The Taming of the Wolf

by Dare, Lydia

  “Miss Macleod?” he asked. At least he had a name.

  Major Forster nodded. “Caitrin. She’s a friend of my daughter Elspeth.”

  Dash leapt out of his seat. “I’ll have to talk to her.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” the old officer growled. “And you won’t say a word about this to anyone until I can sort out what to do.”

  “But, I—”

  “Sit down,” Major Forster barked. “In case you’ve forgotten, Lord Brimsworth, you are not a welcome guest at Westfield Hall. Your sins are numerous and we both know them, the most important being you are an uncontrollable, feral Lycan. And if you think I’ll allow you to stalk the halls of this home, you are sadly mistaken.”

  The air whooshed out of Dash’s lungs. “That’s why I’ve come to you for help, sir. I need a mentor, and—”

  “You are here because His Grace, Lord Benjamin, and I kept Lord William from tearing you to shreds when you tried to claim his wife this very evening. Now sit down while I think,” the man ordered gruffly.

  “Trying to claim Lord William’s wife was a poor decision on my part—” Dash began. If he could just explain.

  “I said, ‘Sit!’” the major snarled.

  Dash tucked his tail into a chair and watched a series of emotions flash across the other man’s face.

  Finally, the major sat taller and rubbed his chin. “You do need a mentor, and I need to keep you far from the Westfields.”

  “I mean them no harm.”

  “As you have already escaped from me once, my lord, please understand that I don’t intend to take your word for it.”

  Dash could see the man’s point.

  “My family hails from Glasgow. I’ve got a cousin, a shipbuilder, who still lives there. I’m certain I can persuade him to take you on.”

  Glasgow? Dash shook his head. He didn’t know anyone in Glasgow, and going there didn’t solve his situation with Miss Macleod. “But the girl—”

  “Does not need a feral wolf in her midst, nor would she tolerate one. You can take my word for that. Once you have control of yourself, you can seek her out and see what’s to be done with the mess you’ve made.”

  Two

  “Lord Brimsworth,” the Duke of Blackmoor’s persnickety butler called from the doorway of the study. “Your coach has arrived.”

  Dash had sent for his carriage to take him to Glasgow, along with a letter of introduction from the major to his shipbuilding cousin, Mr. Niall Forster. Dash rose from his seat and stepped toward the old butler. Still, there was something he had to do before he set off for Scotland. “I’d like a word with Miss Macleod first, if you don’t mind, Billings.”

  The old servant frowned at him. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, my lord.”

  Not possible? Dash resisted the urge to snort. He didn’t want to spend any more time at Westfield Hall than was absolutely necessary, but seeing Caitrin Macleod before he left for Glasgow was of the utmost importance. If he truly was connected to the chit until the end of time, it would be best if they got a few things straight before he departed.

  “I’m not leaving until I speak with Miss Macleod.”

  The butler sighed irritably. “Miss Macleod is no longer in residence, my lord. So it won’t matter how long you wait.”

  “No longer in residence?” Dash echoed. How was that even possible? Only a few hours earlier, he’d kissed the girl, held her against him, and claimed her.

  “I believe she has started for home, sir.”

  She left without speaking to him, without giving him a chance to explain? Dash thrust his hand into his pocket and crumpled the major’s letter in his fist. He stalked out of the manor and was immediately assaulted by her honeysuckle scent. He continued down the stone steps and hauled open the door to his traveling coach. Dash slumped against the squabs and glared at the empty spot across from him. The journey was going to be a very long one.

  “Glasgow?” His coachman, Renshaw, asked from the open door.

  Dash nodded once. Major Forster hadn’t given him any choice in the matter. Glasgow, for God’s sake. Surely the old officer could have found him a mentor in England, someone who wasn’t so bloody far away. The trip would take forever on the North Road in the middle of winter. Perhaps Forster thought he’d tumble to his death in the Pennines. Maybe that was the old man’s plan.

  Dash sighed. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, Renshaw, but safety is of the utmost concern. Watch the roads, will you?”

