Captive

by A. D. Robertson

  If that’s how she wants it. Tristan smiled and lunged. The suddenness of his movement caught Sarah off guard. She stumbled back but managed to parry his thrust. Tristan backed off, inviting Sarah to attack. He hoped she’d be angered enough after having allowed him to surprise her that she’d strike recklessly.

  She did.

  Sarah rushed at Tristan, cutting the blade at his flank. Tristan blocked her attack and captured the blade against his own. He jerked his arm and Sarah lost her grip on the sabre.

  “Dammit!” Sarah swore when the sword hit the ground.

  “That’s one.”

  Owen began to laugh, but Tristan silenced the incubus with a look.

  Sarah picked up her sabre. “That’s only one.”

  Tristan nodded, raising his sword once more.

  Their blades danced through the air, steel singing out in clear, bright tones each time the swords met. Tristan was pleased to note that Sarah was a quick study. She didn’t make the same mistakes in their second bout, forcing Tristan to bring fresh tactics to the duel.

  Tristan’s admiring thoughts got him into trouble when he failed to note Sarah’s shallow feint followed by a cutting blow that came down with enough force to jar Tristan’s sabre from his hand.

  Seamus gave a low whistle of approval. “One for her.”

  “Nice work,” Tristan said, shaking his arm, which was still vibrating from the impact of Sarah’s blow.

  “I’d hate to disappoint you,” Sarah answered, lifting her sword. “Whenever you’ve recovered.”

  Tristan laughed, picking up his sabre. He took a couple swings to loosen his arm and then nodded at Sarah.

  This time they both moved with caution. Tristan attacked first, but warily, paying closer attention to the style and pace of Sarah’s strikes and parries. When Sarah struck another forceful, cutting blow, Tristan feigned a stumble, drawing her into an attempt at disarming him once more. When she threw her weight into the blow, Tristan abruptly dodged and brought the flat of his blade down hard on the hilt of her sword.

  “Ow!” Sarah cried out as she dropped the sword.

  “Two.” Seamus called from the side of the field. Sarah shot a murderous glance at the wolf.

  Tristan frowned at Sarah while she rubbed her sword hand. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” Sarah said, picking up her sabre. “But I don’t think I like this challenge.”

  “Why not?” Tristan asked, unable to stop his grin. “You’re doing very well.”

  “Don’t patronize me.” Sarah glared at him. “And if at any point you tell me that you’re not actually left-handed, I will find a way to stab you.”

  “I’m sorry?” Tristan’s brow crinkled.

  Sarah laughed, brandishing her sword. “Not a fan of The Princess Bride, eh? Maybe if I can channel Inigo Montoya, I’ll manage to beat you.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Tristan’s sabre sliced through the air and Sarah stopped his attack with a deft counterblow.

  “That’s your loss.”

  “Well, I am left-handed,” Tristan told her. “So whatever was worrying you, you can put it aside.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Their blades rang as the speed of their duel became faster and faster. Sarah was catching on quickly, though Tristan could tell she had chosen to focus on blocking his attacks and was reluctant to attempt to disarm him.

  “Stop smiling.” Sarah thrust with her sabre and Tristan easily parried her attack. “It’s just rude.”

  “I’m enjoying this,” Tristan replied as their blades rasped against each other once more. “Aren’t you?”

  “Shut up.” Whether because of frustration or anger, Sarah gave up her defensive approach to the fight and lunged at Tristan. Her attack came so quickly that Tristan stumbled back, caught off guard by her sudden furious strokes.

  It only took a few moments for Tristan to recover his balance, parrying her thrusts and cuts and slowly driving her into a retreat. Sarah balked, giving Tristan an opening. He turned his wrist and, with a swirling strike, pulled Sarah’s sabre from her grasp. Her sword went flying.

  Sarah glared accusingly at her sabre where it lay in the grass.

  “That’s three,” Tristan said. “I win.”

  He tossed his sword to Owen. The incubus caught the sabre and immediately set about polishing its blade.

