Taming of the Wolf

by Lydia Dare

  He made her feel things she had never felt before, dangerous things. Behind her eyelids, she could see the dried plants as they turned red like embers. Showers of sparks fell from her hands into the bowl as she released the ingredients and let them fall.

  “Cadail, madadh-allaidh, cadail.”

  Caitrin opened her eyes and smiled. She’d never had the impetus for such a strong potion in the past. But his lordship inspired her. She held back a giggle as she imagined her anger-infused potion doing its work by sending him into a deep slumber. Deep enough for her to be able to slip away from him.

  Deep enough for her to win this one small victory.

  Caitrin made arrangements for the special tea to be steeped and delivered when she was ready for it. Then she sat back with a smile on her face and waited.

  ***

  Dash paced from one side of his room to the other like a caged animal. She was right next door. She was so close that he could hear her moving about her room. She’d taken to whispering for some reason, which was slowly driving him insane.

  What was she doing over there?

  Dash lifted his head and sniffed. The odor of lavender touched his nose. Perhaps she’d ordered her bath with a lavender soap. He had to admit he’d be disappointed if she bathed in lavender as opposed to the honeysuckle scent she usually wore. However, the thought of her naked in a bath made him immediately hard. Damn the woman. She was going to ensure his stay at Bedlam. Thoughts of her when she was fully clothed were bad enough. Thoughts of her naked were more than he could bear.

  But then he heard her humming and her footsteps moving across the room. If she wasn’t in the bath, he could push the thoughts of her unclothed from his mind. He wished, anyway.

  Her door opened. Dash’s ears immediately perked up. Certainly she didn’t plan to dine without him. He heard her speak softly to someone at the door. He opened his own door and stepped into the hallway. He didn’t care if she knew he was listening. He had to know what she was up to.

  A maid stood at Caitrin’s door, and she motioned her inside with a tray. Tea? She’d called for tea. So she was avoiding dinner with him then.

  Dash stepped into her open doorway just as the servant left the room. Caitrin was beautiful. Her curls hung loosely down her back, daring him to touch them, to bury his face in them.

  “Dash, what are ye doin’?” she gasped, tugging her wrapper tighter about her body.

  “You’re not dressed for dinner.”

  Caitrin smiled slowly, which completely disarmed him. She was positively enchanting. No wonder he had claimed her that night. Between her and the power of the moon, he’d been completely helpless. He still was.

  “I’m no’ feelin’ quite up ta it. So I ordered some tea instead. Would ye care for a bit?”

  “Beg your pardon?” Had she truly just asked him to come into her room for tea? His heart soared a bit.

  “Tea, Dash.” She giggled. “Would ye like some tea?”

  He stepped into the room and quickly closed the door behind him before she changed her mind. Cait turned to pour, and he stepped closer to her, his front to her back. If he stepped any closer, he’d have her bottom in the saddle of his hips. He inhaled deeply and smiled. She still smelled like honeysuckle.

  She glanced over her shoulder as he heard her heartbeat speed up. He took two steps back. “Are ye all right?”

  He nodded. “What is that smell?”

  “Oh, it’s the lavender and chamomile in the tea,” she said as she turned and offered him a cup. Then she took her own and sat down on the bed, scooting over to where she could lean against the wall. She tugged the counterpane until it covered her feet. “Again, I find myself in an improper situation with ye, Dash.”

  He loved the sound of his name on her lips. “I promise never to tell a soul.” He sank into a chair across the room and tried to appear the perfect gentleman. Only he wasn’t. He knew it even better than she did.

  Her lips pursed as she blew across the rim of her teacup. He’d never aspired to be a teacup, but at that moment…

  “Ye doona like the tea?” she asked, her heartbeat quickening.

  He took a sip of the tea. “It’s quite good, actually.”

  “My own special recipe.” She smiled at him again.

  “You’re quite talented.”

  “Oh, ye have no idea,” she remarked absently as he took another sip and then laid his head back against the high-backed chair.

  “I’d love the opportunity to discover all your hidden talents.”