  ***

  Caitrin absently rubbed her shoulder as she tugged the blue Macleod plaid closer about her legs. Even though her gift of sight had allowed her to see many things she shouldn’t, including many intimate scenes, she only hovered at the edge of those images. She never saw what actually went on between men and women behind closed doors. Of that, she was very glad. Until now.

  She wanted more than anything to ask if it was normal for a man in the throes of passion to gnaw on one’s collarbone. But that would be terribly improper. Who in the world could she even ask? All her coven sisters in Scotland were maidens, just as she was. Aside from Elspeth, of course, whom she’d just left behind in Hampshire. Cait sighed deeply.

  “Are ye all right, Miss?” her maid, Jeannie, asked from where she rested on the other side of the coach.

  The question drew Cait from her reverie. But just barely. “What did ye say?” she mumbled as she pulled the collar of her traveling dress over to cover the mark.

  “I asked if ye’re all right,” Jeannie repeated, her eyebrows scrunching together.

  “I’m fine. I canna imagine why ye would think otherwise.” Cait closed her eyes and laid her head back against the leather squabs.

  “I’m worried about ye, is all. First we leave Westfield Hall in the dead of night like thieves. Ye dinna even say good-bye ta Lady Elspeth. And now ye’re so fretful ye canna even sleep.”

  Cait raised her head and stared at her maid. Jeannie was years older than Cait, a decade or so. Perhaps she could ask her. Caitrin shook that thought away as quickly as it arose.

  “Does it have something ta do with that love bite on yer neck?”

  Cait reached to tug her collar over farther. “I doona ken what ye mean,” she gasped.

  “Aye, ye do.” Jeannie smiled and nodded her head, making her dark curls bob up and down. “Ye canna lie ta me, Miss. I’m the one who does yer hair, and I’ve kent ye since ye were a wee bairn. And ye definitely have a little love bite under yer ear, there. It wasna there yesterday.”

  “Under my ear?” Caitrin echoed in surprise, trailing her fingers up her neck. Jeannie wasn’t talking about the bite. Did the blasted man leave another mark?

  “Aye,” the maid confirmed. “Who was he? And what made ye want ta run back ta Edinburgh when ye obviously enjoyed him so much?”

  “Enjoyed?” Caitrin gasped. Then she muttered under her breath, “I wouldna go that far.” But she had enjoyed it, right until the moment he mistook her for a piece of meat.

  “Ye canna lie ta me, Miss. I ken ye as well as yer own papa, maybe even better.” She shook her finger at Caitrin playfully. “So, doona even attempt it.”

  This was much too embarrassing to discuss after all. She’d known it would be.

  “Who was he?” Jeannie persisted.

  “I doona ken who he was,” Caitrin finally admitted.

  “Oh, a handsome stranger?” Jeannie let her voice trail off as her eyebrows arched. “Where did ye meet him?”

  “In the Duke of Blackmoor’s study.” Caitrin finally sighed. “I was lookin’ for a book.”

  “And?” the maid prompted.

  “And he just… kissed me.” Cait shrugged her shoulders, unsure what else to say.

  Jeannie sat back against the squabs and eyed her mistress warily. “Without even bein’ properly introduced? Yer father wouldna approve.”

  “Ye canna tell Papa, Jeannie. Promise me.”

  The maid frowned.

  “Please, Jeannie,” Caitrin pleaded
. Her father wouldn’t be at all happy about the situation, and nothing could be done about it now, anyway.

  “Did this man just grab ye, Miss?”

  “Well,” Cait hesitated, suddenly feeling protective of the man, although that was a ludicrous thought. “He grabbed me,” she admitted. “But I dinna mind,” she quickly added. Then she drew in a deep breath and steeled herself before finally asking, “So, the ‘love bites’ as ye call them. They’re what usually goes on between a man and a woman?”

  “Aye, that and more. But yer husband will teach ye all ye need ta ken with regard ta that. You doona need the likes of me doin’ it.”

  A husband. “If I ever find one,” Cait said, holding up both hands in surrender. “Never mind… it’s no’ important.”

  “But this man…” Jeannie started.

