“She’s breeding. She’s addled. Just let me handle this!” She turned to the door and softened her tone into a motherly croon. “There now, lass, let mama Henna in. Let me in, and I’ll help you wash your hair.” You go away, she mouthed to Duncan under her breath.
He shook his head firmly and then, as both of them leaned on the door, the lock gave way. The door flew open and they saw Caitlyn huddled in the corner. She took one look at Duncan’s scowl and Henna’s puzzled stare and fainted dead away.
They both ran to her.
“Loosen her clothes,” said Henna. “I’ll tell them to bring some water for a warm bath.”
The servants bustled in, filling the tub. Duncan wet a cool cloth and swabbed her pallid face.
“Henna, she’s ill.”
“She was not ill before. I didn’t realize she was ailing so!”
Not just ailing. It was as if she’d lost her mind, thought Duncan. The woman who’d avoided him, stammered over her words, lied to him was not the Caitlyn he knew. As the servants filed out, he and Henna undressed her. She was still clearly with child, the changes subtle but noticeable. But she was so pale and thin.
“Lift her into the tub,” Henna told Duncan when Cait was fully undressed. “Carefully...” She followed behind and then with a horrified gasp, she cried, “No!”
Duncan spun with her in his arms. “What?”
“No, no, no!” Henna repeated again and again, her face drained of color. “Her back, her back! Oh, what evil—”
He sat and leaned her forward in his lap, taking in the sight of his wife’s back and buttocks. His breath left him. He stared at the angry marks, disbelieving. He couldn’t form the words he needed to say. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t do what he needed to do, which was murder whatever man had done this to his wife. Whatever man had defiled her, hurt her this way, he would tear him to pieces with his bare hands. He would torture him until he begged for death, and then he would give him death, agonizingly slow and painful. But first...first he would know his name.
Henna was already returning with armfuls of salves and ointments. “Hold her. Let me tend these...these...wounds before they fester.” As she worked, fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know, my lord. I still don’t know, I swear. I have no idea where... What...how...”
Blood rushed in Duncan’s veins and beat in his ears. “When I find out...”
“She comes to. Hush. Don’t frighten her.”
Cait shifted in his arms with a moan as Henna tended to her back. Somehow, he knew not how, he kept his temper and waited for her to wake before speaking to her quietly.
“Cait. I need to know right away what happened to you. I need to know who...beat you.” He could barely say the words, it was so outrageous. He would viciously murder whoever did it. He would tear them limb from limb.
“Tell me,” he prompted when she didn’t answer.
“I...I... I fell from a tree.”
“Caitlyn—”
“In the orchard. I fell from the top. It was terrible—”
“Caitlyn, who? Who are you protecting? One of your guards? Which one? Give me the name.”
“No!” she cried out, horrified. “No, it was not one of them. It was... I...I fell from a tree. I swear.”
“I will bring your guards here,” he said, “and I will torture them one by one until you tell me the truth.” It was an awful thing to say, a trick he’d learned from his father. Threaten to harm those loved the most, to get your way. His father. A trick he’d learned from his father. His blood ran cold.
“I fell from a tree,” she wailed. “No one harmed me. You must believe me!”
“What did he say? What did he tell you?” Duncan said, his heart thumping in his chest. “That he would kill someone if you told? My father did this to you.”
“No, no, no!” she insisted hysterically. “I...it was no one... I fell from a tree!”
“My father did this. Tell me!” he ordered, suddenly enraged. “Tell me the truth!”
She sobbed. “I...I can’t!”
He backed away from her and left her to Henna. He wanted to soothe her. He wanted to care for her, but his rage, his fury was too great. He needed revenge. He would kill his father. He strode to the courtyard to find the devil and his men already fled.
He called his men to arms. He would catch them on the way back to their castle. He wouldn’t rest until revenge was his.
