Stolen Away : A Time Travel Romance (The Swept Away Saga Book 4)

by Kamery Solomon

  Brief giggling returned my attention to him. “She was tastier than I’d expected. Sweet, like her countenance.”

  Turning, I felt a violent twist, my lunch threatening to come up.

  “Tristan wouldn’t be as good, methinks. However, I wouldn’t eat you, should the opportunity present itself,” he mused, his tone thoughtful.

  I watched as a cruel smile curled across his face. I knew I was the picture of horror and disgust, as well as fear. It was one thing to see him act like a madman and discuss his actions. But this? This was cold blooded, calculated, purposeful goading. He was trying to undo me and strike the same chord I’m managed to ring in him with my insults, I knew it.

  “No. I have other things I’d like to do to you.” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper, with the slightest hint of seduction.

  Spinning around, I grabbed the handle of the door, ready to wrench it open and run, my heart hammering, as I battled the horrifying images he caused in me.

  Maniacal laughter burst through the pit, catching me by surprise. Peering over my shoulder, I stared as he rocked back and forth, giggling and slapping his knees. A film of craziness had covered his eyes once more, all traces of the murderous bastard I’d been speaking with vanished.

  “You really are crazy, aren’t you?” I muttered, more to myself than him. The urge to pity him swelled inside me, and I shoved it away. There was no room for sympathy when it came to Thomas Randall.

  “Ade Falana!”

  The shout startled me, causing me to jump. “Ade Falana?” I asked, confused.

  “And his brother, Ayo.” Nodding fiercely, he grinned wolfishly. “Two traitors for your time today. Can’t have the Grand Master upset for not fulfilling my end of our deal.” He shook his finger, as if scolding me for not getting the desired information sooner.

  I remained silent, shocked by his abrupt willingness and insane behavior. Should I stay and try to get more names out of him? Or was that all I was going to get today?

  “They want you to leave now,” he continued seriously, scrutinizing me as I didn’t move.

  “Who does?”

  He tapped his forehead, grinning stupidly. “They don’t really like you. Well, these ones at least. They think you’re a fake—don’t understand how you managed to travel through time. I’ll speak with them, though, and let them know you are what we need.”

  His words made my skin ripple again. Watching him crumble caused a strange sort of sadness in me, too, the desire to give him some kind of aid rising in me once more.

  The entrance opened behind me, Rowan waiting on the other side, his hand outstretched. As soon as he had me in his grasp, he pulled me through, slamming the door and muffling the laughter that continued to echo off the rocks behind it.

  Tristan flopped onto the bed, sighing happily. He was lightly sunburned and smelled horridly of fish, but the size of his smile was one I’d not seen in a while.

  “It was a good day?” I laughed, sitting on my side of the bed and running my fingers through his hair.

  “Aye.” His voice was so content it made my spirit sing. “It’s been a good three weeks, if I say so.” Twisting around some, he caught my hand and pulled it in for a quick kiss. “I tell ye, Sam, if I’d not joined The Order, I believe God would have intended me to be a fisherman.” Closing his eyes, he hummed contentedly, holding my palm to his chest.

  Giggling, I kissed his forehead. He’d found work almost immediately, signing on to a small fishing rig that went out every morning and was gone most of the day. At first, he seemed only content with the labor. Now, though, he returned home each evening with a countenance that shone like the sun, laughter on his lips, and a heart overflowing with love. Never had I seen him so pleased with the employment he was involved with.

  “Lord, that we may find this life and make it ours forever someday.” The mutter was almost imperceptible, his breathing even, and soon his deep breaths told me he’d fallen asleep.

  Smiling, I silently repeated the prayer to myself. One day, if the gods allowed us peace at last, we’d have a simple life such as this. I’d be his wife—and he my husband—with our children and our home to care for. There would be no pirates, ships, secret missions, or treasures to worry about. Just the two of us, together.

