Legends of Havenwood Falls 2

by Belinda Boring

  “You don’t want to pass your legacy on?” The question flowed from her mouth without thought.

  “You have no idea what you’re asking, Catriona.” I’d grown tired of the conversation and brushed her away with a hand gesture. “Go away. Your questions offend me.” This would be the last warning she got.

  With my hand on the doorknob to go back outside into the twilight air, I ignored the melancholy that descended across her gentle features.

  Let her be sad.

  Let her be disappointed.

  Welcome to the ways of the world, wife-to-be.

  Welcome to reality.

  Chapter 4

  Fiddling with the last cufflink on my sleeve, I quickly glanced over my shoulder to the only person with permission to enter my bedchambers unannounced.

  Phineas Knox—manservant and trusted confidant. Our relationship was a far cry from the business-driven contract I’d initiated when I first met him. Back then, he had merely been a necessary cog in the machine—someone to run my errands while I chased every rumored gypsy sighting across England and into Scotland.

  It had taken me a while to call him by the correct first name. Who he was personally was inconsequential and I hadn’t cared enough to learn anything about him—other than to exact his complete obedience. By chance, I’d discovered that his talents and skills lay beyond the superficial running of an estate and ensuring his master’s needs were met.

  Knox was a man who held great value.

  He would bring me the cure on a silver platter—most likely with hands splattered with the blood of those he forced to bend to my will.

  “You plan on wearing that to the ceremony?” he asked quizzically. He strode over to where I stood before the full-length mirror and began brushing along my shoulder blades—straightening the fabric of my shirt.

  “Am I expected to dress up?” I retorted, checking my appearance. My linen shirt was pressed to perfection, and my black trousers held a sharp crease down the front. I didn’t move as he finished his own inspection.

  For all intents and purposes, to the outside world, he was my valet. When we were alone, we often continued the façade, even when there was no one to witness it.

  “Honestly, Marcus?” he offered me a respectful bow and came to a stop beside me. “I anticipated finding you in your underclothing, clothes crumpled and creased from the lack of care. You’ve made it perfectly clear that today’s formalities are simply that and that you hold no affection for the girl. I’ve seen you show more excitement over the prospect of inspecting new horses for your stables.”

  “Well, one usually dresses to impress for their wedding, Knox.” I didn’t bother hiding the sarcasm or smirk that danced across my lips.

  My wedding.

  How the hell did I allow things to get this far?

  “Have you seen her yet? Did you deliver the outfit I requested she wear?”

  Part of me wished I’d been a fly on the wall when he presented her with the garment I’d found stuffed in a long-forgotten storage trunk that once belonged to a dead ancestor. Insects had eaten jagged holes in the yellowed lace, thread hanging loosely from various hems. I had no idea whether it could be laundered back to its former glory, but deep down, I felt it was an appropriate representation of this whole fiasco.

  She wouldn’t be the blushing bride, and I wasn’t the doting husband.

  If it fit her, that was sufficient for me.

  Knox cocked his eyebrow before nodding his response. “And she was far from . . . enthusiastic.”

  He’d searched for the right word—always in his role as a diplomat. It’s why I had kept him in my services for so long. He knew how to soften my edges when interacting with others.

  I shrugged on the last item of my outfit he held up behind me, sliding my arms into a dark blue jacket. “How she feels is not my concern. She could always attend the ceremony wearing nothing, if that is more to her liking.”

  He burst into laughter. “Why does she irritate you so much? She’s pleasant to look at, and I’m sure if you treated her with even a shred of civility, she would warm your bed quite nicely. Do you truly have to act like such a bastard toward her?”

  “How I treat my betrothed is not your concern,” I quietly warned, catching his gaze in the mirror’s reflection. I all but spat out the word betrothed. The truth was, I still felt resentful this was becoming a reality.

  Women were good for only a handful of things.

  They were nuisances, otherwise, always getting involved in affairs that didn’t involve them. One look at Catriona, and I had instantly recognized that same defiant spirit, one that would no doubt become a thorn in my side for years to come.

  “I beg to differ, friend.” He added his own weight to the word. “Surely you see that this borderlines on cruelty. Set her free and let her at least claim some semblance of contentment. Marriage to you will not be easy.”

  “Don’t forget your place.”

  “How can I, when you enjoy reminding me on a daily basis?” There was no malice or resentment in his response. In fact, his grin revealed that as always, his loyalty lay with me. “Sometimes twice, if I’m a good boy.”

  “Have I told you how much I hate you?” I grumbled, my mind already flickering forward to what was about to happen. Marriage had once been the ideal—the expectation bequeathed on every son to carry on the family lineage. I’d abandoned all hope once I realized that life was no longer compatible with the one I was now forced to endure. “Summon her to my office.”

  I didn’t wait for an answer.

  Knox would obey, and this farce would be official within the hour. The last thought I had as I left my bedchambers was a hollow one.

  I should’ve seized control of his estate instead. That would’ve at least made a hell of a lot more sense than this did.

  A wife.

  One more cursed achievement to add to a growing list of many.