* * * * *
Lord Douglas and his men traveled west, not south. As soon as he’d seen Duncan ride into the courtyard, he’d readied his soldiers to go. He knew it was too soon. Stupid bitch. If she hadn’t driven him on, driven him to beat her ever harder, long past the time he safely should have...
Stupid whore. This was all her fault.
Duncan wasn’t nearly as stupid as his sluttish wife was. He would figure out in short order who had marked her gorgeous back and legs and ass. His son would fly to Southbrook to confront and accuse him, but he wouldn’t be there.
No, he had a better plan, brilliant in its simplicity. They rode west a short distance from Inverness and waited for it to grow dark. He couldn’t return to Southbrook, not until his son was dead or incapacitated, or until he got over his fawning affection for his wife, which probably wouldn’t be anytime soon.
Until then, he would not be safe at his own holding, or anywhere near Inverness and Duncan’s lands. But he knew a small, unremarked hideaway in the wild woods near Dunain. He would take his few men and go there and consider what to do. But not yet. He wouldn’t go yet, not until he tried one last caper just for fun.
* * * * *
Cait lay awake in bed, unable to sleep. Her husband was gone. He had left her in a fury of anger and disgust. He knew. Of course he had known. She hadn’t been able to hide it from him.
He would know everything and he would revile her for it. He would pretend he didn’t revile her, but he would. And what would Lord Douglas do now? His many threats battered around in her brain. If he hurt anyone, it would be all her fault. The men of the keep were scattered, and the entire house was at ends, only quieting now, finally, in the dark hours of the night.
She was so tired, so tired. Her mind spun wearily. The men were gone. She was left behind again. She was just as she would always be...unwanted and despised. She couldn’t bear it. It was too sad.
She heard a soft, scratching knock at the door. She was too bereft to stir.
“Madam!” a voice whispered through the door. “I’ve come from your husband. I have a message for you.”
Cait sat up, suddenly alert. He’d sent a message. She went to the door and cracked it slightly.
One of Duncan’s men stood outside, although he was not familiar to h
er.
“My name is James. Your husband sent me to fetch you.”
“Where is he? Where is my guard?”
“He’s readying the horse for you so we can get away quickly. Your husband wants to see you. He doesn’t want you to be alone on this difficult night.”
“Has he been to Lord Douglas’s keep?”
“Not yet, lady. Come, we shouldn’t waste time in talk. Your husband says he wants you to come.”
Her husband wanted her. She wanted him too.
“Come quietly, lady,” the guard cautioned. “The household sleeps.”
The courtyard was empty, and he led her under cover of the shadows to a waiting horse. There was only one. But by the time she realized he wasn’t who he said he was, it was far, far too late to scream.
Chapter Fifteen
Six weeks, Duncan thought miserably. It had been six weeks since he’d left her alone, gone running after a man he had yet to find, leaving her behind to be plucked right from under his fingertips. His father had his wife. He knew not where.
He only knew he was harming her, if she wasn’t already dead.
He took another deep drink. Henna frowned from the door, and Connor sighed across the table. He didn’t care. Let them all mutter and stare, and turn away from him in pity. He was not giving up. He would never give up. But he had to drink to sleep. He had to drink until his mind stopped working, until he could stop remembering the livid marks he’d seen, stop imagining how many more were on her now.
Cait. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t even say...
It didn’t matter how sorry he was, how much he regretted letting go of her. He should have held her. He shouldn’t have let her go. But he’d left her, stormed off thinking only of his own bitter vengeance. He hadn’t even taken the time to say goodbye.
He buried his head in his hands. Goodbye. Goodbye. More and more, he feared he would never see her again. She could be anywhere. Douglas could have taken her out of Scotland, or tossed her to the bottom of the firth. No one knew better than he that his father was heartless. And he, for some reason, had left her with him. He’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, his own pleasure, his own needs and wants and duties. He hadn’t even considered her fears and apprehensions. He had taken her for granted, thought her a silly, overemotional girl. He had left her with his father.