Page 84 of A Tale of Two Dukes

“Aye? With yer majesty’s permission then.” He makes quick work of cleansing the wound.

Once all the blood is washed away, it hurts, but doesn’t seem to require sutures. That’s a boon at least. After smearing on some ointment, he binds me with cloth before handing me the shirt.

I reach out into the bond, keeping aware of Catherine while out in the hall. Every inch of her screams of pain, her mind and body twisting until she’s a ball of misery. It’s excruciating, an ache that claws at my insides.

“Yer lass looks to suffer greatly.”

“The bastard put a claim on her,” I grind out, fury lacing my tone. “But luckily, she already had one by me. She’s not so shattered as not to recover, I think.” Pain beats at my heart even as I say those words.

The blacksmith nods. “How can I assist?”

“Her need is great, but I know how to fix this. At least, I think I do. Do you, by chance, have any rope in your shop?”

He furrows his brows, confusion lining his face. “Of course I have rope. Do ye plan to hang the miscreant? Hate to tell ye, there’s nae much left of his body to tie.”

Whiteport and I exchange a glance, both of us fighting the need to laugh. “Not for him. You see, I… Well…”

After a moment, dawning lights in his eyes. With a hearty laugh, he claps my shoulder. “Aye, ye deviant bastard. I hear ye. Come.”

Nodding to Whiteport, I relax as he stands guard at the door. The blacksmith takes me back to his shop, but instead of going in, we head around and to the back. A slat of wood lies on the ground with a handle affixed. He holds his finger to his lips, winking at me as if harboring some great secret.

He opens the door and leads me down the stairs. At first, I expect some dank cellar, but the vision that greets my eyes when he lights the candles is anything but. The room opens up, at least triple the size of my dungeon, lined with various pieces of furniture.

With a grin, the blacksmith holds out his hands, showing off the space like a proud father. “See, we know a bit about fighting and fucking.” Walking over to the wall, he shows me their selection of rope. “Take what ye need. I’ll include it in the fee of your nuptials.”

“Much obliged,” I grind out dryly.

Though I really can’t fault the man. The rope seems of good quality, pliant and thick, and I am more than willing to pay him for it. Running my fingers over the strands, I pluck the softest ones with thicker diameters.

This way, there’s nothing like the pain she felt with Hugh. True, her body needs me to break her open, but I can do so without causing her physical or mental discomfort. Glancing over at some of the other implements, I smile as I catch sight of some unlit candles.

“Any need for these?”

He shakes his head. “I dinnae use them, and the man that did has gone off to the Americas for some ungodly reason. They’ve just been sitting there. You’re welcome to them. On the house.”

“So magnanimous.” With a large grin, I clutch my treasures close to my chest and follow the burly man out.

Through the bond, I feel Catherine’s continued distress, but it’s lesser somehow, eased a bit the longer she’s been separated from Hugh. A sigh of relief passes through me as I hurry back to the room. This, more than anything else, gives me hope.

Once I step inside, I take in Catherine’s tear-stained face, and my heart nearly cracks in two. My poor, sweet omega. Her eyes flit down to my hands, and she freezes, unease souring the room.

“Fear not, my love. You will feel no pain at my hand tonight. I will bind you further to me, driving out any lingering agony from your broken bond. Can you be my strong little kitten? Can you come to me?”

She gives a tearful sniff and nods, forcing herself off of the bed. Setting down the rope and candles, I extend my arms. The need to touch her skin, to feel her beneath me, claws at me. The moment she’s close enough, I bring her into the shelter of my body and lower my lips to hers.

Normally, I’m commanding, a fierce lover with no time for tenderness, but for her, for my mate, I will make an exception. Keeping my touch light, I glide my lips across hers, teasing her, distracting her from the pain that pulses through our bond.

More tears flow as I caress her face, holding her still as I slide my tongue along the seam of her lips, drinking in her soft sobs. Remaining connected, I fiddle with her dress, opting to take my time removing it as opposed to ripping it off of her.

Through the bond, I sense her hesitation. There’s fear there, put in place by Hugh and how he assaulted her. If I could bring him back from the dead to torture him, I would do so in a heartbeat.

Pulling back, I turn her in my arms, resting her back against my chest for a few moments before undressing her. I feel the terror as I skim my lips down her spine, just hovering over her skin. It sours the air, turning my stomach.

I never wanted her to fear me, and intellectually, I know it’s not my touch she shies away from. It doesn’t make the cut any less painful. Closing my eyes, I probe at the bond, ascertaining her thoughts.

Though it would kill me, I would stop if that’s what she needed. But in her heart, she wants this. She wants me to erase his touch, to replace it with my own. Right now, she fights her own demons and needs my help in destroying them.

Tugging at the fabric, I watch as it puddles to the floor at her feet. I make quick work of her corset and shift, leaving her in her stockings. Such an erotic sight, seeing the swell of her ass glowing in the light of the noonday sun as it beams through the thin curtains.