The gunpowder was no good, though, having gotten wet at some point, and the second box of supplies that held food appeared to have been ravage by an animal. My familiar pool of spring water in the corner had grown, too, bringing renewed life to a few bushes around it. I remembered the tiny opening to the cave as rough and hidden from anyone who didn’t know where to look for it. Now it was a worn down game trail, a slightly visible path leading through the rocks and brush.
I eyed Randall, who lay on the ground, hands behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the enclosure. In the two days since we’d arrived here, he’d said as many words, at last honoring my request for silence.
Turning my attention to the map spread across my lap, I tried to focus on choosing a course to Ireland. The sooner this whole ordeal was over with, the sooner I could return home to Samantha and beg her forgiveness. It was five days since I’d last spoken with her. Five days of grief and mourning. Five days of hating myself, and Randall, for what he had made me do. Five days of missing my heart and wishing I could take her in my arms and kiss her until she had no breath left to argue with.
Closing my eyes, I imagined her here, with me. She would be wearing men’s clothes, naturally, her sword and gun in her belt. I believed it odd at first, for her to dress so, but now it was strange to see her in a dress, playing her part as a woman of Paris. Not that she wasn’t womanly. God, no! Samantha was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Looking at her was like watching a goddess walk the earth, her curves swaying gently with the sea, her skin wonderfully tanned and enticing. The thought of it made my mouth water with anticipation of her lips on mine, of her fingers caressing my arms and threading through my hair. Were she here now, she would wear her own locks long and free, not bothering to twist them up as she did when she was in the city. They’d blow gently in the breeze, as they did whenever she was on deck a ship, the air moving past her, as if aching to simply touch her. Beautiful as she was in her dresses and coiffed tresses, there was nothing compared to seeing her on the sea, savoring the water world as it stretched beyond sight. I missed observing her stare at the horizon, adventure in her eyes, the taste of her honey flavored mouth, and hearing the music of her voice.
“Tristan.” She called to me on the wind in my mind, the sound bringing a smile to my features.
“Tristan!”
Starting, I woke from the sleep I hadn’t even realized had claimed me, searching around the darkened cave in panic. Thunder rumbled, an ocean storm having moved in without my notice. Between the jagged rocks that created the entrance to my hideaway, a figure stood, long hair blowing in the wind, fire in her gaze and fury on her face.
“Samantha?” Shocked, I almost laughed, staring at her like she’d sprouted wings. She was just as I’d fancied she’d be, so much so in fact, I wondered if I was still dreaming. But, as I studied her expression, I knew I couldn’t be imagining this. The Sam I beheld was as real as ever, and so upset she’d even pointed a gun at me.
Convinced she would shoot if provoked, I didn’t look away, not wanting to break my connection with her. “How are ye here?” I asked weakly.
Lowering her weapon, she strode inside, holding up her hand and silencing me. “Not another word, Tristan.” Furious, she gestured to the other side of the formation, toward Randall. “What the hell are you doing?”
A thousand emotions shot through me as I watched her. Elation, fear, suspicion, and relief shone out above the rest. How had she known to come to this place? Did others know she’d found me? Was my safety compromised by her presence? Did I need to take Randall and run before another came to take him, stopping my plans?
My chest almost burst from watching Sam. It was all I could do to keep myself from taking her in my arms. My misery from missing her and regret at how we parted melted away, the light of her countenance filling me.
She deserved her answers, though, and I needed mine.
“How did ye find me?” I asked quietly. “I never told ye of this place.”
“No, but you told me.”
Looking past her, I felt another shock of recognition. Mark Bell stood in the entryway, clothed in a seafaring outfit, a bag in his hands and a frown on his face. A thin thread of jealousy wrapped around my heart, battling my mind. Of course, Sam would go to him for help. It only made sense. They were from the same era, and understood things differently than I did.
At the same time, I could distinctly remember what it was like to see his lips on hers, his arms wrapped around her. I both hated and loved him for protecting her, for adoring her as I did. I hoped he would turn to someone else, that his affections for my wife might dwindle and fade. But, here he was, coming to her aid, yet again, stepping in where I failed.
