Cait and the Devil

Because I hated her. Because she made me miserable. Because she died. “Because I say so. She cannot wear Lenore’s dress for this ceremony. Find her another. I don’t care if it’s yours, or the laundress’s, or the cook’s, as long as it’s not Lenore’s.”

“She needs a fine dress for the wedding!”

“Henna, you know I love you well but do not test me on this. Find her another. I order it. Now.” He looked over at the girl. Caitlyn. Cait. She watched them arguing with an anxious look on her face. As if she had not been through enough, he thought. Now he woul

d make her be married in a washerwoman’s dress.

Henna led her from the hall and Cait let herself be dragged along without complaint. He could see she was tired, absolutely exhausted. He put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. His friend Connor chuckled.

“Duncan, it’s not the end of the world, man. She’s half a comely thing anyway, isn’t she though? If you’ve got to take a wife, it’s nice to have a pretty one to look at.”

“Lenore was a pretty wife,” Duncan replied.

“Ah, well,” Connor sighed.

Duncan sat and sipped from his goblet, trying to school his face from the misery he felt. It was one thing to revile taking a wife, but quite another to announce it to his townspeople by the expression on his face. As he expected, Henna took her time finding a new gown for his young bride, but he didn’t care. The priest was happily getting drunk in the corner with the king’s men, and the crowd was enjoying themselves, getting rowdier and rowdier as they waited for the festivities to begin.

Finally, at long last, his bride reappeared. The dress was passable. It would do. A townswoman’s dress, he guessed. Whoever it was would have been honored to lend it to his bride. He stood and approached her, studying her as he came nearer. Her hair was so black, so long, and gone completely to damp, wild curls. Her body, as he’d already noted, was too appealing by far. But her eyes surprised him most. They were so light, almost transparent. The thorough questioning he’d planned suddenly seemed unnecessary. Those eyes could hide nothing from him.

“Hello,” he said, because he had no idea what else to say to her.

“Hello.” She spoke so softly that he barely heard her. She dipped down into a curtsy, bowing her head. He drew in his breath.

Damn it, she was so beautiful. That was really going to complicate things. That was really going to make his life a lot more bloody unbearable than it already was. He frowned deeply, and at the forbidding look on his face, she looked away, suddenly afraid.

And that fear, it both troubled and aroused him. Complicated? No, this was going to be worse than complicated. It would be a bloody mess. He’d been standing next to her for less than a minute and already he felt feelings he’d shoved deep down inside him shuddering back to life. Her vulnerability, her fear response, the sexual pull of her body...damn it.

He took a deep breath and grabbed her hand. So much for talking. It was time to do the king’s duty. Get married to her so the priest would sign the paper and he could pawn her off on Henna and not set eyes on her again. For her own good, and for his too.

The priest was mercifully quick. Even holding her hand was excruciating, the way it curled so trustingly in his and yet trembled at the same time. He said his vows but thought the whole time of what she’d look like stripped naked to his gaze. For her part, she spoke the vows true and clear, although she was obviously shy. Her voice sounded light like bells and her lips were so shapely, so luscious. He watched them avidly, picturing them wrapped around his—

No, he wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t even going to try it. He would just end up reviled by another woman, labeled Devil again. She was far too innocent anyway, that much was plain. If she even realized men had cocks between their legs he’d be surprised. More likely she’d cry and plead for mercy as Lenore had when she’d seen him the first time and realized what he meant to do to her, what all men did to their wives.

Well, no matter. He could take care of his own needs, and he would. Probably fifty times in a row before he put out the fire she’d lit. As soon as the priest blessed them, he dropped her hand like it burned him and beckoned Henna to his side.

“She’s tired. Put her to bed in the room adjoining mine.”

“But my lord—”

“Henna, no argument please. Just for tonight. I’ll consummate this farce of a marriage when I see fit. Set her up in the adjoining room. And tell her to lock the door.”

Henna’s reproachful look irked him, but better to bear her disapproval than to plow his wife tonight. He might do it eventually, against his better judgment, but he would do it when his desires were under better control. If he had her now, he would do things to her they would both regret. He couldn’t bear to see again that same condemnation he’d seen in Lenore’s eyes.

“Good night, wife,” he said curtly, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. He would follow soon after and let everyone believe he went to her. He strode to Lochlan carrying the certificate of marriage for the king. Appearances were everything in situations like these.

* * * * *

Sleep at last. Cait was too tired to figure out why Henna was so agitated. The old woman blustered and clucked and muttered under her breath, but Cait only wanted to sleep.