  True to her sex, Catriona was late, no doubt using her tardiness as one last, failed attempt at showing her defiance and reluctance to follow through with her father’s deal.

  I refused to pity her. She had been born a female and therefore knew this was her lot in life—to never have control over her own destiny. Unfortunately, that had been placed in my hands.

  Even the local minister whom I’d overpaid an exorbitant amount to hurry along the process and abandon tradition was impatiently shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. He knew better than to try to engage me with small talk.

  There was no commiserating over the weather we were experiencing. He hadn’t so much as peeped about a possible donation to the parish. Instead, Father Thompson stood in his worn priestly garb and stared at the closed door—as if to will Catriona’s appearance so he could then flee the house and my presence.

  Finally, the doorknob jiggled, and despite my efforts to not turn and greet the person entering, I obediently glanced over, and that’s when I experienced something I had long thought dead.

  Speechless. I was utterly, unbelievably, uncontrollably . . . speechless.

  She was positively angelic.

  Despite the fact I had given her a nightmarish dress to wear, she’d somehow managed to make it look regal—her head held high. The material hung on her smaller frame, a partially ripped hem dragging across the floor behind her.

  But you wouldn’t have known that she noticed the pitiful garment and that it was a far cry from what she’d imagined wearing as a small girl.

  That wasn’t what almost brought me to my knees—what left me with an overwhelming need to run as far away from the creature now standing before me.

  She was exquisite.

  She was perfection.

  She is mine, a voice whispered, claiming her instantly.

  “Let’s hurry this up,” I growled, grinding my teeth tightly to prevent any soft-hearted platitude from escaping. “There are more important affairs to take care of.”

  I barely managed to drag my gaze away from Catr
iona’s features to glare at the priest.

  “Is my father not coming?” Her words came out broken, and I could sense the tears that lay barely beneath the surface. She didn’t dare look about, in case it confirmed what I was about to say.

  “No. This is not a celebration. I assume he is off enjoying his newfound freedom, having escaped debtors’ prison.” I resented the pressing urge to look at her—to comfort her. This was not part of the arrangement I’d committed to.

  “Could we . . .” Her request died on her lips.

  For some bizarre reason, I wanted to hear her complete it. “Could we what?” I pushed, gruffly.

  “Nothing. As you said, this is strictly business, and I am merely your chattel.” Catriona kept her gaze trained on the floor, patiently standing still with her hands clasped in front of her. Even in her misery, she held an ethereal quality. One might’ve even suggested she was fae-like.

  “At last, something we agree on.” Nodding to the priest, I indicated that it was time to begin. Father Thompson began droning on about marital bliss and the wonders of a man and woman joining together in the sight of God.

  “Father,” I corrected, reminding him that this was not the speech I had given him permission to do. Platitudes were wasted in this room. We would never be a typical husband and wife, so there was no need for flowery poems and heartfelt vows.

  Catriona would obey me, and in exchange, I would tolerate her presence in my life.

  The priest coughed and cleared his throat, flipping through the small brown leather book in his hands until he found what he was looking for. With as little feeling as possible, I recited back the words that I would take Catriona Livingston as my wife—excluding any promises that I would cherish and care for her until death did us part.

  Catriona’s bottom lip trembled when it was her turn to pledge her fealty and devotion to me—her new monster of a husband. Her eyes didn’t quite meet mine, and her fingers were white from constantly gripping her hands so tight. Silent tears fell down her cheeks—the blasted liquid somehow increasing her appeal.

  Energy pulsed through me, and I ached to move. It was becoming more and more unbearable to remain in the room with her, each ticking sound of the clock wearing on my nerves.

  No sooner had the priest declared our union official when Knox burst into the office. His dark hair was windswept, his eyes bright with excitement. I hadn’t questioned his absence from the ceremony, because looking for him would require time I didn’t want to waste.

  “Yes?” I asked, already dismissing Father Thompson and Catriona. I was more interested in knowing what made Knox practically brim over with enthusiasm. “You have something.”

  “A lead!” he exclaimed triumphantly.

  It had been months since we’d received any new information about the gypsies responsible for my curse. It had left me no choice but to learn years ago the importance of patience. Sometimes answers required a lengthy wait.

  I would never rest until I found them.

  “Let’s go,” I fired back, the thrill of the hunt already stirring within my breast. I was already halfway to the door when I noticed Knox hadn’t moved, his own gaze directed to those behind me.

  Catriona.

  Barely remembering my manners, I spun about and bowed. “Excuse me, wife.” There was a slight mocking tone to my words. “It seems business waits for no man. I trust you can take care of yourself until we return.”

  She nodded, and I could almost detect a hint of relief. There would be no wedding night. “When shall I expect your return?”

  I drank in one last sight of her.

  “When it is time to return.”

  And with that, we departed—racing away into the night.

  Chapter 5

  Four Months Later

  Soft footsteps approached my office door. It was the same sound I heard each evening as I sat at my desk, looking over papers. At first I had felt irritated by the disturbance, knowing that it was Catriona who lurked beyond the closed door. I could almost imagine her standing there with indecision warring across her features while she tried to decide whether or not she would knock.