  Sarah nodded at Tristan, her expression sullen. It made her look much younger than she was, like a child who’d lost a favorite game, and Tristan had to bite back laughter.

  “Walk with me.” He strolled away from the practice field, wanting to put distance between Sarah and Owen before he asked any questions of her.

  Sarah fell into step beside him, though she kicked at any stones that happened to be in her path. “If we were throwing at a target, I would have kicked your ass.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” Tristan smiled at her. “You were in possession of not a few knives when you were captured.”

  “I don’t suppose I could have those back?” Her lips curved teasingly.

  “No.” Tristan laughed. “But you can tell me why you ended up in my castle wearing all those knives.”

  Sarah’s smile faded.

  “I won the challenge,” Tristan reminded her. “Answer my question.”

  “Reconnaissance,” she told him.

  “Did you come alone?” Tristan watched her face for any signs of deceit.

  Sarah glanced at him in surprise. “Yes.”

  Tristan’s jaw clenched before he asked, “Will others be coming for you?”

  She went silent.

  “This is something I must know,” Tristan said in a quiet, slightly dangerous voice.

  “If I don’t return, they will assume I’m dead,” Sarah replied, her voice flat. “No one is coming for me.”

  Her answer should have been a relief, but Tristan found it both surprising and unsettling. Did Searchers abandon their own so easily?

  He found himself asking, “Why won’t they come for you?”

  “This mission was designated high-risk,” Sarah said wearily. “There aren’t enough of us to keep hurling ourselves at walls deemed impenetrable.”

  “So I’m an impenetrable wall.” Tristan grimaced. “How interesting.”

  “I don’t know what you are.” Sarah stopped, turning to face him. “I meant the island is the impenetrable wall.”

  Tristan almost said, “I’m the only thing that matters about this island,” but stopped himself. Sarah might be his prisoner, but she was also still his enemy.

  “You handled yourself well in our match,” Tristan told her. “You may not have won, but you were a worthy opponent.”

  “Are we done with questions?” Sarah asked, surprised by his sudden change in tone.

  “For now. Enjoy your day, Sarah.” Tristan lifted her hand and pressed it to his mouth. Then he pulled her close and kissed her temple. “I look forward to seeing you at dinner.”

  When he released her hand, Sarah’s expression was stunned, and Tristan watched a blush wash over her pale cheeks.

  Tristan headed toward the stable, intending to spend the afternoon riding about the island. He wore a smile that refused to leave his face, for he knew without a doubt that he’d won more than just the challenge.

  15

  SARAH RUMMAGED THROUGH her mind, seeking a thought that would distract her in some way. She needed a distraction because she didn’t want to think about how strange it was to be both looking forward to and dreading dinner with Tristan. She knew she absolutely should not be looking forward to dinner with her captor, but every time she thought about the approaching time when she’d be near him again, her pulse took off like a racehorse out of the gate. But Sarah also cou
ldn’t rid her mind of the corpses beneath the castle, the freshly dead bodies equally as horrifying as the long-decayed victims. She meant to keep her word to Seamus and not tell Tristan about what she’d seen, but the awful sights had been etched in her mind and continued to haunt her.

  Frustrated, Sarah let out a long sigh.

  “Are you not happy with this dress?”

  Sarah caught Moira’s beaming face in the reflection as the girl finished buttoning up the gown. Moira met Sarah’s gaze and blushed.

  “You look so lovely, miss,” she murmured.

  “Thank you, Moira,” Sarah replied, running her palms over the forest-green silk taffeta. She’d selected a strapless sheath for that evening. “I think that this color would be even better on you, though. It would make that gorgeous auburn hair of yours absolutely gleam.”

  Moira flushed from her neck to the tips of her ears. “Oh, no, miss. I could never wear anything so fine.”

  “Of course you could.” Sarah turned around to face her. Moira ducked her head and tried to scoot back, but Sarah took the girl’s hands in her own. “In fact, I think you should try a dress on right now.”

