth curled into a sneer that only grew nastier when Wesley entered behind Ridley. Wesley's gaze bounced off Fayth before wisely looking elsewhere. The angry redness was gone from the wound on his cheek, though it was ugly and twisted where Red Alex had cut him. He'd not had it tended immediately, so it had festered. When finally lanced and drained it had grown far beyond the original cut. Though it finally healed, the process had left him disfigured.

Fayth's sarcastic greeting died in her throat when a third man entered the room, leading a large, furry dog. He was a formidable man, barrel-chested and stocky-solid as a stone wall. His thick iron gray hair waved over his shoulders. He was shorter than both her brothers, though twice as wide. She found herself unable to form a sentence, frozen by the hard gray eyes that inspected her body with possessiveness. She'd been told he was three score, and though the youthful color had been leeched from his hair and eyebrows, they were as l.u.s.trous as a youth's, shining like highly polished armor. His dark craggy face was lined, but from a hard cruel life, not from the ravages of age. And the l.u.s.t in his eyes... he looked perfectly capable of acting on it.

"Oh, aye," he said, his voice rough and abrasive, his Scots broad. "She'll do."

Deep in her belly, Fayth knew at that moment that everything she'd heard about Carlisle was truth, felt it so strongly she had to restrain herself from bolting.

The dog yipped, drawing Fayth's attention away from the soulless eyes. The dog was not a breed she was familiar with, so tall it came nearly to its master's waist and lean with muscle. With its thick black and white fur, and long narrow snout, it looked part wolf. Its eyes were clear and healthy; one a dark brown and the other a blue so pale it was almost white. Fayth realized vaguely that Ridley had been making introductions and that she'd been correct in a.s.suming this was her future husband, Lord Ashton Carlisle.

"You fancy her?" Carlisle asked.

"The dog?" Fayth asked hesitantly.

"Aye. Do you like her?"

Fayth nodded. "She's beautiful. What breed is she? She looks somewhat like a wolf."

Carlisle contemplated the dog. She sat on her haunches and gazed up at him, whining softly. "I know not her breed, though I believe her too pudding-hearted to hiv wolf in her. I came by her... accidentally." On the borders, that translated to "I stole her." His smile was smooth, well oiled, exposing a rack of strong, white teeth. "I give her to ye." He released the leather leash binding the dog to his side. As soon as the tension was relieved from the leash the dog left Carlisle and came to Fayth.

Fayth held her hand out for the dog to sniff, then rubbed its ears. "What's her name?"

"I was told she was the finest sleuth dog on the borders, but thus far she's proven herself useless. So, that is what I call her-useless, worthless mongrel. If ye dinna want her, I'll probably kill her-she eats too much."

Fayth held the dog's head against her thigh. "Thank you, my lord. I like her very much."

They all stared at her with open suspicion; even Wesley's eyes narrowed in disbelief. They'd been expecting defiance, sarcasm, rudeness. She still had the capacity to surprise them, of that she was thankful.

Carlisle crossed the room, coming to stand before her. The scent of ale and peat smoke drifted from him. He wore no beard, only a thick silvery mustache. "Ye promised me a wildcat, Graham. She's meek as a mouse."

Fayth lowered her eyes submissively, though her hands kneaded the dog's fur. So he didn't like meek? It was too much to hope Carlisle would call off the betrothal and wedding because of her "meekness," but Fayth would keep it up, just in case.

Ridley didn't respond immediately, but his footsteps echoed across the wooden planks as he joined them. " 'Tis an act, nothing more." He took her face in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He smiled slightly. "She'll not be able to keep it up long, mark me."

"Unhand her," Carlisle said, frowning. "She's mine now and no one shall touch her."

Ridley dropped his hand and stepped away. "Of course."

A spark of hope ignited in Fayth. Carlisle had given her a gift, however coa.r.s.e he was about it-he was a Scot, after all, and couldn't help his poor manners-and he appeared to be shielding her from Ridley. Perhaps he only treated his children poorly? Could it be that he would be a good husband?

On impulse Fayth asked, "You have children here? I'm looking forward to meeting them."

Carlisle stared at her a long moment, unblinking. "Dinna get yer hopes up-a more worthless, ungrateful, selfish group of brats ye'll niver meet. Even the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds think o'er much of themselves."

Fayth's heart sank. He was estranged from his children. Never a good thing.

Carlisle grasped her chin as Ridley had. His fingers were harder, rougher as he turned her face this way and that. He yanked at the ties of her shift, pushing the collar wide. Fayth gasped, trying to cover herself, but the hard look he gave her made her lower her hands.

Wesley tensed, mouth thinned, hand on his sword hilt. The scar on his cheek darkened above the fine whiskers of his golden brown beard. Ridley put a hand out, calming his younger brother. Fayth gritted her teeth, keeping her eyes averted, as if she deserved no better than this. The idea of killing him was becoming more palatable every second.

"What is this?" Carlisle asked, yanking the collar off her neck, baring her to the shoulder. He gripped her neck, pushing her head awkwardly to the side to reveal the weal marking her skin.

She flushed with humiliation.

"Oh, that," Ridley said slowly. "A bit of discipline."

Carlisle turned Fayth so her back was to them, his hands pulling at her shift, shoving her stiff bodice downward. The welts, though healing, were scabbed and swollen, and the rough handling caused her some pain. But more than discomfort was mortification. That this abuse should be exposed-that he should handle her like an animal that must be inspected before purchase.

There was a long silence, then Carlisle asked, "Did she scream?"

"Not a sound. She glared at me and spat. Had she a dagger she would have cut my heart out." The sound of rustling fabric. "She gouged my arm-see?"

"Indeed?" Carlisle said in a voice thick with pleasure.

Fayth's breath caught. Her skin crawled from his touch.

The door slammed. Wesley. Fayth knew he couldn't bear to watch Carlisle handle her in such a fashion. So he left. There was a time when he would have thrashed a man who touched her with such familiarity. Everything had changed.

"He's suffering from the flux," Ridley said in explanation. "Let's hope he makes it to the privy."

Carlisle didn't respond.

Fayth closed her eyes, her hand curled into the dog's nape to hide the trembling. Oh G.o.d help me. She would throw herself from the window before she married this man. Carlisle turned her around. She kept her gaze on the floor, face hot with anger and desperation. His hands were on her face again, forcing her to look at him. He scrutinized her, as if trying to determine the truth.

"I like you, little pretty. I think we'll get on fine."

He released her and turned to leave.

Ridley followed him to the door, but paused after Carlisle pa.s.sed through. He craned his neck, as if watching the other man disappear along the corridor, then turned back to Fayth, his hand on the door latch. "You're a lucky one, methinks. Blessed by fairies or some such."

"You're the only one who believes in childish stories, Brother."

He ignored the bait. For years Papa and Ridley searched for the mysterious Clachan Fala-the Blood Stone-thought to be thousands of years old and imbued with magic. It was the reason Papa had married Mona, hoping to get the Blood Stone for himself. And now Ridley was carrying on the quest with a pa.s.sion that far exceeded Papa's.

"He's not quite right in the head, is he?" Ridley said, still standing in the open doorway. "Mona had said he was sick of mind, but I didn't believe her. I thought it yet another ploy to save your skin."