If You Loved Me
By
Starla Kaye
If You Loved Me
By Starla Kaye
©2010 by Starla Kaye and Blushing Books
Published by Blushing Books at Smashwords
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ISBN 978-1-935152-14-9
Cover Design: Rae Monet
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Chapter One
April 1874
Invergarry, Scotland
Bagpipes blared the bold Failte Mhic Alister, Glengarry's March, just as the massive wooden doors of the renovated chapel in the ruined Invergarry Castle opened. Head held high and walking with a slight limp, Charles MacDonell, the eighteenth Chief of Glengarry, entered the room. His weathered face held more than the lines of time; it held the pride and power of his position.
From his place near the altar, Aeneas Alexander “Mac” MacDonell felt bitterness and resentment instead of pride. He’d been raised to respect and obey the clan chieftain without question. But he struggled now to control his anger. He was bound by the invisible bonds of clan loyalty to go against what he believed was right and honorable.
For twenty-five years he'd understood the sacrifices he must make in his life as the first born son to The MacDonell. He had accepted that one day he would become the chieftain. He had accepted having been pledged at birth to marry the first-born daughter of the neighboring Cameron clan once she turned eighteen, still three years away. As he'd matured, he had even managed to make peace with that idea, and had come to feel fondly about Mary Cameron. But he didn't love her and knew that he never would.
He exhaled a deep breath. This was wrong. What he would be forced to do this day would break young Mary Cameron's heart. As far as Mac was concerned, this travesty ended the already precarious relationship he had with his father. Yet he had no choice in this matter. Too many of his clan's fates depended on him honoring his duty this day. One day, though, he would control his decisions and his life.
For now, he was forced to stand here, grinding his teeth harder with each note of the bagpipe’s music. Waiting. Fuming.
He watched his father walk down the center aisle, the white fur sporran bouncing against the front of his kilt. When The MacDonell took his place of honor in the row of wooden benches a dozen feet behind Mac, their gazes finally locked. Challenge sparked silently between them. His father was the first to look away. At that moment Mac both loved and hated the man he had long tried to emulate.
Nervous expectancy filled the stone room. Then silence. Everyone waited for his American bride-to-be to appear. Beside him, his younger brother, Gavin, leaned close and whispered frantically, “Ye dinna have to do this, Mac. There has to be another way.”
Stiff with determination, Mac looked into Gavin's worried green eyes so like his own. “Aye, I must do this.” He heard the barely controlled fury echo in his words and tone, and shot one final look of resentment toward his father.
The sudden whispering of the small gathering of witnesses captured his attention. He followed their craned heads to the back of the chapel. Mesmerized by the sight before him, he stopped breathing for a second. Sunlight poured in the long glass windows and concentrated on the arched doorway. It surrounded and caressed the tiny female dressed in a deeply flounced white satin gown and long blond veil. Then she moved forward—glided really—on her father’s arm.
Mac couldn’t take his gaze from her. His pulse suddenly raced with anticipation. His palms grew moist. He had never reacted this strongly to a woman, certainly not to dear Mary.
“Saint Ninian, but she's a bonnie lass,” Gavin gasped, sounding every bit as entranced as Mac felt.
Aye, she is beautiful. Even more so than the other times he had seen or been near her. Caitlin Curran looked like a glimmering angel. An angel with a face like a China doll he’d once seen. Yet he could see an impish spirit dancing in her golden brown eyes. The eyes of an eighteen-year-old woman. Spirited, innocent and far more of a temptation than she should be for one so young. Dangerous. At least dangerous for him, for what he believed in.
He clenched his hands into tight fists to regain control of the sudden aching need that filled him. His body might desire her, but she was not the woman who belonged in his life.
* * *
Caitlin moved slowly closer to the tall, powerfully-built man with shoulder-length mahogany hair soon to become her husband. From the instant he’d spotted her in the doorway, she had sensed his bitterness. Oh, she had seen a brief flash of male lust. Since her body had matured toward womanhood this last year, she had witnessed such a look on other men’s faces many times. That look had typically repulsed her, as well as the way the men had acted so sickeningly complimentary. But with Mac MacDonell’s annoyed look of appreciation in his mossy green eyes, she had felt a momentary flutter of pleasure. Then his handsomely carved face tightened and his entire body stiffened. If she'd held even a slight hope that this arranged marriage would one day work out, it vanished with his disapproving glower. Not that she was happy about the situation, either, thank you very much.
She released her father's arm and stepped, chin raised high, beside her solemn bridegroom. She would never let him know that even for an instant she’d experienced her first real stirrings of physical yearning for a man. It was clear he didn’t want her. She was determined to feel the same way. And she despised her father and Mac’s father even more for making them do this.
Interrupting her thoughts, Mac bent down enough that he could loudly whisper, “'Tis naught right what we do today, lass. Ye know it as well as I do.”
Her stomach quivered at the deep, husky Scottish burr. She fought back the urge to rub at the nerves tingling now in her abdomen. “Nevertheless it will happen. Neither of us have a choice in this matter.” She met his gaze, not the least bit intimidated by his scowl. Still, she understood his aggravation, his helplessness. They were both being used by their families. “For now, we'll have to make the best of the situation. But one day we will end this difficult situation. I promise you that.”
He looked surprised by her statement, and then gave a curt nod. “I'll be holding ye to your word, Lass.”
