Shackles of Honor Page 3

  Ellis growled angrily and stormed from the room. Cassidy dropped to her knees before her mother and, taking her hands, begged, “Who is he, Mother? This man to whom you have given me? Who is he to you?”

  Cylia Shea raised her eyes to her daughter’s in regained confidence. “He…he is the best of men, darling. Son to a family beloved by your father and me. He will serve you well. Believe in your father, and trust in us, please.”

  Cassidy stood and, turning to leave the room as well, paused, saying, “I…I want to believe in you. But it’s made difficult when you will not even tell me why it is I must go with him.” And she fled from the room in a torrent of tears.

  

  It was near to an hour that Cassidy spent alone in the west gardens sobbing as the fragrant scents of daffodil and tulip surrounded her. There was not reason to it! No way to understand it! Her parents would not even tell her how it had all come about. She could guess that they had formed a fast friendship with a couple and decided mutually that their children would wed when they were grown. But why then had she never heard the name of Carlisle before this very day?

  As she thought on it, she could remember the initials D.B.C. on letters from someone to her mother. Initials of L.C. on letters to her father. Could the C in the initials be for Carlisle? Still, if they were such intimate friends as to wish their children to join, why then had she never heard of them? Why?

  Finally, when there was no moisture left in her tired eyes for crying, she made her way back to the house. All was quiet within, as if nothing had changed. Her mother and father were nowhere to be seen, and she had heard the mad drumming of Ellis’s mount leaving the stables when she had been in the garden. She knew her mind was too alive with facing the death of her independence to sleep easily.

  Perhaps a book, she mused as she entered the library, a book to divert her thoughts. But as she entered and looked toward the warming fire that crackled and spat in the large hearth, she noticed a form sitting in the deepness of a soft chair off to one side. Immediately her heart began to pound with a mania that was deafening. He sat, his elbows resting on the arms of the great chair, his hands made into tight fists, knuckles braced against one another beneath his chin. She stood frozen as he raised his eyes to her and then straightened in the chair.

  “You’ve been found then,” he mumbled. “To think they had the audacity to inquire of me about your whereabouts.”

  “You’ve known nearly your entire life?” she asked bluntly.

  “I have.”

  “And you despised me from the first.” She stated it. There was no question in her voice.

  He did not argue the point—only said, “I’ve been sitting wondering which is the worst of it. Was it worse to know and anticipate my whole life as I have? Or would it be worse to be you and have it thrust on me unexpectedly, unwelcomely, all at once?”

  “My father must have an immense regard for your father,” was all she could say.

  “Hmm,” he mused, sarcastically somehow. “Yes, for my father.”

  She did not miss the insinuation in his voice. “Our mothers then.”

  “Ah, yes. Our mothers are great friends!” he exclaimed, and she sensed the anger rising in him once more. “And therefore, that fact alone makes this all dandy, doesn’t it?”

  “Are you as violent a man as you appear to be?” she asked forthrightly.

  “I am,” came his uncompromising response.

  “Is your hatred for me as complete as it seems?”

  “No.”

  She was somewhat astonished at his answer. “Why not?” She was again surprised at her own bold question. She shifted uncomfortably as he stood, strode toward her, and seemed to study her carefully from head to toe.

  “You are, at least, a comely girl,” he said rather indifferently.

  She was infuriated at his brazen and worldly response. How dare he imply that her physical appearance would make the situation endurable for him? But she would not let him have the upper hand, and she quickly retorted, “And you are, at least, uniquely handsome.” Then, unable to hold her tongue any further, she added, “Though…I must tell you now that it would make no difference to me were you elderly, obese, and heinous to look upon.”

  “Humph,” he sneered rather mockingly. “You’ll come to know the intense untruth of that remark.” Rising from his chair and pushing past her, he strode angrily from the room.

  Chapter Two

  There would come no respite through sleep for Cassidy Shea that night—only brief periods of fitful dozing when her mind would imagine the angry face of Mason Carlisle before her, disapproving and resentful. Therefore, she awoke ill-tempered, puffy-eyed, and more fatigued somehow than when she had retired.