  “Ye flatter me, my lord.”

  He’d do a lot more than that, if given half a chance. “I can’t be the first man to flatter you.” He took another sip of his tea. Truly the flavor was remarkable, like nothing he’d ever tasted before.

  “There might have been one or two who tried.”

  Dash would thrash anyone who did so in the future. “Is there someone waiting for you in Glasgow?” It was best to know what he was up against.

  Caitrin glanced into her teacup. “That’s really none of yer concern.”

  It was worse than he thought. Dash tried to keep the growl from his voice. “Who is he?”

  “I doona like for dogs ta bark at me, my lord. Ye’d do well ta remember that.”

  “For the love of God, Caitie, answer the question. Is there some Scottish lad waiting to haul you in front of an altar when you return?” Dash took a large gulp of tea to deflect how important her answer was to him.

  Caitrin shook her head. “There was someone,” she admitted softly. “But it wasna meant ta be.”

  How was that even possible? She was the prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on. Anything less than droves of men waiting for her return would be ludicrous. “Who was he?” The vision of her before his eyes began to blur. Strange. Could jealousy cause dizziness?

  “Dash?” He heard her voice as though she was suddenly a great distance away. “Dash?” This time, she was even farther.

  He opened his mouth to respond but found himself unable. He didn’t even care. He was so tired. So, so tired. He closed his eyes only briefly, annoyed to find that they refused to open when he willed it.

  And, before he knew it, he was dreaming of a girl with flaxen hair who smelled like springtime and honeysuckle.

  ***

  Cait stood and crossed the room to look closer at him. He’d looked dazed and confused, and a bit of guilt crossed her mind. Was this really the right thing to do? Of course it was. She couldn’t let the man keep assaulting her senses. And the fact that he cleared her mind before he did it made it even more disconcerting, more powerful.

  “Dash?” she asked cautiously. He looked to be deep in slumber. Dare she hope? “Dash,” she called again as she shook his shoulder. He didn’t move. She placed a finger below his nose, happy to feel his breath move in and out. She had no idea how long he’d sleep. So, she quickly donned her traveling dress, tucked her nightrail and wrapper into her bag, and was ready to slip out the door.

  But at the last minute, she looked back at him. A lock of golden hair fell across his forehead. She crossed the room and brushed it back, then pressed a kiss where the stray lock had been. “Sleep well, Dash,” she murmured, and then slipped out the door.

  She met Jeannie in the taproom and called for her coach.

  “This is a bad idea, Miss,” Jeannie whispered vehemently. “I doona think he’ll take too kindly ta bein’ tricked.”

  “Aye, ye already said that,” Cait hissed back. “But it’s done. Let’s be off.”

  Cait allowed Lamont to hand her into the coach, and Jeannie followed. The coach leapt into motion. She was nearly free. Almost! Then the coach slowed. She groaned. What now?

  Jeannie lifted the curtain and looked out. “Looks like it’s his lordship’s coachman,” she muttered. “I told ye this wouldna work.”

  She heard Dash’s driver call to her own but couldn’t make out the words. Then she heard Lamont call back. He laughed and said, “No need ta worry. It a
ppears as though his lordship has decided ta stay the night, but my mistress needs ta continue on.”

  Some muffled words came again. Then Lamont said, “I doubt he’d like it if ye bothered him now. He was above-stairs with two wenches when I last saw him.”

  Dash’s coachman chuckled. “Back to his usual pursuits. It’s about time.”

  Caitrin gasped. Entertaining two wenches was his normal practice? The cad! She suddenly felt much better about her decision.

  The coach lurched back into motion. Good riddance.

  Nine

  What was that incessant pounding? Dash leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He blinked his eyes open to find the room flooded with daylight, which sent pain shooting to the back of his head. He closed his eyes tightly.

  “Milord?” Renshaw’s panicked voice filtered into the room.

  Dash’s head throbbed. He couldn’t remember it ever hurting like this, as though his brain was being squeezed in two. Not even after his most debauched nights of carousing and imbibing did he ever feel this miserable.

