The door slammed shut with a loud thud, jarring me to the bone. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to compose myself, my emotions so wildly out of control after what he’d said. I knew there was no way it was true. But, for some reason, his insistence made me feel like crying. Mark was an easy target, a member already under scrutiny. Naming him was a ploy to anger me. Suggesting Tristan, though? I couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing. Was it simply an attempt at getting him out of the way?
Opening my eyes, I smoothed my bodice, taking in a shaky breath as I looked around.
Rowan stood beside me, holding the crumpled paper I’d abandoned as soon as I’d left the pit. The men in the cells beside us ignored us completely, apparently more concerned with their own fate than what was going on with me.
Unbidden, I teared up and sniffed, barely managing to keep control. Continuing on, I stopped in front of Mark’s cell, surprised he was no longer there.
“Where have they taken him?” I asked Rowan, finding him still reading over the list.
“He’s at trial,” he muttered, clearly disturbed. “If even half of these are true . . . the traitors have spread more than we realized.” He glanced at me then, worry in his gaze.
Remaining unhinged by my exchange with Randall, I turned, feeling sick. “I would like to go home now,” I replied weakly.
I stared at my dinner, wholly unenthused by the thought of eating. Despite having rested, and trying my best to forget Randall, I was still out of sorts about the meeting. I couldn’t understand why he’d accused Tristan, or what his end game could be. None of it made sense to me.
Sighing, I reclined in my seat, pushing the plate away. I was getting nowhere, attempting to wind my way through Randall’s mind. The only thing easing my troubled conscious was the news of Mark being cleared and released by the Masters. Apparently, even having Randall name him as a traitor wasn’t enough to convince others he wasn’t innocent.
Sitting in the fire-lit room, I tried to banish the murkiness inside me. Try as I might, the space was dark and foreboding, my skin tingling with imagined cold. I was completely alone, save a few of the servants. For the first time since Tristan had gained employment, I felt it.
“Are ye well, Sam?”
Tristan’s voice caught me off guard and I started, looking behind me in surprise.
“You’re home!” Jumping from my seat, I went straight into his arms, wrapping my own around him tightly, squeezing as if I hadn’t seen him in years. “I didn’t expect you until later tonight.”
“Aye, we weren’t catching much today and decided to cut our losses.” He sounded tired and strained, his head resting against mine as he held me. Clothes stiff with sea salt rubbed me, the smell of the ocean both comforting and unsettling. “What did cook make for dinner?” he asked.
I grimaced at my plate. “Pork. You can have mine, I’m not very hungry.”
“I noticed that, too.” Grabbing my chin lightly, he studied me, concern fliting across his features. “Are ye well, love? Ye seem out of sorts.”
Despite my best efforts, my lips trembled. “I’m fine,” I answered, unconvincingly. “Just tired. It was a long day.”
“What happened?” he pressed. “Is everything all right?”
Waving in dismissal, I faced away, attempting to compose myself for a beat. I intended to ask him about his day, to direct the conversation from myself and my hidden problems.
Instead, as if in a dream, I heard myself saying the one thing I hadn’t meant to ever ask him. I didn’t think I needed or wanted to. Randall’s teasing was only harmless banter, a trick he used to try and get under my skin. However, I couldn’t shake the notion there was truth to his words. It was practically eating me alive, consuming my every waking thought, until it was suddenly coming out of my mouth, unplanned.
“Did you have a brother named Callaghan?” The question sounded like it left me in slow motion, my eyes widening as I realized what I was doing.
Silence greeted me. It lasted forever, not even the rustling of clothes or the sounds from the house interrupting the stillness. I couldn’t hear him breathing, my own breath caught in my chest as I mentally berated myself for asking.
His hand gripped my shoulder painfully. It was the only sign my query had even phased him. Fingernails dug into my skin, his touch the roughest he’d ever been. It sent a tiny shock through me, as if it were a warning I’d done something terribly wrong.
