Captive Read online

  As Sarah moved toward the high-backed chair she presumed was intended for her, she heard Tristan approaching. He breezed past her, pulling out the chair so she could sit. When she’d settled at her place, Tristan took his own seat at the head of the long table.

  Sarah sat quietly, her eyes fixed on the bob and weave of the flames, but she felt Tristan’s gaze resting upon her.

  After a long minute, he said, “You look lovely.”

  She turned to him, offering a hard-edged smile. “You should thank your succubus for that. I understand she procured my entire wardrobe.”

  Tristan cleared his throat, shifting uneasily in his chair. “I should have already offered you an apology for Lana’s poor choices regarding your treatment. It was appalling.”

  “So you don’t like to find women tied up on your bed?” Sarah asked archly. “What a relief. I’m completely reassured that you’re the consummate gentleman.”

  “I—”

  Sarah cut him off. “You seem intent on keeping me to yourself.” She gestured to the two lonely place settings at the long table. “Will I ever be introduced to the rest of your household? Or do you have a ‘finders keepers’ rule when it comes to prisoners?”

  “The rest of my household?” Tristan frowned at her. “You want to meet the Guardians?”

  “Not your servants,” Sarah replied. “The other Keepers who live here.”

  “The other—” Tristan blanched, obviously taken aback. “There are no others.”

  Sarah stared at him, searching for clues in his expression that he was lying. She could find none.

  “But this castle . . .” She might not have finished her tour, but there was no denying that Castle Tierney was far too large to be one man’s home, not to mention too heavily guarded if truly only one Keeper resided there.

  She was denied Tristan’s reply when a bevy of servants entered the room. One poured wine while the others placed the first course in front of Sarah and Tristan. Troubled by the short exchange, Sarah dropped her gaze so she could sort through her thoughts. She felt a twinge of pity for him that she quickly shrugged away. Sarah needed to regard Tristan with nothing but wariness and disdain. She also couldn’t forget the way he’d looked at her when he first entered the dining hall. She’d thought his expression had been appreciative and lustful, but now that she considered it, she realized there had been a shadowed quality to his gaze, one that bespoke loneliness.

  Loneliness that Sarah could use to her advantage.

  When the servants left them to the first course, Sarah raised her wineglass. “To the game.”

  With a half smile, Tristan lifted his own glass. “To the game.”

  The wine was exquisite, and when Sarah sampled the steaming bowl of fish chowder in front of her, she found its delicate seasoning utterly scrumptious.

  “You have a talented chef,” Sarah said, taking another sip of wine. She didn’t add, It’s a shame he or she cooks only for one.

  “Very,” Tristan replied, his eyes brightening in relief at the change in subject.

  “About this challenge,” Sarah began.

  Tristan smiled. “Yes?”

  “Am I expected to blindly seek your favorite book?” she asked. “Or may I ask you questions to help me with the task?”

  “You can ask questions,” Tristan replied. “Just not about books.”

  With a quiet laugh, Sarah said, “Fair enough.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Sarah set her spoon aside. “How long have you lived here?”

  Tristan hesitated, but then answered, “Since I was eighteen.”

  “Why eighteen?”

  “That was when my parents died.” Tristan looked away from her and into the flames of the fireplace.

  Tensing, Sarah ventured quietly, “Were they killed in the war?”

  “No.” A thin smile crossed Tristan’s mouth, but he didn’t look at Sarah. “They simply reached the end of their time.”

  Sarah traced the base of her wineglass with her finger. Tristan had just touched on a subject of which Searchers were aware, but understood little. Keepers lived far beyond a normal human life expectancy—courtesy of their overlord, Bosque Mar—but why and at what point that extension of life was cut off remained largely a mystery.

  “How old are you now?” Sarah asked. Her gaze lingered on his unlined face, but Tristan’s youthful looks meant nothing. He could be more than a century old and still look like this if his master willed it.

