The Taming of the Wolf

by Dare, Lydia

“Are ye sure ye doona feel up ta sittin’ at the table?” Cait asked as a maid fluffed the pillows behind the marquess and helped him to sit up.

  “I don’t think I have quite the legs for that, my lady. But I am very happy to have the company, even if Dashiel can’t be here. It has been a long time since I’ve shared a meal with a fine lady.”

  “Even if that fine lady just happens to be mine?” Dash boomed as he strode through the bedroom door.

  Cait was so happy to see him that she couldn’t even scold him for his tardiness. He bent and kissed her softly. “I’m sorry to be so late. It’s terribly inconsiderate of me not to be on time for a dinner engagement,” he said as he bowed quickly toward his father.

  “Quite formal, are we?” Cait muttered.

  Dash turned and winked at her. “Some of us like to stand on formality.”

  Of course, he would know much more about what his father expected than she did.

  The marquess finally said from his bed, “Not even the fact that she’s yours could make me dislike her, Dashiel. How did you find such a wife?”

  Cait saw Dash bristle. She slid her hand into his and squeezed softly. “Down, boy,” she whispered.

  Dash immediately relaxed and said to his father, “I bumped into her quite by accident, actually. I was visiting some friends, and they’d all gone out for an evening of entertainment.” He threw a huge grin at Cait.

  “And she happened to stumble into my path on her way to find a book in the study. It just happened to be where I was sequestered, and I knew immediately that I had to claim her as my own.”

  Cait had to fight to keep from giggling at his twist on the story.

  “Lucky incident there, Dashiel. You should consider yourself very fortunate. You could have done much worse.”

  “On that, we agree,” Dash said as he held out Cait’s chair at the table. After she sat, he took a spot beside her and motioned for the footmen to begin serving the meal.

  “How long do you intend on remaining at Eynsford?” the marquess asked as a servant ladled turtle soup into his bowl.

  Cait glanced at Dash, who shrugged. “Until my countess has had her fill of you.”

  “Then what?” the old man asked as he brought a spoonful of soup to his mouth.

  Dash shook his head. “I’ve never known you to be so interested in my plans, sir.”

  “I’m certain there are a great many things you don’t know,” his father snapped.

  Cait suppressed a gasp. Her sensibilities wouldn’t make this meal any more pleasant. “We’ll return home,” she told him soothingly. “Dashiel has hired a broker in Edinburgh, and we are lookin’ for a residence near my father and friends.”

  The marquess’ steely eyes focused on her as though she were a foreign species. “Scotland? Surely you jest.”

  Cait smiled as sweetly as she was able. “As I am Scottish, I canna imagine why ye would think I was jestin’, my lord.”

  Eynsford waved his gnarled hand around in a circle as though to encompass the entire room. “Brimsworth has a duty, my dear. I do not believe it has escaped your notice that I am dying. If I had a choice to leave my holdings to someone more… well, more suitable, I would do so.

  “But fate was not kind to me in that regard, and your husband is my heir. I have worked my entire life building my empire, and Brimsworth cannot see to it being run properly from Edinburgh.” He sneered the last as though the mere thought of Scotland left a bad taste in his mouth.

  “You’ve never needed me before now, sir,” Dash said amicably, which was a tone Cait rarely heard from him. Very strange, since she had expected growling. “Besides, it is important for Cait to be near her father.”

  Near her coven was what he meant, and Cait’s heart warmed at his words. She hadn’t made any demands on Dash, yet he knew what was important to her. He knew what she needed, and he was willing to give it to her.

  The marquess frowned down into his soup as though he didn’t have an appetite any longer. Then he raised his gaze to his son. “It won’t be long, Dashiel, before you are a peer of the realm. We have rarely seen eye to eye, but I did not expect you to turn your back on your duty.”

  Dash sighed. “You make it sound as though Edinburgh is on the other side of the world. I assure you it is not, Father.”

  But was it close enough? Cait sent her husband a sidelong glance. Was she being selfish by wanting to stay in Scotland? The circle of her coven had never been broken, though she knew the time was coming that Elspeth would spend a good amount of her time in England. Perhaps it was time for a change. She wished she could see what was supposed to happen.