  The pounding started again.

  Dear God, what was that sound? And where the devil was he?

  “Lord Brimsworth!” his coachman bellowed.

  Must the man scream so loudly? Then he heard a jingling sound that echoed painfully in his brain. He groaned. A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Lord Brimsworth,” Renshaw’s voice came again, only this time much closer, booming in his ear.

  Dash managed to open one eye. This was the most bizarre dream. He’d never experienced anything like it. He was quite ready to wake up now and be done with the fog that encompassed his brain.

  Renshaw’s face was ashen, but he sighed with relief. “Thank heavens, milord. I thought something had happened to you.”

  Dash opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His tongue felt heavy and dry.

  “Are you all right?” The heavy-set innkeeper stepped around the coachman and pocketed a ring full of keys. Ah, that must have been the jingling sound he’d heard.

  Dash opened the other eye and focused on the two men in front of him, since they were blocking out the blinding light. “Water,” he rasped.

  “Of course.” The innkeeper bustled from the room, leaving Dash with his coachman, who bent over him, frowning.

  “What happened, milord?”

  Dash wished he knew. “I don’t know.” It hurt to speak. “Where am I?”

  “Northampton,” the driver answered. “Where we stopped for the night with Miss Macleod’s party.”

  Caitrin. His heart lurched. Was she all right? The evening came back to him in a flash. She’d invited him to tea, and he was intent on behaving. He glanced around the room but couldn’t see any sign of her. “Where is she?”

  Renshaw frowned. “She left that night, milord.”

  Something about that made his stomach tighten. “I told you we needed to travel with them, Renshaw.” His voice was growing stronger as his memory started to clear.

  The coachman shuffled his feet. “Well, her driver said you were occupied with a couple of wenches and you changed your mind about going to Scotland.”

  “Your orders come from me, not some damned Scottish coachman!” Fury began to build inside his chest. The whispered conversations. The invitation to tea. The headache that still pulsed in his brain. He’d smelled lavender in her room long before her tea had arrived.

  She’d poisoned him!

  He clutched the arms of the chair and realized his back was sore from sleeping the night away in the high-backed chair. When he caught up to Caitrin Macleod, he’d toss her over his knee and be certain she knew which one of them was in charge. “Make sure the coach is ready.”

  The innkeeper bustled in with a tankard of water. “Here ye are, milord.”

  Dash took the proffered cup and downed the contents in one gulp. He rose only to find his legs were shaky as a newborn colt’s and the room spun a bit. Renshaw stepped forward to steady him. “Back to London, Lord Brimsworth?”

  “No!” he roared, which was a mistake, as the roar echoed in his ears. “I have to get to Glasgow. And we have to catch her before she gets there.” For God’s sake, was the man deaf?

  The coachman’s dark eyes dropped to the floor. “Of course, milord, but they have such a lead that we’ll never catch them.”

  “It’s only a few hours,” Dash ground out. And his coach was lighter. There were just two of them while Caitrin’s carriage was loaded down with people and heavy trunks of clothes and whatever else she traveled with. Her vanity would be her undoing.

  Renshaw lifted his gaze, wincing as he said, “Not hours, milord. She’s been gone two days.”

  Two days! How could he have possibly been out so long? Dash’s heart sank as his ire rose even higher. Did she plan to kill him with her poisonous tea? Certainly she didn’t think she could murder an English lord and get away with it. It was just his luck to be connected for life to a lass who would like to see him six feet under the ground.

  “I have all the faith in the world in you, Renshaw. Just do be careful.”

  ***

  Rain pounded the countryside, and lightning lit up the darkened sky. More than once, Cait’s coach slid on the muddy lane. They had to stop; the only question was where.

  Cait closed her eyes and concentrated on her coachman’s future, but she couldn’t see anything. The thunder rattled her nerves, and all she could do was pray that the driver would find shelter for them soon. This was the last time she would travel without the climate-controlling Rhiannon. Good weather was a must for any future excursion.

