Captive

by A. D. Robertson

  “Hey!” Sarah snatched the sheets from his hand, burrowing back beneath them. “I’m cold.”

  “Are you hurt?” Tristan asked.

  “Of course not,” Sarah replied, fluffing up her pillows again. Tristan frowned; her actions were a bit too casual, and he knew no matter how much Sarah insisted that whatever had happened while he slept, it hadn’t all been pleasant.

  “Don’t be flippant,” Tristan said. “Tell me what you did.”

  “It occurred to me that Lana isn’t jealous because I’m sleeping with you,” Sarah told him, dropping her façade of ease. “It’s about power. She wants to feel that she has some power over you. I got in the way of that.”

  Tristan made a low sound of disdain. “Lana never had power over me.”

  “I know that,” Sarah said. “But she believes otherwise. I needed to convince her that my relationship with you was tenuous and that she still has the ability to obliterate it at any time.”

  “And how did you manage that?” Tristan’s brows knit together.

  “I just played on what you’d told me—that Bosque’s condition for keeping me alive was that you hand me over to Lana.” Sarah smoothed the sheets on her lap, averting her eyes from Tristan’s. “So I went to Lana begging her to help me.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.” Tristan scowled. “What kind of help could Lana give you?”

  “I, um, told her that I was afraid I couldn’t please you . . . sexually. And that I worried you’d grow bored with me and kill me instead of keeping me.”

  “Bloody hell.” Tristan sat on the edge of the bed and covered his face with his hands. “Of all the things . . . why in God’s name would you say that to Lana?”

  “Because I knew it was the one thing that would provoke her. And I think it worked, Tristan.” Sarah touched his arm. “When I asked her to teach me what she knew, she refused. She taunted me. And it delighted her.”

  “Wait.” Tristan looked at Sarah sharply. “You asked her to what?”

  “To teach me how to please you.” A light blush crept along Sarah’s cheeks.

  Tristan cleared his throat. “And what if she hadn’t refused?”

  “Then . . .” Sarah had trouble holding his gaze. “I suppose I would have learned some things?”

  “Sarah!” Tristan stood up and paced beside the bed. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about your escapades last night?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “But if you see Lana today, let her believe you might be feeling restless about me. She wants to believe I’m too insipid for you. The more she’s convinced of that, the less likely she’ll be to summon the Harbinger again. At least, I hope so.”

  Tristan gave Sarah a long, measured look. “You’re impossible. You know that, don’t you?”

  She beamed at him until he shook his head and laughed.

  “I want you to tell me that none of what you said to Lana last night has any real foundation.” Tristan leaned over her, smiling. “There is nothing about you that doesn’t please me.”

  “I know,” Sarah said, and pulled Tristan down to kiss her. “But thank you for saying it.”

  She gave a sigh of pleasure when Tristan’s hand slid beneath the sheets to cup her breast, finally touching her the way he’d been wanting to. He loved the way her body reacted instantly, yielding to him. He was already hard.

  “Maybe I should be sick too.” His thumb rubbed her nipple and Sarah shivered.

  She arched into his palm as he squeezed her breast, but then said with regret, “If you stay with me, it will contradict the narrative of conflict I’ve constructed about us.”

  “We’re a constructed narrative now?” Tristan laughed, pulling his hand away.

  “Only temporarily.” Sarah offered him an impish smile. “Now, go spread the word of my declining health and ill temper.”

  “With pleasure,” Tristan said, heading for the door. He tried not to think about how long his balls would ache after that unfinished encounter. “I can’t get away from you fast enough, wretched woman.”

  “Hey!” Sarah threw a pillow at him.

  “Just getting into character,” he replied, flashing a wicked smile at her before he left the room.

  Tristan tried to approach the day as if Sarah had never come to Castle Tierney, deciding that tactic offered the best means for conveying a detached attitude toward her presence in his life. He followed old routines—a light breakfast followed by an hour of reading in his study. A late-morning walk to the cliffs. Lunch. An early-afternoon ride to the eastern shore of the island.

