No matter how she dug into the mangled flesh, it didn’t release. Her screams out of control, swallowing her whole, her look flew frantic to the flames.
Burn it away. She could burn it away.
On her hands and knees, screams still deafening and raw in her throat, she scrambled to the fire. Lifting her left arm, she thrust it out toward the blaze.
The tips of the hungry flames licked out and the instant before the heat singed her, she was slammed backward.
Hurled—sliding across the room until she hit the foot of the bedpost. Crumpled on the floor, she twisted, looking back toward the fireplace.
The man. The man from her dream. Reiner.
He stood between her and the flames, shirtless, only partially buttoned trousers covering his lower half. His arms curled out from his body, limbs of steel with his hands clasped into fists. His chest raged in heavy breaths. An angry Greek god of chiseled stone, except he was alive and breathing with flames of hell flashing behind him.
She looked down at her left arm. “It’s still there.” Shrieks she couldn’t control flew from her mouth and she started clawing at her arm again.
A hand landed across her mouth, stifling her screams.
His other hand clamped down on her right wrist, yanking it from ripping away her own skin.
Her left hand found a target on his chest, connecting hard, and with a grunt, he sank down next to her, twisting her into his arms until she was on his lap, clamped to his body. He even wrapped a leg around hers to lock her into place.
She wasn’t able to move and she knew it. But still she struggled, her body contorting against his chest, trying to free herself.
She struggled for minutes until she realized she wasn’t going to be set free. Not under her own power.
She stilled. What would her brothers have her do?
Lachlan—he’d have her fight, fight with everything she had.
Except twice now, that hadn’t worked.
Jacob—he’d have her stifle her rage and ask calm, common sense questions that gave no hint as to what she was thinking.
That, she hadn’t tried.
Her gaze on the fire, her body stayed still as she tried to ignore the humiliation of being tangled in this heathen’s arms.
A full minute passed before his hand dropped from her mouth and locked around her chest.
A slight cough to loosen the screams still lodged in her throat and she opened her mouth. “What did you do to me?”
His arms twitched and he tightened his hold. “Why do you insist I did all of this to you?”
“I was at Vinehill, and now I’m here. With a lump on my head that is shooting hot blades into my skull and an arm that is shredded and shriveled to monstrous proportions.” Her head bowed, and she had to close her eyes against the swatch of mangled skin on her arm she could see peeking past his straining muscles. The breath she took stayed in her throat, not sinking into her lungs. “What happened to me?”
“That’s exactly what I would like to know, Sloane.”
“Why do you think I was trying to break into your home?”
“You were found just below the window to my chambers, unconscious. It appeared you were trying to climb vines to gain entrance into my castle.”
“Climb vines?” Her muscles tensed. Climb vines—of course she would have no trouble climbing vines and storming a castle—she’d been doing that very thing at Vinehill since she was five. If she was trying to break into a home, that was exactly how she’d do it.
Information she had best keep to herself.
But she’d never heard of Wolfbridge Castle before, much less this man. There was no reason for it.
More information she wasn’t about to share. From what little she could piece together, she’d lost time somehow.
Lost time and something drastic had happened. How else to explain her arm?
She tried twisting her head to look up at him, but could only catch a glimpse of his sharp jawline. “This castle—it is yours? You said ‘my castle.’”
“Yes.”
“And you think I was attempting to sneak into your chambers?”
“Yes.”
“For what purpose?”
“That is what I’m waiting to hear from your lips.”
“And you’ll not let me go until you ken?”
“Correct.”
With every word he spoke, his bare chest rumbled, vibrating behind her. Wholly indecent. Her look shifted forward and she stared at the flames for several long breaths.
At least Jacob’s approach had orientated her to her current predicament. It didn’t explain how she got there, or what had happened to her arm or her head. But it helped. Maybe her eldest brother truly was wise, as he always liked to remind her.
“Please let me go?” The request left her lips deflated, all fight gone from her body.
“Swear you won’t try and attack me again?” His upper arms tensed, jutting into the outer edges of her shoulders.
She nodded.
“I need to hear it.”
“I won’t attack you. It’s not like it would matter against this…” Her head shifted to the side and motioned to his body towering against hers. “This mass that you have.”
He grunted—half of it an inordinately pleased chuckle—and his arms loosened their hold. Just as she was about to escape his grasp, his arms clamped around her again, locking her into place.
“Swear you also won’t try and tear at your arm again—or burn it.”
Her eyes closed, a long breath exhaling, and she nodded.
“I need to hear—”
“I swear I won’t try and rip my arm off or burn it.”
His hold lifted, setting her body free.
Disbelief that he released her so easily held her still and it took her an awkward moment to realize she needed to remove herself from his lap.
She scrambled off his legs, landing on the front edge of the marble hearth.
He pulled his legs up and rested both of his arms on the tips of his knees. His gaze locked onto her, hard, suspicious. For how dark his hair was, his eyes were light—brown but with light flecks of blue, maybe gold in them. It was hard to discern in the scant light of the fire. Hard to discern when his stare made her want to squirm.