  Jeannie peered out the window, her hands shaking in her lap.

  “We’ll be fine,” Cait tried to reassure her.

  “Are ye certain?” Her maid’s eyes shot to her. Jeannie never came right out and asked things like that. She never openly acknowledged Cait’s powers, generally ignoring anything that would be difficult to explain. She must be terrified to do so now.

  Cait forced a smile to her lips and nodded. “Lamont is an excellent driver. He’s fared worse durin’ many a Scottish winter.”

  “Ye’re right.” Jeannie sighed and appeared more at ease.

  Cait wished she could be appeased as easily. She’d had a gnawing in her stomach ever since they’d left Northampton four days ago. It was silly, but she missed the comfort Dashiel Thorpe offered.

  She rested her head against the side of the coach and wondered for the hundredth time if she’d made a mistake where the earl was concerned. She barely knew the man. How could she possibly miss him?

  A flash of lightning lit up the interior of the coach at the same moment thunder boomed overhead. Before Caitrin could gather her wits about her, she heard a splintering crash and the carriage jerked to a stop. Both Lamont and Boyd bellowed one Scottish curse after another. Cait’s ears were nearly burning.

  The coach door was wrenched open, and the driver looked inside. Rainwater poured from him in sheets. “A tree’s blockin’ our path, and the back wheel is stuck in the mud. We canna stay here, or we’ll be washed away.”

  Cait closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. “There’s an inn just a mile away.” She could see it clearly in her mind now that they’d stopped moving. “We can make it on foot.”

  Jeannie gasped. “We’ll drown if we go out there.”

  But they wouldn’t. Cait could see a warm hearth and a kindly faced innkeeper and something… comfortable, though she couldn’t quite see what that was. But, if she could see herself inside the inn, they’d make it. “Ye’ll just have ta trust me.”

  She wrapped the Macleod plaid over her head and stepped out into the rain. Her half boots sunk into the muddy road, but she paid that no attention. She needed to keep her mind focused on finding the inn.

  As Lamont and Boyd struggled to calm the horses and secure the coach, Cait started off toward civilization. Jeannie slogged behind her as they fought against the wind and pounding rain.
Cait finally spotted a warm glow on the horizon and could make out a sign swaying in the distance. Just a little farther.

  Freezing and drenched, they pressed forward. Cait could now make out the sign and hear laughter escaping the inn. The Black Swan was just a few feet away. She threw open the door to the taproom and rushed inside.

  All sounds of merriment stopped, and water began to pool at her feet. A cheery looking fellow, the man from her vision, rushed forward. “Heavens, Miss! Are you all right?”

  Cait wanted to cry, she was so relieved to have found the place. “My coach is stuck in the mud.” She sneezed. “I am hopin’ ye have an extra room here.”

  She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned toward a group of men playing cards in the corner. Comfortable. The feeling rushed back to her. Then Alec MacQuarrie, as handsome as ever, rose from his seat. “Caitrin Macleod, is that you?”

  Ten

  Dash sincerely doubted he’d ever been as angry in his life as he was at that very moment. He’d been chasing after Caitrin Macleod for days. Every day, he followed her honeysuckle scent, the trail leading him closer and closer to her and the Scottish border.

  The rain had obscured the scent for the past several hours, but it would be foolish to leave the Great North Road on which they’d been traveling. He’d catch up to her sooner or later. However, he would really like for the rain to stop so he could catch her scent again, just to be sure.

  His carriage was light. And fast. And he’d pushed each set of horses far beyond what he normally expected of such creatures. In fact, he’d pushed his coachman to the point where Renshaw did nothing but glower at him.

  Dash looked up at the clouded blackness of the storm-laden sky and let the water rush over him. He’d given up his futile efforts to stay dry after being pelted with heavy rain until his Hessians pulled at his feet like anchors stuck in the mud.

  He’d felt a supreme sense of satisfaction when he’d seen Caitrin’s coach stopped on the side of the road, its wheels sunk so deeply in the mud that he doubted a team of six could pull the conveyance free.