Anger surged through me once more. What was the man playing at?
Mark laughed, a humorless sound, and looked over his shoulder once more, before continuing. “It gets even worse than that.” Closing his eyes, he let out a deep breath. Upon opening them, he delivered the last bit of revelation as gently as he could, his hand finding mine once more. “Randall only agreed to make the list if you would meet with him for an hour, once a week—and the Grand Master agreed for you.”
“Ye won’t be going.” Tristan grabbed the hem of the quilt on our bed, ripping the cover away with much more force than needed. He then set to fluffing his pillow, his angry fists punching into the feathery case as if the bird it was made from had insulted him personally.
“I only said it’s an option, not that I wanted to do it.” I replied softly, sitting on my side of the mattress.
“It is not an option!” His face flushed and he sighed. Eyes that normally regarded me with love and equality were hard and unmoving, the resoluteness of his decision clear in them. “I will not allow my wife to be used as a bargaining chip and placed in harm’s way simply to satisfy the crazy notions of a man on a quest for power.”
Frowning, I extended my hand to him, inviting him to climb up next to me.
Huffing, he grabbed the ends of his shirt, pulling it off and tossing it onto the floor in one fluid motion. He grasped my fingers, allowing me to pull him close and rest my head on his shoulder.
“The bastard didn’t even talk to me about it first, did ye know that?” He growled, his muscles clenching every few seconds. “Announced the deal to the whole assembly, as if it didn’t even matter what I thought of my wife being sent into a snake’s den.”
Closing my eyes briefly, I absorbed that nugget of information. He’d been upset since I first saw him this evening, and when he discovered I’d spoken with Mark, he was that much more angry. Hearing the news had been delivered to him as a command, in front of the entire Order, made his extreme reaction more understandable to me. No wonder he’d publicly argued with his leaders. Any man who was in his position would’ve done the same thing.
“You know Captain MacDonald only does what he thinks is best for those under his protection and command.” Speaking quietly, I did my best to console him. “That’s what makes him such a good leader—you said so yourself. Already, he has sacrificed his own life for those around him. He’s not afraid to make the decisions that need to be made, no matter how hard or unfavorable they are.”
“There is a difference between a poor decision and a stupid one,” he grumbled, resting against me.
Pausing before I answered, I tried to collect my own thoughts. My mind had been spinning all evening, my conscience trying to decide what I should do about the position I found myself in. Siding with the Grand Master would damage my relationship with Tristan. Refusing to follow an order from a man who’d been my captain, and was now the leader of the organization that protected my family, would harm me and the ones I loved more.
And I now had the opportunity to get to Randall, a chance that had been impossible before.
However, I didn’t want Tristan to know my more villainous views. He’d worry if he knew I planned on using my weekly meeting to destroy Randall on my own. No, it was better to try and coax him, to speak gently and try to reason.
“It seems stupid to us, yes, but we’re not running The Order.” I tried to sound as hopeful and reassuring as possible. “He may know things we don’t. All I’m asking is that you give him the trust you gave to Bevard. William MacDonald is the man for this job. We just need to give him the chance to prove it.”
He snorted, not appeased by anything I said. “Ye’re not going to meet Randall,” he stated again. “I will cut my own heart from my chest and lay it at yer feet before it happens.”
Sighing, I leaned away, flopping against my pillow. There would be no convincing him, not when he was this keyed up.
Silence grew between us. Tristan rose and removed his pants, before climbing into bed. As we lay there, him naked and me in my shift, it was suddenly like we were two strangers, not knowing or understanding anything about each other.
“Why can’t you trust him, like you did before?” I finally muttered, switching tactics.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Sam. I’m tired.” His voice was snappish and frustrated, like he was angry with me instead of MacDonald.
Rolling onto my side, I propped up on my elbow, raising an eyebrow as I stared at him. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset about me asking you to at least consider this. You could enlighten me.”
Groaning, he turned over, yanking the blanket to his shoulders, apparently trying to melt into the cushion as he huddled into its crevices.
“Tristan.” Frustrated, I pulled at the cover, but to no avail. His grip was ironclad. “Fine,” I fumed. “Don’t talk to me. Wallow all you like. But you’re still going to have to deal with your issues at some point.”
Suddenly, he rolled over, flinging the blanket away and sitting up. “Why would ye even want to go meet with Randall, after all he’s done to ye?”
Surprised, I backed off, eyes wide.
“What on this whole godforsaken planet would make ye think I would ever be okay with that?” he continued. “How can ye even assume I wouldn’t mind letting you spend time with a damn cannibal?” His voice became choked, his expression desperate. “We saw him! Eating another human being!”
In an instant, the anger seemed to seep out of him, his shoulders slumping as he shook his head. Haltingly, he continued, but the words sounded forced, as if it pained him to share his thoughts. “Who’s to say his next meal won’t be ye? That this is all some plan to get ye within his grasp once more? What if I let ye walk into that room with him and I never see ye again?”
“Tristan.” I fell silent, not knowing what to say. Of course, I’d known he was worried, but there was something about listening to him share those feelings with me that made his fears more real for me.