  “Good morning, Miss Cassidy,” Lynette said, entering the chamber with a basin of fresh water. “’Tis well past nine o’clock, you realize. The birds have been twittering for hours. I cannot believe you didn’t wake for them.”

  “Nine!” Cassidy exclaimed, leaping from her bed. “How could it be that I slept so long? How could it be that Mother allowed me to sleep until now?”

  “I would think it is because she has been otherwise occupied in your father’s study with their guest for the entirety of the morning.”

  Cassidy felt as if a large lump of something was caught in her throat. She swallowed hard and smiled kindly at Lynette, grateful for the girl’s wonderful way of letting her know all the news in Terrill without actually telling her all the news.

  “He’s still about then? That bullying brute of a man, Carlisle?” Cassidy asked, half hoping the morning would have found him taking his leave, certain she met with disgust in his eyes. Still, the other half—the more silent half of her soul, the half that only manifest itself in her mind—somehow delighted to learn that he remained under her father’s roof.

  “Yes, miss. He’s about. That sinfully attractive, dark-haired man that is to be your husband, I hear.” Lynette’s eyes twinkled mischievously, and Cassidy was irritated by the sudden blush that heated her own cheeks. “I’ve never seen the like of him before. Not in all my days, I haven’t.”

  “He is a heartless beast,” Cassidy mumbled, going to study her weary face in the looking glass.

  “And you’re the beauty then, miss, to charm the savage in him?”

  Lynette giggled, and Cassidy could not help smiling at her playful way. “You bring me such delightsome mirth and…and…”

  “Common comfort?” Lynette finished.

  “For lack of better words, yes. You help me see that life isn’t so all serious and dreary as I maybe perceived it.”

  “How could life be dreary in the arms of such a man?”

  “Lynette. Hush now. You go too far,” Cassidy scolded. Yet she was uncomfortably disturbed by the odd thrilling sensation that traveled over her flesh at Lynette’s comment. “Well, then,” she continued as Lynette only stood grinning all too knowingly, “come. Help me to look presentable as I face Monsieur Guillotine.”

  

  “Good morning, my darling,” Cassidy’s mother greeted her, standing and kissing her lovingly on the cheek as Cassidy entered the morning room. Cassidy noted that her mother’s eyes were swollen and reddened and knew that she too had not slept during the night.

  “Yes, Cass. Good morning,” her father mumbled, nodding at her. “How lovely you look in that yellow dress. It is truly one of my favorites.”

  “Yes, Father. Paste a stem to her, and she would look just like a fresh, ripe little daffodil plucked from a new bride’s bouquet. Would you not agree?” Ellis’s voice still resounded with anger, but a scolding glare from his father gave him cause to sigh before taking his sister’s hand and kissing it in greeting. “Good morning, Cass.”

  “There’s much to discuss, of course,” Cassidy’s father announced, not unexpectedly. “Much that you will both want to say. Many questions you have to ask. Many. Some that I may answer and some that I may not. But first, let us breakfast together calmly
so that our stomachs will not upset.”

  Ellis assisted Cassidy into her chair and then, seating himself, immediately said, “So where is our honored guest this fine spring morning?”

  “Ellis,” his mother warned.

  “Mason is out and about on his mount this morning. No doubt he had experienced enough of your and Cassidy’s version of Shea hospitality,” their father boomed.

  “I see no reason to be hospitable toward him. He comes like a thief in the night to—” Ellis began.

  “He does not approach as a thief, Ellis!” their mother exclaimed suddenly. Both Ellis and Cassidy were surprised by such an unprecedented outburst from their mother figure. “It has been seventeen years that he has prepared himself for this! It was, no doubt, like walking straight into a den of starving lions when he arrived yesterday, knowing what your estimation of him would be…what Cassidy’s reaction would be. A lesser man would not have done it. A lesser man would’ve refused this—for his father does not threaten disinheritance or banishment. He is here because he is all that is honorable in a good man!” She paused, looking intently at Ellis. Then quietly she declared, “I hope that you would act so honorably were the situation reversed.”