“Mark.” My gruff acknowledgement was thick, a slightest tinge of annoyance to it. Rising to my full stature, I stared him down, crossing my arms, and returned his scowl.
Samantha caught my note of distaste. “Your stupid feud with Mark ends now, Tristan.” Her expression darkened further, the words coming in a hiss. “He’s the only person who doesn’t believe you’ve completely lost your damn mind.”
Randall snorted, drawing attention to himself. Grinning like an idiot, his head lolled to the side, as if he had no control. His stare was glazed, his words slurred and humorous. “Do you think he’s gone crazy, Sammy?” he asked innocently. “Does Tristan’s belle need her Bell to save her . . . again?”
My blood instantly boiled at the thought, but I remained silent, plotting my action against him for saying such a thing.
Sam stared at him for a beat, her expression blank. Then, she raised her gun and pulled the trigger, shooting him in the chest.
Jolting, he shuddered, mouth gaping as gore seeped from his wound. The haze that surrounded him vanished, his normal, cruel gaze boring into her. “You missed your mark,” he growled, grimacing.
She smiled, the first sweetness I’d seen from her since her arrival. “No, I didn’t. You don’t get to suffer if you’re dead.” The calm venom in her voice was impressive, her kind expression fading away. The pirate that had lain dormant inside her for so long shone through, and I found myself grateful her ire wasn’t directed toward me.
With a swift movement, she crouched, jabbing her fingers into the wound. He howled, grabbing her and attempting to push them away. She threw her weight into it, digging deeper into his flesh.
“It’s your fault we’re in this mess, and so you will pay for it,” she growled, twisting her hand and watching him squirm. “I hope you aren’t too fond of your fingernails, because I plan on ripping them off next, one by one.”
“Samantha,” Mark warned.
“Shut up, Mark!” she snapped.
“Sam.” Weary of the tension, I sighed, stepping closer.
“No!” She tore herself from Randall with a sickening squelch, a faint yelp leaving his lips as she did so. She ignored him, turning to me. “You do not get to tell me to stop, either of you! I have been poked and prodded, my honor and patience tested by this man. I was screamed at by my husband, lied to, and ran out on, all because I asked a simple question! When I went to Mark, I was lectured about the trouble I was getting into. I am sick of it!” Her words seemed to burn into me, even Randall flinching as her volume rose. “I’m not a damsel in distress! I don’t need saving, or protecting, or anyone to do my dirty work.” Her gaze fell on Randall once again. “I can do that myself,” she stated dangerously.
Pausing, she took a deep breath, steadying herself, and then straightened her jacket with a firm tug. She looked at me, nostrils flaring. “You’ll tell me who Callaghan O’Rourke is, and why this filth over here thinks you should be named as a Black Knight. Then, you will explain to me why, in God’s name, you broke him out of prison and ran.” After a beat, she exhaled, and some of the fire seemed to leave her.
“You’re my husband, Tristan,” she began, sounding strained. “How do you expect me to trust you if you won’t do the same for me?”
It was as if she’d st
uck a dagger in me. Unable to tear my gaze from her, I sucked in a sharp breath, realizing she felt as betrayed as me.
“Take Randall outside,” I ordered gruffly, wanting to have her to myself. “I would have a private word with my wife.”
Randall climbed to his feet, shooting daggers at Samantha with a glance. “I can take myself, thank you.” He pressed his palm over his wound. “As it turns out, I need a doctor and Mister Bell here happens to be one.”
Storming between Sam and me, he went striding through the opening with as much dignity as he could muster.
Unimpressed, Mark looked to the heavens. “We will wait for you to call us.” Without another word, he picked his bag up off the ground and left.
“Explain yourself,” Samantha dictated, the faintest of tremors present in the demand. “Now.”
Shrugging, I shook my head. I had never considered the possibility of having to tell her about this. “I don’t know where to begin,” I confessed. “There is so much.”
She closed her eyes at that, a shiver passing through her as she sat on the floor, leaning against the stone wall. “Start from the beginning. And don’t skip any details.”