In spite of not being happy with their predicament, she couldn’t help being peeved at his quick response. His rejection stung her pride. “Believe me, I want to be married to a future Scottish chieftain as much as you want to be married to—”
“A spoiled American heiress,” Mac finished. Although what he’d said was far from a compliment, the hardness in his eyes had softened somewhat.
She bristled anyway. “I may be young, Mac MacDonell the aged,” she countered, “but I am not spoiled.” Well, maybe she was at times, but her father was quick to rein her in with a firmly applied hand to her bottom when she got too big a head about things.
Her stomach fluttered again as she glanced at Mac’s hands. Lord, they were huge! Then she frowned, annoyed that she was even remotely thinking about what those hands would feel like smacking her bottom. “It will never happen,” she muttered under her breath.
He blinked. “What did you say?”
Heat crept up her cheeks. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“You’re a sassy one, Lass. No doubt a handful for yer father,” he said with disapproval, though amusement flickered in his eyes.
She stood as tall as possible, still being a good foot shorter than Mac. It irritated her that her heart had again skipped a beat at the sound of his deep, warm voice. She chose to focus on disliking what he’d said. “I speak my mind. I tend to be independent. There is nothing wrong with either of those things. I will never be a rug for a man to walk over, a woman to be ignored.”
“No, you’re hardly a woman that a man could possibly ignore.” His eyes darkened for just a second. “But you’re a woman to try a man’s patience.” He held her gaze. “I’m not a man known for his patience when riled.”
Caitlin noted the way his hands flexed at his sides, again noticing the size of them. His implication was not something she wanted to think about. Ever. Yet she couldn’t resist whispering, “You’re a man to try a woman’s patience.”
Making her suddenly realize that their quick whisperings hadn’t been all that quiet, Gavin chuckled.
Mac’s expression immediately soured and he glowered at Gavin, who struggled not to chuckle again. She, in turn, struggled not to snap at him for eavesdropping.
Before she could say something that might worsen the situation Mac barked, “Get this over with!” The authority of a future chieftain rang in his order to the minister waiting anxiously a few feet away. As the much older man hurried to open his well-worn Bible, Mac slid a glance at first Caitlin, then over his shoulder to both fathers and her somber-looking brother, Theopolis. A vein pulsed in his neck when he bit out, “Join me in bondage with the lass, so the pact between the families is near completed.”
While the minister continued fumbling with the Bible, Mac bent toward Caitlin a final time. “The marriage must be consummated. Understand that now. After tonight, though, it willna happen again.”
Must be consummated. The idea of being bedded by such a hardy man would no doubt cause most of her young female friends to succumb to the vapors. She, however, did not find the idea so distasteful. She’d had more than one dream about Mac, and he hadn’t been wearing a kilt like he wore now. He hadn’t been wearing anything at all. In those dreams, she hadn’t been clothed either. Oh, yes, she’d definitely pondered a time or two about what it would be like to have such a powerful man have his way with her. And she with him.
“Did you hear me, Lass?” Mac broke into her wandering thoughts.
He had shattered the last remnants of her foolish dreams and forced her to remember the other words he’d spoken. While he planned to take her as his wife by bedding her this night, he wouldn’t have relations with her ever again. Disappointment swamped her. Anger quickly took its place. She gave a brisk nod. “I understand, and I couldn’t be in more agreement.” Liar, liar. She would accept the decision and live with it, but at least for once in her life she would have known the intimacies between a man and a woman.
“Good,” Mac said, turning away from her to focus on the distressed looking minister, who had obviously overheard the conversation and disapproved.
“Yes, good,” she said, refusing to let him have the final word. She, too, concentrated on the minister and added her own command, “Please do get on with this farcical ceremony.”
* * *
The vows, the lies, had been exchanged. Caitlin stood awkwardly beside Mac, who appeared as uncomfortable with this new situation as she. His lips had barely touched hers when he’d responded to the minister’s urging him to kiss his bride. He hadn’t wanted to touch her, obviously still didn’t. Would he still take her to his bed? Did she really care, especially since he wanted no more than this one night together?
Her father stepped forward with Theopolis at his side. A gleam of satisfaction for having gotten what he wanted sparked his eyes. Yes, he’d gotten the power in Scotland he sought, at the cost of his daughter’s hand in marriage. A business deal. She meant no more to him than what she could bring him. Sadness filled her. How could a person mean so little to another? Yet, she meant as little—or less—to the towering Scot who’d inched closer to her as her father approached them. If she didn’t have such a strong sense of self, she would feel worthless. For now, only her pride was bruised. Badly bruised.
She swallowed a lump in her throat and raised her chin to meet her father eye-to-eye. He barely looked at her before he gave a quick peck to her cheek. “Congratulations.”
Caitlin wanted to ask him for what. Exactly what was he congratulating her for? For vowing to love and obey a man she didn’t really know? For giving up her virginity to a man who wanted her body only for one night, in order to make sure the marriage was considered proper? For making it impossible for Caitlin to ever love her father again?
Before she could respond, Thornton moved in front of Mac and shook his hand in acceptance of his new son-in-law. Mac stood rigid, fury clearly so close to the surface that he didn’t speak. Unconcerned with Mac’s feelings—or hers, Thornton said, “We will be ready to leave for home in the morning. Caitlin must get back to school, you understand.”
“Aye. She’ll be ready,” Mac said, his tone controlled, yet bitter.
