Shackles of Honor

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “You…you will not hurt me. You may destroy every object in this house. But you’ll not hurt me.”

  “So certain are you, pudding?” he growled.

  “Yes,” she managed to force from her throat, though the look in his eyes did nothing to encourage her belief of safety in his presence.

  Mason released his grip on Cassidy’s tender shoulders and stood, back straightened, head held high, as he inhaled deep breaths, trying to gain control of his grief-stricken temper.

  “What could my father possibly have had to say to you only moments before death claimed him? Hmm? Did he promise you release from this bondage in which you find yourself? Did he tell you of secrets no one else knows?” His intense, suspicious gaze burrowed its way into her conscience.

  “I did not beg release from my betrothal to you. How shallow do you think I am that I would upset a dying man’s orders? And, yes, he did tell me. He told me why you have been required to marry me,” she managed to force from her lips.

  “What of it did he speak to you? A sad, pitiful tale of young love stripped mercilessly from the hearts of those who had secreted it?” He shook his head scoffingly. “To think…perhaps you and I might have been sister and brother had it been otherwise.”

  “Never. You are far too your father and I my mother. And I could not have loved you as such.” He raised his eyebrows and sneered mockingly at her as she continued, “Furthermore, your mother and my father could not have truly loved each other with the depth that they felt they did, for had it been so, they would have found a way. Defied whomever they would have had to defy…and wed all the same.”

  “Forsaking titles, wealth, position? Humph!”

  “Yes.”

  He still looked at her with a mocking expression. “Then am I to understand that you did not truly love this stablehand…or gardener…this Gavin? For had you truly loved him, you would have run away together, leaving me to be shamed and yourself disowned by family.”

  Cassidy drew in a deep breath and through clenched teeth confirmed, “Exactly.”

  He grinned slightly, pleased somehow, and Cassidy thrilled inwardly as he caressed her cheek briefly with the back of his hand. “That is one refreshingly sweet thing about you…your ability to believe that such things could really be.”

  “Such things can,” she stated angrily, for she did not like his intimating that she was naive.

  “Perhaps. Only far more rarely than you perceive. More likely the people involved marry the detestable choice made for them and in a short time take lovers to satisfy their needs for friendship and other aspects of life.”

  “I am no such infidel. Are you telling me that you are?” she asked forthrightly.

  “You know I am not. Though I do not perceive that I could love any woman more than I honor my duty. Therefore, it is not as hard for me to do this thing as it is for you, for my heart belongs to no one.”

  His words were stingingly hurtful. Final. He was informing her candidly that he could never love her. That he only intended to marry her and to endure life with her because it was his duty.

  Though she wanted to fly at him, screaming and gouging at his flesh with her fingernails for breaking her heart so literally, she simply whispered, “I only wish I were as heartless as you, for then it would be as much a duty to me as well, and we could simply go about our unhappy existences without a care or thought to anything existing otherwise.”

  She turned and exited his chamber, nodding reassuringly to the servants waiting outside, and walked across the hall to her own chamber. She had barely closed the door behind her when the tears burst from her eyes and her breath seemed to elude her. He had said it plainly—spoken the words to her, assuring her that she would never own any part of his heart. The spark of hope—which had helped her endure the announcement by her father that she was to wed this stranger, carried her through living in a house that was not her home, kept the one ember of happiness alive in her soul—had been extinguished by his forthrightness. By his cruelty. Stumbling to her bedpost, she grasped it firmly, steadying herself as she gasped for breath.

  “Lord Carlisle,” she sobbed in a whisper, “you should have given him his freedom. Oh, why did you not give him his freedom?”

  She startled violently when the door to her chamber flew open, revealing a shirtless, otherwise generally disheveled Mason standing there.

  “Leave me alone,” she told him as servant eyes peered in a moment before he slammed the door behind him.

  “I…I did not mean to speak so—” he began.

  “Do not say another word to me, milord. For any further rebuke can only serve to further the degradation of me,” she interrupted.

