dakota_trace_his_christmas_gift_myrnas

Prologue

Dublin
,
Ireland
–December 20, 1978

“I’m sorry, Myrna, but it’s over. This is for the
best. You’ll see.” The cold assuredness of her husband’s voice seemed like it
came from a long distance away. Deep inside of her, Myrna Doherty longed to cry
out - to ask why. What had she done wrong? She’d done everything he’d ever
asked of her - given him everything that he’d ever asked for in their ten years
of marriage and now he wanted to throw it aside – for what?

“What did I do wrong, Master?” She winced when she
heard the pleading tone in her voice. She couldn’t believe she was standing in
the doorway of their playroom, watching him casually toss his various floggers,
whips, and restraints into the dark duffle at his feet. This was the man who’d
introduced her to her own submissive nature and offered her his collar, but now
he was stripping the room of everything that had brought them both so much
pleasure. She tried to find the loving Dom she’d married when he zipped the bag
shut, and his dark eyes briefly met hers before scanning the room to make sure
he hadn’t missed anything. Her heart cried out because that man was gone and
she didn’t know how to connect with the cold, distant, unsympathetic man
standing in front of her. The dark brooding looks which had attracted her as a
young woman now frightened her.

“I found a new sub, Myrna, one who is young enough to
make me feel like a man – one who doesn’t nag me about the bills or where I’ve
been every time I’m more than a few minutes late arriving home.”

Anger filled her along with shame. She was no longer
a young nubile eighteen-year old. Now nearing thirty, her body showed its age.
The long dark hair which had once been her crowning glory now had strands of
premature gray, that if she’d been even a little vain, she would’ve colored.
The softly rounded belly left over from having their son had replaced the flat
stomach Grant had been so fond of. She was a mature woman, not a girl with the
fresh bloom of youth. She’d never thought it’d mattered to her Master.

But it obviously had. Not only had her body changed -
so had her personality. She no longer was completely submissive to him. She
only gave him her submission in the bedroom, while outside of it was another
story. Although she’d tried to hang on to the blind obedience he wanted, she
couldn’t ignore the obvious. If he’d taken care of the outside world as well as
he had their intimate life, then she’d have willingly allowed him to rule their
entire life together. But he hadn’t and everything he’d just accused her of was
true. She’d done all those things. If she hadn’t, the bills would never have
been paid. When he was late, it was natural for her to worry about him,
especially if he’d stopped off at the pub to share a few pints of Guinness with
his buddies or to play with one of his younger subs. Now she realized it must
not have been the only thing he’d been doing, if he’d not only found a younger
woman play with, but also to replace her with as well.

His hand cupped her chin before lifting her gaze to
his. “You were good while it lasted, sweetheart, but I have other obligations
now. She’s given me what you can’t – a baby.” His fingers went to the slender
collar he’d gifted her with over ten years ago. With a quick flick he opened
it, then the symbol of her submission to him was gone.

A low whimper filled her throat and she’d hurt as if
he’d laid her open with a single-tail whip. Dammit, she’d known he’d played
with other subs. She’d accepted it since she’d had no other choice, but he’d
promised that any child of his would come from her womb – her due as his wife
and first slave.

“You promised me, Grant.” Tears burned at the back of
her eyes.

His bitter laughter had her flinching. “That was
before I found out you couldn’t have any more children.”

Gone was shame and its place bloomed fury like she’d
never felt before. A fine trembling wracked her body as she clenched her fists
until her knuckles turned white. It hadn’t been her fault that the delivery of
their one and only child had nearly killed her when she’d started hemorrhaging.
Nor was she to blame when the doctor had told her another birth was a risk she
shouldn’t even consider if she wanted to continue breathing. But it was his
fault when he’d gone outside their marriage to fulfill his desire for the great
family dynasty he wanted. The fact he found their small family lacking had her
lashing out. “What about our son? Are you planning on abandoning him just like
your father did to you?”

She cried out when he backhanded her with a
suddenness that had her barely able to catch herself on the frame of the door.
Glaring at him through the sheen of tears, she held her hand against her
burning cheek. She could already feel it swelling and knew her marriage to
Grant Doherty was over. Never once in all their times of play had he ever
struck her in anger.