There it was: the final details of the pact made between the families. Mac’s honor and her virginity sacrificed for one day and one night only. By previous agreement, she was to return home to the States and finish her schooling. Mac would go on with his life almost as if this day had never happened. When she completed her education at the prestigious new young woman’s college and turned twenty, Mac could come for her if he truly wanted her for his wife. Which he didn’t. They could get a divorce at that time, although her father was opposed to the idea. But until she reached twenty, they were to be legally tied together—for the sake of their respective family’s businesses.
Tears burned her eyes. She had never felt so alone, so unwanted. Even though her father had never shown her much warmth she had always considered her part of a family. Now she did not.
Mac’s large hand settled at her back and it felt oddly comforting. “We’ll be going now. I’m not in the mood for tipping a cup in celebration with the fathers.”
Caitlin’s heart beat wildly. Heat from his touch, from his nearness made tingling sensations dance through her. She had no desire to celebrate in any manner with the others either. Yet was she ready to follow this virtual stranger to his room? Ready to have him do things to her that she’d barely heard whispers about? She had no doubt that Mac was a man who knew what to do with a woman. She had overheard a couple of the maids gossiping about how their Laird’s son was favored amongst the women in the area. Evidently he had one mistress after another. All were pleased with him as a man, again, according to the maids. Quite a number of his mistresses were gravely disappointed that he was getting married, and not to one of them. Yes, he was experienced in the ways of making love to a woman. She would be such a disappointment to him with her complete innocence.
He bent down to speak quietly into her ear. “It willna be so bad, Lass. I willna hurt you, at least no more than necessary.”
She blinked up at him. “No more than necessary?” The words had no more than left her mouth when she felt her face heat. She knew what he referred to, but she’d forgotten for a second. She tried to put on a brave face, a strong demeanor. “I’m sure you will be as careful with me as possible.”
For the first time since she’d met him, he smiled. Just for a second. It was long enough to send shivers of desire through her. They might only have this one night, and she might be sexually innocent, but she wanted this proud, handsome Scot to turn her from maiden to woman.
* * *
Mac had watched Caitlin climb the stairs before him. She was a tiny lass compared to such a massive man as he. Young, too. While only ten years separated them, when it came to knowing the intimate ways between a man and a woman, he felt that decades separated them. He shouldn’t be planning on taking her to his bed, taking her innocence. That rightfully belonged to a man who would truly love her as she deserved. He did not, could not love her. Everything he’d believed in and cherished had changed this day.
Even through the layers of gown she wore, Mac enjoyed the feminine sway of her small hips. He could easily span her waist with his hands. Aye, she was tiny. Well, except for her breasts. She’d been blessed with breasts that drew a man’s attention, certainly his. His body hardened just at the thought of covering her bare breasts with his hands, of tasting them with his mouth. When he started envisioning trailing kisses down her slender body toward her womanhood, he groaned, aching.
She hesitated at the top of the stairway and glanced back at him, innocent confusion on her lovely face. “Are you all right?”
Considering that he wanted to jump her right here on the stone stairway and sink deep into her body, no he was not all right. He bordered on the edge of insanity. Somehow he managed to force down his elemental urges and nod. “Stubbed my toe is all. Wasna paying attention to walking, I guess.”
She gifted him with a tiny smile, and then turned to continue on to his room. He followed with more eagerness than he had a right to feel. He shouldn’t do this. He had to do this.
* * *
Caitlin lie in the middle of Mac’s enormous bed, completely naked, the heat of embarrassment over every inch of her exposed body. She’d tried to convince him to just shove her dress up out of the way and do what he needed to do. He had rolled his eyes and insisted she undress. Actually, he had removed her under-waist to bare her breasts, and then he’d removed her drawers. After that he had stood there silently staring at her for several long seconds and she’d seen how his breathing had changed. She had watched his eyes darken, seen the front of his kilt lift up as his body had responded in arousal. That’s when she’d shied away and dashed to the bed to fling herself upon it.
She had reacted like a child. Now she felt annoyed by that fact and she fought down the need to yank a quilt over her. Instead she barely breathed and watched Mac prepare to join her in bed. She had no doubt that he knew she was watching him, and that he didn’t seem to care. He had already removed the length of plaid attached by a broache to the shoulder of a waist-length jacket, and the jacket itself. He stopped to calmly hold her gaze. Then he undid the ruffled collar of a white shirt and pulled the shirt off over his head.
Oh my heavens!
She sucked in a breath, awed. Once she’d seen Theopolis without his shirt. His pale chest had been thin, bare of any hair. Unimpressive. Mac’s chest, well… Quite impressive indeed. He had muscles like those she’d seen on statues in her art books; muscles that she had believed to be only an artist’s improvement on reality. Not so. Mac’s chest muscles proved that indeed a man could be so endowed. And the sprinkling of dark hair that trailed down his abdomen to somewhere below the waistband of his kilt intrigued her. As did the way the kilt stuck out in one certain place. Her heart raced in anticipation.
He bent over to remove his shoes and knee-high plaid leggings that encased well-toned calves. Muscles bunched and played on his back as well. She felt a foolish desire to touch him. Everywhere. Then he straightened, caught her staring and gave a cocky grin.
“Curious, are ye, Lass?”
“Of course not!” she countered, forcing her gaze away for an instant.
“’Tis a lie that I can see in yer eyes.” His hand moved to the sword belt minus sword and it fell to the floor. “I willna tolerate lying, Wife. ‘Tis best ye know that now.”