  “You know you have no consequence to doubt me, Mother,” Ellis growled defensively.

  Cassidy shook her head in frustration. Why? Why was her father so silent in the matter? Never had she seen him take such a passive manner in any dealings. Especially something of such magnitude.

  “You sit there, Mother, Father…expecting this of me. Ellis, though I cherish your defense of me, your brotherly chivalry…’tis I that must suffer through this. ’Tis only I. How can any of you, though you be my beloved family, my most treasured belongings…how can you sit and argue over what only I must endure?” All eyes were on her sympathetically. She continued, “I am she who will leave the only home she has ever known to reside with complete strangers—live in odd, unfamiliar surroundings—wed a man who cares no more for me than the mud that collects on his boots! I’m the one who will endure his attention, bear his children.”

  Her words caught in her throat as she and everyone else in the morning room heard the sharp closing of the door that led from the veranda to where they gathered. Cassidy felt the hair at the back of her neck prickle ominously as she turned to face none other than the very topic of their conversation.

  “Good morning, Mason,” Cassidy’s father greeted.

  “Sir,” Mason responded. “Milady. Ellis. Miss Shea,” he said, nodding his head at each one in turn. The discomfort hung thick in the air. Each member of the Shea family felt guilt at having been so obviously discovered discussing their houseguest. Likewise, Mason Carlisle’s pompous pride at having the upper hand in the situation was manifest in his countenance.

  “Twelve,” he stated, taking a chair next to Ellis.

  “Twelve?” Cylia repeated questioningly.

  “Twelve children.” Mason reached forth, taking a muffin from its basket and buttering it generously before leaning back contentedly in his chair. “I, being the ogre that I am, expect no less than twelve children.”

  No one said a word. Looking about her, Cassidy could see that no one, including herself, knew whether he were in earnest.

  “You see, that way, Miss Shea…you can begin counting down the persecuting number of times that you will have to endure my horrid attentions.” Still everyone sat in silence as he quietly and very nonchalantly ate his muffin in two swift bites. “Still…if you can find it in your heart, Miss Shea…shall we say…if your abilities…no, no, no. Let us say, if your gifts…if one of your gifts of this life proves to be abundant fertility…then perhaps we will make it a round baker’s dozen. What say you to that?”

  “Your manner is entirely insolent, sir!” Cassidy’s father growled, leaping to his feet.

  Mason Carlisle rose from his chair and, leaning across the table, met him face-to-face, glare‑to‑glare. “My manner? Am I not to be considered a guest in your home? Yet I arrive at my first stomachable meal here only to find myself the despised topic of slanderous conversation. Your own son’s mirthful comments fly hither and yon through the air touching whatever ears they may, and you laugh, mirthful and delighted at his wit,” he growled.

  “Your very words condemn you, sir! For you are a guest alone! Not a…” Calvert began.

  “Not a member of the family,” Mason finished for him. Mason straightened himself and stood tall, proud, and looming. “Would you have my family treat your daughter as such? Would you send her into the lair of such resentful, hateful harpies as I now find myself?”

  “No,” Calvert admitted defeatedly. “No. Nor would your good father and dear mother treat her as you’ve been treated here. You are right, my boy. You are right.”

  Cassidy looked about her, at her mother’s moist, brimming eyes, her father’s humility, and even Ellis’s silent expressive admission that they had treated the young man badly indeed. And thus panic began to grip her. Had he won them over? Would she be the sole person left with enough sanity to see her situation for what it was?

  “You must understand, Carlisle,” Ellis began. “It’s our protective nature that causes our understandable reaction to this…this revelation of life’s path for Cassidy.”

  “Protective nature? Yes,” Mason mumbled, and something akin to sympathy passed briefly over his face. “It’s the same that I would feel were it my sister and not yours.”

