Page 83 of A Tale of Two Dukes

For the women, he uses a gentler approach, infusing his words with an Alpha command, but still gets the tide of people to eventually recede. Kneeling next to us, he looks at me, pity in his eyes. I don’t want his sympathy; I want Catherine to be free from her torment.

“I cannae marry you like this. As much as I want to unite you, she’s not right in mind, spirit, or body. With a shattered bond…” He trails off, his gaze looking off into the horizon. For a moment, the stark pain shines in his eyes, mirroring Catherine’s. “A shattered bond can be fixed, but not easily. Ye seem to hold great love for the wee lass. It should see you through.”

Clapping his hand on my shoulder, he stands, parting the stragglers to allow us easy access to the inn. He glances behind, a smirk tilting his hips. “Oh, and dinnae worry about the wee cad. We Scots know how to take care of a traitor. Don’t we lads?” Ayes pepper the crowd as men step forward, grabbing Hugh’s body to drag him away.

But honestly, I find that I’m indifferent as to what they plan to do with him. They can defile his body for all I care. The only one who occupies my thoughts is my mate. Her tiny body curls into me, tears staining my shirt.

My arm throbs from where Hugh slashed into me, but it’s nothing compared to the agony flooding my mind. I could turn off my side of the bond, allowing myself a moment to breathe, but that would be a coward’s way of dealing with things. As long as she’s in pain, I’ll be right there with her, shouldering what I can.

Hefting her higher in my arms, I nuzzle her damp cheek with my nose, earning a tearful smile. Just that one action guts me, flooding my system with hope. My love is not so far gone from me.

I clutch her close, making a beeline for the room she and Hugh were going to share. Part of me wants to refuse, to find somewhere else, but deep inside, it’s a way of marking my territory. Here, I will see to my mate’s needs in a way he never could.

The moment the door opens, we’re confronted by his lingering scent. It’s not strong, but it’s enough for Catherine to go still, motionless as she clings to me. Her reaction tears at me, guts me. The only consolation is knowing that my scent will overpower his soon enough.

Setting her on the bed, I watch in despair as she curls in on herself, forming a tiny ball. In most cases, I know exactly what to do, but right now, I’m at a loss. Her agony continues to beat at me as she drifts away.

With a soft touch, I roll her toward me, forcing her to unfurl and look at me. Her gaze is distant, far away. It pains me to see her like this. Reaching down, I stroke her soft skin.

“Where are you, love? Please, let me follow. Do not shut me out.”

“Hurts,” she rasps out, dropping her hand to her breast. It hovers over the damned mark. “It hurts so very badly. Pl- Please.”

There, in the silence, her body speaks to me, begging me for what it needs most. She needs me there to shatter her and then pick up the pieces. She needs me to be the one to bring her back from the edge of insanity.

“I hear you,” I murmur, leaning down to brush my lips against her hair. “I hear you, my love.”

With a heavy sigh, I stand, scanning the room. Off in the corner resides the luggage Hugh brought with them, no doubt planning to use this space to consummate their ‘honeymoon.’ Kneeling, I poke about, pulling out clothes and toiletries until I reach the bottom.

Bits of thin rope lay coiled, as lethal as any snake. Flashes of memories scald my insides as I relive the things he did to her, the pain he put her through. The fact that he can make her suffer, even from beyond the grave, is reprehensible.

But at least I have a plan now, that’s more than where I was at mere minutes ago. I stride back over to the bed and hunch down, running my fingers through her hair. “Hold tight, my love. Be my good girl and wait for me to return.”

Taking off my cravat, I nestle it into the crook of her arms, giving something to comfort and soothe her while I’m gone. Without waiting for her answer, I head to the door, finding both the blacksmith and Whiteport conversing outside.

“How’s the wee lass?”

Lips thinning, I shake my head and pull my shirt off. No need to have her continue seeing me drenched in blood. The blacksmith turns my arm about, studying the cut. Luckily it doesn’t seem deep enough to cause permanent harm.

Calling down the stairs, he orders some bandages and a fresh shirt. “Here, let me tend to ye. It will fester if not cleaned.”

Soon, a male servant comes up, his arms laden. With a grunt, he takes what he needs and shoos him away, taking a rag and dipping it into what looks like muddy water. My nose crinkles as I look between the mess and Whiteport.

“I believe I’m quite well, but thank you.”

“Dinnae tell me yer scared of a few herbs. This here is passed down from me mother and her mother before her. It will keep yer wound clean and without infection. Unless it is that ye want the fevers to take ye? Then where will your bonny lass be?”

Again, I glance over at Whiteport and shrug. “You’re sure this won’t harm me?”

Dropping the rag into the bucket, he crosses his heart and looks to the heavens as he kisses his knuckles. “Aye, as I live and breathe. What do ye take me for? Am I nae a priest? Ye trust me to marry ye but not see ye well?”

“Well, with that ringing endorsement,” I grumble.

“Hold on,” Whiteport interjects. “What exactly is in here?” Grabbing the bowl, he takes a slight whiff.

“A wee bit of sage and garlic. Just to cleanse. The ointment here has a bit of yarrow if ye wish to take a sniff of it.”

I watch Whiteport, sighing as he nods and hands it back. “Very well. You may treat him.”