Her father had not tolerated it either. A sound session with the strop had only been necessary a time or two for stretching the truth further than allowed. It annoyed her to think about such unpleasantness now and she snapped, “I do not lie, Husband.”
His expression appeared doubtful, but he didn’t press the subject. Instead he added the belted sporran and the kilt to the pile of clothing at his feet.
Oh my! So they didn’t wear anything under a kilt as she’d heard but hadn’t believed. Oh my, oh my, oh my! She should be shocked. She should be closing her eyes and turning away as she believed a proper woman would do when seeing a naked man. Apparently she wasn’t a “proper” woman after all, because she wasn’t about to close her eyes or turn away. Maybe she was a little “shocked,” but really it was more like surprised, intrigued. She wanted to touch that part of him thrusting proudly high at attention. Cock, she believed she’d heard it referred to. She’d heard other names as well, but “cock” sounded best to her.
“Are you done admiring him, Lass?” Mac asked, sounding amused.
“Him?” She rather liked the way his cock seemed to grow while she stared at it.
He reached down and closed a hand around the long, thick shaft. “This proud warrior.”
She giggled, actually giggled, which made him frown. “In truth, I was merely curious.”
He strolled toward the bed, the fully aroused cock holding her attention. Could that possibly fit inside her? She couldn’t imagine it doing so. Oh, she was so going to disappoint him!
* * *
His young wife looked nervous, not frightened as Mac had figured she would be, being an innocent. But along with her obvious concern with what was about to happen to her, he noted definite interest. At least in his body. She wanted him, even if she didn’t know that she did. Her body was still only in the early stages of womanhood, but he found it more than pleasing. And he’d been pleased that she hadn’t broken into hysterical tears when he’d undressed her. His new bride was a brave one with an inner strength that he admired. If circumstances were different… No! He refused to think along those lines. They were what they were. Now he must do what he needed to do.
Mac sat on the edge of the bed expecting her to scurry away. Again, she surprised him. Her golden-brown eyes widened and he could see the rapid pulsing of a vein in her slender neck. She lie stiffly, waiting, her breath coming in quick little breaths. He could smell her sweet woman’s scent now. She was aroused; he was painfully drawn to her. Rightness, wrongness…neither mattered at the moment.
He shifted closer and she tensed but didn’t move away. He had to touch her, had to feel the softness that he knew he would find. So he reached his calloused hand down to stroke his knuckles down the side of her neck. Soft, so soft. His heart pounded; his body hardened even more. Soon he would need to take her.
She blinked up at him. “I don’t… I don’t know what…”
“Do not worry, Lass.” He gently trailed his fingers slowly, lightly between her breasts. She drew in a deep, quivering breath yet remained still for his touch. “I willna hurt ye. Trust me.”
“I-I will try,” she gasped.
Humbled by her concerned admission, he cupped one of her breasts. Firm, a handful, tempting. He thumbed the rosy nipple until it pebbled.
Her breath quickened. “Oh. Oh my,” she sighed as he continued to play with first one breast and then the other. She arched up into his hands; her eyes glazed over.
Mac knew if he reached lower that he would find her moist and ready. But he desperately needed to pay sweet homage to the breasts first. Leaning over her, he ran the tip of his tongue around the aureole, and then took it in his mouth, sucking gently.
She moaned, arched even more, panted. Her fingers threaded into his hair and she sighed, “I’ve never… Oh it feels so…” She moaned again.
Her scent surrounded him, called to him. Hard to think. Nearly impossible to not dive between her legs and take what his body so intensely wanted. His need was powerful, more powerful than he could remember feeling ever before. It worried him. He didn’t want to feel this strongly about her, about this stranger who he’d been forced to wed. He didn’t want to feel anything at all for her.
He lathed one hard nipple again; disgusted that he couldn’t seem to stop. But even as he savored the taste of her, he forced himself to remember that they had only this one night. One night and that was all. His life was meant to go another way and be tied with another woman. A woman who understood the proud Scottish ways. Caitlin’s life was meant to go, well, he didn’t know how it was meant to go, but it was meant to go on without him. They had this one night, and were to be tied together distantly for almost another three years to complete the pact made between the families. After that they could legally cut their ties and go their separate paths forever.
“Mac…Oh, Mac…” Her slender body was writhing now in her own need.
He abandoned her breasts and moved to climb between her legs, feeling a twinge of regret for what he must do…for what his body demanded. As he settled in place for just a second, he felt the beads of moisture on her patch of hair. Ready. Well, almost ready.
She lie tensely, but she didn’t stop him from parting her legs even more as he levered up to look down at her. Her eyes were wide in wonder, in uncertainty. “Do not fret, Lass.”
She nodded.
Holding her gaze with his own, he reached down to cup her mound. She tensed even more, and then he eased a finger between her swollen lips. It took no more than a couple of minutes for him to drive her to the point of quivering, to the point of begging him to do something—anything—to bring her relief. More than ready himself, he thrust hard enough to turn her forever from child to woman.
She cried out, but only for a second. Then she seemed to melt around him and he could no longer remain still. He drove home over and over until he forced her first woman’s release. He drove deeply until he followed with his own release and filled her with his seed.
* * *
The next morning as Mac watched Caitlin step away from him and into the coach with her father, he remembered how his young wife had withstood his taking of her. She had bravely done her duty. She had given away her innocence to a man little more than a stranger. What she hadn’t done since he’d stopped suckling her precious breasts was smile. Oh she’d gasped and moaned for him. Her body had been lost in powerful needs. But she had not smiled again.