  Ellis nodded and put a strong hand of truce at the man’s shoulder. Mason took Ellis’s free hand and shook it firmly. “If we are to be brothers, then we must find common ground,” Ellis told him.

  Cassidy was astonished. Horridly astonished!

  “Ellis! How could you turn from me like this? I—”

  “He turns not from you. Rather he endeavors to support you,” came Mason’s unwelcome explanation.

  “Support me?” she nearly shrieked.

  “Would it be easier for you to bear this decision that indeed you agreed to of free will…if your family were as angry and antagonistic as you are? Or will it ease better to have them comfort and understand you?”

  “Do not assume to educate me, Mr. Carlisle, in matters of my family!” Cassidy argued.

  “I mean to educate you in many venues, Miss Shea,” he said quietly.

  Cassidy was horrified when Ellis allowed a quiet chuckle to escape his lungs.

  “Ellis! Enough!” Cylia scolded sharply. “Please! Please, let us sit in a friendly manner to eat this morning. Let this be a new beginning. We must find peace with each other,” she added in her most pleasant of voices.

  Forsaken, Cassidy thought. Forsaken. Her family would side with the enemy, so to speak. Forsaken. As she defeatedly sat back in her chair, her eyes met her father’s across the table. His own eyes were full of sorrow and stricken guilt. It was so deeply evident in his eyes that it frightened Cassidy. Somehow her father was at the center of her fate involving Mason Carlisle. Her soul recognized the certainty of it even though she did not understand how.

  Forsaken. The word echoed through her mind over and over. Forsaken. Even when Ellis and Mason left the table together, however awkwardly, to go for a midmorning ride over the main properties, the word screamed in her mind. Forsaken. Her father left the room without another word, and her mother kissed her lightly on the head and left her as well.

  

  Forsaken, she thought as she watched the ducks in the west pond. Carelessly they floated on the water’s surface, dipping beneath now and again to search for food. The breeze was brisk and fragrant, and yet, Forsaken, she thought as it blew through her hair. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, trying to find comfort from the sweetened sounds and smells of nature.

  “I was only in jest, you realize.” His voice startled her, causing Cassidy to nearly lose her footing spinning about to face him. There he stood in all his masculine glory scowling down at her.

  “Pardon?” she squeaked. It crossed her mind instantly that t
hey were alone. No one about as chaperon or witness.

  “About the twelve, rather thirteen, children. I was merely tweaking your temper,” he explained. But there was nothing mirthful in his manner now. She could not decide to believe him or not.

  “Consider it well tweaked,” she nearly spat.

  “Ten should be sufficient,” he stated.

  “You’ll be lucky to have one born of me! And that only if you find me in some drunken stupor, oblivious to the world!”

  “You make merry with spirits?” he asked mockingly.

  “Never! So there before you lie your chances of my conceiving an heir of you!” Turning from him, she tossed her head angrily and began walking away.

  “You mean to deny me my progeny completely? Is this to be my consequence of adhering to the wishes of my parents? Of trying to honor duty?” he shouted, reaching out and taking hold of her arm.

  “Unhand me at once!” she demanded, breaking free of him and yet tingling entirely from his brief touch. Turning toward him, she mustered her courage and spoke. “I have known you less than one day…and yet you expect me to calmly stand here and discuss such intimate subjects as posterity with you? My entire world has been altered in these past hours! And before you make to remind me, which no doubt you will, I am quite aware that I assumed the responsibility of going forth with our parents’ wishes. Still, can you not be, in the very least, somewhat insightful to my feelings? My fears? My uncertainty?”

  “Oh, how little you understand my insight, Miss Shea,” he grumbled. “I pity you. I do. Make no mistake about that course. It’s why I’ve told your father that I’ll stay on here at Terrill for a time in order that you may have more time to think on it. To prepare, as well as you can, for such changes. But you must understand me. I intend to fulfill this…this…obligation to our fathers. And yet I intend to have a wife in every term and posterity to my name. If you intend different…disclose the truth now before more damage results.”