  He closed his eyes before speaking in a low, agonized voice. “He has left me, Cassidy. The mantle feels heavy, a yoke laden with brick upon my shoulders. My mother will grieve for him brutally…even more, though it is unfathomable to me, even more than I. She will need comfort beyond that which I think I can give her. All his obligations, his accountabilities, his duties are now mine to bear. I did not intend to speak so harshly to you. So cruelly. I did not mean—”

  “Please, I have my own burdens to bear, though they be but millet seed in comparison with yours. Still, they are heavy and painful to me. Go about your vase smashing and curt revelations. I do not wish to be any larger a brick on your shoulders than I already am.” She turned to face him, leaning back against her bedpost for support.

  “I am ashamed to stand here before you,” he muttered. “For you have done nothing but show strength, resolve, and all other honorable qualities. I can only beg your forgiveness and, in begging, petition your understanding of the great, unsoothable pain I am feeling at my father’s…death. I would never speak such heartless and untrue things to you otherwise, and I vow this day never again to speak such deeply cutting words.”

  “You’re not a man to speak lies, sir. You only voiced your true—” she stammered.

  “No. Truth mingled with confused and grief-stricken untruth. Those were my words.”

  She knew in the depths of her heart he was sincere. He had spoken hatefully only for the pain he had been feeling. But if he spoke both truth and untruth…which was truth and which was untruth, she could only wonder.

  He sighed heavily and passed by her, coming to sit on the foot of her bed, his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. “The anger is gone from me now,” he mumbled. “Only the deep, pulsating pain remains in my chest. I had no idea that facing such loss could be so marring. Even when Jillian died, it was not so fully devastating. Perhaps because I was younger, stronger, or less aware of…” He inhaled deeply and raised his face to look at the ceiling, the moisture plentiful but restrained in his eyes.

  “You are tired. You need diversion,” Cassidy choked.

  She ached for the pain that was in his heart. She knew then that he had not meant all, at least, of the cruelty he’d spoken. She, after all, had intruded on his anger. Before she had entered, it was simply the vases and glass ornaments that had been the victims of his hurting. But when she had forced her way into his room, it had been an intrusion of sorts.

  “What diversion? What do you suggest, Miss Shea?” he asked kindly but with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “For it would indeed take something monumental to divert this pain,” he told her, pressing one powerful hand against his chest over his heart. His left hand it was, and Cassidy’s attention was arrested by the bracelet he wore there. Now she knew. She knew why her father had given her the bracelet to present to Mason. Mason had known what it represented. And Mason had accepted and worn it from that moment.

  Cassidy brushed at the tears on her cheeks, returning her thoughts to the situation at hand. “Well, you have already smashed every vase in the house to pieces. So that is no longer an option.” Cassidy smiled helplessly when he looked up quickly to her.

  Mason grinned and shook his head, amused a little. “You are right with that one. Though you still have two or three in
here of which I was not aware.”

  Cassidy smiled and laughed slightly as he did. And then, when his features dropped to that of grieving once more, her heart swelled with pity, and she went to stand before him, looking down and saying, “I am so sorry, Ma…Mason. I’m so sorry I cannot help to ease your pain. I wish I could do something, anything to help you.” She was trembling from the courage needed to address him by name. He seemed not to notice, however.

  “Something to temporarily distract me from my present thoughts?” He reached out and put his hands at her waist unexpectedly, pulling her forward between his knees until her legs were flush with the bed. She was unnerved when she noticed the expression on his face was changing. Fading from his charming features were the haggard lines of frowning grief, and slowly a look of mischief, of purely male mischief, was replacing them. “Are you offering yourself as that something, pudding?” he asked in a low, provocative whisper.

  “You would never act thus when your wits were about you, sir,” she tried to tell him calmly.

  He raised his eyebrows a moment and nodded. “Sir, is it again?” he mumbled, grinning at her slightly. “You think I act irrationally? Perhaps so. I admit to you that my wits have been cast to the wind this day.”