He hated himself for that. God help him, he’d forced away her smile.
Chapter Two
April 1876
New York City
Caitlin’s hand shook as she signed her name with a flourish on the papers that would end the marriage-that-wasn’t-a-marriage with Mac MacDonell. This had to be done for both of their sakes. Still, it felt strange not to secretly think of herself as a married woman after three years’ time.
She sucked in a heartening breath, knew she should sit back and face her brother across the large cherry desk in his gas lit library, but she was reluctant to do so. “There, it’s done.” For the briefest of moments she wondered if Mac’d had any misgivings when he had formalized the end of something never meant to be. Probably not. He had felt so betrayed by everyone around him that day, including her. Maybe most of all me. Maybe he’d thought she should have more backbone and refuse to obey her father. But then he could have refused to obey his father. They had both been pawns.
Theopolis pulled the papers from beneath her hand. “At last.”
When she straightened, she discovered an odd smile on his face. It made her uneasy.
His next words reinforced that she should be uneasy with him. “Now that we’re through with that bit of nonsense I’ll let Prescott know. He will want to go about making the wedding arrangements as soon as possible.”
“What?” She stared at him in shock. “What did you say?” She only knew one man named Prescott and she couldn’t help the automatic cringe just at thinking about him.
Her brother looked at her as if she were a simpleton. “You know very well that Prescott Waverly and I have had long meetings of late. This union between the two of you will—“
“Absolutely, emphatically, positively not!” Caitlin cut him off, outraged, her chest heaving. She pinned him with a defiant look. “I most certainly will not marry that weak-kneed, balding, banker friend of yours.”
Theopolis shifted and a scowl of disapproval creased his thin face. His gaze sharpened at the force in her tone. He didn't like to be opposed, especially by her. She couldn’t even determine the number of times he had taken the punishment strop he’d inherited—along with control of her—to her poor bottom. No, speaking her mind in front of him never boded well. Or it hadn’t in the past. She was determined to stand up for herself in this important matter.
“All of my life I’ve been manipulated by men: first Father, more recently by you, and even, in a manner, by Mac. Enough is enough!”
Her brother’s face turned so red she thought he just might explode, which might be all right with her. Wretched man. Wretched, wretched man!
Theopolis snorted his disdain. “I should watch my tone, if I were you.”
She stood stiff before him, recognizing the threat in his expression. Her palms began sweating; her knees weakening. Yet she refused to back down no matter what he did. “I will not continue to be manipulated by you. I will not marry that decrepit old man.”
He raised an eyebrow and then sat back in his massive leather desk chair. The springed seat gave a quiet moan of protest. “Father is two years dead, Caitlin. I am in charge of the family now. It is time you got about the business of doing your woman's duty: providing heirs as a means of carrying on the familial lines. The Curran fortune must be protected in the future and a proper marriage made.”
Caitlin felt her face heat, felt fury racing like a fire through her entire body. She couldn't believe his nerve. Well, yes, she could. He thought himself so much better than her, considering he was a man. She was mere bargaining power for him. She’d been the same thing for her father. Why, oh why, had she been born a female!
“What about my wishes? What about my work?” she pressed, determined not to lose her freedom again so easily.
“Are you referring to that bit of silliness you do with cameras?” He wrinkled his long, thin nose as if he'd sniffed something foul. “This matter is not something you will ever understand. It is something best left up to me. Father did what had to be done at the time. I am deciding what must be done at the present.”
Never before in her entire twenty years had she felt so outraged, and Theopolis had done quite a bit over the last few years to anger her. She slid forward until she perched on the edge of her seat. “That 'bit of silliness' I do is called photography. And I'm quite good at it, as many who understand such a thing have professed.”
She narrowed her eyes to keep him from interrupting. “I truly resent your attitude, but I don't wish to discuss that issue again. The matter at hand is your misguided belief that you can continue ruling my life.” Satisfied that she'd said her piece, she eased back in the chair, shifting the length of her skirt train to the side.
“Regarding attitude, Dear Sister, yours is in serious need of adjustment. While living in my household, you are subject to my rules. One of which is owing me respect.”
Her hands fisted in her lap. The night would end badly for her. “Why is it I am not given the same respect you demand?”
He didn’t bother with an answer, merely reached down to pull open the bottom desk drawer where the all too familiar strop was kept. Her buttocks clenched as he laid the worn piece of heavy leather on the desk top.
“We both know your marriage to that Scot was nothing but a farce, arranged for business reasons only. The business matter involved has long since been handled, and the time agreement met. Now you move on.”
Caitlin refused to cower and show her distress at knowing he would use that dreadful strop all too soon. She had endured many a sore bottom before retiring at night. One more would be unpleasant, but she would endure it, too. “Move on to another loveless marriage? To a man I can barely tolerate, but one you no doubt feel you can control? A man who you expect me to bear children with? Heirs that you yourself cannot provide.”
The very notion of being bedded by Prescott Waverly made her skin crawl. While she had resented being forced to marry Mac, at least he'd not made her feel nauseous just by looking at him. Quite the opposite, actually. To this day she remembered exactly how he’d looked completely naked when he’d taken her to his bed and taken her virginity. It hadn’t been the wedding night that she’d dreamed of, but he’d awakened in her a yearning that she still felt. A yearning to be with a man who truly loved her. She hadn’t learned much about making love that night, other than it could possibly be quite wonderful with the right someone. Mac hadn’t been the “right” someone for her, and she, clearly, was not the “right” someone for him either. A part of her was still sad about that fact. But Prescott could not possibly the right someone for her… or anyone, in her opinion.