  “The session will begin soon,” the marquess began. “Do you not intend to even take my seat in the Lords?”

  “You are still among the living,” Dash replied quietly.

  The old man shook his head. “I will not be by the time the session begins.”

  A blanket of silence fell upon the evening, and Cait looked from one man to the other. She’d never imagined that she’d find herself married to an English lord. The thought had never entered her mind until it happened.

  So many of her countrymen had fled Scotland during the clearances, pushed off their small farms and looking for opportunities in Canada and America. Having Dash’s voice in the House of Lords might be a happy circumstance for her fellow Scots. “I am certain that my husband has every intention of fulfillin’ his obligations, my lord.”

  Dash growled beside her. Truly, it wasn’t her place to speak for him.

  She turned her most charming smile on her husband, hoping to appease him. “The Westfields will be in London for the season… well no’ this comin’ one with her condition, but that is the plan for future years.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” The marquess scowled. “And who are the Westfields? Do you mean Blackmoor’s family?”

  Cait nodded at her father-in-law. “My dearest friend is married ta His Grace’s youngest brother. They are residin’ in Edinburgh most of the year but plan ta spend the season in London each spring.”

  “Hmmph.” Eynsford’s frown darkened. “The current duke has done nothing to recommend himself. He’s never taken up his seat. Too busy skirt chasing and gambling to be of any use to the country.” His silver eyes held Dash’s gaze. “Is that the sort of peer you aim to be?”

  It was certainly the sort of man Dash had been before he married Cait, if his little journal was any indication, though she held her tongue. He said his days of debauchery were over, and she believed him.

  Dash glowered at the marquess. “I intend to be the sort of man who takes care of his family first, fulfills his obligations to them, and then sees to all others.”

  The marquess grunted but seemed to be placated by Dash’s announcement of his intentions. “Try to do a better job of it than I did,” he finally said.

  “That leaves me quite a bit of room for error, doesn’t it, Father?” Dash replied dryly before meeting the old man’s gaze.

  The marquess snorted loudly just before he threw his spoon into his bowl with a loud clatter. “I couldn’t let a monster ruin everything I’d worked for. It was a judgment call. One I’d probably make again.”

  Dash stood up slowly. “I’m not a monster.”

  Cait motioned for all the servants to leave the room in haste. As soon as they all bustled out the door, she stood up beside Dash and slid her hand into his. He squeezed it gently as he looked down at her and smiled softly.

  Dash continued his speech. “I am a Lycan, Father.”

  “What kind of nonsense is this?” The marquess faltered, tripping over his words in surprise.

  “It’s not nonsense. It’s the truth. I was led to believe all my life that I was an anomaly. But I recently met more men like myself. We’re Lycans. Werewolves, if you will.”

  “Rubbish,” the marquess grumbled.

  “It’s not rubbish,” Dash bellowed as he smacked his open hand onto the table. “It’s the truth. Only you�
�re too blind to see it. And too stubborn to think I could be anything but that bastard child who killed your wife.”

  “Do not speak of her!” the marquess bit out, his face reddening.

  Cait rushed to his side with a glass of water as the man sputtered and coughed. He held up a hand for her to step back.

  “Why can’t I speak of her?” Dash asked the room at large, directing his question toward no one in particular.

  “You,” the marquess said as he pointed a finger at Dash, “cannot speak of her because you are the one who killed her, by God! You and your true sire, monster that he was.”

  The breath Dash drew in was almost painful to Cait. She covered her heart with her hand when Dash released it. Then she reached for him, but he was so quick that he was outside her grasp almost immediately.

  “I didn’t kill her.” Dash made that small statement, his voice quiet but succinct. “And neither did Radbourne.”

  ***

  Dash watched all the color drain from his father’s face at the mention of his sire. “He did,” the marquess insisted. “He took her into the woods under the light of a full moon. And he—”

  Dash held up a hand and growled, effectively stopping his father’s recounting of the events. He didn’t need to be told what Radbourne had done.