  He endeavored to pull her closer, all the while gazing up beguilingly at her. She nearly lost her balance and put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as she looked apprehensively down into his perfect face.

  “Comfort me, Cassidy Bliss. Divert my thoughts, if you will. For that is, in itself, comfort, is it not?” he mumbled.

  Cassidy paused, her attention captured by his lips, which curved up slightly in a small grin. He turned his head to one side and placed a lingering kiss on the back of her hand, which grasped his shoulder. She pulled the hand away quickly, unsettled yet elated by the tingling sensation his gesture caused. He quickly caught the escaping hand and pressed her palm to his lips, his eyes weaving a spell of bewitching enticement. After kissing her palm several times in succession, he took her other hand from his shoulder and placed both of her soft palms to his cheeks, holding them with his own. His jaw was solid, his face rough with whisker growth, and Cassidy began to tremble with anticipation, for she knew he meant to kiss her. She watched, mesmerized by his handsome features, as her own thumbs caressed his lips softly. He grinned triumphantly at her as his arms encircled her waist loosely.

  “Come now, sweet Bliss. It is simple enough. Distract me then.”

  His manner was teasing, but the pain of loss apparent in his eyes was the truth. His expression wore a smile. Indeed it did. Yet fatigue, frustration, and the appearance of being overwhelmed by responsibility were there as well. Cassidy’s heart ached with an unfathomable sympathy for him, for his loss, and for the sudden responsibilities placed upon his broad shoulders. She watched, astonished at her own actions, as her hands slid slowly from his cheeks, upward, her fingers losing themselves in the softness of his hair. He closed his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping his lungs, further proof of his discouragement. Softly she stroked his hair over and over again, sensing that it worked to relax him somewhat. After long moments of silence, he unexpectedly leaned forward, resting his head fully on her stomach while his arms still held her waist. His breathing was steady and his body still for such long moments that she wondered if perhaps he had fallen asleep. In the next instant, however, he released her and stood up suddenly.

  “Your hands weave a spell of soothing comfort. I will not deny you that.” Then he smiled and moved past her toward the door. Pausing, he turned and added, “But your skills in distraction need tuning if a simple rumpling of my hair is all you can offer.”

  “What desire you that I should do?” she exclaimed then. It had taken great courage for her to initiate even the simplest of caressing affections. “Fling myself at you? Would merely seducing you entirely befit your expectations?”

  “Yes!” he nearly shouted, the expression of frustration returning to his face. “You find me in a weak moment, Miss Shea. A moment when I have not the strength left in me to support all those in need, to stand as an invincible pillar against all else.” He strode angrily back to where she stood, pointed one trembling finger at her face, and growled, “You offered me blessed distraction…and only toyed with my senses a bit, teasing and taunting, further adding to my grief!”

  “I offered distraction! I did not offer that you should own my virtue!” Cassidy cried out as tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “And I did not ask that I should.” He turned and angrily left the room, slamming the door violently.

  Instantly Cassidy was at his heels. She nearly had to run to catch up to him and barely slipped through the opening of his chamber door before it slammed shut as well.

  “Mason,” she pleaded, taking hold of his arm. But he yanked it from her grasp furiously. “Mason! Stop this at once!” she demanded. He looked at her, his eyes narrowing daringly. “Please stop this tantrum.”

  Mason inhaled deeply and clenched his teeth shut, obviously to restrain himself from remarking back to her.

  “Here,” she began then, taking hold of either side of his shoulders and letting her hands go to the back of his neck. Gently she rubbed at the tangible ache in his muscles caused from emotional exertion. But it was awkward for her to massage him thoroughly his height such as it was. “Please, sit down on the bed,” she urged.

  He obeyed, and she sat next to him, continuing her work on the soreness of his muscles. As she worked a spell of relaxation over him, she again looked about the room, at the scene of total destruction.

  How deep the pain he must be feeling, she thought.

  Mason shook his head, turned to face her, took her hands from his shoulders, and held them tightly in his lap. “You take such a lot of bad behavior from me,” he mumbled. “You are a good girl. Do you know that?”