“You go too far.” His long fingers curled around the strop’s handle. “What is one more loveless marriage? We both know they are quite common in our social circle.”
He was right, of course. Loveless, arranged marriages were the norm in their world. She didn’t want that for herself, though. “I deserve better than that. I want more than that.” What to do? What to do? How could she regain control of her life and her dreams?
He shrugged, continued to grip the strop. “You will do what I tell you to.”
Caitlin pressed her lips together in annoyance. So smug. So sure he could bend her to his will, confident that he was completely in charge of her life and her decisions. When had she ever been in charge of what she really wanted to do? Certainly not that fateful day when she and Mac had repeated vows that neither wanted to keep. She had been too young to really consider marrying, and she'd had dreams of pursuing her love of photography even then. She had accepted the agreed-upon marriage in name only—other than that one night they’d had together—so her father's newly acquired business in Scotland would have the influence of the respected MacDonell name tied to it. She had accepted the marriage because she'd had no choice.
Ignoring Theopolis and his damn strop for the moment, her thoughts turned to the dangerously striking man whose name she’d carried until today. As always, she felt a warmth in her woman’s place. There hadn’t been and probably never would be a way to deny that her body longed to feel his touch again. She’d heard whispered remarks by women over the years about the joys of being with their husband in intimate ways. She had even gone so far as to read some of the scandalous books that talked of making love. Many nights she had fallen into restless dreams wherein Mac came to her and made long, passionate love. He didn’t just start to awaken her desire and then suddenly rush to get the deed done, as he’d basically done on their wedding night. No, in these dreams, he’d kissed her all over, had run his large hands over her breasts, down her body. His fingers had sought out and claimed her, had done such very wonderful things until she’d begged him to . . .
“Woolgathering, are you?”
Caitlin started and sat up stiffer. She ran a finger around the inside edge of her collar, felt the heat that had spread through her body. Her heart pounded. She ached between her legs. How very annoying!
She tried to picture Mac as having lost all of his hair, as having gained at least fifty pounds and none of it muscle. He was not some perfect man. Not the dream lover she thought about way too often. He had merely spoken his vows that day for the sake of his clan and sacrificed whatever it was he wanted in a chosen wife. The marriage had never been intended to last, which he’d spelled out repeatedly to her that day. Before she’d left the next morning, they had promised to get a divorce when she reached twenty, even though it was not easily done or approved by his church. He had been determined to end the marriage and an annulment was out of the question. Now, barely two months past that date, she had signed the papers directly under Mac’s bold signature. It felt terribly wrong, almost as wrong as speaking what should have been very special vows all those many days ago.
Theopolis cleared his throat, demanding her attention, clearly irritated with her continued unresponsiveness. When she met his gaze, he stated firmly, “I’m sure wedding arrangements can be made by the end of the month. As I said earlier, it is time that you performed your familial duty and provided an heir for the Currans…and you will.”
She shivered in revulsion, hated his tone. “For that banker you can control, you mean. The child would not be solely a Curran.”
“The child, and you, would most certainly bear his name. However, Prescott and I have already agreed that he would have no legal claims to any of the Curran money. Other than what will go to him as your dowry, naturally.”
He had pulled the strop toward him. The intent was clear in his eyes. He was tired of her resistance, of her attempting to stand up against him. He believed that punishing her would bring her around and have her meekly accepting whatever he wished her to do.
Wrong! Caitlin stood and walked over to look out a long window, holding back one of the velvet curtains to glance at the manicured lawn and the multi-colored flower gardens lining the front walk. In the glass, she could see her brother pushing his chair back. The strop would yield a great deal of pain. But more painful to her was his absolute refusal to even consider her feelings. The idea of being traded away right and left for financial security was abhorrent.
She twisted the antique wedding ring on her finger. Mac may have been angry at the forced marriage and may have resented being tied to a young American heiress who he believed always got her way, but he had not been a heartless man. She had seen deep emotions in his haunted eyes. She had witnessed his love and loyalty to those he cared for—to his clan—in the way he'd straightened his shoulders and said his vows. Yes, he had a heart. She only hoped that what she'd done—what they'd done—hadn't damaged it forever. For she fully understood now just how deeply the betrayal of a loved one could hurt. And Mac's father had betrayed him by forcing him into an arranged marriage.
“Prescott is a good man,” Theopolis declared, standing and walking in her direction. His reflection in the mirror showed that he carried the strop with him. “He may be a little long in the tooth, but I'm sure he can still get you with child.”
She turned to face him and shuddered at the thought of Prescott. “'Long in the tooth' hardly covers his advanced years.”
He stopped a few feet from her. “Enough! You will marry Prescott by the end of this month and that is final.”
“No!” She scurried by her startled brother and went straight to the desk. Even as she heard him moving behind her, she grabbed the legal documents and ripped them into tiny pieces. “There will be no more talk of my marrying Prescott Waverly. Him or anyone else. I am still a married woman now that these papers have been destroyed. It is time I went to be with Mac.”
Her stomach fluttered with nerves. What am I doing? Mac won’t want me; he’s never wanted me. She didn’t, in truth, want him either. What she wanted was distance between she and her brother. Distance and time to finalize her plans to go to California, where she hoped to pursue a chance to work for her uncle who owned a newspaper there. She would simply have legal papers redrawn and get Mac’s signature all over again.