“Caelan will always be my son, Myrna. He’s the one
good thing that came from our marriage. I should take him with me, but Marianne
doesn’t want to raise some other bitch’s kid.” His chest heaved with his fury.
“Perhaps after I get her trained, I’ll send for him. A good slave does whatever
her Master tells her – even taking another woman’s child. All you ended up
being was a mediocre fuck and worse slave. Perhaps if you go crying to Amery,
he’ll take you in - once I stop paying the mortgage on this dump and take
Caelan to America with me. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Or better yet, go
begging to your daddy. If you plead with him, I’m sure he’ll take you back.”

Fear left a bitter taste in her mouth when the first
part of his vicious words sank in. Would he honestly take Caelan from her? She
didn’t want to think so but… Shaking off her fear, she drew on the years of
being the privileged daughter of the upper crust. Her spine stiffened while she
listened to him finish spewing crap at her. The aristocratic upbringing of her
youth saved her heart from getting any more battered. The idea he held himself
above her would’ve tempted her to laugh if she wasn’t so pissed off. “
Never
let them think they have any power over you, Miss Myrna. Treat them as if
they’re nothing more than street urchins not fit to kiss your shoes. Make them
think you have all the power.”
 The echo of her strict governess’s cool
voice did the trick. No longer was she Myrna Doherty, wife and slave to Grant;
but she, once more, was the disowned daughter of Lionel Bickerstaff, one of the
wealthiest merchants in all of Dublin.

“You bastard! You want to leave, go! But it’ll be a
cold day in hell before I let you take Caelan from me. Go to your little whore
who pleases you and makes you feel like a man. But know this: Caelan will
remain mine! If I have to use my family connections or even that of Amery’s, I
will. You’ll never have a chance to hurt him or warp him with your perverse
ideals.”

She had to fight to keep from trembling in front of
him. She hardened her expression into one she knew he wouldn’t be able to read
and waited for the coming explosion. Amazingly enough, Grant didn’t explode -
he just glared at her before swinging the dark duffle over his shoulder.

“You know, I think you would, Myrna.”

She nodded before crossing her arms over her chest.
“Get out and don’t let the door hit you on the arse.”

* * * *

How long she stood there, Myrna had no idea. The
shadows had lengthened across the floors as the sun set. She vaguely heard
Caelan run into the house after school, call out about going to play with the
neighbors’ boy, Lenard, before the front door slammed shut again. What was she
going to tell her son? Like many ten year olds, Caelan doted on his father. Now
that Grant was gone, how would he take it? Would he demand to go with him?
Tiredly, she clicked each one of the lights in the playroom off, one by one –
throwing the spanking bench, the St. Andrew’s Cross, and other bondage
furniture into the dark. She’d contact Master Alastar after she’d put Caelan
down for the night and see if he knew anyone who might like to purchase them.
With Grant gone, she would have to be very frugal with her money until she
found something. Aside from that, the mere sight of them actually made her
stomach churn. What a fool she’d been to let her need to be dominated overrule
reality. Starting today, she was a single mother in a man’s world. It was time
for her to start living like one. If she couldn’t have it all, she’d settle on
being the best mother Caelan could have.

Entering the kitchen, she was just reaching for a bag
of frozen peas in the freezer to soothe her throbbing cheek when a soft knock
sounded on the back steps. Moving woodenly towards the door with the bag of
peas dangling from her hand, she had to catch her breath when she opened it to
find Amery Alastar. Standing on her stoop as if it were nothing to be caught
wearing an expensive, dark gray silk suit in the rougher part of Dublin, was Grant’s best friend. Physical awareness washed over her. His wide shoulders
filled out his suit jacket to perfection. The sculpted plains of his face were
well-hewn as time had smoothed away any imperfections aside from the small scar
on his chin. His dark auburn hair had been swept away from his chiseled face,
but the piercing gray eyes immediately went soft with concern as he examined
the mottled bruise on her cheek and the veggie bag clenched in her fist.
Standing nearly eight inches taller than her petite self, she was surprised when
instead of feeling overwhelmed as she normally did in his presence, she found
it comforting.