My mouth went dry. “I cannot,” I replied weakly.
Irritated, she clenched her fists. “Why not?”
Hesitating, I stared at her, the beat of my heart racing like one hundred horses, charging into battle. My chest tightened as I confessed the one thought I had refused to let surface since I’d left her.
“I am afraid,” I admitted. “Afraid ye will no longer love me once ye know the truth.”
It physically hurt to say, the words hanging in the air like a stench that wouldn’t leave. A shaky gulp filled me, and I refused to meet her gaze, now the confession had been made.
“When ye hear what I did, what crimes I’ve committed and hidden, ye will realize I am not the man ye believed me to be. And then ye will walk out of my life, never to return.”
Forming fists, I did my best to keep from shaking. Silence greeted me, my eyes squeezed tightly shut as I waited for her to say something. Anything would do, even if she dismissed me outright, without hearing the tale.
A hand brushed my cheek, soft and tender, cradling my cheek.
Surprised, I instantly peered before me, finding Samantha, her lips trembling.
Carefully, she took one of my hands in hers, massaging the fist away until she could intertwine our fingers. Then, a single tear sliding across her skin, she whispered tenderly. “Do you honestly think I could ever stop loving you, for any reason?”
The breath rushed from me in a huge gust and I grabbed her, pressing my mouth against hers roughly. Every ounce of fear and love was in this kiss, burning within me like the white-hot flames of Hell, eating me alive. There wasn’t anything else she could say to ease my discomfort and calm my soul. This was the only way I knew how to tell her how much the words meant to me, how essential they were. I had no gift with speeches, but I knew I could show her how she made me feel.
Releasing her, I felt my way to her neck, anchoring her to me as I explored the inside of her mouth, deepening the kiss further.
Gasping, she held me tightly as well, teeth skimming my lower lip, her breath mingling with mine as she tasted me. A moan rose, her eyelids fluttering as she stared at me. She pushed at my coat, pulling it off my shoulders.
Shrugging from the garment, I hoisted her, pressing her to the wall as she wrapped her legs around my waist. Her hair surrounded me, her scent filling my nostrils, the softness of her flesh giving way to my scarred and toughened hands. Biting along her neck, I groaned as she fisted her fingers in my hair, tilting her head to give me better access to the spot I knew would make her toes curl with pleasure.
But I didn’t stop there. I couldn’t have if I wanted to, truth be told. My hands kneaded into her, my lips trailing down her chest, my body calling for me to fulfill a need I had no possibility of ignoring.
Setting her down gently, I removed her jacket, muttering gruffly as I layered more kisses along her jawline. “My love. My life.”
Gripping me tightly, she pushed me away, shaking her head. “I want to do this,” she affirmed weakly. “But I can’t until I know what’s going on. Tell me, Tristan. Share this part of you with me and I swear I’ll stand by you. I only want to understand.”
Resting my forehead on hers, I pulled her hips toward mine, not wanting to ever release her. Quiet surrounded us, broken only by the faint sound of thunder outside. I sighed, giving in.
“Aye,” I muttered. “I will tell ye everything.”
“How much did Randall tell ye?”
Settling against the wall, I pulled her close to my side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Reluctance filled me at the idea of spilling my secrets to her, but I had a thread of hope now. She’d sworn to stay with me, to understand. Whether or not that would happen remained to be seen, but she’d reached out. All I could do was bare my soul and hope she still saw some light in it.
“Only the name. Callaghan.” She sounded hesitant, worried, as she should be. “Your brother.”
My gut twisted, his image swimming in my mind. He was so happy and alive, ready to fulfil whatever the gods predestined for him.
I had changed all of that in my stupidity. Because of me, his life had been snuffed out by darkness, taken by the very power I’d sought to save my people, forfeit by my willingness to listen to and trust Thomas Randall.
“I want ye to know,” I expressed quietly, leaning my head against hers. “What I am about to tell ye has weighed heavily on me for near a decade. I have not told another soul what occurred, scared for my own well-being.” Sucking in a sharp breath, I caught myself in the half-truth. “Out of cowardice.”