When he finally spoke, it was as if I were one of his crewmembers, caught in the act of disobeying a direct order. His inflection made my skin crawl, the alarm bells in my mind growing as my panic escalated.
“I explicitly told ye to stay away from Randall.” His voice had a growl I’d never heard aimed at me, and, suddenly, he forced me against the wall. “Samantha! I told ye under no circumstance!”
Frightened by the strength of his reaction, I faltered, stuttering. “I-I d-d-didn’t—”
“Ye did!” He roared, so loud a servant appeared in the dining room, wide eyed and silent. Tristan didn’t notice, however, his attention focused solely on me.
Glancing her way, I couldn’t think of what to say or do. Panicked, I gaped at Tristan, scurrying to find an explanation for why I had done it, but only a squeak came from my mouth.
Shaking his head, he ground his teeth, glaring at me as if he didn’t even know who I was. “Don’t lie to me! Ye went behind my back and met with the bastard, after I told ye my thoughts on the matter!”
We’d fought before, but never like this. He didn’t speak to me this way, with so much ire and disbelief. I couldn’t remember a instance when he’d raised his voice in anger toward me. I thought we’d tested each other’s limits, that we knew how far the other could go when upset.
I was very, very wrong.
“What were ye thinkin’?” he demanded, slamming his fist beside my head. The action caused a painting on the wall to shake, the artwork slipping from its nail and crashing to the floor. He repeated the action, twice, before his knuckles went through the wood. Leaning over me, he caged me in, barring his teeth like I were an animal he was going to dominate.
Flinching, I tried to escape the box he’d created with his body, but he refused. I trembled, pained and frightened, not recognizing the man I loved and cared for as he stood before me, screaming. It was like he couldn’t control himself, his expressions foreign and terrifying.
Floundering, I tried to say something, anything, that would get him to calm down. Instead, any sound I made only incited more hatred from him, his body rocking back and forth as he pressed me against the wall.
“How long have ye been going?” He huffed, furious, his arms taught as they held me in place. “Huh? How long has he filled yer head with his lies, tellin’ ye things he has no business sharing?”
In a flash, my fear melted away to realization—Tristan was angry because Randall was telling the truth.
“I don’t believe it,” I uttered incredulously. “You do have a brother!”
Fuming, he leaned in close, his voice a deadly whisper as he scowled at me. “Don’t change the subject, Sam.”
“I’m not,” I retorted. “You have a family member you never told me about!”
“I have no brother,” he insisted.
“Yes, you do, or you wouldn’t be so mad!”
“I have no brother!” he bellowed, darting away and knocking my dining chair to the floor.
My own fury growing at his display, I hollered, following him into the center of the room, not caring we were causing a commotion. “Why is Randall citing you as a Black Knight? What does it have to do with Callaghan?”
Spinning round, spit flying from his mouth, his eyes bloodshot, he shrieked, advancing so quickly I stumbled, falling into the wall.
“I do not have a brother!” He watched as I slid to the floor, shrinking under his gaze. “Not anymore.”
Confused, I started to speak, only to be silenced by his raised hand.
“No,” he
spat, grimacing. “No. I cannot even look at ye, Sam.” Trembling, he shifted away, his voice falling quickly. “Ye have deliberately gone against my wishes, placed yerself in danger, and ye are meddling in affairs ye know nothing about.”
His resistance made me worry. I stood, too afraid to cross to him and risk making him any angrier. “Tristan . . .” I hesitated, unsure if he’d answer me. “What did you do?”
He shook his head. “No, Sam. No.” Shoving another seat aside with a clatter, he strode from the room. A few seconds later, the front door slammed, the ringing of its closure sending chills through me.
As I stared at the mess he left behind, I suddenly realized I was sobbing. I didn’t know when it started, but I couldn’t stop. My legs wobbled, folding in the blink of an eye, my dress pooling around me. The servant put her hands on my shoulders, murmuring in a comforting tone, but all I could do was shake and cry.