  As the hours passed, Tristan marveled at and was more than a little troubled by how empty his life seemed without Sarah. Had he really spent so many years passing day after day like this?

  What disturbed him the most was the knowledge that he could have—no, would have—gone on like that for years.

  For the first time Tristan could remember, he felt sympathy for his father. Though Tristan had always resented the man’s perceived indifference toward his son, Tristan was suddenly forced to consider the way his own life would have followed the same pattern. How could anyone survive such a prescribed existence except through detachment?

  With his mood growing more turbulent, Tristan climbed to the top of the battlements. Since the boat bearing supplies for the island, and more important, Moira, was expected soon, Tristan thought he’d undertaken enough quotidian activities to indulge in a little brooding while looking out at the sea.

  The only bright spot of his day thus far had been a mid-morning run-in with Lana. Though he’d been dreading such an encounter, Lana merely sashayed past Tristan wearing a smug expression. As much as the idea of Sarah putting herself at risk had dismayed him, Tristan had to admit she’d done a masterful job of mitigating the threat Lana posed.

  Tristan leaned against the stone rampart and gazed at the restless sea. Low, sullen clouds banked the distant shoreline. The sea reflected the gray sky, stirring quietly on this day when there was little wind.

  “You do know that watching for the boat won’t make it come any faster.”

  “Good afternoon, Seamus,” Tristan greeted the wolf.

  Seamus mirrored Tristan’s stance and gazed toward the shore. “She’s not really ill, is she?”

  “No.” Tristan smiled. “But she’ll be glad to know the rumor has spread. It’s what she wanted.”

  “Then I suspect she’ll also be happy to hear that the staff is abuzz with news that Sarah has fallen out of your favor,” Seamus added.

  “Already?” Tristan glanced at Seamus, surprised by the news.

  “There’s rarely gossip in this castle,” Seamus chuckled. “Two pieces to gnaw on at once and they don’t know what to do with themselves.”

  Spotting a small object that broke the monotony of gray waves, Tristan grinned at Seamus. “You were wrong about watching. There’s the boat now.”

  The wolf shrugged and nodded. “Can’t be right about everything.”

  “Seamus.” Tristan turned to face his old friend. “When the boat docks, go down and escort Moira to Sarah’s room to nurse her through this illness.”

  “So it’s the girl who’s helping you.” Seamus eyed Tristan thoughtfully. “Yes, I see it. She’s the best choice.”

  “I’ll have to keep my distance for a bit,” Tristan told him. “But I’ll make a cursory visit later this evening.”

  Tristan’s jaw clenched. Keeping the rest of the castle convinced that a rift now existed between he and Sarah meant he would likely have to sleep in his own room, without her. He had a miserable night in store.

  “That should keep everything in order,” Seamus replied. “At least until you’re ready to act.” He rolled his shoulders back. “I guess I’ll make a run down to the dock.”

  “There’s
one more thing,” Tristan said.

  The wolf threw him a questioning gaze.

  “When we leave the castle, we’re taking Moira with us,” Tristan told Seamus. “And I think you should come as well.”

  “You want to take me with you,” Seamus said with a frown. “To the Searchers.”

  “I know it’s a difficult prospect to swallow,” Tristan said, “but if they’re going to offer me—a Keeper—some sort of amnesty, they’ll certainly do the same for you.”

  “No.” Seamus let his gaze wander back to the open water. “I’ll not be leaving this place.”

  “Do you have a reason to stay?” Tristan asked. He’d anticipated some hesitation on Seamus’s part, but not an outright dismissal.

  “I’m an old wolf.” Seamus kept his eyes on the sea. “Too old to begin again. Your story is just beginning, but mine has reached its final chapters. I’ll help you escape, but that’s your future and none of mine.”

  “You’re awfully fatalistic, Seamus,” Tristan said. “This is not a ship, and you’re not a captain. There’s nothing noble about staying here to sink.”

