Captive (13 page)

“You’ll be all right.” Seamus stood over her.

He waited several minutes while Sarah cried, wanting desperately for her tears to
wash away the images that had been etched in her mind. At some point, Seamus decided
that she’d cried enough. He grabbed Sarah under the arms and hoisted her to her feet.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Seamus said. “Don’t ever speak of it.”

Sarah’s brow knit together as she peered at the wolf. Her eyes burned and her vision
was still blurred, but she could see that beyond warning her, the Guardian was also
afraid.

“He doesn’t know,” Seamus told her.

“Who doesn’t know?” Sarah’s voice was globby with mucus. It made her feel sick again.

“Tristan.” Seamus glanced at the staircase behind him. “He doesn’t know about the
dungeon. Not this one. There are other cells in the castle. This place is hidden,
even from my master.”

“How could he not know about that?”
Seamus has to be lying.

“As much as I can’t stand her, Lana’s right,” Seamus answered. “She and Owen have
to feed, and they feed less often if they can draw out the torment of their victims.
If they didn’t take prisoners, they’d go hunting on the mainland every night. It would
draw too much suspicion.”

“But Tristan must know what they feed on,” Sarah said. “Where does he think their
food supply comes from?”

“From Bosque,” Seamus told her. “When he brought Tristan to the island and sent his
nether minions here as sentries, Bosque told Tristan he’d keep them fed with prisoners
from the war and that Tristan never need worry about his human staff. But Bosque would
never waste Searchers on the likes of Lana and Owen. Searchers have too much mettle
to make good meals for incubi. Bosque saves warriors like you for his wraiths.”

When Sarah didn’t reply, Seamus lunged forward and scooped Sarah up. Too shocked to
do anything other than go rigid in the Guardian’s arms, Sarah didn’t speak. Seamus
vaulted up the steps and barreled through the castle at an alarming speed until he
finally deposited Sarah in front of her bedroom door.

Still reeling from the shock of the dungeon and her unexpected transport from the
bottom of the castle to its top floor, Sarah reached for the doorknob. She wouldn’t
be able to sleep, but she could bury herself under pillows and blankets and hide from
the world for a few hours.

The wolf took a step toward Sarah, baring sharp teeth. “Don’t say a word to him.”

Sarah nodded, remaining mute. It was a promise she could keep for now. Her thoughts
hadn’t moved beyond chaos, and it would be some time before she’d be able to sort
through them with any detachment. But Sarah knew that what she’d just witnessed, and
what Seamus had just told her, might prove vital as she tried to solve the puzzle
of this place. She wouldn’t tell Tristan about the horrors beneath him. At least,
not yet.

I WILL NOT
lose again.

When Tristan had gone in search of Sarah that morning, he���d been greeted by a flustered
Moira, who, after a few minutes of blushing and stammering, managed to tell Tristan
that Sarah had gone to the study.

Upon entering the study, Tristan found Sarah curled up in the leather club chair,
a steaming cup of tea beside her and a book open in her lap.

Looking up at Tristan, Sarah flinched at his approach. He hesitated, watching as fear
slipped over her features. Sarah closed her eyes and gave a quick shake of her head,
and just as quickly the expression vanished. Sarah lifted the book to show him the
edition of
The Book of a Thousand Nights and a Night
he’d pulled off the shelf two days earlier.

“I’m hoping Scheherazade has some good survival tips for me,” Sarah told him, a sly
curve on her lips and eyes alight with mischief.

Infuriatingly, the expression filled Tristan with the desire to grasp Sarah’s shoulders
and kiss her breathless. He’d battled that same instinct the night before, when he’d
found Sarah hunting through his room. Her face had been so close to his. Her skin
so warm as he’d held her. Leaning down to press his mouth against hers would have
been so easy. But the moment for that had not yet arrived, and Tristan reminded himself
to be patient.

He folded his arms at his back and cleared his throat.

“You’ve had breakfast?” he asked her.

Sarah snapped the book shut. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

Tristan ignored the reprimand implicit in her tone.

“Yes,” she answered with a withering glance. “Moira brought it to my room.”

“Good,” Tristan said. “If you’ll come with me, we’ll get on with the next challenge.”

“No rest for the wicked, I see.” Sarah stood, but when Tristan stepped back to look
her up and down, she put her hands on her hips. “What?”

“I just wanted to be certain your attire would serve for this task,” he answered.

Sarah glanced down at her leggings, long-sleeved tunic, and suede vest. “There’s something
wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“No, it should be fine,” Tristan told her. “Follow me.”

He walked out of the study, not looking back to be sure she was following. A moment
later he smiled, hearing the rush of her footfalls as she hurried to catch him.

“Where are we going?” Sarah asked.

“It’s a rare, fine day.” Tristan cast a pleasant smile in her direction. “I thought
some fresh air might be nice.”