Theopolis was behind her now. Fury rolled off him in waves, but she was angry as well. She glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel, then focused briefly on a pair of chocolate-tinted tintypes of her brother and father that she'd made a couple of years ago. Her heart ached knowing she missed her father despite what he'd done to her, knowing she would miss her brother in spite of what he'd become.
“Those papers meant nothing, no more than a show for your benefit,” Theopolis said smugly.
Her pulse raced. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the divorce papers were filed two months ago, exactly on time.”
“But I hadn’t signed . . .” She looked at him, knew what he’d done. “You forged my signature, didn’t you?”
He shrugged as if his illegal action was of no matter. “I’ve been doing so for years, Dear Sister.”
“For years,” she whispered, disbelieving the depth of his underhandedness. She felt ill, terribly ill. “You forged Mac’s signature as well, didn’t you?”
Theopolis didn’t even bother to confirm or deny the question. “You never belonged together. Never wanted to be together. I merely helped you both.”
Caitlin bristled, wished she could grab that damn strop and beat him senseless. She could barely tolerate being in the same room with him. “I could have you thrown in jail.”
He merely raised an eyebrow. “I think not.”
No doubt he was right. She decided to change tactics. “I’m going to Scotland, to Mac. I’ll get this mess straightened out one way or another. And you cannot stop me. My mind is quite made up.”
He looked smug. “Mac is not in Scotland.” He casually swung the strop at his side, smiling as he saw her watch the motion. “He left there not long after you returned with Father and I to the States following the wedding. Evidently he and his father had a bitter argument and he left behind his clan duties to forge a new life here.”
Mac had left Scotland? She couldn't imagine him living anywhere else. He had fit the wild, rugged land so well. Curling her hands into fists, she asked, “How do you know all of this?”
“I look after what is my responsibility, which includes you, Dear Heart.”
“Have you had contact with him?” she asked, still trying to take everything in, praying Mac was as innocent in this horrible game as she.
“Let's just say that over the years I have had people let me know where he settled and what he was doing.”
“You set your private investigators on him.” Now she was outraged on Mac's behalf.
“Why are you so defensive of MacDonell? He abandoned his family, and you. What kind of man is that? Prescott would never abandon you.” He took a step closer.
His taunting hurt, but his rationalization wasn't exactly true. From the moment their fathers had made the arrangement, it had been understood that she would return to the States, finish her education, and when she reached twenty they could end the marriage should they choose to do so. Abandonment was not an issue. Still, every once in a while over the years, she had foolishly wished Mac had at least contacted her. She would have liked to have gotten to know him a little, a man who was willing to give up his dreams for his family.
“I expect you to provide me with Mac’s latest known address,” she said, forcing away the distracting thought.
“It is best to leave things the way they are, Caitlin.” He flashed a crooked, evil grin. “Besides, he didn’t even bother to show up for your funeral.”
“What?” Good heavens, how much more complicated could all of this be?
Theopolis blew out a deep, annoyed breath. “The divorce papers were for legal needs, my legal needs. Mac was simply told that you died three years ago, around the time of your return to the States. We didn’t want him interfering with our future plans for you, and we couldn’t fully count on him following through with a divorce. What if he’d changed his mind? What if he’d decided to ignore the facts that he didn’t love you and believed you would never make him a fit wife? We simply couldn’t take that chance. We had other plans for your life.”
Caitlin stood there seething for a minute. She’d known her father was a master at being underhanded and getting his way. But this was too much! Simply too much. “You’re truly despicable!”
He narrowed his eyes and she knew she’d pressed him too far this time. But she didn’t care. He was despicable. “I want Mac’s last known address, Theopolis.”
“I won’t give it to you.”
She huffed in resignation, “Fine.” It was past time her brother learned that she wasn’t milk toast, always biddable. She wondered just how she could sweet talk the information from her brother's private investigator. On more than one occasion the man had asked her to join him at the theater.
Before she could move, he grabbed her arm and forced her to face the desk. He pressed her forward until she braced her arms on the top. “What I will give you is a thrashing for behaving so disrespectfully.”
Still angry with his betrayal, with all of his lies, she snapped, “You have done nothing to earn my respect.”
He jerked her skirt and petticoat up, tossed them over her back. The strop landed with such force that she thrust further across the desk. “We will see how your attitude improves after a sound stropping.”
A quick dozen lashes fell, each harder than the other. Even through the layer of underdrawers she felt the bite. She would not cry out! She would not give him the satisfaction!
He thrashed her until she couldn’t stand still, until her world consisted of gasping and whimpering, until her bottom burned with the fires of hell.
“Prescott will have his hands full with you, Sister.” He thrashed her again. “I will give him this strop as a wedding gift.”
Although tears streamed down her face and she desperately wanted to stop the pain, she hissed, “I will never marry Waverly.”
Opposed to her stubborn resistance, he determined to change her mind. Finally she gave in to the frantic need to scream out her pain. She did not verbalize agreement to the proposed wedding, but Theopolis took her pleas for stopping as such.
He tugged her skirts down over her tortured bottom and pulled her to her feet. As had become his habit, he held the strop out for her to kiss. She detested this practice of kissing the instrument of her punishment, but she wanted this over with.
Wincing at having to bend over enough to press her lips to the warm leather, she obeyed. He nodded approval when she straightened.