  Seamus’s mouth crinkled into the hint of a smile. “That’s not what I’m doing, lad. I just know where I belong. My pack may be a ramshackle lot, thrown together because we didn’t fit into the Keepers’ plans elsewhere, but they’re still my pack and I’m their alpha. I’m no lone wolf.”

  Tristan fell silent. Seamus had risked everything by colluding with Tristan and Sarah, and Tristan hated the thought that he’d be abandoning his oldest friend.

  “I can smell the grief on you, lad,” Seamus told him. “There’s no call for it. The only tragedy here would be for you to stay on this island. And don’t try to understand what I’ve said about my reasons for staying. There are some things only wolves know.”

  “If you say so,” Tristan replied, still uneasy.

  “I do,” Seamus said. “Now I’ll be off. You’re right to keep your distance from the lass for a few more hours. The castle will be in a complete tizzy by the end of the day. If there’s something you need to know about Moira’s trip, I’ll find you.”

  “Thank you, Seamus.”

  Seamus nodded, and then a wolf trotted along the battlements before disappearing into one of the castle towers.

  Tristan returned to his thoughts and the company of the sea. He watched the boat grow slowly larger as it approached the island. Its arrival heralded momentous change for everyone to whom the island was home. Seamus had spoken true. Here were so many beginnings and endings, and nothing would remain the same.

  29

  WHEN MOIRA DREW a folded slip of paper from her apron pocket and handed it to Sarah, the girl’s hands shook. Even so, Sarah thought Moira had never seemed more alive. Moira’s eyes gleamed with excitement and she couldn’t stop smiling.

  “I did it, miss,” Moira said breathlessly. “I did it!”

  “I knew you could, Moira,” Sarah replied. “And please don’t call me ‘miss’ anymore. We’re friends, remember? You’re not my servant.”

  “Yes, m— Sarah.” She hovered over Sarah’s shoulder. “What does it say?”

  Sarah unfolded the note and read. “Oh my God.”

  “What’s wrong?” Moira asked, too polite to read the note herself.

  “Tonight,” Sarah said, putting the note aside. “They want us to leave tonight.”

  Fear crept back into Moira’s voice. “So soon? Can we do that?”

  “Can we?” Sarah turned her gaze to Seamus, who had stayed in the room but kept silent.

  “Yes,” Seamus answered.

  “They think it’s too great a risk to delay even a day more,” Sarah told the wolf. “They’ll be waiting for us between midnight and three a.m. If we don’t make that window, they’ll assume we failed to escape.”

  “And if that happens, will they come for you?” Seamus asked.

  “No.” Sarah picked up the note and gave it to Moira. “Burn this.”

  Seamus gave a derisive snort. “Not long on courage, your friends, are they?”

  “Courage isn’t the issue,” Sarah replied. “They won’t come after us because I told them not to.”

  “There are no guarantees you’ll get away,” Seamus said, bristling. “Why not have a fallback?”

  “I think I’ve stalled Lana, but there’s no guarantee,” Sarah told him. “I won’t ask my friends to face the Harbinger just to save me.”

  “What about Tristan?” Seamus growled. “He cannot stay here. I’m risking myself and my pack for him, not for you.”

  Moira gasped, looking from Seamus to Sarah in horror.

  Sarah addressed the wolf calmly. “Then you and your pack should do your best to make sure he gets off the island. Don’t you think?”

  With a snarl, Seamus left the room.

  Moira edged across the room. “Do you think it was wise to provoke him?”

  “I wasn’t trying to provoke him,” Sarah said. “I was telling him the way things are.”

  Moira quickly nodded, but her sudden paleness betrayed her nerves.

  “Are you all right?” Sarah asked her. She guided the servant girl to a chair.

  “I’ll be fine, m—” Moira twisted her fingers together in her lap. “It’s just tonight . . . that’s so soon.”