She caught sight of the distorted flesh on her arm, and she lifted it, her eyes squinting as she looked at it in the light of the flames. Calm, or at least with eyes that weren’t frantic, she could see the many cords of scar tissue running in long threads along her skin, as though her arm had been turned inside out, the tendons now dried and living on the outside instead of the inside. Her stomach rolled. “What—what is this?” She held her arm up to him.
“You don’t know what did that to you?” His gaze caught on her eyes for a long breath before it dropped to her arm. “It looks like fire. Like your arm was burned to an extreme. It is what flesh looks like as it heals from a burn. You have no recollection?”
She shook her head, words unable to form as her gaze went down to her arm.
Fire? Burn?
How could she have suffered this and not remember?
He sighed, his left hand lifting to rub his eyes. “You are either the most skilled actress I have ever come across or it appears as though that lump on your head has knocked time and sense out of you.” His fingers dropped from his eyes and his gaze skewered her. “Which is it?”
Sloane attempted to read his face, but there was nothing to discern. Just cold countenance.
She wasn’t sure if he meant to attack her in the next breath or leave the room. And she wasn’t sure which answer she spoke would produce which result.
Avoiding his hawk eyes, she looked down and flipped her left leg out from under her skirts. “I’m to be your captive?”
“Until you tell me who you work for and what you hoped to do—or steal—in my chambers, you are.”
“And if I cannot remember?”
“I think you will. Whatever drove you here wi
ll not wait forever and I think you will break.”
Averting her look as much as she could from her left arm, she loosened the laces on her left boot and pulled her toes free. She set the boot down with a clunk. “Then I may as well get comfortable in here since I don’t have the answers you’re seeking.” She went to work on her right boot.
Both her feet free after tugging off her stockings, she wiggled her toes. Heaven. How long had she been wearing those? A day? Two?
Reiner gained his feet and stepped closer to her, his bare feet almost touching her skirt.
She dared a glance upward.
His face seethed with skepticism. “You’ll find my patience will outweigh any game you are about to play here, Sloane.”
“And I think you will find that I cannot confess to anything I cannot remember, Reiner.” She set a sweet smile on her face. “Do you feed your captives, or do they wither away till death takes them?”
“It’s the middle of the night. So they wither away until morning and a proper breakfast time has come.” He turned from her, walking to the door.
Without another word, he exited the chamber.
The click of the lock echoed into the room.
Her chest fell, the air rushing out of her.
If she was going to be freed of this room, she would have to do much better than that.
{ Chapter 4 }
Two days.
Two days she’d been stuck in this stuffy, wretched room.
The insufferable man had delivered food—terribly delicious food, at that. Had a maid come in to empty the chamber pot. Made sure she had enough wood for the fireplace, not that the room needed any more heat stuffed into it. With the shutters locked against the windows, she hadn’t had the slightest whiff of fresh air in days.
But beyond that, she hadn’t caught the tiniest glimpse of this place she was captive in, save for the four walls surrounding her.
Her attention dropping from the shutters that were the current bane of her existence, Sloane looked down at her fingernails. The white slivers of her nails had been worn down to the skin, and now shocks of pain ran up her fingers every time the tips of them touched something.
She’d tried everything she could think of to unlock one of the shutters from its window. A splinter of wood that she’d whittled against the fireplace grate to gain a sharp point. It broke in the lock. Her own fingernails scraping along the wood holding the hinges. She’d barely made a scratch in the hard wood. The bottom of one of the side table’s legs that she’d smashed apart and then tried to wedge for leverage along the lower edge of the shutter. That shaft of wood had splintered apart in her hands.
There was little to work with in the room. The drawers in the chest were empty except for linens for the bed and two washcloths. A silver-handled hair brush that did her no good. If only she’d had pins in her hair instead of a braid tied off with a ribbon. A pin would have at least allowed her the possibility of picking one of the locks on the shutters.
Not that she knew how to pick a lock. But she had nothing but time on her hands and she might just be able to figure it out.
All she’d been rewarded with for her efforts were bloody fingers and patience that was growing very, very weak.
Every time Reiner had entered the room during the past days, he’d coldly asked her if she had anything to tell him. Her answer was always the same. No.
Not unless she wanted to make up some fantastical tale about what she was after. But she didn’t have the slightest clue as to who the man was, much less what he would have to steal that she would be willing to scale a castle in search of it.
For the cold brutality that emanated from him, she assumed an easily spotted lie from her lips would not be rewarded well.
A clink in the door lock drew her attention. Judging by the sunlight streaming in through the top cracks of the shutters, it was still in the middle of the day—far too early for Reiner to appear with an evening meal.
Maybe he’d figured it out—how she got here—the wicked twist of fate that had put her into his path. Maybe he was coming in to set her free. Apologize for the gross misunderstanding this all was.
The lock in the door turned and the door cracked open.
A head—a little head—peeked past the door into the room.
“Oh—you—you exist.” A girl, not more than nine with dark curls framing her face and huge blue eyes, leaned in past the doorway, one foot sneaking into the room.