  Tristan swirled the wine in his glass. “I’m twenty-five.”

  “Are you really twenty-five?” Sarah pressed. “Or do you just look twenty-five?”

  “You think I’m lying about my age?” Tristan asked, his tone playful.

  Sarah tried to ignore how amiable he seemed whenever his mood lightened. “I think you easily could, and I’d have no way of knowing.”

  “That’s true.” Tristan nodded. “But I’m not. I was born twenty-five years ago.”

  “So you’ve been in this castle for seven years,” Sarah mused. “Always alone?”

  Tristan winced and took another swallow of wine. “Not alone, exactly. But the only Keeper, yes.”

  When he caught Sarah’s eye, he added, “I have visitors.”

  “I’m sure,” Sarah replied. “And you have captives.”

  “No,” Tristan said. “You are the first captive of this castle. At least since I’ve been in residence.”

  Servants reappeared to clear away the first course, refill their wineglasses, and serve up the second course.

  “I hope you like duck,” Tristan said, toying with his fork as the plates were set before them.

  Sarah frowned at him, surprised by the nervous edge in his words. Did he actually care what she thought of the meal?

  Meeting Tristan’s anxious glance, Sarah realized that he did. That knowledge should have made her gloat, since it signaled another means by which she’d be able to exploit her captor’s emotions. But her new awareness of Tristan’s vacillating moods made Sarah uneasy rather than smug. However he attempted to exert control over her and convey his dominion over this place, Sarah could see that he was also vulnerable.

  Watching the flurry of thoughts register on Sarah’s face, Tristan sighed. “You don’t like duck.”

  “No,” Sarah blurted. “I mean, yes. I mean—duck is fine. I’m not a fussy eater.”

  When Tristan still looked uncertain, Sarah quickly cut herself a small bite of the sliced duck breast. Genuinely pleased by the meat’s rich flavor, Sarah smiled at Tristan. “It’s delicious.”

  The stiffness eased from Tristan’s shoulders. “I’m glad.”

  They fell into a quiet enjoyment of their meal, though Sarah remained distracted by the contradictions presented by both this castle and her captor. If no other Keepers resided here, and yet a pack of Guardians as well as nether creatures had been deemed necessary defenses on the island, then the intelligence that sent Sarah on this mission had proven accurate. Something about this place was of great value to Bosque Mar and the Keepers.

  But what was it?

  Sarah was also distracted by the dissonance of giving a Keeper as young as Tristan charge of a castle that held something of such import. Most of the Searchers’ skirmishes with Guardians took place near the four sacred sites within which pieces of the Elemental Cross rested. The Keepers who secured those sites around the globe were always among the eldest of their kind. Not only was Castle Tierney nowhere near any of those sites, but Tristan was also close to a century younger than his counterparts in similarly authoritative roles.

  It didn’t add up.

  “How old are you?” Tristan’s question broke the silence of the room so abruptly that Sarah dropped her knife.

  “I’m sorry?”

 
“You asked me my age,” Tristan replied. “I’m simply returning the favor.”

  “I’m twenty-one,” Sarah answered.

  “Isn’t that a bit young to be scaling castle walls without backup?” Tristan asked.

  Sarah stirred in her chair, uncomfortable that his line of thinking so closely mirrored her own.

  “I believe our agreement was that I don’t have to answer your questions unless I lose a challenge,” she dodged.

  “That’s true.” Tristan nodded, though his eyes were disappointed.

  Not willing to give ground, Sarah added, “And I have two days to name your favorite book.”

  Tristan smiled. “Care to venture any guesses yet?”

  “How about ‘The Pit and the Pendulum’?” Sarah answered, but regretted provoking Tristan when he flinched.

  Tristan’s voice was flat when he said, “That’s actually a short story.”

  “That actually was a joke,” Sarah replied.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Sarah,” Tristan said quickly and very quietly. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

  Those words, so unexpected, made Sarah grip the edge of the table. He sounded so sincere, but he couldn’t possibly be. How could she not fear him?