Scooting closer, he placed a hand on my cheek, whispering as his voice threatened to give way completely to emotion. “I have lost ye before, Samantha. More than once. Each time, I had to face the prospect of a lifetime without ye. I don’t ever want to do that again.”
Touching his fingers with mine, I pressed my lips together tightly, shaking my head as I tried to blink back tears. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Those memories of being without him were from the worst periods in my life. I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain and terror on anyone.
“That’s not going to happen,” I replied quietly. “I won’t let it.”
“Neither will I.”
Despite the roughness of his tone and the almost imperceptible trembling of his fingers, he still seemed strong in that moment. The expression on his face was one of both fear and trust, of anger and understanding. He was allowing me to glimpse inside him, an image that was reserved only for me, during the times he most desperately needed me to see who he truly was.
As I stared at him, taking in his green eyes, perfectly centered nose, and thin lips, I couldn’t help but smile, remembering all the times he had saved me from things I wasn’t able to stand against, both physically and mentally.
I stroked his cheek lightly, leaning forward until our foreheads met. Smooth skin met my fingertips, warm and inviting.
“All I want is for our life to be normal.” I sighed, caressing his face as I spoke. “To not worry about bad guys, or secrets, or anything like that. If doing this will help us get that life sooner, then I have no problem with it, despite the danger. I love you, Tristan. A simple life with you is all I want. I’m tired of pushing that dream away because of outside complications.”
Finally, he relaxed, his breath slowing and a low hum coming from him as his fingers traced the top of my shoulder.
“I want that, too, lass. More than anything. What if this life—the one full of danger, secrets, lies, and evil—is our standard, though?” He hesi
tated, a glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. “What if ye and I are never meant to have a normal time, as ye wish?”
Smiling softly, I kissed his forehead. “Then we will make our own kind of normal, all the other stuff be damned.”
He leaned into the touch, sighing softly, and then turned, kissing my palm.
The action sent a spark through me, and I grinned at the tingling sensation his touch caused. We’d been together long enough for him to recognize that smile, and he chuckled, a different kind of fire lighting his eyes. The heaviness in the air seemed to float away in an instant, replaced by a desire for something else.
Sliding his hand from my face and into my hair, he pulled me closer, bringing our mouths together. For a brief instant, it was a sweet action, soft and loving as he pressed against me. The tension and anger had dissipated completely, leaving the two of us alone together at last.
And then, it suddenly wasn’t sweet any longer. His teeth brushed along my lip, his fingers grabbing my waist and bringing me on top of him. Need emanated from every part of him, his breath quickening as a different kind of heat wrapped around us.
Humming contentedly, I kissed him just as strongly, allowing my hands to wander down his chest and along his arms. Each little mark and scar reminded me of all the instances he put his life on the line for me, of how many times he’d more than proven his love for me. The memories made me both sad and happy, bringing to light some things I’d hoped were left in the past. I didn’t voice any of my thoughts, though, content to simply be with him.
Grabbing the end of my shift, he rucked it over my thighs, exploring the skin of my inner leg in a lazy swirling motion. He smiled when I giggled, already knowing I was ticklish there, and then moved his fingers upward, toward my center.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I grinned, abandoning his lips to kiss his neck. There had been many nights like this one before, and there would definitely be more to come, but I knew one thing for sure.
Tristan was mine and I was his, no matter our fears or what the future held.
The sound of clinking silverware filled the air, accompanied by the scent of fried pork, bread, and eggs. For the briefest moment, I found myself wishing a cool glass of orange juice was on the table, standing out in stark contrast between the blue and white china plates. It would’ve had just the right amount of bite to it, unlike the breakfast tea that filled my small cup instead, the warm liquid steaming slightly in the morning light as I watched it.
But, it wasn’t to be. Orange juice wasn’t really a thing yet, from what I could tell. Even if it had been, I didn’t know if it was orange season or not. Despite the few years I'd now been living in the past—most of them spent on ships eating flavorless biscuits and salted meat that I did my best to prepare and not make taste quite so awful—I hadn’t retained any knowledge of when certain plants were harvested. The servants took care of the herb garden, so I didn’t have any part in that. The time I’d spent in the Caribbean, I’d had more pressing matters than orange ripeness to deal with. I didn’t even know if it was possible to pick oranges in Florida and ship them to Paris by sea without them all going bad. Three months seemed like an awfully long time to hope fresh fruit would last, and any time I’d been on a ship carrying them, the crew ate them all before we were able to make the crossing.
“What are ye thinking about, Sam?”
Glancing up, I stared at Tristan across the long table, his head showing over the vase of flowers between us. A wide smile covered his face, his countenance, thankfully, still relaxed after our conversation and following relations from the night before. He wore no jacket, his green vest bright against his white shirt and the blue walls, yet highlighting the lovely color of his eyes, too. They were like the sea, wild and dangerous, but beautiful and inviting at the same time. I felt I could drown in them every time I looked into them, as if he were a siren and he knew exactly what song to sing to make me come undone.
“Sam?” He chuckled, as if he knew what I had been thinking, his gaze smoldering as he speared a piece of egg with his fork and popped it into his mouth. Licking his lips, he raised an eyebrow, reclining in his tall seat while he waited for me to answer.