  The happy thoughts faded as I watched him sleep, my mind moving along a darker path as I went over the sacrifices we were making to bring that life into being.

  Three weeks had passed since my first meeting with Randall. I’d been to the same amount of meetings with him, too, yet I’d only managed to extract seven names from him, so far. It always felt like a struggle, getting him to accuse anyone. As I’d suspected, five of the men were already dead. The other two were set to stand trial this week.

  Thinking of the trials made me flinch. Tristan’s court hearing was just last week. I hadn’t been allowed in, naturally, but it wouldn’t have mattered if I was a member of The Order in this case. Captain MacDonald had ordered the proceedings to be closed. When a man stood before his leaders to prove his loyalty, he did so without an audience or jury of his peers. If there was any question of his commitment when his slot was finished, he was locked in the cells beside the pit and scheduled for another hearing, where he could explain himself further.

  Thankfully, Tristan was cleared after his initial meeting. He hadn’t gone into too much detail about what happened, but he wasn’t happy when he arrived home. I received the distinct impression he felt his honor had been trampled on, as well as the good name of his family.

  Of course, it didn’t help that his step-grandfather, Brian, arrived from southern Africa a fortnight ago, ranting and raving about the insult it was to his, and every Templar’s, character, to call them to confession in such a manner. He stayed long enough to make sure Tristan wasn’t wrongly condemned and then returned home, cursing his entire leadership and vowing to do something about the treatment he’d received.

  Tristan’s grandmother had expressed much of the same feelings as she waited for news with me.

  Still, I was relieved to have Tristan’s name cleared and to continue on from that portion of MacDonald’s plans, at least. I hadn’t expected him to be blacklisted, but it was comforting to know for sure what was going to happen. The Order would be grounded for at least another two months, until most of the examinations finished and there were enough men to run the operation.

  Frowning, I considered Mark. His trial was in the morning, bright and early. Though I knew he was innocent and one of the most faithful men The Order might ever see, I worried his sordid past would blind those who held his life in their hands.

  Abella was with him now, as I’d insisted. She was a bottle of nerves lately, and I feared she might explode if she didn’t go to him and try to find some comfort in his presence. Their medical practice seemed to be a balm to her soul. I only hoped they wouldn’t be awkward and refuse to speak in the future, if it didn’t involve someone sick.

  Tristan mumbled in his sleep and rolled over, the scent of fish wafting through the air as he released my hand. The stench was so strong it made my stomach turn, my nose wrinkling in distaste as I fought the urge to gag.

  “Tristan,” I called softly, pinching my nose shut as I shook him, gently. “Wake up, love. You need a bath.”

  He chuckled, still partially unconscious, and then sniffed himself. The action made him sit up so fast that I giggled, scooting away.

  “I smell like Crazy Roger,” he said, his wide eyes watering as he continued to laugh. “The first cook I worked with on the Adelina. The old coot didn’t even know what the word bath meant!”

  Shaking my head, I grinned. “I’ll see about getting you water.” Still pinching my nose, I stood, moving toward the door. “You take care of your clothes.”

  Sighing to myself, I walked the corridor of cells, keeping my head down and attempting to hide behind Rowan as he led me to the pit once more. Now that there were men down here, locked away and awaiting their day of judgment, I worr
ied someone would recognize me and tell Tristan I had been here. Somehow, I’d managed to continue keeping the secret from him, despite my immense need to talk to someone about the horrible stories Randall told me when we were together. He’d taken to sharing tales of the men he named, as if providing proof they really were the traitors he claimed they were. Half the time, he did so in a crazy manner. The rest was delivered in his cold and calculating way, the words twisted to upset me most. I was beginning to wonder just how long I was going to have to keep this charade going before Captain MacDonald realized this plan was useless.

  “Sam?”

  The whisper stopped me dead in my tracks, my body twisting as I peered into one of the cells.

  “Mark?” Shock shot through me. “What are you doing here?”

