Caitlin soaked in the bath with her eyes closed, floating in the weightless warmth. Her body was sore from head to toe, bruises in places he pressed too hard against. She didn't feel pregnant, but Marianne said that didn't matter in the least.
Eamon left the following night, as promised, Nadia with him. She was glad to be free of them both, after what they did.
Kalen himself had made no appearance yet, and it was nearing midnight. Her mind was as conflicted as their first kiss, she didn't know whether to seek him out or run screaming from the mansion.
"Are you almost done?" Marianne called through the door.
"No." Caitlin sighed, sinking her ears below the water level. The servant was concerned about her, wanted to dress the wound Kalen's father had inflicted. But she wouldn't take off the pink scrap of cloth, the last remnant of the nightgown her mother made her. Everything else had gone to the trash, Marianne claimed it was unsalvageable.
The servant said something, garbled by the fluid in her ears, Caitlin shook the water out, "What?"
"Dinner is prepared, will you be joining Kalen downstairs?"
"He doesn't eat." She called back.
"But you do," Marianne reasoned, "he wants to make sure you're taking care of yourself."
"I'm fine," she said as her stomach grumbled. Caitlin sloshed in the bathwater and found the drain, "Nevermind, I'll be down in a minute..."
"An outfit is prepared for you on the bed, we will see you downstairs." Marianne left, Caitlin heard her bedroom door close. She waited until the last of the water swirled into the drain before rising and wrapping a towel around herself.
A soft black dress was laid out on the bed, nothing like the high-styled one she'd worn in the city that had been ripped off her... she took a breath and tried not to think about it. Far worse had been done to her since, the pain in her wrist and pelvis reminded. As she dressed, she numbered the bruises, finding thirteen in various places. "Fourteen." She counted, finding one under her chin from the press of Eamon's thumb.
The dress concealed most of the bruises, but she left the wrap on her wrist defiantly, the blood since dry and cracked in the cloth. She would have Marianne check it after dinner.
Marianne and Kalen had since given up locking her door, so she slid through and made her way to the dining room. Caitlin touched a golden cherub at the top of the landing, marveling at the squat little thing, unashamed by its own nudity.
"My mother had them installed," Kalen's presence startled her. He stayed several steps below her, offering his hand. "She likes the baroque style, though I can't imagine why."
"Why did you let her do that?" she couldn't look him in the eye without a flush in her cheeks.
He smiled, "I could hardly say 'no',"
"So, she is not like your father, then?" they descended the stairs together.
"She is gentle, kind, but fierce when she wants to be. That's how they came to meet." Turning into the dining room, a place was set for her, with a covered tray of food.
Caitlin waited for him to say more, but he didn't. "How?"
His eyebrow rose as he held the chair for her, "You're saying you wish to know about my parents? After last night?"
"You already started," she retorted, sitting in the proffered chair, then softened her tone, "I don't understand how a woman whose portrait is above the mantle in the study, who I saw one of my first nights here... would have ever allowed your father near her."
"So, you did see her." He smiled again, sitting across from her, and glanced towards the servant's door, "perhaps it's time I told you a story."
Caitlin lifted the tray lid up and a roil of savory steam curled up, making her mouth water.
"You're hungry, it can wait."
She looked up, "No, tell me. I want to know."
Kalen rested his chin in one hand as she took a bite, "If you wish," he paused, watching her for a moment before beginning, "My mother grew up in France, she came to this continent with her parents before it was a country. They settled in the south and made alliances with local tribes for survival. She was seventeen when the British attacked, about to be married to a shaman, to unite the two factions. Their colony was hardly a militia, as it was a handful of immigrant families with no roots.
"The natives were peaceful, but had a small hunting group that, with the French men, could hold off a thousand in the right place. The British army attacked during the day, trying to wear down their defenses so they could claim the land. But the colonists stayed firm and held them back successfully for three weeks. My mother, as young as she was, became the unofficial strategist. Everyone listened to her; she had a commanding presence and her plans were on-point.
"They would have won, were it not for Eamon." He admitted.
Caitlin was so wrapped up in his story, she'd almost forgotten her food, "What happened?" she asked, taking another bite.
"My father." Kalen emphasized, "He created a mercenary group, using vampires to conduct raids on opposing settlements in the shadow of night. They never lost, but my father made it a point to observe the encampment for several days before the raid, even his own men didn't know why."
"Do you?"
"I have a few ideas. He could have been gauging the people, finding their weak spots, considering possible looting opportunities. Gold was often a drive for mercenaries at the time. But... I think he was looking for something else."
"What?"
"For
her
." Kalen waved a hand, "For the one that would bear his seed."
Caitlin chewed, "How did he know?"
"As we did, there was an immediate connection. He could not keep his eyes off her, could not stop thinking about her until she was beneath him. My father doesn't fancy silence when he could instead be a braggart, especially of his conquests. I've been listening to it for nearly two hundred years." Kalen rolled his eyes and resumed, "He saw her commanding the men atop a wagon, setting up reinforcements for the next day. She refused to allow a little thing like an invasion to keep her from marriage.