“You will retire now, Caitlin. You will remain in your room until tomorrow morning when we will again speak of your marriage to Prescott.” He waved her away in dismissal and moved to put the strop back in the bottom drawer.
* * *
Several hours had passed, as had most of the pain from her punishment. It was her heart that ached more than anything now. This would be her last night here in the home in which she’d grown up. As she looked around her room for what she knew would be the last time, sadness filled her. So many memories. Even more sad, there were really only a few good ones.
Already dressed for bed in her fine linen nightgown, she gingerly climbed up onto her favorite place in the room: the window seat. She stared out at the dark sky through the filmy curtains and tucked her legs under her still somewhat sore bottom. Even though she’d never known her mother, who had died upon her birth, Caitlin missed her. It was impossible to count the number of times she had curled up here and cried herself to sleep after something her father had said or done—more often done. He had made a poor combination of mother and father. Actually, he’d made a poor father, period. An even worse father than she’d believed, now that she knew more of his dastardly deeds.
Tears stinging her eyes, she glanced into the massive room, adorned with the best mahogany bedroom furniture money could buy. Expensive clothing from the most elite designers filled her dressing room. She had a jewelry box nearly the size of a trunk that contained more fancy jewels than a woman should ever need. Yes, her father had bought her nothing but the best. Not because he’d loved her and wanted her to have the items, but because he’d expected her to be a showpiece whenever she went out into society. Her brother did as well.
What was overwhelmingly missing in her room—in the entire mansion—was anything whatsoever to do with her mother. Not one painting, not one tintype, not even one of Emma Curran’s hair ribbons were anywhere to be found. Her father had cast everything to do with his wife out of their lives immediately after she’d died, abandoning him with a baby girl. Caitlin had never known whether he’d loved her mother or not.
She shifted and winced, thinking yet again of her despicable brother. She had heard his carriage leaving only an hour ago and rushed downstairs to his library. Heart racing the whole time lest he come back and find her there snooping around, she had gone through his desk drawers. When she’d come across the strop, she hadn’t hesitated for a second. She had snatched it up and tossed it in the fireplace. She’d enjoyed watching it shrivel up and distort in the slowly dying fires. And then she had searched the desk some more. Even now she thought about the piece of parchment carefully folded and tucked into the bottom of her satchel. She knew where Mac lived now…at least where he had lived on the investigator’s report of six months ago.
Her plans were in motion with that knowledge. She would leave most of her clothing and jewelry behind when she left for the West, for a place called Tumbleweed in Arizona. The only belongings she had that mattered to her were her precious camera and what she needed to produce photographs. A month ago she had started thinking about leaving home, but she hadn’t known when or how exactly. She had, though, taken all of her equipment to a friend’s house. Her brother had not known about it…nor would he have cared, she imagined. She would get a message to her friend and have it all shipped to her once she settled somewhere.
Caitlin tried to convince herself that all of this change in her life was an exciting adventure. It was, really. It was also terrifying. Yet to stay here with Theopolis was unacceptable. To stay here and be forced to marry that awful Prescott Waverly… Well, that was horrifying. A tear trickled down her cheek, and then another. All she’d ever wanted was to be loved. All she’d ever been was tolerated.
Except for a few minutes on that night three years ago. Between the forced wedding ceremony and the hurried final act of consummation there had been a few precious minutes when she’d felt almost loved. Mac had been gentle in the beginning, awakening her body to the pleasures a woman could feel from being with a man. He had done things to her breasts that she’d had no idea a man would do. His tongue had felt hot, wet, slightly rough as he’d laved one nipple and then the other. He had nipped gently at the hardened tips. He had surrounded one pulsing bud with his mouth, sucked on it. And then he’d done the same with her other breast.
Suddenly her breasts felt heavy. She glanced down and found her nipples had become taut peaks. As wrong as it was, she ached to have Mac do those wondrous things to her breasts again.
She lifted a hand and boldly cupped a breast, glancing across the large space to make sure the bedroom door was closed even though she believed that Theopolis was still gone for the evening. This most surely was quite improper, wicked. She had read about such things, but had never considered doing them. Yet it felt delicious to touch her breast, to feel the tiny stirrings of arousal once more after all this time.
Her fingers massaged the fullness, and her lower lips pulsed with awareness. In her mind's eye she saw Mac sitting here beside her. It was his large, calloused hand that squeezed her breast. It was his thumb that rubbed back and forth across the bud until it hardened into a pebble.
Wondrous sensations tingled from her now aching breast all the way down to her woman’s area. Between her legs that tiny, special place Mac had ever so gently touched burst to life. Throbbed. Begged for something more.
She closed her eyes. Mac. Only in her dreams did she allow herself to think about him, because their reality did not belong entwined. Yet, for here and now only, she could share a wickedly secret time with him.
His hand continued to caress, to knead her breast. His other hand crept lower and she shifted to stretch her legs out in front, and finally lay down in the window seat. Her eyes still closed, lost in a newly discovered need, she eased her legs apart with her knees slightly bent.
His hand shoved her nightgown up and out of the way. It found the moist place she’d first truly become aware of that night. His middle finger slipped slowly between the swollen lips, eased inside. She sighed, squeezing internal muscles around the welcome invader.
Almost dizzy now, her palm rubbed against the secret bud. She moved, wanting something, needing something. His thumb slid along the tender edge; his finger wiggled and teased.
Mac. Oh, Mac.
She arched upward desperate to meet the encouraging finger. Hot, she felt so hot. She moaned, heart racing.