  Having no clue how to respond, Sarah focused on finishing her meal despite the uncomfortable weight of silence in the room. Even after plates from their main course had been cleared and a dessert of fresh fruit and artisanal cheeses was offered, neither Tristan nor Sarah had ventured another word.

  Without warning, Tristan pushed his chair back and rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to. Good night.”

  Sarah had no time to respond as Tristan swiftly crossed to the door and was gone, leaving Sarah to sit alone, utterly perplexed. By all appearances, she’d achieved her aim for the evening—to throw Tristan off balance and thereby gain an advantage. But Sarah didn’t feel triumphant, only confused.

  Castle Tierney and its master remained a puzzle to be solved, but Sarah had a nagging suspicion that the solving could prove treacherous in ways she’d never expected.

  11

  TRISTAN DIDN’T KNOW he was heading for the stables until he reached them. All he’d known was that he needed to get out of that room and away from Sarah and that any delay would mean disaster. He went to the tack room and grabbed Ares’s bridle, then headed for the horse’s stall.

  Scenting his master, Ares bellowed and knocked at the stall door with his iron-clad hoof.

  “Easy, lad,” Tristan said. “You’ll be out of there soon enough.”

  Tristan slipped into the stall and bridled the stallion. He shed his jacket and vest, tossing them onto the stall floor without a second thought.

  Once he’d led Ares through the stable and into the castle courtyard, he swung up onto the stallion’s back. Gripping Ares’s mane in his fist, Tristan lightly touched his heels to the stallion’s flank. For a moment the great horse’s muscles bunched up and then he exploded forward.

  Though he knew it was risky, Tristan didn’t bother to check Ares’s stride, instead letting the stallion have his head as they plunged into the night.

  At least there’s a bit of moonlight to guide us, Tristan thought. Galloping at this breakneck pace after dark was foolhardy for both the horse and his rider, but Tristan needed to burn away the turmoil that felt like poison in his veins.

  I don’t want to hurt you, Sarah. I don’t want you to be afraid of me.

  The wind carried away Tristan’s string of curses.

  Why in the bloody hell had he said those things to her?

  In truth, the problem wasn’t that he’d said them. The problem was that he’d meant them.

  When Tristan arrived at the dining hall, he’d felt he had the situation well in hand. Sarah had fled the library earlier that day confused and wary—exactly the way he wanted her. But the sight of her at dinner, the way the firelight played on her porcelain skin when she turned to reveal the open back of her gown, had made his entire body tighten.

  Their conversation had only made things worse. All signs of Sarah’s discomfiture had vanished, while Tristan found himself fumbling for confidence. It wasn’t simply her beauty that stole his wits. Her very presence radiated something Tristan hadn’t known he’d been longing for until he was face-to-face with it.

  Companionship.

  Sarah was the only person he’d spoken with in seven years who hadn’t been sent to “befriend” him on Bosque Mar’s orders.

  She’s not here because she likes you, you idiot, Tristan reminded himself. She’s a prisoner. She’s your prisoner.

  But anytime Sarah had raised that point over dinner, Tristan felt as if she’d plunged a blade into his belly and was slowly twisting it.

  That was when he realized he wanted her to be there voluntarily. He wanted Sarah to choose to be with him. What he’d described to Lana as a means of trickery—a cruel ploy intended to make Sarah divulge the information Tristan needed—had in the space of hours become something he desperately hoped for. The madness of that desire nearly undid him.

  So he’d fled, not knowing what else to do in that moment of panic.

  Tristan leaned into Ares’s neck, letting the stallion take them where the horse willed. Closing his eyes, Tristan lost himself in the rhythm of Ares’s hoof strikes on the moors, the scream of the wind around them. He straightened only when Ares slowed to a trot and then a walk. The shrieking wind died, replaced by the crash of surf.

