Shackles of Honor (9 page)

“That being?” he growled as he studied her from head to toe slowly and with seeming nonchalance.

“Why?” she asked. “Why is this to be? Who are your parents to mine that this would be so arranged for so long?”

“Your father refuses you this information still?” he asked angrily.

“Yes.” She continued quickly
.
“I am not so witless that I cannot at least discern that there is something anomalous about it. There is much more to this story than persisting of family lines or saving one name or the other from financial ruination. What is so deviant in it…so wicked that I am not to be told?”

He paused and studied her once more, saying, “You appear as a wilted flower, withering to death after having been torn from your mother plant.”

She knew he was squandering time as his mind decided what answer to give her. His words were too tempting not to merit rebuke. So she said, “If I appear wilted this day, only wait until I’m harvested on the morrow.”

His eyes burned with irritated indignation
,
and drawing in a deep breath, he spoke simply, “It’s not my place to reveal all to you, for it’s not my secret. The burden of revelation rests on the shoulders of your parents…or my own.”

Cassidy turned to leave, but his words halted her momentarily. “This I can tell you
. I
n my opinion
,
you should be told. Should’ve been told long before I arrived here to cut your stem and wither your soul. And I will say that there’s no wickedness in the reasoning. Though I find the reason ironic and questionable because of irony, it is not deemed wicked in my eyes.”

She turned to face him again
,
and he strode toward her. “Further, I’ll promise
—
for it does you credit that you choose to honor your duty on such questionable terms
—
that has not all been revealed to you before we are wed…then the truth of it will come from me on that very day. For then, I’ll be your husband and you my wife
,
and there must be nothing but complete honesty betwixt us.”

“You’re asking me to trust in your word…to trust you? You whom I have known but one day?” she asked.

“Faith in your father or flounder. Those are your choices. I leave it to you.” And he walked past her and away.



Cassidy considered on his words as she stood before the glass in her chamber brushing her hair. She would retire soon and could only pray for respite in blessed sleep. But there came a sudden knock on the door
,
and before she could bid the person enter, Ellis let himself in, closing the oaken slab tightly behind him.

“Cass,” was all he could say, the pity and pain at knowing she was leaving evident in his voice and eyes.

“Would Father send me to anywhere that he knew I would come to harm? That he knew I would be unhappy?” she asked him. She had been considering this ever since her discussion with Mason in the library.

“Absolutely not,” came Ellis’
s
firm reply. “It’s all that gives me cause to restrain myself from complete rebellion.” Cassidy nodded
,
and he continued, “Further, Mother would never allow it! There must be good in this thing, Cass. Though neither of us can see it now…there certainly must be good in it.”

“Faith in Father or flounder, you’re telling me,” she mumbled, repeating Mason’s words.

“Yes. Though it would be the hardest thing of my life…I could do no less myself.”

“Have you asked Father, Ellis?” Cassidy questioned. “Have you asked Father if arrangements have been made at your expense?”

“No,” he answered. “But he offered the information to me for my own knowledge and peace of mind. He has seen your torment and is repentant in not telling you sooner. At least in part.”

“And?”

“And…I’m left to my own choice for a wife.” Cassidy sighed heavily, and, misunderstanding, Ellis said, “Do you hold great resentment for me, baby sister…in that I’m allowed to choose my own way and you’re not? I couldn’t bear your resentment.”

Smiling, Cassidy turned to him and embraced him tightly, drinking heavily of the familiar scent of him. “Darling, Ellis. I could never resent you! You are my Ellis Bear, remember?”

Ellis returned Cassidy’s embrace, chuckling at the memory. “Your Ellis Bear. How I could have hung you from the nearest tree when you called me that in front of all my friends from school that one summer.”

“I was but six. You can’t blame me for being ignorant to the pride of young men at such a young age. After all, I had
always
called you Ellis Bear.”

Taking her face in his hands, he chuckled and smiled at her for a moment before his expression went severe once more. “You will summon me, Cass. For any reason and need, you’ll summon me to your side
,
and I’ll come.”

“I know,” she whispered, raising herself on her toes and kissing him lovingly on the cheek. “Now go. I need my rest, for Mother and I travel to Carlisle Manor on the morrow.”

“And I go north to do business. I cannot bear this house without you for long.” Kissing her in return, he left her.

Cassidy realized at that very moment that it was hardest to leave Ellis. For Ellis, with all his teasing and sarcasm, was her best friend and protector. Her heart would bleed with missing him.

It was a cold and rainy morning as Mason readied the coach and coachman for their departure. Ellis had said his good-bye sometime earlier. Cassidy now stood at one of the front windows of the house watching her betrothed astride his magnificent bay. He shouted orders to the stablehands tending the team that would take the carriage to Carlisle Manor.

“Trust in the man, Cassidy,” her father said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “He will do you only justice.”

Turning to face him, tears in her eyes, Cassidy said, “He has done you justice, for he’s more faithful to you than to me.”

