Cait and the Devil (23 page)

“Ah, a good plan,” he said. “So you can come here every day without arousing suspicion.”

“I’d rather not. I’d rather you just tell me what you want and get this over with. I don’t enjoy all this secrecy. Duncan won’t like it when he returns.”

“Duncan will never learn anything of it,” the earl said sharply. “I’m afraid that secrecy will continue to be required. Take your clothes off.”

Cait’s
eyes widened. “I most certainly will not!”

“You will do what I ask, Princess, or someone you care for very much will be harmed.”

Her eyes narrowed and she pretended a courage she did not feel. “You are a horrible man. I won’t take my clothes off. Duncan forbade me to ever take my clothes off for another man—”

“Or he would punish you?” The earl’s laughter was soft but terrible. “I warrant you have never felt a punishment like the one I’ve been reserving for you, dearest daughter-in-law. Now take your clothes off immediately, or I will do it myself.”

* * * * *

Lord Douglas watched her pick at her food. He had stripped her of her dignity, her self-esteem, her belief in a safe, predictable world...and now her appetite as well. It pleased him. He liked the changes he’d seen in her. The deadening of her eyes, the stilted way she
walked,
the trembling in her hands. It was the way he’d always wished to see her. It had been an enjoyable week.

Soon, he would have to stop. There would have to be time for the marks to fade before Duncan returned from the Simpson keep. His entire plan had played out without a hitch. He didn’t want to ruin it with something so simple as unhealed bruises and cuts. Tomorrow he would assault her for the last time.
For now.
Until Duncan left again.
This lovely arrangement could go on for years, as long as she had loved ones to threaten.
As long as she valued the lives of her friends.

Everything had gone perfectly. The morose change in her demeanor was assumed to be a wife pining for her absent husband. No one suspected what went on up in the barn on the hill every afternoon. No one noticed him stealing in before she arrived or stealing away some time after she’d gone. Her guards believed she cried for
him
there, Duncan, because she missed him. Douglas chuckled to himself under his breath. No doubt the little whore did miss him when she was in that barn, for it was his absence that gave Douglas the opportunity he’d craved. He’d made good use of every moment with her. He’d abused the little slut in every way he knew.

The first day she’d been defiant. He’d had to wrestle her clothes off and shove her to the floor, cut off her breath until she complied, until she saw that
no
was not an option. He knew just how to do it without leaving marks. How to exert just enough pressure to immobilize a resisting woman, just enough to let them understand the threat that was at hand. After that she’d been still and let him have his way with her. And he had. Oh, he had.

He shifted, growing hard just thinking about it. His son obviously had his father’s blood, for she was no stranger to the perverse ways he took her. That had disappointed him. He had wanted to make her quake and cry in shamed outrage. He had had to be rougher, more brutal to get the reactions he craved. When he’d slaked his lust, then he beat her. For that, he had to gag her first. She did try to be quiet. She didn’t want her guards to be alerted to what was happening any more than he. But he wasn’t willing to beat her any less brutally, so he resorted to a gag, a dirty piece of cloth he shoved in her mouth and tied with a leather belt around her head. He bound her hands too. He had to. He bound her completely when he wanted to mark her well. Sometimes he left her unbound for the fun of it, so he could stalk her around the barn with his lash. It was so thrilling to see the pleading, terrified eyes she turned on him. He never blindfolded her. No. He loved to see her eyes. It usually worked him up so much, beating her, that he was ready to use her again.

And he loved to see her now, sitting beside him at the table, every fiber of her being desperate to run away, to shrink away from him in horror. But she couldn’t.
She couldn’t.
It was too perfect. He would miss their afternoons. Tomorrow, he would have to beat her soundly enough to hold him over until next time. But he could still use her mouth, her ass, her cunt. He would. That would leave no telltale marks, not if he was careful. He could even beat her, if he was careful not to mark her. Oh, hell, in that case, what was the point? Why bother if he couldn’t mark her, make her bleed? He wouldn’t beat her.
Next time.
Next time.

No, he couldn’t have Duncan discovering things. If his son ever learned what he’d done to his wife, he would kill him, cut him down in cold blood. Tomorrow was the absolute last day he could risk it. Tomorrow, he’d beat her well.

* * * * *

The gag impeded her breathing. She tried to calm herself, but the world spun before her eyes. She couldn’t die. She mustn’t die, or she’d never see Duncan again. She needed him so desperately. She thought of him at times like these, when the pain was too much. The beating was too brutal. She was going to pass out. She wished she would. At least then she wouldn’t feel it. But she never passed out. She was certain he knew exactly how far he could push her so she didn’t reach that relief.

Breathe, breathe. Draw a breath in. Don’t think about the bile rising in your throat.
If she vomited she would choke. It had happened before. She just had to breathe and let her mind go away.
Duncan, Duncan, Duncan, Duncan.
Every time she thought of him tears came to her eyes. How would she survive? She had to survive it. She had to survive until he came home.