“You mean you didn’t get your fill of it on your midnight ride?” Sarah teased him.

He grimaced in return. “If you knew how often it rains here, you’d also know that
only a fool lets a sunny day go to waste.”

They exited the castle and were rewarded by a near-blindingly bright day. The sky
boasted a rare turquoise hue broken by only a few tufts of cotton-white clouds.

Tristan led Sarah past the stables to a flat, grassy space in the courtyard, where
Seamus and Owen awaited them. Tristan turned when he heard Sarah draw a hissing breath.
She’d stopped walking, her eyes fixed on the incubus.

“Are you all right?” Tristan asked in a low voice, returning to her side. Some of
the color had bled from her cheeks.

“Why is he here?” Sarah asked without removing her gaze from Owen.

“Owen and Seamus are here to assist with the challenge,” Tristan answered carefully,
though inwardly he cursed himself for not considering how Owen’s appearance might
affect Sarah. After all, the incubus had snatched her from the cliffside and made
her prisoner within the castle, not to mention assisting Lana with stripping her and
tying her to Tristan’s bed.

Tristan laid his hand on Sarah’s shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. “Neither of them
will harm you. You have my word.”

As if suddenly aware of how much raw emotion she’d given away, Sarah shook her head
and pulled back. “I’m fine.”

Without waiting for Tristan, she continued toward the incubus and the Guardian, though
her movements were forced and stiff. Tristan smiled grimly. Her discomfort would give
him an advantage in the challenge, and while he didn’t take pleasure in her uneasiness,
he intended to win this round.

Sarah’s steps slowed when she noticed that Seamus held two sabers. When she glanced
back at Tristan for reassurance, his pulse ratcheted up.

“How are you at swordplay?” Tristan lengthened his strides to catch Sarah.

“Fair.”

“Only fair?” Tristan lifted his hand and Seamus tossed him a blade, which he easily
caught by the grip beneath the bell guard. “We Keepers are schooled from birth in
the notion that Searchers do nothing but weapons drills—that even at night you continue
to fight in your dreams, living only for thoughts of killing us.”

“That’s a bit overdramatic,” Sarah said, a smile reappearing on her mouth. “We do
get Sundays off.”

“Seamus.” Tristan nodded toward Sarah. The wolf sauntered over and offered Sarah the
other sabre.

Tristan watched as she tested the weight of the sword and took a few practice swings.

“So, we’re dueling?” Sarah asked.

“Within specific parameters,” Tristan replied. “These are fencing sabers, which means
the tips are blunted but the blades can still do damage. The challenge isn’t to draw
blood—the winner is the first person to disarm his opponent three times.”

“Or her,” Sarah said.

“Excuse me?”

“You said ‘his’ opponent,” Sarah told him. “I’m merely pointing out that you must
have meant his
or her
opponent. Or have you already forgotten that I won the first challenge?”

“Forgive me, gracious lady.” Tristan offered a sweeping bow. “His or her opponent.”

“Thank you, good sir,” said Sarah, returning his bow.

“Ready?” Tristan lifted his sword.

Sarah nodded.

They began to circle each other. Sarah never took her eyes off Tristan, and while
he’d planned to let her strike the first blow, it became clear that she was waiting
for him to do the same.

If that’s how she wants it.
Tristan smiled and lunged. The suddenness of his movement caught Sarah off guard.
She stumbled back but managed to parry his thrust. Tristan backed off, inviting Sarah
to attack. He hoped she’d be angered enough after having allowed him to surprise her
that she’d strike recklessly.

She did.

Sarah rushed at Tristan, cutting the blade at his flank. Tristan blocked her attack
and captured the blade against his own. He jerked his arm and Sarah lost her grip
on the sabre.

“Dammit!” Sarah swore when the sword hit the ground.

“That’s one.”

Owen began to laugh, but Tristan silenced the incubus with a look.

Sarah picked up her sabre. “That’s only one.”

Tristan nodded, raising his sword once more.

Their blades danced through the air, steel singing out in clear, bright tones each
time the swords met. Tristan was pleased to note that Sarah was a quick study. She
didn’t make the same mistakes in their second bout, forcing Tristan to bring fresh
tactics to the duel.

Tristan’s admiring thoughts got him into trouble when he failed to note Sarah’s shallow
feint followed by a cutting blow that came down with enough force to jar Tristan’s
sabre from his hand.

Seamus gave a low whistle of approval. “One for her.”

“Nice work,” Tristan said, shaking his arm, which was still vibrating from the impact
of Sarah’s blow.

“I’d hate to disappoint you,” Sarah answered, lifting her sword. “Whenever you’ve
recovered.”

Tristan laughed, picking up his sabre. He took a couple swings to loosen his arm and
then nodded at Sarah.