“You asked him your questions then?”

“I did.”

“And his response?”

“Faith in your father or flounder,” she repeated his words once more.

Cassidy saw the heavy moisture in her father’s eyes as he closed them from releasing tears and muttered, “He is wise beyond his years.” Then, looking to her, he took her lovely face in his strong, secure hands. “Forgive me one day, will you, darling?”

“I’ve forgiven you already, Father, for I know the true intention of your heart, if not your mind.” She kissed his hand reassuringly. As she did so
,
her attention was drawn to the heavy gold-banded bracelet he wore. Though she could discern that there were words engraven
ed
thereon, Cassidy had never in her life been able to make them out. “I’ve always admired this bracelet on you, Father,” she said quietly. “And I don’t like jewelry on men as a rule.”

“You sense that my heart treasures it. That is why you accept it where it is.” Then, kissing her forehead quickly, he added, “Go now. I want a moment alone with your mother before you depart.”

Lifting the hood of her cloak up over her head, Cassidy left her father’s house and walked into the dark, stormy day to meet with the man who would take her now to his own.

“This rain is bad, sir,” the coachman remarked to Mason.

“Yes. Let’s hope it’s not with us the entire journey,” Mason answered.

He dismounted, opened the carriage door
,
and offered his hand to Cassidy to assist her. She paused, intent at first on refusing him. But thinking quickly on her knowledge of her father’s wisdom, she placed her hand tentatively in his. His grip was strong and somewhat unsettling
,
and as she sat within the coach awaiting her mother, she removed her glove to inspect the hand he’d held, for it felt odd, as
if a sort of lovely numbness were
overtaking it.

It was numerous long moments before her mother left the house to join her. Mason offered her mother his hand. Accepting it and entering the carriage, she turned
and
took Mason’s chin lovingly in hand as Cassidy had seen her do often to Ellis. Smiling, she told him, “You’ll be with him soon, darling, and all will be well.”

Cassidy was perplexed at her mother’s words until something struck her memory from the day before. Had not Mason spoken to his horse about his anxiety over leaving his father unwell? Suddenly a great compassion for Mason and a great scorn of herself washed over her. Here was a man grieved at his father’s ill health
,
and she had met him with abhorrence at his temperament. How unfeeling and selfish she must appear to him.

Mason mounted his bay once more
,
and with his signal, the carriage lurched forward. Cassidy glanced only once out the carriage window at her beloved Terrill. Her life was before her now. She felt secure in the knowledge that Terrill would ever be there for her—ever waiting with family, love
,
and memory.

The weather during the trip was no less than brutal. The rain, unceasing and heavy, left mud puddles ankle
-
deep in the roads. This gave cause for greatly exaggerated swaying and bolting of the carriage. Cassidy’s head throbbed mercilessly from it. Thus far, Mason had not once ridden up beside the carriage to inquire as to how Cassidy and her mother were faring the trip. But from her seat facing where they had been, with back to where they were going, she could see him astride his magnificent bay close behind. The rain poured from his hat now and again when he tipped his head. She pitied hi
s
and the coachman’s being at the mercy of the elements.

Mason Carlisle was tall on his mount and perfectly postured. Now and again the wind caught the cape of his coat
,
and he looked much like some sort of highwayman readying to attack. Cassidy found herself mesmerized as she studied him. He was astonishingly masculine—unsettlingly attractive.

Near dusk, Mason rode quickly up and shouted something to the driver. The coach came to a fairly abrupt stop
,
and Cassidy’s mother asked, more to herself than to Cassidy, “What is he about, I wonder?”

In a few moments the carriage door swung open
,
and Mason leaned inward, rain streaming from his clothing.

“My man, Fieves, the driver…he is ill,” he panted. Cassidy felt a blush of humiliation rise to her cheeks as she thought of her own petty inward whining about their traveling conditions when the men without, Mason included, were enduring such weather virtually unprotected. “I’ve no wish to worsen his condition, Milady Shea.” He addressed Cassidy’s mother, though his eyes rested angrily on Cassidy for a moment.

“Certainly not, Mason!” Cassidy’s mother exclaimed. “What say you?”

“Fieves refuses to let me drive the carriage and come shelter within. Therefore, would it be acceptable to you if we were to stop at Tatiana’s Way…a town a mere five miles before us
?
We could weather the night at the inn there and make for Carlisle Manor in the morning.”

“Of course, Mason! Of course!” Cylia agreed instantly.

“The…the accommodations may not be of the variety to which you are accustomed when you travel, milady.” Mason lifted a hand, removed his glove
,
and put a cold fist to his lips, blowing warm air there. He was obviously quite chilled.

“Mason, I’m nothing if not able to weather as needs be,” Cylia assured him.

“I apologize, Milady Shea…for the great inconvenience to you…both,” he added, closing the carriage door securely upon his exit.