  Moira’s eyes widened. She covered her mouth in horror and shook her head furiously.

  “Yes,” Sarah pronounced. “This is what we’re doing. Pick a gown, Moira.”

  It took a few more minutes of Sarah standing with her hands on her hips and Moira offering protests before the girl finally relented and timidly began to search through the dresses.

  “Might I try this one, miss?” With the utmost care, Moira pulled a gown from the armoire.

  “Good choice.” Sarah smiled and took the cap-sleeved dress of amethyst brocade out of Moira’s hands. The gown was beautiful, but its full skirt and princess-seamed bodice were too traditional for Sarah’s taste. It was perfect for Moira, though—the type of dress a young girl dreamed about.

  Moira smiled, but then bit her lip and looked at Sarah with uncertainty.

  “Go on,” Sarah said. “Take off your uniform, and we’ll put this on. If you want privacy, go to the alcove to change.”

  Curtsying as a reflex, Moira giggled and hurried into the alcove. A few minutes later she emerged still wearing her maid’s cap but dressed only in a plain white slip.

  Sarah helped Moira into the gown. It was lucky that Moira had chosen a dress with a lace-up bodice. The gown wanted a curvier figure, which Moira needed a few years yet to grow into. Though it wasn’t a perfect fit, Moira’s smile was full of wonder when Sarah turned her to face the mirror.

  “See how beautiful you are.” Sarah squeezed the girl’s shoulders.

  Moira blushed, but didn’t reject the compliment out of hand, which Sarah took as a marked improvement.

  “Now, what’s next?” Sarah tapped her finger on her cheek. “I know. Jewelry.”

  The frightened look reappeared on Moira’s face, but Sarah shook her head to deter any objections. Sarah could understand the girl’s reservation. The previous night Sarah had rejected Moira’s attempts to bedeck her with jewels.

  But if they were playing dress-up, Sarah saw no reason to hold back. Though she’d been a little horrified by its excess when she’d been presented with the armoire that held jewelry, this time Sarah went to it without hesitation.

  She pulled open a velvet-lined drawer that held several necklaces. Moira crept up beside her.

  Not able to hold back her sigh as she gazed down at the glittering array of gemstones, Sarah said, “I suppose these are all real?”

  Moira stared at Sarah as if she didn’t understand the question.

  “That’s what I thought,” Sarah said. “Hmmm. I think with that purple shade you should wear onyx.”

  She drew out a teardrop pendant framed by diamonds, as well as matching earrings. “Put these on.”

  Though Moira’s hands shook the whole time, she managed to fasten the necklace and earrings without dropping any of them.

  “Yes.” Sarah nodded her approval. “Those are perfect. Now, you pick mine.”

  Grinning suddenly, Moira opened nearly all the drawers before she selected a platinum and tiger’s eye choker and matching studs for her ears.

  “I believe you’ve an eye for this, Moira,” Sarah commented as she finished putting on the earrings. “Let’s see how we’ve done.”

  Sarah took Moira’s hand and led her to the full-length mirror. The moment Moira caught sight of her reflection, she squealed and began to jump up and down.

  “Oh! Oh!”

  “Ha!” Sarah clapped in delight. “Now, give us a twirl.”

  Moira spun around, her skirt blooming out. Sarah continued to clap, and Moira giggled as she turned faster and faster. Suddenly Moira’s laughter became a shriek. She stopped twirling, and Sarah had to catch Moira around the waist to keep the girl from tipping over.

  “What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, but she followed Moira’s frightened gaze and found her answer.

  Tristan was standing in the doorway with a bemused expression on his face.

  Moira was shaking in Sarah’s arms. “Sir, I’m so sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.”

  “Hush, Moira,” Sarah whispered. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Moira began to cry.

  Sarah threw a pleading look at Tristan.

  Awkwardly he came into the room, returning Sarah’s beseeching gaze with a frown.