Blushing, I took the cloth napkin off my lap, wiping my mouth gently, and laughed. The silk of my light pink dress rustled as I leaned forward, carefully grabbing my teacup and taking a sip before answering.
“Have you ever had orange juice?”
He laughed, clearly having not expected the question. “What do ye mean? I’ve had an orange, aye, but they’re a bit of a luxury, don’t ye think?”
“Not really,” I replied simply. “We have them year-round back home. They grow a lot of them there.” Curious, I watched him. “They’re rare here, though?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know about rare. There are plenty of people who like to grow them. I know many sailors who like to pack them into their bags. It helps—”
“Fight scurvy,” I finished with him. “Yes, I guess they would.”
Setting my cup down, I grinned, loving how normal the morning felt. It was nice to wake, get dressed, and have breakfast with my husband, even if it did feel somewhat like we had dressed for a tea party.
“Why the sudden obsession with oranges?” Taking another bite of his eggs, he watched me with amused interest.
“No reason.” Smiling happily, I took a deep breath, finally feeling like I could ask the question that had been nearly bursting from me all morning. It had come to me last night, after he’d fallen asleep and I was drifting into dreamland. I hadn’t wanted to share it right away, worried Tristan would somehow realize I had an ulterior motive. Now, though, the conversation had turned to a point where I could find out what I wanted and not seem too eager.
Well, not so much more than he would expect.
Beaming at him in anticipation, I felt the beat of my heart increase slightly. “Tristan?”
“Hmmm?” He peered at me over the rim of his own glass as he took a sip.
“Is there a library around here I could visit?”
“A library?” Tristan’s eyebrows raised. “What business do ye have in a room full of books?” He didn’t sound upset or condescending. Instead, there was a teasing air to his voice and a smile on his lips. He knew I worked in a library in my own time, that I loved reading and handling books. These were all things I’d told him during our years together. Often, he had heard of my longing to be among the written word, but our life had never really allowed me to fulfill those desires.
Grinning, I settled against my chair. “I said last night I wanted to be normal. Well, for me, that’s spending time at the library.” Shrugging, I folded my arms. “It’s been years since I’ve done anything like that. Even when we were at Versailles, I didn’t visit the King’s collection because I was so worried about what was going on with The Order.”
The mention of our weeks at Court seemed to dampen his mood. It was understandable, though. The events that unfolded there led to my kidnapping and subsequent months at sea without him.
Standing, I crossed the room, stopping by his side. As I gently placed my hand on him, I felt a twinge of guilt at my lie of omission. I did want to go to the library for the reasons he thought, truly—and I did intend to go—but there was more to my request than I was willing to share.
There was no chance Tristan would let me visit Thomas Randall, even though his commander ordered it. After our conversation last night, I knew arguing the matter with him further would only upset us both. I understood his objections, but he would never accept my reasons for wanting to do it.
I did want a regular existence. Living every day as a reaction to the things that happened around me was wearing me down quicker than I ever would’ve thought possible. More than anything, I wanted to simply be, in control of where I went and when, to start my family, and to feel the peace I had while we were in Atlantis. However, claiming such an existence would require work, the start of which demanded me to fulfil Captain MacDonald’s w
ishes and meet with Thomas Randall.
The thought made my skin crawl. In the future, I imagined Randall was gone. If setting my fears and hatred aside got me that, I would sit by the villain’s side every night until he could be erased from everything.
So, I did intend to visit the library and to take back part of myself that had been missing since I fell through time. There would be countless hours of pouring through the volumes, learning and studying, understanding filling me. But, there would also be one day a week when I said I would be going to read and instead went to the Temple to talk with my ex-captor.
Tristan didn’t need to know. It was better that way. At least, that’s what I hoped.
Staring into his wonderful eyes, I smiled as I knelt on the ground beside him. Speaking softly, I did my best not to let my voice waver. I hadn’t ever needed to fib to my husband before and anxiety continued to build inside me as I worried I would somehow give myself away.
“I’m tired of waiting for circumstances to dictate when we can be happy and safe. Let’s find our own way, together. Okay?”
He smiled, a breath of relief brushing past his lips, and placed his hand on mine. “Ye are my everything, Samantha. Nothing would make me more pleased than to really start building a life with ye.” Leaning down, he kissed me, gently. “No more waiting. No more being scared. We are in control of our own destiny.”
The guilt inside me grew even more, but I remained silent, giving him my best smile.
Rising, he brought me to my feet, wrapping an arm around my waist. “There is a place,” he said, chuckling slightly as he returned to our earlier subject of conversation. “One I imagine ye will love. I can take ye there this afternoon, if ye’d like. It’s open to the public, which means ye won’t have to be escorted every time ye want to go. I know that annoys ye, when ye aren’t allowed in somewhere on yer own.”
Beaming, I laughed. “You know me so well.”
His eyes sparkled. “Aye, I do. Ye’re my wife, after all. I don’t think there’s anyone I know better.”
Stolen Away : A Time Travel Romance (The Swept Away Saga Book 4) Page 11