I chewed on my lip for a beat before continuing, grateful she didn’t interrupt me. “Everything I have done since this . . . incident . . . has been an attempt to clear my conscience. My devotion to The Order, the visits to my family when we make port in Africa—”
I cut off short, gazing at the rocks with deadpan eyes, swallowing the lump that formed in my throat. The strain of it made my voice weaker, causing my next omission to come out as a pained whisper. “Even the saving of a poor maid on the beach of Oak Isle, whose beautiful face spoke to my soul through the darkness that said I did not deserve her.”
Her grasp fisted in my shirt, her figure pressing along me harder, but she remained silent.
Clenching my jaw, I surrendered to the memories I’d hidden from the world, in the words releasing in a rush of horror and relief.
“Callaghan O’Rourke was my adopted brother. A cousin whose mother died in childbirth and father took his own life out of misery from losing her. My grandfather took him in before he was even a year old. When my parents left this world, I went to live with them. From then on, Cal and I were inseparable.”
I could still hear his giggling as we ran through the woods outside our home in La Coruña, our ten-year-old selves having stolen a fresh pie from Gran. We’d eaten the entire thing in the branches of a tree, stuffing our mouths until our bellies could handle no more. When Grandfather found us an hour later, he ate what remained and then took us home, bending us over a fence and giving us a beating we’d not soon forget while Gran watched.
“Thieves need to be taught a lesson,” he said, gripping a switch as he stood in the grass-covered yard, scowling. “Have the two of ye learned enough?”
Rubbing my bottom, I nodded, crying. “I’m sorry, Seanmháthair,” I apologized, addressing my grandmother. “I won’t do it again.”
“Nor I,” Cal whimpered, hiccupping as a tear rolled across his cheek.
Satisfied, she unfolded her arms and wiped her palms on the apron of her skirt. Motioning to the doorway, she finally acknowledged the whole ordeal. “Ye can help me make another.”
“Nay,” Grandfather ruled, interrupting her. “Tomorrow, but not this evening. It is long overdue for them to learn how to handle themselves. How to use a blade.”
/> My heart jumped at the thought, excitement filling me. Cal and I’d begged him for months to begin training us in the art of war, but he refused, stating it wasn’t the occasion for it yet.
“Now?” Gran sounded frustrated. “After ye’ve just taken the switch to them? The lads are upset and hurting. Surely, there is a better time to toss them a sword and teach them its workings?”
Grandfather simply shook his head. “There will come a day when they are men who will hurt, their emotions askew with the tragedies of life, and they will still be required to go to war. They must learn to put aside the pains of their body and mind and press forward.”
She frowned, a sense of sorrow about her, and then dipped her head in submission, going into the house silently.
“To the stables, lads,” Grandfather charged. “Pick yer weapons from the lot hanging on the wall and meet me here.”
Retreating from the memory, I peered at Sam, amused. “It was not a good day,” I attested with a laugh. “And we were both hurting much more at the end of it than we had at the beginning.”
“But you were happy,” she responded quietly.
“Aye, we were.” I took a beat, reminiscing fondly about my childhood, and then continued. “Cal left to join The Order on his eighteenth birthday, two and a half months ahead of myself. I missed him terribly. It was as if I’d lost my left arm. When March arrived at last, and I reached the age of enrollment, I practically swam my way to Paris, I was so keen on seeing him again and going on the adventures we’d planned for ourselves.”
“But he was different?” Sam interjected, studying me with curiously.
Grinning, I shook my head. “No. He was exactly the same.” Chuckling, I squeezed her shoulder. “Stealing women’s hearts left and right, clawing his way to the top of the ladder within The Order, and the star of the O’Rourke family contribution to the cause.
“He was assigned to the docks, a position I quickly took with him. Together, we kept a record of the items passing through the ships, guiding the treasure of the Templars in the many directions it needed to go to remain safe. For months, it was everything I’d imagined it would be, the two of us together, working to prove we were worth putting on a ship and taking to the sea. And then, William of Orange invaded England.”
Stolen Away : A Time Travel Romance (The Swept Away Saga Book 4) Page 16