  Dash motioned for Cait to come closer. “We Lycans, most of us, can take our true mates into the woods with us, or anywhere else. When we claim them as our own, it’s beautiful. Not draining or demeaning like you suggest.” He looked into Cait’s soft blue eyes, and his heart expanded. She was so lovely, so trusting, so damned perfect. He rubbed a hand along her cheek. “Caitrin wears my mark, the mark that means she’s my true Lycan mate. She was meant for me.”

  “Blasphemous,” his father grunted out.

  “It’s true,” Cait said quietly from her place beside him.

  Dash couldn’t stop himself from drawing her within his arms and pressing a kiss to her forehead. She’d always stand up for him. She’d always be on his side. She was the only one who ever had.

  Cait’s voice was a bit louder when next she spoke. “He’s no’ a monster, my lord. He never has been. He’s a Lycan, as he says. I know others of his kind.” She moved to sit down on the side of his father’s bed. Such kindness was in her. Almost enough to temper Dash’s fire, but not quite.

  “But the moon comes,” the marquess said harshly, his words grating, even to Dash. “You’ve obviously never seen him when there’s a full moon.”

  “Have ye seen him yerself?” Cait blurted out.

  God, he loved that woman. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let her go, never let any harm come to her, not even from himself.

  “I was the first to shackle him when I saw what damage he could do.” His father’s chin jutted upward with a stubborn tilt.

  “Ye say that as though ye’re proud of it, my lord.”

  “Proud to have chained the monster? Yes, I was.” The ruddy color was back in the man’s cheeks. He obviously was ready to fight. “I couldn’t let him hurt anyone.”

  “And he admits it so freely,” Dash said quietly as he sunk heavily into a chair. “You can stop, Cait. He’ll never understand. He’ll die a bitter and lonely old man who has no one to love him.”

  “I have never needed anyone to love me. I am a resourceful man. Look at my position in the House of Lords. Look at my estates. Look at all this.” He motioned around the room. “I have not failed at anything.”

  “Yes, you did.” Dash stood up on legs that were a bit shaky and crossed the room. He tugged a curtain on the wall until it slid back to reveal a portrait of his mother. She was nearly breathtaking in her gentle beauty with golden curls that billowed around her shoulders, a peaceful smile that graced a full set of lips, and eyes so green the artist must have embellished them.

  When Dash was younger, he would sneak into the room when the marquess was gone and study the portrait of the woman with the smiling face who looked so happy. And dream. He’d dream of a life he could never have. Because monsters didn’t find happiness.

  Dash pointed to the painting. “You failed at this.”

  “I failed at nothing,” the man growled, his breaths becoming more and more labored. “Close the curtain. I do not want to see it.”

  “Does her smile make you sad, Father? This must have been painted before she met you. She actually looks content. Ecstatic, even.”

  “That was finished a few days before your birth. When she was huge with her belly full of you.” He sneered the last word, spittle flying from his mouth.

  Cait’s soft lilt reached his ears. “She did love ye, Dash. Ye can see it in the paintin’. I think she was happy ye were ta be born.”

  “Quiet!” the marquess yelled. “Out! Both of you, out!” Then a fresh wave of coughs gripped him.

  As Cait leaned forward to offer the man some water, Dash saw the marquess move out of the corner of his eye. But he felt so out of kilter, realizing his mother was happy to be with child, with him, that he couldn’t prevent what happened next. His father raised his arm and swung it with all of his might, the back of his hand making a cracking sound as he struck Cait across the face. She landed on the floor with a dull thud.

  “I said, ‘Out!’” the old man snarled.

  Dash could see nothing but the redness of fury behind his eyelids. He crossed the room in three quick strides, yanked Cait to her feet, and then thrust her immediately behind him.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt her tugging frantically on his arm, trying with all the strength she had to keep him from moving toward his father. But her slight form was no match for him.

  He wrapped his hands around the marquess’ throat and actually felt a rush of glee at the thought of killing the old man. Eynsford’s face turned red, then purple. Then he sunk back against the pillows, the fight moving out of him.

