Read Online Shackles of Honor by Marcia Lynn McClure - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marcia Lynn McClure
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moisture in her father’s eyes as he closed them from releasing tears and muttered, “He is wise beyond his years.” Then, looking to her, he took her lovely face in his strong, secure hands. “Forgive me one day, will you, darling?”
“I’ve forgiven you already, Father, for I know the true intention of your heart, if not your mind.” She kissed his hand reassuringly. As she did so , her attention was drawn to the heavy gold-banded bracelet he wore. Though she could discern that there were words engraven ed thereon, Cassidy had never in her life been able to make them out. “I’ve always admired this bracelet on you, Father,” she said quietly. “And I don’t like jewelry on men as a rule.”
“You sense that my heart treasures it. That is why you accept it where it is.” Then, kissing her forehead quickly, he added, “Go now. I want a moment alone with your mother before you depart.”
Lifting the hood of her cloak up over her head, Cassidy left her father’s house and walked into the dark, stormy day to meet with the man who would take her now to his own.
“This rain is bad, sir,” the coachman remarked to Mason.
“Yes. Let’s hope it’s not with us the entire journey,” Mason answered.
He dismounted, opened the carriage door , and offered his hand to Cassidy to assist her. She paused, intent at first on refusing him. But thinking quickly on her knowledge of her father’s wisdom, she placed her hand tentatively in his. His grip was strong and somewhat unsettling , and as she sat within the coach awaiting her mother, she removed her glove to inspect the hand he’d held, for it felt odd, as if a sort of lovely numbness were overtaking it.
It was numerous long moments before her mother left the house to join her. Mason offered her mother his hand. Accepting it and entering the carriage, she turned and took Mason’s chin lovingly in hand as Cassidy had seen her do often to Ellis. Smiling, she told him, “You’ll be with him soon, darling, and all will be well.”
Cassidy was perplexed at her mother’s words until something struck her memory from the day before. Had not Mason spoken to his horse about his anxiety over leaving his father unwell? Suddenly a great compassion for Mason and a great scorn of herself washed over her. Here was a man grieved at his father’s ill health , and she had met him with abhorrence at his temperament. How unfeeling and selfish she must appear to him.
Mason mounted his bay once more , and with his signal, the carriage lurched forward. Cassidy glanced only once out the carriage window at her beloved Terrill. Her life was before her now. She felt secure in the knowledge that Terrill would ever be there for her—ever waiting with family, love , and memory.
The weather during the trip was no less than brutal. The rain, unceasing and heavy, left mud puddles ankle - deep in the roads. This gave cause for greatly exaggerated swaying and bolting of the carriage. Cassidy’s head throbbed mercilessly from it. Thus far, Mason had not once ridden up beside the carriage to inquire as to how Cassidy and her mother were faring the trip. But from her seat facing where they had been, with back to where they were going, she could see him astride his magnificent bay close behind. The rain poured from his hat now and again when he tipped his head. She pitied hi s and the coachman’s being at the mercy of the elements.
Mason Carlisle was tall on his mount and perfectly postured. Now and again the wind caught the cape of his coat , and he looked much like some sort of highwayman readying to attack. Cassidy found herself mesmerized as she studied him. He was astonishingly masculine—unsettlingly attractive.
Near dusk, Mason rode quickly up and shouted something to the driver. The coach came to a fairly abrupt stop , and Cassidy’s mother asked, more to herself than to Cassidy, “What is he about, I wonder?”
In a few moments the carriage door swung open , and Mason
“I’ve forgiven you already, Father, for I know the true intention of your heart, if not your mind.” She kissed his hand reassuringly. As she did so , her attention was drawn to the heavy gold-banded bracelet he wore. Though she could discern that there were words engraven ed thereon, Cassidy had never in her life been able to make them out. “I’ve always admired this bracelet on you, Father,” she said quietly. “And I don’t like jewelry on men as a rule.”
“You sense that my heart treasures it. That is why you accept it where it is.” Then, kissing her forehead quickly, he added, “Go now. I want a moment alone with your mother before you depart.”
Lifting the hood of her cloak up over her head, Cassidy left her father’s house and walked into the dark, stormy day to meet with the man who would take her now to his own.
“This rain is bad, sir,” the coachman remarked to Mason.
“Yes. Let’s hope it’s not with us the entire journey,” Mason answered.
He dismounted, opened the carriage door , and offered his hand to Cassidy to assist her. She paused, intent at first on refusing him. But thinking quickly on her knowledge of her father’s wisdom, she placed her hand tentatively in his. His grip was strong and somewhat unsettling , and as she sat within the coach awaiting her mother, she removed her glove to inspect the hand he’d held, for it felt odd, as if a sort of lovely numbness were overtaking it.
It was numerous long moments before her mother left the house to join her. Mason offered her mother his hand. Accepting it and entering the carriage, she turned and took Mason’s chin lovingly in hand as Cassidy had seen her do often to Ellis. Smiling, she told him, “You’ll be with him soon, darling, and all will be well.”
Cassidy was perplexed at her mother’s words until something struck her memory from the day before. Had not Mason spoken to his horse about his anxiety over leaving his father unwell? Suddenly a great compassion for Mason and a great scorn of herself washed over her. Here was a man grieved at his father’s ill health , and she had met him with abhorrence at his temperament. How unfeeling and selfish she must appear to him.
Mason mounted his bay once more , and with his signal, the carriage lurched forward. Cassidy glanced only once out the carriage window at her beloved Terrill. Her life was before her now. She felt secure in the knowledge that Terrill would ever be there for her—ever waiting with family, love , and memory.
The weather during the trip was no less than brutal. The rain, unceasing and heavy, left mud puddles ankle - deep in the roads. This gave cause for greatly exaggerated swaying and bolting of the carriage. Cassidy’s head throbbed mercilessly from it. Thus far, Mason had not once ridden up beside the carriage to inquire as to how Cassidy and her mother were faring the trip. But from her seat facing where they had been, with back to where they were going, she could see him astride his magnificent bay close behind. The rain poured from his hat now and again when he tipped his head. She pitied hi s and the coachman’s being at the mercy of the elements.
Mason Carlisle was tall on his mount and perfectly postured. Now and again the wind caught the cape of his coat , and he looked much like some sort of highwayman readying to attack. Cassidy found herself mesmerized as she studied him. He was astonishingly masculine—unsettlingly attractive.
Near dusk, Mason rode quickly up and shouted something to the driver. The coach came to a fairly abrupt stop , and Cassidy’s mother asked, more to herself than to Cassidy, “What is he about, I wonder?”
In a few moments the carriage door swung open , and Mason
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