  He was dressed in his finest, the dark brown suit blending into the background of the cell. Stockings adorned his lower half, clearly an attempt to look nice for his trial. It had taken place this morning, but, by all accounts, it appeared he’d not been proven innocent, as I’d believed he would be.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” he hissed, grabbing the bars and pulling himself as close as he could get to me. “I thought you refused to do this!”

  Frowning, I shrugged. “It was the only way I could think to move things along.”

  He rolled his eyes in frustration. “I refused to help because I thought you were, too. I believed it would get me back on Tristan’s good side.”

  “Don’t tell him you saw me here, then,” I warned, going to where Rowan waited.

  “He doesn’t know?” Surprised, Mark examined me with newfound scrutiny. “I didn’t think you two kept secrets from each other.”

  I didn’t appreciate the judgment in his tone. Raising an eyebrow, I remained silent, thinking poorly of myself, too.

  “Are ye finished with yer tea party, then?” Rowan asked gruffly, glaring at Mark. “The lady has work to do.”

  Mark scowled at him, his grip tightening around the bars. “You’re taking care of her? She’s not in any danger in there, with Randall?”

  “Unless the wee bastard can fly, there’s no way he can come within even fifteen feet of her.”

  Rowan’s answer seemed to calm Mark considerably. Nodding, he turned his attention to me. After a beat of silence, he pursed his lips and then let out a long sigh. “Tell Abella I’m fine,” he said softly, his expression falling even further. “She doesn’t need to worry herself about me. I’ll be home when I can. She’ll have word as soon as I set foot in the house.”

  The gentleness of his voice touched me. I hoped he was finally accepting his feelings for the woman, after insisting for so long he was too old and unable to come to terms with the fact they were from different times.

  Apparently, my heart wasn’t the only one that could fall for a person from a different era.

  I dipped my head in agreement, touched he would think of her, even as he sat in the prison of the Templars.

  “I hope they clear your name soon. I’ll offer my own testimony to Captain MacDonald on your behalf. And I will tell Tristan it’s well past time he forgives his grudge against you.”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “Thanks, Sammy. I don’t know if you can get me out of this one, though.”

  Accepting his fears, I went on my way, trying not to think about the throttling I wanted to give Captain MacDonald. Mark had served on his crew, always acting honestly and never trying to hide his past. Anyone who asked knew Mark wore the brand of the Black Knights on his arm to protect me. And now he was locked in a dungeon for it, a fact which filled me with ire.

  As it was, I was deposited in front of Randall in a much more flustered and angry state than I would have liked to have been. It was better to go in with a cool head and let the frustrations and hate build inside me, instead of unleashing it all at the beginning. Doing that usually made his crazier side harder to handle and his calm side incited feelings of murder when I was as out of control as I was now.

  “Hello, Samantha.” His voice was cool and calm—a sure sign I was about to interrogate the Randall I was more familiar with.

  The one I wanted to slaughter just for breathing.

  Huffing, I settled onto the stone beneath me, keeping my distance from the edge.

  He was cross-legged on the floor, as usual, but he seemed to be holding it together better than the other times. His hair had been combed and his clothes straightened, his back stiff as he stared at me with impassive eyes. There was a hint of annoyance, and I wondered if he was growing tired of his charade, yet.

  As if in answer to my unspoken question, he cleared his throat and stood, clasping his hands behind his back. “I am ready to give you names,” he said as a preamble, giving me a moment to express my surprise.

  “No stories today?” I prodded, unconvinced.

  “No.” He glanced away, his voice curt as he ordered me about. “You’re going to need a quill and parchment.”

  Taken aback, I simply stared, not understanding what he was doing. Why was he not playing? Drawing it out? Trying to get under my skin?

  “Now,” he hissed. “Before I change my mind.”

  Unbidden, the door creaked. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw some paper and a quill to write with, a small ink well cradled in the palm of my unseen benefactor.