This time they both moved with caution. Tristan attacked first, but warily, paying
closer attention to the style and pace of Sarah’s strikes and parries. When Sarah
struck another forceful, cutting blow, Tristan feigned a stumble, drawing her into
an attempt at disarming him once more. When she threw her weight into the blow, Tristan
abruptly dodged and brought the flat of his blade down hard on the hilt of her sword.

“Ow!” Sarah cried out as she dropped the sword.

“Two.” Seamus called from the side of the field. Sarah shot a murderous glance at
the wolf.

Tristan frowned at Sarah while she rubbed her sword hand. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Sarah said, picking up her sabre. “But I don’t think I like this challenge.”

“Why not?” Tristan asked, unable to stop his grin. “You’re doing very well.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Sarah glared at him. “And if at any point you tell me that you’re
not actually left-handed, I
will
find a way to stab you.”

“I’m sorry?” Tristan’s brow crinkled.

Sarah laughed, brandishing her sword. “Not a fan of
The Princess Bride
, eh? Maybe if I can channel Inigo Montoya, I’ll manage to beat you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Tristan’s sabre sliced through the air
and Sarah stopped his attack with a deft counterblow.

“That’s your loss.”

“Well, I am left-handed,” Tristan told her. “So whatever was worrying you, you can
put it aside.”

“I’ll do that.”

Their blades rang as the speed of their duel became faster and faster. Sarah was catching
on quickly, though Tristan could tell she had chosen to focus on blocking his attacks
and was reluctant to attempt to disarm him.

“Stop smiling.” Sarah thrust with her sabre and Tristan easily parried her attack.
“It’s just rude.”

“I’m enjoying this,” Tristan replied as their blades rasped against each other once
more. “Aren’t you?”

“Shut up.” Whether because of frustration or anger, Sarah gave up her defensive approach
to the fight and lunged at Tristan. Her attack came so quickly that Tristan stumbled
back, caught off guard by her sudden furious strokes.

It only took a few moments for Tristan to recover his balance, parrying her thrusts
and cuts and slowly driving her into a retreat. Sarah balked, giving Tristan an opening.
He turned his wrist and, with a swirling strike, pulled Sarah’s sabre from her grasp.
Her sword went flying.

Sarah glared accusingly at her sabre where it lay in the grass.

“That’s three,” Tristan said. “I win.”

He tossed his sword to Owen. The incubus caught the sabre and immediately set about
polishing its blade.

Sarah nodded at Tristan, her expression sullen. It made her look much younger than
she was, like a child who’d lost a favorite game, and Tristan had to bite back laughter.

“Walk with me.” He strolled away from the practice field, wanting to put distance
between Sarah and Owen before he asked any questions of her.

Sarah fell into step beside him, though she kicked at any stones that happened to
be in her path. “If we were throwing at a target, I would have kicked your ass.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” Tristan smiled at her. “You were in possession
of not a few knives when you were captured.”

“I don’t suppose I could have those back?” Her lips curved teasingly.

“No.” Tristan laughed. “But you can tell me why you ended up in my castle wearing
all those knives.”

Sarah’s smile faded.

“I won the challenge,” Tristan reminded her. “Answer my question.”

“Reconnaissance,” she told him.

“Did you come alone?” Tristan watched her face for any signs of deceit.

Sarah glanced at him in surprise. “Yes.”

Tristan’s jaw clenched before he asked, “Will others be coming for you?”

She went silent.

“This is something I must know,” Tristan said in a quiet, slightly dangerous voice.

“If I don’t return, they will assume I’m dead,” Sarah replied, her voice flat. “No
one is coming for me.”

Her answer should have been a relief, but Tristan found it both surprising and unsettling.
Did Searchers abandon their own so easily?

He found himself asking, “Why won’t they come for you?”

“This mission was designated high-risk,” Sarah said wearily. “There aren’t enough
of us to keep hurling ourselves at walls deemed impenetrable.”

“So I’m an impenetrable wall.” Tristan grimaced. “How interesting.”

“I don’t know what you are.” Sarah stopped, turning to face him. “I meant the island
is the impenetrable wall.”

Tristan almost said, “I’m the only thing that matters about this island,” but stopped
himself. Sarah might be his prisoner, but she was also still his enemy.

“You handled yourself well in our match,” Tristan told her. “You may not have won,
but you were a worthy opponent.”

“Are we done with questions?” Sarah asked, surprised by his sudden change in tone.

“For now. Enjoy your day, Sarah.” Tristan lifted her hand and pressed it to his mouth.
Then he pulled her close and kissed her temple. “I look forward to seeing you at dinner.”

When he released her hand, Sarah’s expression was stunned, and Tristan watched a blush
wash over her pale cheeks.

Tristan headed toward the stable, intending to spend the afternoon riding about the
island. He wore a smile that refused to leave his face, for he knew without a doubt
that he’d won more than just the challenge.