  Would tonight be the night that she found her courage and ventured inside? And how would I react to the interruption?

  I’d like to think that I would answer consistently—with a stern and impatient retort, shooing her away like whatever it was that brought her to me was inconsequential.

  On the odd occasion when she’d entered the study and found me sitting by the fire, reading one of the many books I’d collected over the years, she nervously licked her lips before asking if there was anything she could get me.

  I wasn’t a fool. I recognized the bravery needed to approach me. I hadn’t made it easy for her since our pathetic excuse for a wedding. I’d warned her afterward that I wasn’t to be disturbed and that for her own good, it would be best that we try to avoid one another.

  There was no mistaking the crestfallen expression that glimmered in her eyes. Despite every attempt I’d made to keep her at arm’s length, she was determined to breach the barrier I’d placed between us.

  I found small trinkets throughout the house—items that she’d somehow known would please me. Countless nights I’d entered my study for solitude and there would be some type of treat. I’d even walked in to discover freshly cut flowers from the garden arranged in a crystal vase in my bedroom.

  My first instinct was to hunt down my disobedient wife and rebuke her for violating the sanctuary of where I slept, but something inside me counseled that I tread carefully. For what reason I didn’t know. Sure enough, the next time I passed by her in the house, the words that formed in my mouth went unspoken.

  Even with all the precautions I took to not allow her closer, she was changing me with her small acts of kindness.

  She still lurked outside, and as I closed my eyes, I could faintly hear the beating of her heart. I held my own breath this time and silently willed her to enter. If only to see what her reasoning was tonight.

  She fascinated me.

  She terrified me.

  “Catriona,” I called out, summoning her to come in.

  The door handle jiggled slightly, and then it stopped moving. What would she do?

  A few moments later, she retreated, making her way back up the hallway from where she’d come. I guess tonight wasn’t a night for conquering fears.

  I sat there staring at the door, but it was my thoughts that kept me from returning to my reading. I’d lost count of how many conversations I’d had with myself since that night when I’d been cursed. I tried not to think about what might’ve happened if I’d been far away from that alley, or better yet, had never laid eyes on Primrose. I’d allowed my lust to override common sense and had been punished for that decision ever since.

  I could’ve been anything I wanted—anyone I wanted—because the world had truly been mine to explore. Having been born into wealth and privilege, very few doors had been closed to me.

  Yet, here I sat behind one, shut away from the world. I had what many would call a beautiful wife, a woman who appeared to at least try to bridge the distance between us.

  For each small kindness she extended, I returned it with indifference. She didn’t deserve such treatment. What scared me even more was the voice that had started whispering to me since I met her—that I didn’t deserve such a life either.

  Monster or not, I was at a crossroads. I would either need to let Catriona in or squash any hope she may have of melting the iciness in my heart.

  Pushing away from my desk, I decided to seize the moment and follow her. I needed to understand what drew me to her—what made her so different that I was finding it harder and harder to resist.

  Instead of going upstairs, however, the sound of Catriona’s footsteps revealed she wasn’t heading to her bedroom suite. Curiosity piqued my interest. She was hurrying in the opposite direction, and if I guessed right, toward the rooms reserved for Knox.

  Interesti
ng, I murmured beneath my breath.

  Then, to my complete surprise, she briefly knocked on his door before entering. There was no waiting to be granted entrance. There was no gruff appearance of Knox—annoyed that she would dare to invade his privacy.

  Anger rose sharply, followed by jealousy. How often did they meet late at night? What could they possibly have to discuss? And even though I’d shown no interest or intention of ever treating her like a true wife, there was no mistaking the word that came rushing to the forefront of my mind . . .

  Mine.

  Ready to burst through the door and catch them in the midst of their indiscretion, all logic and reason abandoned by the irritating sense of possessiveness, I abruptly stopped in my tracks when I caught the first sound of her voice.

  She was crying.

  Something—someone had upset her.

  Reduced to spying on others in my own home, I reserved judgment for a moment and listened in, my ear close to the door. Despite the fierce pangs of mistrust I was feeling, there was one thing I did know with certainty . . . Knox had never given me a reason to doubt his loyalty. There was something else happening—another motive for Catriona to enter his room like they were friends meeting. Like she belonged there.

  A muffled noise broke through her sobs.

  “Why won’t he let me in?” came the broken words of the woman crying like her heart was splintering into pieces. I pushed down the guilt that surfaced. I owed her nothing.

  Or did I?

  I could almost picture Knox standing there, unsure of how to handle someone so emotional. He’d shared that he’d had sisters growing up, but from the stories he’d confided in me over the years, he wasn’t particularly close with them.

  “What happened, Catriona?” he asked with compassion. It was strange hearing him speak so softly and tenderly. The only time I’d heard him talk in such a way was when he soothed a spooked horse down in the stables. He had a magic touch with animals, the creatures instantly calming under his touch and guidance. It was a trait I often envied. It was as if they could sense the beast I was . . . the predator I was cursed to be.