  “Tristan,” Sarah said firmly, “please reassure Moira that you aren’t cross with her.”

  Moira sniffled and attempted to curtsy, but since Sarah was still holding the girl, she almost took them both to the floor.

  “I didn’t mean to act beyond my station, Lord Tristan.”

  “I— Uh,” Tristan said. “Well, of course you didn’t.”

  “Please don’t tell Mrs. Cranston,” Moira begged. “She’ll take the cane to me.”

  “Someone beats you?” Sarah exclaimed, then glared at Tristan. “With a cane?”

  “I didn’t know,” he said quickly. “I’ll take care of it.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Tristan added, “I’m only here to ask if you’re planning to join me for dinner.”

  Sarah frowned. “What time is it?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour.”

  Moira wailed, and Tristan held up his hands in alarm. “I’m not angry about it. Please don’t cry.”

  Looking at Moira and Tristan, Sarah realized that the girl was on the verge of hysterics while the man frozen in the doorway was beginning to panic.

  Sarah leaned down and whispered, “Moira, calm down and take your time to change and go about your tasks for the evening. I’m going to dinner with Tristan. I promise that nothing bad will come of this.”

  Moira whimpered, but she nodded.

  “All right, then.” Sarah released the girl and grabbed Tristan’s elbow to draw him out of the room. She stopped to close the door, to be sure Moira had a quiet space in which to recover.

  “Dinner, then?” Sarah said stiffly, and moved toward the stairs.

  Tristan followed her, remaining silent until they reached the dining hall. The first course was already laid out.

  Sarah took her place before Tristan could pull out the chair for her. She stared at the mixed greens on her plate, realizing she hadn’t a smidge of appetite.

  “You look lovely,” Tristan said quietly.

  Shaking her head, Sarah murmured, “Don’t.”

  “Don’t give you compliments?” Tristan frowned.

  “Don’t talk,” Sarah replied. “I’m not ready to talk to you yet.”

  “Are you angry with me?” The furrow in his brow deepened.

  Sarah shifted her angry gaze from her plate to Tristan. “Of course I’m angry. You allow your servants to be
beaten?”

  Tristan reached for his wineglass. “I told you I didn’t know about that, and I’ll put a stop to it. You have my word.”

  “How could you not know?” Sarah replied, unwilling to drop the issue. “These people live with you.”

  With a sigh, Tristan said, “The servants don’t interact with me in that way. We rarely speak.”

  “Ah, yes, I forgot,” Sarah said. “You often don’t know their names.”

  “No.” Tristan’s voice had taken on an edge. “I don’t befriend my servants, but neither do I condone their ill treatment.”

  “You don’t bother to know how they’re treated,” Sarah countered. “You take them for granted. For God’s sake, they’re people, Tristan.”

  “What’s gotten into you?” Tristan asked. “Why this sudden interest in the servants? Or is it about the servants at all? Is this just about Moira?”

  Sarah opened and closed her mouth, wanting to protest but not finding the words.

  Tristan pressed on. “And why was she wearing one of your dresses?”

  “Because she’s a young woman who has never had the pleasure of a pretty dress, or a necklace.” Sarah was horrified to hear her voice quaver. “I don’t think she knows how to dream of better things. All she knows is this place. Does she even go to school?”

  “The servants’ children have tutors,” Tristan said, clearly uncomfortable.

  “But they don’t leave the island for their education?” Sarah felt a bit ill. “Do they have friends?”

  “They have each other,” Tristan replied. “You must understand, the positions at Castle Tierney have been held within families for generations. This place is their way of life.”

  “You have to understand how wrong that is,” Sarah argued. “It’s their way of life because they’ve never been offered anything else. Didn’t you see how terrified Moira was that you’d be angry? Do you want your servants to feel that way about you? Do you realize that it’s utterly ludicrous that you have servants at all?”

  Sarah felt the corners of her eyes burn and she quickly turned her face away, mortified that she’d let her emotions overwhelm her.