  Taking the offered items, I arranged them, readying to write. The sudden change in action had sapped my anger, leaving only curiosity and caution in its place.

  “Geoffrey Langley. Robin Strafford. Lucius Peterson. Frederick White.”

  He announced them as if they were dirt under his nails, his head held high. They rolled off the tip of his tongue easily—echoing—coming so quickly I almost couldn’t write them fast enough. After he listed about twenty-five, he paused, his lips curling for the first time.

  “Mark Bell.”

  I paused, my anger returning in an instant. Glaring, I refused to give in to his goading. Instead, tucking the quill and paper against my side, I rose to leave, cursing myself for not realizing he’d use this opportunity to try and ruin Mark.

  “I have another,” he called with a hint of laughter. “It is a good one, if I do say so myself. It will shock the entire Order.”

  I turned, giving him my best bored expression. “Who?”

  He grinned, taking a deep breath and glancing around, as if savoring the moment.

  “Tristan O’Rourke.”

  I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing, the idea so ludicrous it made tears run down my face.

  To my surprise, Randall chuckled as well, watching me with a grin that would’ve otherwise made me uncomfortable. His eyes bore into me, daring me to deny him.

  Faltering at his continued confidence, I frowned. “You can’t be serious?”

  “Oh, but I am, Sammy, dear. Completely and honestly serious.” The conniving gleam deepened, his lips turning up even further.

  “That’s absurd.” Despite my belief in Tristan, a cold finger of dread found its way into my stomach. It made me queasy, like I could lose my breakfast at any moment. “Tristan already stood trial before the Masters and was declared faithful. He has done nothing to taint his name or his honor.”

  Randall shrugged. “Or the Masters failed to discover his faults, as so many others do.” Sneering, he let the contempt he so often displayed toward my husband drip through his words. “I never understood why everyone trusted him, believed him—loved him. I was just as worthy of it, but was shunned from the same opportunities and trust as he.”

  “Tristan is a good man,” I responded sharply. “And you can tell that simply from looking at him. You, on the other hand . . .” I trailed off, my glare boring into him as I dared him to say anything against the one I loved.

  “Hmm.” He chuckled, walking further from me. “Appearances can be deceiving. However, you could be right. Perhaps your definition of Black Knight and mine are different?”

  The beat of my heart slowly increased, warmth burning in my cheek
s as I gripped my hands together. This was ridiculous, not to mention a waste of my time and of everyone else’s who wanted to get to the bottom of this Black Knight debacle. But, there was something about the way he spoke, and the manner in which he held himself, that made me feel as if I were about to be delivered another blow.

  “What would you consider a Black Knight, Samantha?” He turned, staring at me evenly. He gave nothing away, a patient expression waiting for my answer.

  Swallowing hard, I bit my tongue, hating I’d let myself be goaded into playing this game with him. “A Black Knight is a man with no honor,” I stated, digging into all the things about Randall that made him evil. “A man who kills without thought, who disobeys the orders of his commander to follow his own desires, who steals the treasure he is sworn to protect to further his personal agenda.” Fuming, I remembered when Randall and I served as part of the same crew. I’d known he was bad, but I’d had no clue how much pain and suffering he’d bring into my life. Sucking in a deep breath, I finished my definition, spitting the words out in a rush. “He hides his true purpose from those around him and lies to those who should be his most trusted acquaintances. He’s vile, dark, and no good for this world.”

  Randall’s nose twitched, his grin staying. “I see. You do not care for Black Knights?”

  “No. I do not.”

  He snickered, shaking his head. “You need to have a conversation with your husband then, my dear. Because you have just described to me exactly what he is, without leaving anything out.”

  White-hot anger at his dishonesty almost blinded me, and I grabbed the handle, wrenching it open.

  “If you don’t trust me, ask him about his brother, Callaghan,” Randall called after me, his manner joyous. “Ask him what he did!”