  Where tugging and pleading hadn’t worked, Cait’s gentle voice did. She said very plainly in his ear, “Please, Dash, I love ye. Doona do this.” Then she repeated it, pulling him from his haze. Dash looked down at the old man dying beneath his hands and loosened his hold.

  The marquess gasped in a few lungsful of air. “See. I told you. He’ll always be a monster,” his father croaked out. Then he pointed a weak finger at Dash. “Always! You can’t run far enough or fast enough to leave behind the monster that’s within you.”

  “If you ever touch my wife again, I will kill you,” Dash growled. Then he quickly quit the room, escaping as fast and furiously as he could, despite Cait’s pleas that he wait. Despite her pleas that he stop. Despite the fact that he was still livid with rage.

  Thirty-Five

  Lying in bed, Cait closed her eyes and willed Dash to return to her. She didn’t have the first clue where to search for him. Eynsford Park was sprawling, and she didn’t know her way around at all, especially not in the dark. She wouldn’t find Dash until he wanted to be found, though Cait was certain that wherever he was, he knew she was waiting for him. He had to have heard her calling his name for the last hour.

  There was nothing to do but to wait. And perhaps do a bit of research. At least it would keep her mind off where her husband had escaped to.

  Cait rolled to her side and opened Eynford’s copy of Debrett’s. She flipped through the pages, searching for the right entry. She went through the listings of dukes. Radbourne apparently wasn’t a marquess or an earl, either. Then she smiled when she finally found the page she sought.

  “Radbourne of Baslow, Derbyshire, Viscount,” she whispered to herself as her fingers trailed across the words. The first in the line was a Timothy Hadley in 1573. Cait glanced at the bottom of the page, only reaching a Clarence Hadley in 1596. She flipped two pages, then two more, until she felt as though she was getting closer to the listing she needed.

  There it was. The current Viscount Radbourne was Archer Hadley, born 1793. But that would make him younger than Dash. She moved up a paragraph, and then a sick feeling took her o
ver. If the current Viscount Radbourne was younger than Dash, then his natural father was gone. Dash had never gotten the chance to meet the man. He’d never know what his father was like, never be able to judge for himself.

  With a trembling finger she touched the name Edward Hadley, born 1765, died 1797. Good heavens! He’d been gone twenty years.

  “Edward Hadley married Violet Archer in 1792, the eldest daughter of John Archer, the sixth Baron Wardley. He had issue by his lady three sons, Archer Hadley, the current viscount, born 1793, Weston Hadley, born 1795 and his twin, Grayson Hadley, born 1795,” she muttered softly.

  Cait stared at the words on the page. Edward Hadley was gone, but Dash had three brothers. Three brothers he’d never met, never knew existed. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to the news, and she sighed. How long was he going to keep himself from her?

  ***

  Dash prowled the grounds of Eynsford Park, cursing Eynsford for being such a miserable prig, himself for letting the old man still get to him, and Cait for making him come to this awful place to begin with. He wanted to bolt, to run as far as he was able, as far as it took for his father’s words to stop echoing in his ears. He’ll always be a monster. He didn’t want it to be true, but he knew in his heart that it was. Other Lycans managed to control the beast that lived inside them, to tamp it down when necessary. He would never have that sort of power over himself. He was too wild.

  If Caitie hadn’t begged him to stop, he’d have squeezed the air from his father’s body. He didn’t doubt it for one moment. He still had the urge to do so, to storm back inside the manor house and hasten the old buzzard’s demise.

  Dash increased his gait, stalking toward Eynford’s rectory. The old sandstone building caught his eye under the light of the moon, and he stopped in his tracks. He wondered if Mr. Nelson was still there under his father’s employ. During some of his darkest hours as a child, he’d taken comfort in the old rector’s teachings. Peace, forgiveness, responsibility.

  Dash leaned against the stone fence and stared at the old wooden door that led to the rector’s residence. No heartbeat came from within. No breathing. Not that he was surprised. Mr. Nelson had been ancient when Dash was a child. Still, the memories of the old man’s kind face and soft words washed over him and brought him a bit of peace.