“Where did he go?” I asked, sounding hoarse. “Where did Tristan go?”
He wasn’t home when I emerged from our bed the next morning.
Nor did he return that evening.
I spent the night, curled into a ball, battling tears that kept rocking me every hour or so. Different scenes passed through my mind as I lay there, wondering what he could have done in his past, and what he was doing now that I’d partially uncovered it.
I ached. All I wanted was for him to return home, for us to solve our issues and be happy. I loved Tristan so much, I didn’t think I could survive in this world if I didn’t have him at my side to guide me and be my partner.
The next morning, a hurried knock at the front of the house prompted me to jump from under the covers, wrapping a light robe around my figure. As I burst through the bedroom door and hurried down the steps, I called to the servants, not caring I sounded desperate.
“Is it him? Did someone find him?”
Stopping at the foot of the stairs, I stared at the man in the doorway, his face somewhat familiar, but strange. Holding his hat, he glanced at me with an apologetic frown. Early morning sunlight lit him from behind, the courtyard empty, save a horse and a few servants.
He coughed. “Beggin’ your pardon, Madame. I was sent to inquire after your husband.”
My heart fell. Did anyone know where Tristan was?
“He’s not here,” I acknowledged quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“You have not seen him?”
Sighing, I shook my head, folding my arms. “We argued the night before last and he left the house. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Ah.” The young man twiddled his thumbs against his hat, hesitating, clearly not wanting to ask the next part. However, duty seemed to win in the end, and he met my eyes once more.
“I am to assume Madame is not aware her husband has broken Thomas Randall from prison and fled the city, then?”
Freezing, it was as if someone had taken a vacuum and sucked the air from me. I couldn’t breathe. Rage filled me when I finally found my voice. “He did what?”
Tristan O’Rourke
Thomas Randall lay face down in the tiny longboat, seawater sloshing across the back of his head as the rig sailed the Seine, toward the freedom of the ocean. His broken neck was strange, jutting to the side in a way that made me want to stretch my own muscles and ease the discomfort the visual caused. So far, I’d snapped it five times, each less satisfying than the last.
Grunting in frustration, I ran a hand through my hair, resting my elbows on my knees. There would be hell to pay for what I’d done this night, but there was no other option. Now that Callaghan was being brought up . . .
“Damn ye,” I muttered, kicking Randall’s lifeless foot. “Damn ye and yer conniving nature.” It was his fault I’d been forced to do this. He’d given me no other path, no choice in the matter. Not only was he speaking of things that should have been left in the past, but he was too close to Samantha.
Sam. My heart hurt to consider her. She betrayed me, lied to me, and it shattered my trust, like I never thought possible. That wasn’t what caused my pain, though. I could easily forgive my love for those things. She was headstrong and stubborn, used to being her own master. It had been that way from the very beginning, when I first saw her, spread out on the beach of Oak Isle.
No, what caused the ache in my chest was that I had crossed a line in my anger. Sam caught me off guard and I responded in a manner completely unbefitting of a husband and a gentleman of honor. When I closed my eyes, I saw her frightened face, her form trapped by my own. Her flinch when I put my fist through the wall beside her head caused my stomach to twist and turn. The stutter as she tried to explain herself, only to be cut off by me, rang in my ears at every moment.
I didn’t know if she would ever forgive me for acting so. If I were in her place, I didn’t think I could. My actions were brutal and unkind, my words harsh and unforgiving. Revisiting the ugly truth, I knew I deserved to lose her forever. She trusted me, loved me, bore a child for me, and I told her I couldn’t look at her.
Worse, my anger continued to boil, despite my fervent desire to let the whole issue leave me.
If I wasn’t marked for damnation already, I certainly was now.
Pushing the thoughts of my wife aside, I glared at the body sprawled before me. Breaking Randall free of his prison had been no easy task, especially with the added security around the hold of the Temple as the Masters went on their asinine hunt for traitors. Fate had been on my side—and Randall, too. He told me of the hidden bridge, lowered by finding the correct stone and pushing it. I’d not expected him to resist, per say, but it was surprising to have such a willing captive. As soon as we stole this boat, I’d silenced him, not wanting to talk.