  Ares had run the length of the island; now his hooves sunk into the sand of the only shoreline not made treacherous by rocks. Steam rose from the stallion’s coat, his neck bowed with exhaustion. Tristan sucked in deep breaths of the salt air, letting its cool yet pungent flavor still his rioting spirit.

  Tristan had to suddenly grasp Ares’s mane and grip the stallion’s sides with his thighs when the horse tossed his head and shied. Ares gave a sharp whistle of alarm and began to prance along the shore. Familiar enough with the stallion’s behavior to know the cause of Ares’s fear Tristan called out, “Change forms and get over here!”

  From within the shadows of a copse of trees a wolf slunk into the moonlight.

  Ares snorted and pawed the sand, even after the wolf was gone and a man walked toward them. Guardians could change their shape, but they still smelled enough like wolves to frighten some of the horses.

  Tristan jumped down from Ares’s back and flipped the reins over the stallion’s head. If he gave the horse a few feet of space from the approaching wolf, Ares wouldn’t bolt. Probably.

  “Seamus,” Tristan greeted the pack leader.

  Seamus nodded, scratching at the rough whiskers on his chin. “You know I don’t like it when you disappear.”

  “I don’t think I could ever really disappear on your watch,” Tristan replied. “Don’t try to tell me you weren’t keeping an eye on things all night.”

  “It’s my job.” Seamus shrugged. “Even so, you could have broken your horse’s leg or your own neck riding like a dullahan in this dark.”

  “There’s a moon,” Tristan argued.

  “Barely.” Seamus glanced at the dimly lit sky. “Can I ask what happened? If something’s wrong, you know I can deal with it.”

  Tristan rolled his shoulders, uneasy at the thought of any Guardians “dealing” with Sarah.

  “It’s not that kind of problem.”

  Seamus fell silent, then coughed uneasily. “Might you tell me what kind of problem it is?”

  Tristan regarded Seamus. Could he confess his troubles to the wolf?

  Of all his servants, Seamus was the one he most trusted and was the closest to offering a real friendship despite their respective stations.

  “I’m unsure what to do with the girl,” Tristan said haltingly. “My sense of who
she is has become . . . complicated.”

  Seamus nodded thoughtfully. “Because you want to fuck her.”

  “That’s not—” Tristan gripped the reins tighter.

  “You don’t want to fuck her, then?” Seamus cut him off.

  The moonlight was just bright enough for Tristan to catch the curve of the wolf’s lips. The damnable Guardian was goading him into a confession. And it was working.

  Looking out at the waves, Tristan let himself admit, “Yes. But it’s more than that.”

  “It’s more than that because you could fuck her now, but she’d hate you for it,” Seamus continued for Tristan. “And rightly so, if you’ll pardon me. But you don’t want her to hate you.”

  “You should be a fox, not a wolf,” Tristan said. “How did you manage to put all that together? I haven’t been able to get there myself.”

  “That’s because your head’s too full of what you think you should be doing to see clearly what you want,” Seamus answered. “And Guardians serve, but we also watch. I’ve been watching for a long, long time now. Things are clear to me faster than for most. Particularly in the case of pups like you.”

  “Did you just call me a pup?” Tristan gave Seamus a sharp look.

  The grin Seamus answered him with was so wolfish, Tristan gave a little shudder.

  Feeling the urge to defend himself, Tristan said, “I may not be as old as my fellows, but I’m still the master of this castle.”

  “I never said you weren’t,” Seamus replied. “And that makes it all the more true that you have the power to do as you wish. But first you have to know what your wishes are. Lana and Owen will try to make those decisions for you. Stop letting them.”

  “I didn’t let Lana persuade me into violating Sarah,” Tristan objected.

  Seamus nodded. “And that was a good first step. But it was only one.”

  Tristan suddenly felt exhausted. His shoulders slumped and he looked at Seamus, not knowing what he hoped the wolf would say. Tristan was taken aback by the genuine concern in the Guardian’s eyes.