Sloane’s jaw dropped. “I—who? Yes, I exist—who do you think I am?”
The girl’s head turned as she glanced back over her shoulder into the hallway for a long moment. She looked to Sloane. “Are you the woman I heard screaming the other night? Uncle Reiner said you were in my imagination. A dream or a ghost, perhaps. But I have been hearing other sounds.”
“You have?”
“I thought it was the guests—they like to scurry about the castle, find dark nooks to hide about in chasing games that seem quite silly. But they all left more than a day ago and I still heard the sounds.”
“What sounds?”
“Scraping—scraping wood, perhaps. It is hard to figure it, though it is constant. I guessed it was in here.” The girl scooted back slightly, hiding behind the door, only one eye visible. “Wait—you aren’t going to harm me—you aren’t truly a ghost—or a witch? Is that why he has you locked in here?”
This was it—her chance to escape.
Sloane shook her head, remaining very still in her spot across the room by the shutters. If she could entice the girl further into the room, she could push her aside and run. “No. I’m not a witch or a ghost. I’m just being held here by your…uncle for reasons I do not exactly understand. But I wish you no ill will—what is your name?”
“Vicky.”
“Vicky, then—I will not harm you. Your uncle, well, what I would like to do to him is an entirely different matter and directly because of his boorish behavior.”
Visible relief flashed across the girl’s blue eyes and she slipped fully into the room, closing the door behind her. “Thank goodness. I understand there are those that don’t care for my uncle, some that even wish him harm from the whispers I hear. But you, you look too nice—too pretty to want to harm him.”
Sloane’s cheek drew up in a wry smile. “Do not be fooled by pretty—your uncle is handsome as well, but quite clearly the man has a heathen’s heart.”
The girl shrugged. “Maybe, though I wouldn’t know. He is usually kind to me.”
“Usually?”
“He does not pay me much mind.”
Sloane nodded. Reiner didn’t seem to have the disposition to afford much attention to a nine-year-old girl.
She looked past Vicky to the door. If she pushed the child just to the left, she could slip out the door and hopefully find a way out of this castle.
The girl’s eyes widened and she took a step backward, her hands going behind her to grip the door handle. “Please, miss, don’t run. Uncle Reiner would be very upset with me if he knew I was in here and I accidently freed you. I’m not sure what he would do to me.”
The fear in the girl’s eyes struck Sloane to her heart. Curiosity didn’t deserve chastisement.
And the reality was that Sloane doubted she could get far. She didn’t know anything of this castle, how to navigate the corridors, how many people were on staff, what the grounds were like.
Even if she could escape from the castle, she still had no idea where she was. Wolfbridge. A place she’d never heard of. She could be on the continent for all she knew. Or in the Americas, for the span of time her memory failed her—enough time for her to burn her arm and for it to heal—that was more than enough time to sail far across the seas. Anything was possible.
Her chances of immediate escape were not good. Not with what little she knew.
She set a kind smile on her face. “I’ll not get you in trouble. I promise to not try to escape past you. How did you get in here? The door is locked.”
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“The key is in Uncle Reiner’s chamber, sitting on his secretary. He does not bother hiding it.”
“Well then, I’m surprised he lied to you about what was in this room—if he didn’t want an inquisitive child to find the key and look in here, I would think he would hide it.”
“Yes, that is exactly what I thought, miss.” Vicky’s head bobbed up and down and one of her dark curls fell in front of her left eye. She blew at it, then shoved it behind her ear. “You are Scottish?”
“Yes.”
“You look like a lady—I thought it from the first.”
“I do?”
Vicky pointed to Sloane’s skirts. “Your dress is fine, even if it has wrinkles in it.”
Sloane glanced down, her hand attempting to smooth the deep-set wrinkles from her ribcage downward. Her left hand and arm had gone back under the long glove—only twice had she stripped it off since discovering what had happened to her arm.
Both times had not gone well.
Sloane shrugged. “I suppose I am.”
Vicky’s eyes went wide. “Are you a duchess? Or a countess? Or a marchioness?”
Sloane chuckled. “No, no. I’m not married. My grandfather is a marquess.”
“Oh. Well, that is still very exciting.” Vicky stepped further into the room, her hand wrapping along the lower right post of the tester bed. “The usual ladies that show up at Wolfbridge don’t like me. They wrinkle their noses and pretend I’m not here.”
“The visitors to Wolfbridge are not the kindest people?”
Vicky sighed, leaning to the side and swaying back and forth, a pendulum swinging from the post. “I don’t know. Maybe not. I know I am young and they don’t care for young girls, but I have started to plan for when I am old enough.”
Sloane moved to the bed, sitting on the foot of it as she watched Vicky. “How?”
“I have been learning French and German and Italian even though I hate Italian. Uncle Reiner insists upon it. I have been learning to dance, but my governess is old and stodgy. Miss Gregory refuses to teach me anything exciting—only the most boring steps of the minuet.”
Sloane laughed. “You would like to learn to dance something else?”
The Wolf Duke Page 3