  “I know,” Sarah replied. “But I think they’re right to push us into action. The longer we wait, the more danger there is of discovery.”

  “What should I do?” Moira asked.

  “There’s not much we can do at the moment.” Sarah rubbed the back of her neck as she felt tension build there. “We have to go on as if nothing has changed.”

  Moira murmured, “Oh, dear.”

  “I know it’s difficult,” Sarah told her. “But we have no choice.”

  Watching Moira fidget, Sarah offered, “You could escort me to the baths, and while I’m there you could go to the kitchen and prepare some hot compresses for me. I know it’s not much, but I need to clean up and it will at least give you something to do.”

  “And keep the house thinking that you’re ill,” Moira said, brightening up. “Yes. I’d like that.”

  Sarah hoped she’d let herself become haggard enough to appear ill, or at least upset, as she took Moira’s arm and let the girl lead her through the castle. Moira left her at the entrance to the baths and scurried back up the stairs. Pushing through the wooden door, Sarah ran past the pool into the steam-filled room that housed the deep soaking tubs. The memory of that tentacle was too fresh in Sarah’s mind to make her want to linger near the pool. If there had been baths anywhere else in the castle, she’d have gone there rather than return to the site of her encounter with Bosque Mar.

  Letting steam wrap around her and soothe her tense limbs, Sarah shrugged her robe off.

  A cough made her yelp and jump back. Why the hell did I think it was okay to come down here again?

  Sarah scrambled to pick up her robe and cover herself as she heard the splash of water. Someone was in one of the far tubs, but their presence had been hidden by the thick steam.

  “Sarah?”

  “Tristan.” Limbs going weak with relief, Sarah dropped her robe again. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  He materialized out of the steam, naked and dripping water. “We seem to have had the same idea.”

  “Should I leave?” She didn’t move, riveted by the sight of him.

  Tristan kept coming toward her. “I don’t think I’d like that.”

  “But we’re supposed to—”

  He silenced her with a kiss, then whispered, “I came here alone. So did you.”

  “But if someone puts it together that we’re both here . . .” Sarah’s pulse jumped at her throat when Tristan touched her bare skin, pulling her against him.
His long, hard cock pressed into her stomach and she gasped at her sudden rush of desire.

  “Who’s to say that we did anything other than argue,” Tristan said, kissing her cheek, then her neck. “Though that isn’t what we’re going to do.”

  Sarah slid her arms around his neck as his lips moved down her body. “Tristan, wait.”

  Tristan’s damp hair brushed along her shoulder. “I really don’t think anyone will suspect—”

  “It’s not that.” She forced herself to push him away. “Moira’s back, and the Searchers are ready to take us out of the village, but they’ve asked for it to happen tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Tristan frowned. “Why hasn’t Seamus told me this yet?”

  “I think he’s probably telling his pack first,” Sarah replied. “Since they’re responsible for setting up a distraction while we make our escape. By the way, how are we making our escape? The boat?”

  “No,” Tristan told her in a hesitant voice. “There’s another way. A faster way.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you don’t want to tell me what it is,” Sarah said.

  “Because I don’t,” Tristan admitted. “I think it would be better if you found out when we reach that point.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If you know, you might try to talk me out of it,” Tristan said. “And I know it’s our best chance.”

  “But—”

  “Do you trust me?” he asked her.

  “Yes.”

  “Then trust me.”

  When Sarah didn’t argue, Tristan said, “I should find Seamus and see if he knows what kind of distraction the wolves will create.”

  “Yes, you should.” Sarah’s chest tightened with disappointment.

  “I will,” Tristan replied. “After.”

  He lifted Sarah and carried her into one of the steaming pools. When the water reached Tristan’s waist he turned Sarah to face him. Understanding what he wanted, Sarah kissed him and wrapped her legs around his hips. She reached between them to grasp his erection and guided it between her legs.

  He hesitated when she began to draw him inside her. “Are you sure you’re ready?”