  Cassidy didn’t hear a word he had said, for when he turned to face her, took her hands in his own, her attention was immediately distracted by his mouth, the subtle movement of his lips as he spoke. Without further thought of consequence, she leaned forward quickly and placed one long, firmly sweet kiss directly on his lips. She did not pull back from him once the kiss had ended, but remained leaning forward, her mouth only inches from his. In an instant his hands released hers, took hold of her face powerfully, and drew her head to his once more as his mouth worked a kiss so solid and thorough that it threatened to smother her, to cause her discomfort.

  All his frustrations, pain, and emotions were apparent as he continued to kiss her. His arms went around her, attempting to pull her closer as he worked a spell of grievous passion about her. But their position was awkward, and he grew impatient with it. Before Cassidy realized what had taken place, Mason simply laid his body back on the bed, pulling her forward so she too lay stretched out next to him as their affectionate exchange continued to blaze. Having her wits more fully about her than Mason seemed to, Cassidy breathlessly pushed herself free of him for a moment, shaking her head.

  “You are only distressed, Mason. I remind you again that you would not normally act so…”

  His sorrowful, tired, impassioned gaze captured hers, and her words were lost. He sat up and gently took hold of her shoulders as he carefully laid her back on the bed, letting his body rest next to hers. One of his powerful hands slid beneath her head as he supported himself on one elbow, enabling him to embrace her at the waist, leaning over her as he continued his previous endeavors.

  “Mason,” Cassidy pleaded. But she felt her resolve dissipating as he began placing moist, lingering kisses on her throat. “Mason…I…I…” she whispered, for she realized that her will was overcome and that her trust in him would needs be her champion.

  “Place your trust in me, Cassidy. Trust me.” His voice was low and soothing. His eyes were warm and reassuring. Honest. Honorable.

  “I do trust you,” she whispered.

  “I promise you,” his low, provocative voice mumbled, “your wisdom in such a cho
ice is merited.”

  His mouth took hers more gently this time. For long minutes they shared the taste of each other’s kiss. They embraced, his hand caressing her face, neck, hair, and sometimes her shoulder. And she held him as well, let her fingers interlace at the back of his neck or be lost in the beloved softness of his hair, let her hands travel over the powerful muscles in his back and arms, measure the breadth of his strong shoulders. And ever was he a gentleman. Never once did his hands stray beyond that which was acceptable. Never once did he endeavor to perform any impropriety.

  The mantel clock striking three in the dark hours of morning broke the bewitching alliance they had formed. Mason released Cassidy, sat up fully, and grasped his forehead as if a pain were tormenting him there. Cassidy’s skin tingled with the remnant sense of Mason’s touch. Her neck and lips still sensed his kiss. She was overwhelmed with an intoxicating type of contented fatigue, and in closing her eyes only for a moment, sleep nearly overtook her.

  It was in that dimension—that odd, foggy place where one is asleep yet still awake—that Cassidy felt her body lifted and then cradled safely in Mason’s arms. She heard the door to his chamber open, heard his footsteps in the corridor, smelled the sweet scent of vanilla that adorned her own chamber. She knew when he laid her on her bed, and in that sweet, foggy security before sleep, she opened her eyes, and tears stained her cheeks once more at the sight of him appearing so tired and hurt before her. His smile was gone. Any semblance of endurance was gone.

  As he reached down and cupped her cheek in his hand, brushing at her tears with his thumb, he mumbled, “You loved him, did you not? More deeply than you thought you would.”

  “Yes,” she admitted in a whisper.

  Mason’s hand left her cheek and went to his own eyes as he rubbed wearily at their excess moisture. “Diversion. But only temporary, Bliss. For the dawn brings reality. And what is will be.” Turning from him, she wept bitterly into the softness of her pillow. And still, a moment before he stood and left her alone in her grief, she sensed her entire body thrilling as she felt his moist kiss on the nape of her neck.