I knew what that conversation would lead to.
The image of my adopted older brother, Callaghan, filled my mind. His angular face bore a smile, laughter sounding, as it often had. Brown eyes shone in the light, his matching curly hair brushing across his forehead. He’d often complained about it, daily, claiming he was going to cut it off, but never did.
Cal was my idol growing up. He was the first to grow facial hair, a spattering of fuzz covering his jaw. Lessons that would have normally been taught by a father, were learned together, two orphans making their path in the world the only way they knew how. It didn’t matter he was just a few months older than me. He was everything I wanted to be and more. Women loved him, men trusted and revered him, our grandfather cherished him, and The Order had been quick to accept him on his eighteenth birthday.
And he was now dead, his name besmirched and honor forgotten, all because of my own actions and the actions of Thomas Randall.
Why was this villain bringing it to light now, ten years after the incidents leading to Cal’s demise? We agreed never to speak of what occurred, a vow we both kept when we were stationed on the Adelina, three years later.
Truth be told, I was surprised Randall hadn’t tried to use this against me previously. Living in fear of someone discovering what horrible misdeeds we’d done was awful. But, as time passed, I began to believe I was safe. I did not get along with my partner—we never had—but the two of us made our situation work. When Randall implicated himself as a Black Knight, there was a moment when I thought he would try to take me with him. Instead, he seemed content to try and murder me.
Perhaps it was a small mercy, ending my life rather than reveal our secret.
Now, though, my reckoning had arrived. For whatever reason, Randall no longer kept his promise, spilling the truth to the one person who could use it to hurt me the most.
How much had he told Samantha? Did she know the whole story, or did he expect me to tell her the truth of it? I didn’t understand his motives or reasoning, either. Why Sam? Why not the Masters, or someone with the ability to punish me for my crimes?
Deep down, I knew it was because Samantha did have that power over me. She could leave and it would destroy me in a single instant.
Randall had expressed the desire to have her a
s his own. Was that why he did this? Did he assume if she knew the truth, she would go to him? He was as guilty as I was, if not more so.
Twitching, the body came to life, its neck popping into place, and lungs filling with air.
Glowering, Randall rolled over, scowling. “Would you stop?” he asked grumpily. “You’re making my head ache.”
“Good,” I spat. “That’s less than ye deserve.”
He snorted, pushing himself into a sitting position, and glanced to the starry sky. “Just like old times, isn’t it?” A grin covered his features, hatred for me present in his gaze. “Sailing under the same captain. Standing on the beach that night, with Cal—”
“Do not say his name,” I warned dangerously, rising to my feet. “Do not speak another word! Ye’ve forced me to compromise everything I worked for these past years, and for what? My life is on its head. Why? To goad me? Punish me? To take my wife?” I all but growled. “What happened that evening is not a bargaining chip ye get to use against me. Not any longer.”
Grabbing his head, I pulled him to his feet.
Yelping painfully, he didn’t resist, fully aware of what I was going to do.
Hissing, I applied pressure to his skull. “We’re going to finish what we started, Randall. And when we do, ye had better be dead, or I will make ye wish ye were.”
Jerking quickly, I snapped his neck, the crunch of breaking bones setting me on edge. Letting him tumble into the brine at the bottom of the boat, I sat, closing my eyes against the fury filling me.
The steady drip of water down the rock façade was more comforting than anything else. It reminded me of days past, when I used to come to this place and escape for a time. It had been a while since I was last here—seven years, at least—but nothing had really changed while I was gone. The island and its cave remained undiscovered, as far as I could tell. The few supplies I’d left were boxed in the corner, a musty blanket and worn in boots locked in a trunk and hidden behind a rock.
Stolen Away : A Time Travel Romance (The Swept Away Saga Book 4) Page 15