“I’m sure he’ll come to you tomorrow, lass. Don’t you worry.” She helped her change into a filmy sleeping shift. The thing was so fine and soft, it amazed her. All these fine clothes and furnishings, they were nothing like what she and Erma had in their little cottage. Everything was different now. She lived in a castle on the water and she was married to a powerful man, and now she was going to bed on a soft mattress covered in fine linens, not the simple cot she’d slept on next to Erma in the middle of the woods.

She slid between the soft sheets and pulled the blankets up to her ears. She felt like a new woman in a world of new sensations. The softness of the bed, the silkiness of the shift, the hardness of his body when she’d brushed against it. The roughness of his face when he’d kissed her cheek. The solid firmness of his lips. She’d never in her life stood so close to a man, never rested her hand in one’s rough grasp. She’d never been kissed. She hadn’t thought she would like it, but she liked it very much.

She felt strangely emotional in her exhaustion. She wanted to cry. She wanted to smile. She wanted to have the earl’s attention. She wanted him to like her, not glare at her and dismiss her. More than all that, she wanted to look at him some more, because it pleased her so much to look at him. It pleased her too much. It excited her. It made her heart beat hard.

She hated to admit it, how handsome and appealing she found him. His hand on hers had been strong and reassuring. If only he didn’t sigh and frown so much, she might have been able to at least pretend he liked her.

No matter. There was nothing to be done about it. She supposed these arranged marriages happened all the time. Husbands and wives made the best of them and learned to live with each other. Maybe someday, if she was sweet and charming enough, he would be able to see past her faults and appearance and find a way to bear being near her. Maybe tomorrow when she was rested, when she didn’t look so tired and stumble over her words, he would find her more appealing as a wife.

“Henna,” she asked in the darkened room. “Will I see him tomorrow?”

“Of course you will. He’s your husband now. He’ll be about. And he sleeps right there, over in the next room beside yours.”

“What can a wife do, Henna, to make her husband glad?”

Henna frowned. “Well, I’m sure he’s glad of ya, Caitlyn. He’s just...he’s getting used to being married again. You don’t take it to mean he’s not concerned for your well being, because I’m sure he is. He’ll be a good husband to you.”

“Only because he has to,” whispered Cait.

“Oh, lass. When you get to know him and he gets to know you, things will be different. Mark my words. You may not find love with each other, but if you respect one another you’ll live happily. I see already you care for his happiness. He’s a lucky man for that.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to make him happy. I think I’m not pretty enough, and not what he wanted.”

“Oh, now, you don’t talk that way. You’re a lovely girl, and well mannered and sweet, with those childbearing hips that men prefer. You don’t go worrying your pretty head about these matters tonight. It takes time for a marriage to take shape. Time and patience and understanding. And respect.”

“Will he ever love me, Henna? Do you think?” she asked wistfully.

She didn’t know why she was being so silly and sentimental over him. She supposed it was because his eyes were so unbelievably beautiful and compelling.

“I hope he will, sweet. If you want love, I hope you find it. Both of ya together. It happens more often than you think. Now close your eyes and rest. You’re plumb exhausted. It’s late and the castle will be up and astir as soon as the sun rises in the sky. Rest and sleep now. You’re safe in your husband’s castle. Tomorrow’s a new day, with new experiences to come.”

She stroked Cait’s hair in a motherly fashion, and tears came to Cait’s eyes from remembering Erma doing the same.

“Henna, thank you,” she murmured sleepily.

“I’m here to be a help to ya, lass. Whatever you need, you let Mama Henna know and I’ll do what I can.”

Can you make him fall in love with me, Henna? I think that’s what I’d really like.

And with that thought, her eyes closed and she dreamed of pale grey eyes and strong capable hands, and the feeling of one day nestling in his welcoming arms.

* * * * *

Damn it. Of course sleep would be impossible. She was so close to him, so near. He swore he could smell the fetching scent of her skin through the stone wall. God, it was insufferable. Why hadn’t he just availed himself of her? She was his now anyway, no man could say she was not. He sighed heavily and took his cock in hand again, stroking it, soothing it. As he’d expected, self-abuse took none of the yearning away.

He remembered the curve of her neck and back as she’d bowed before him. How he longed to put his hands on that graceful neck and tilt her head back, baring her throat to his touch, his lick, his bite. He wanted to strip her naked and lick every godforsaken inch of her. Lay her down and run his hands over her pillowy breasts, her supple thighs. He hadn’t even seen her goddamn thighs yet, but he knew they were perfect just like the rest of her. He would have given anything, anything at all just to walk through the door to her room and bare those thighs to his gaze. But then he’d have to put his hands on them, and he’d spread them wide and—