But then what? Douglas told her what would happen if she told him, poured threats in her ear, threats too vile to bear repeating, threats against Henna, her guards, even the children in town. She wished that she didn’t believe him, but she did. She knew he was capable of murder, torture, any of those things. No one could do the things he’d done to her, say the things he’d said to her if they weren’t depraved enough to take an innocent life.

He would take her life. He would. If he kept on beating her, whipping her, she would die.
Breathe, breathe,
breathe
.
Long slow breaths through the gag. She had to survive.

Finally he dropped the whip. She stayed curled up in the corner where she’d crawled just to brace against the wall, just to lean her forehead against the cool dirt there. He yanked her by the ankle, pulling her on her belly back into the center, holding her hips roughly to thrust inside. He used her bottom. He preferred it. She was so limp from the beating it barely hurt. Or maybe she was just so numb she couldn’t feel his invasion. Either way, she was grateful the beating was done.

“You’ll remember that for a while, my sweet, won’t you?” he hissed in her ear as he defiled her. “You’ll remember it until the next time I can get you alone. And believe me, there will be a next time.”

She moaned behind the gag. She didn’t want to. It always made him use her even more brutally, but the idea of a next time, it was impossible to bear.
Duncan, Duncan. Help me.
He couldn’t help her. She couldn’t risk telling him. He might keep her safe from Douglas, but he couldn’t keep every innocent safe, every man, woman, child in the town. She couldn’t bear to be the cause of anyone’s death.

“I won’t beat you again,” he said when he’d finished and pulled away from her. He removed the foul gag. “You’ll need time to heal before your husband returns.”

Before your husband returns...before your husband returns.
Duncan would return soon. He had to return.

“But I’ll still use you, you dirty, wretched slut, since that won’t leave marks. You’ll report here just as you have been until the day your husband rides back into the courtyard. Now put your clothes on and get out of my sight.”

Cait
crawled to the door to put on her gown. She prayed the blood wouldn’t stain her shift so much that she couldn’t hide it from Henna. She’d destroyed three of them already, ripped them to shreds and buried them beyond the garden so there would be no questions to answer about the blood. She wished she could crawl into the ground herself. She was so tired.
So tired.

He pulled her roughly to her feet when she’d dressed, and kissed her on the mouth. “Smile, Caitlyn. Pretend you’re happy,” he said.
“Or else.”

She pushed open the door shakily. She took a deep breath, another. The outside air was bracing. It was getting colder. She could blame her breathlessness and shuddery shaking very easily on the chill. Desmond jumped up from the tree he leaned against when he saw her. She managed a tired smile.

“Hello, Desmond.”

“How does your work come? What are you making for Lord Duncan?”

She looked at the ground, blinking, trying to think up a lie. “I...whatever I was working on...my surprise... I was trying to make him something, but I failed. I was trying to build... I was...” She grew silent. She was so tired. “I miss him so much.”

She would fall to pieces if Desmond kept looking at her that way. He knew, he knew. He suspected.

“Are you unwell, lady? Is there anything I can do for you?”

She had to smile. She had to reassure him.
Not you, Desmond. He couldn’t kill you.
“I’m
fine,
I’m only missing my husband.”

“He’ll be returning soon. He said it would be just a couple of weeks. He’ll be home soon, you’ll see.”

“I hope so.” But it couldn’t be too soon. She was going to need time to heal. She couldn’t even ask Henna for salve or medicine to help the healing. She had to sneak down and bathe as quickly as possible when Henna was busy at the other end of the keep and she could be sure of no one else attending her.

Soon, he would be home.
Soon...

He had to come soon, or she’d throw herself from the rock herself.

Chapter Fourteen

Henna made her way down the corridor, chewing her lip. Something wasn’t right. Something was amiss, she knew it for sure.

The lady was miserable. Yes, she was breeding, and yes, missing her husband too, but her grief was so deep, so all-encompassing. It wasn’t natural
for a lass
to fall into such a spell. Henna assured her every day that the earl would return soon, that she wouldn’t be missing him too much more, and then she’d lift herself out of her gloom with such false happiness that she seemed a different person altogether. Forced smiles, inane talk, an unnatural brightness in her eyes that made Henna wonder if she still possessed her wits.

Henna shook her head, looking down at the tray she carried. Try as she might, she could barely get the lass to eat. She tried every delicacy she knew to tempt the lady’s appetite. At night,
Cait
sat pale and still at the table and looked positively green.
Pregnancy, bah.
It was a burden for women. Made ’
em
sick, made ’
em
strange and emotional-like. Well, Henna thought it was time to let her in on the secret. That, at least, would lift her spirits until Duncan returned.

She knocked softly and let herself in to find
Cait
already dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed. Again she forced one of those strained, false smiles.

“Good morning, Henna.”

“Good morning, lass. How are
ya
doing? Perhaps this might be the day...”

“I hope so,” she murmured without much conviction.

“I’ve brought you a tray. I want you to eat it. And mama Henna wants to have a talk with
ya
, if you don’t mind.”

Cait
looked suddenly uneasy.
“A talk about what?”