  Cait shook her head. “He’s in Hampshire, and we’re on the way back ta Edinburgh. I’ll no’ see him again.” She laid her head back and feigned sleep, her heart a bit heavier than it had been before the conversation.

  ***

  The faint smell of honeysuckle tortured Dash all day. He growled as he peered out the window into the darkness surrounding the coach. All he needed was to follow Miss Macleod’s scent for a fortnight. That would make him go completely mad. He snorted to himself and leaned back against the squabs.

  Who was he fooling? He’d already lost his mind. Traveling to godforsaken Glasgow to ask a shipbuilder to teach him to heel, sit, and stay. A mentor. He snorted. It sounded insane. On the upside, if his father got wind of this, the news would probably push the old cur right over the edge. Perhaps Dash should post a letter informing his father of his plans.

  He shook his head at the thought. No reason to stir up that hornet’s nest. With any luck, the Marquess of Eynsford would forget he even had a son. After twenty-six years, the odds weren’t particularly in Dash’s favor in that regard, but a man could always hope.

  Perhaps Glasgow wouldn’t be so bad after all. Since Miss Macleod was headed there as well, he could keep an eye on her. Make sure no one snatched her from him before he had a chance to court her properly. An image of his Scottish angel flashed in his mind. Flaxen hair, so soft and long he wanted to wrap a curl around his finger and simply stroke it with his thumb. Light blue eyes the color of a cloudless sky. Lips so perfectly kissable that he grew hard just thinking about them.

  No, upon further thought, Glasgow could be exactly what he needed.

  The coach slowed, and Dash glanced out the window. He noticed a spot of light in the distance that grew brighter as the carriage approached. A coaching inn. Thank God. He could sleep for a sennight after the past few days he’d endured.

  The carriage rambled to a stop in the coaching yard, and Dash didn’t even wait for Renshaw to let down his steps. He threw open the door and bounded outside, stopping the instant the scent of honeysuckle tickled his nose. Miss Macleod was definitely here. She had to be. Her flowery scent was stronger here than it had been all day along the road.

  What a stroke of luck! They could have a conversation about what had transpired the previous evening and get a few things straightened out.

  Finally, with a purpose to his step he hadn’t had in quite a while, Dash strode straight into the taproom. Without a doubt, she was here. Miss Macleod’s scent was so overwhelming that he had to clench his teeth to keep from growling aloud for her.

  His eyes swept across the dark room, taking in a few locals who were well-foxed, a swarthy fellow with a child on his knee, a couple of buxom tavern wenches, and one portly barkeep who sported a bulbous nose and a bald pate. Ah, perfect. Dash smiled. Just the man he needed.

  He hailed the owner toward him with a wave of his hand.

  “Yes, sir?” The fellow scrambled forward.

  “I need accommodations for the evening.”

  “Of course.” The man nodded.

  “But first,” Dash began, “I’m looking for a woman.”

  The tavern-keeper’s dark eyes twinkled. “I’m sure I can find someone to keep you company, sir.” The man looked deeper into the taproom.

  Dash shook his head, which was certainly the first time he’d refused an offer of companionship. He was only interested in one woman at the moment. “You misunderstand me. I’m looking for a woman who is traveling this road as well. My cousin from the north. Miss Macleod.”

  The tavern-keeper reared back on his heels. “Beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t mean—”

  “Is the lady here?” Dash barked. Honestly, there was only so much bumbling a man should have to deal with.

  Before the barkeep could reply, Dash heard her. The delicate lilt of her voice came from a private dining room far in the back.

  “Never mind.” Dash brushed past the man and pushed his way through the throng toward the back of the room where a heavy oak door separated him from the lass he’d thought of most of the day.

  Dash took a deep breath, then slowly pushed the door open.

  She was just as mesmerizing as she had been the night before.

  Unaware of his presence, Caitrin Macleod chatted with an older woman, a maid or chaperone of some sort. Dash frowned. If the woman had been keeping tabs on her charge the previous night, he wouldn’t be in this current situation. Well, he’d still be on the road to Glasgow, but he wouldn’t be tied to Miss Macleod for the rest of his days. Though, now that she was within his line of sight, he couldn’t quite find it in his soul to be sorry about the turn of events.

  Dash scoffed to himself. He must still be drunk on the moon to entertain such thoughts. Then a frightening idea popped into his head. What if, since he’d claimed the lass, he could never get her out of his mind? What if he’d lost what little power he had over his own thoughts? Exactly how doomed was he?

  The strangled sound he heard must have come from him, because Miss Macleod’s gaze shot to him in the doorway. Their eyes locked, and all the air in Dash’s lungs escaped. Her blue eyes met his, and for a moment the world felt right, as though everything made sense.

  But then she sputtered. And coughed. Whatever she’d been chewing so properly was now lodged in her throat. She turned red and then a bit purple. And that was when Dash snapped out of his trance and realized he’d better do something. He strode forward, yanked her from her chair, and began to pat her on the back. When a choked gasp was his only reward, he clapped her on the back a bit harder.

  Suddenly, she coughed violently and drew in a great inhalation of breath. Tears poured from her eyes as she turned toward him. He felt the oddest compulsion to brush her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. So strange. It was a sensation he’d never felt before.

  “Are you all right?” he asked after he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

  He was completely surprised when her eyes narrowed and she cuffed him on the shoulder. Outrage oozed from her. She stomped her foot and balled up her fists and growled, “Oh, ye!”

  “Happy to see me?” He flashed a smile at her, the one that never failed to charm maids or serving wenches. “You left before we had a chance to speak this morning.”

  “Miss?” her companion asked, rising to her feet and glaring at Dash.

  But his Scottish angel didn’t answer. She just turned on her heel and bolted from the private dining room.

  Dash chased her through the taproom and out into the coaching yard. He reached her before she could round a small stone wall that disappeared into the darkness.

  “Where the devil are you going?” Dash demanded as he grabbed her elbow.

  “How dare ye touch me?” she hissed at him, yanking her arm free. Without waiting for a response, she took off down a cobblestone walk leading away from the inn.

  Dash followed, feeling like a puppy chasing after his master. “Miss Macleod,” he called to her.

  She spun around and shot one quick glance at him. “What do ye want?” she snapped.

  “I need to speak with you,” he said, closing the distance between them.

  “How did
ye find me?” She furrowed her brow as she looked past him.

  How could he avoid it? Her scent had teased him the entire day. God, that would sound ridiculous. “Bit of good luck on my part,” he hedged instead.

  “What do ye want?” she spit out. Fiery little thing she was, with her blue eyes flashing indignantly.

  Ah, to be in control of himself. To manage as well as other Lycans. To hold her in his arms again. “You,” he admitted before he could stop himself.

  She must think him the most insane man. Biting her the night before, chasing after her in the dark tonight. It was a wonder she’d stopped at an inn at all. Any woman of sane mind would have fled as far and as fast as she could.

  Miss Macleod shook her head at him as though he were some sort of worrisome gnat. “Me? For what?” she asked, her lilting voice rising with irritation.

  “You asked what I wanted, Miss Macleod. I want you.” Among other things he could never explain to her. At least not now.

  Three

  Cait blinked at him, not certain she had heard him correctly. She tried to ignore the flutters in her belly that his confession stirred within her and focused on his amber eyes instead, concentrating on his future. A flash of something would be more than helpful. Her cursed power had never failed her until now.

  A cool breeze tousled his golden hair, and her eyes fell to his lips. Heat flooded her, and the bite on her shoulder burned. Gently she touched the injury he’d given her.

  Still, no visions came to her. Absolutely nothing. He was a complete enigma, which was more than disconcerting. Cait had never tried so hard to look into someone’s future. Of course, she’d never needed to before. She stomped her foot in frustration and held in a scream. Why couldn’t she see anything about him? Why was her gift failing her when she needed it most?

  “I want you,” he repeated, his gravelly voice rumbling across her.

  She snapped back to her senses and punched her hands to her hips. “Ye want me, do ye?” she asked haughtily.

  A small grin tipped the corners of his mouth. “You have no idea.”