Captive (22 page)

How ridiculous, to stop myself from telling Tristan something that could be the key
to convincing him to leave. For what? Vanity?

It was selfish and reckless, and Sarah could afford to be neither.

As she climbed out of the tub, dripping water onto the marble floor, Sarah resolved
to tell Tristan everything. She toweled herself off and found an array of robes hanging
along the wall. She’d just slipped the cotton robe on when she whirled around, the
back of her neck prickling.

Out of the corner of her eye Sarah had caught a movement, the flickering of a shadow.
Or so she thought. Scanning the room, Sarah couldn’t see anything, though her vision
was somewhat obscured by thick clouds of steam. Nor did she hear any sounds of movement.

After waiting another few minutes to be certain she was alone in the room, Sarah dismissed
the sensation and walked from the steam-filled room to the broad chamber that held
the swimming pool.

Sarah pulled up short, staring at the man who stood alongside the pool. He was very
tall—lean but broad-shouldered. His dark hair was combed back from his olive-skinned
face and its sharp, angular features. But it was his eyes that stopped Sarah’s breath.
They were silver.

“I thought I’d give you some privacy,” the man told her. His voice was cold and smooth
and very low, like a thin sheet of ice over deep waters. “I’d hate for you to feel
exposed upon our first meeting.”

It didn’t matter that Sarah pulled her robe tighter around her body. She felt horribly
vulnerable. Every fiber of her being screamed that she was in danger.

“Tristan so rarely has guests that I haven’t invited to the castle myself,” the man
continued. “When Lana told me of your . . . stay, I came at once.”

“You’re Bosque Mar.” The lingering heat of the baths seeped from Sarah’s skin.

Tristan’s affront to the succubus had been too much for her to bear and she’d called
the Harbinger back to Castle Tierney.

Oh God.
Sarah went rigid because her body threatened to quake with terror. She desperately
fought to control her panic.

“And you’re a Searcher,” Bosque replied. “Forgive me for being surprised to find you
luxuriating in Tristan’s home, rather than wearing manacles.”

“There were manacles,” Sarah said, finding courage in a tart response. “At first.”

Bosque laughed. “Ah, yes. Lana informed me of the evolution of your status here. I’m
intrigued. Of course, I have my reservations as well.”

“Of course.” Sarah glanced around the room. Bosque stood between her and the door.

Following her gaze, Bosque smiled slowly. “So rude.”

Sarah didn’t see him move or hear him speak, but she sensed movement behind her, accompanied
by a squelching sound. She turned just in time to throw her arms out, but the huge
tentacle had strength a hundred times her own. Black and stinking of brine, the snakelike
appendage continued to unwind itself from one of the columns that framed the pool.
The tentacle coiled around Sarah’s body, constricting just enough to make breathing
painful but not impossible.

“I merely ask for a brief conversation,” Bosque told her. “And I merit your attention.”

“Go to hell.” Sarah struggled against the tentacle, and it squeezed tighter until
she screamed.

“You’ll find that provoking me earns you only pain.” Bosque strolled toward Sarah,
his gaze sweeping up and down her body. “I suppose you’re attractive enough, but that
hardly explains Tristan’s wayward attachment to you. You do realize I cannot allow
his dalliance to continue; as much as I’d like to indulge my ward, it will only cause
him harm in the future.”

“So are you going to have your tentacle squeeze me into jelly or are we still getting
to know each other?” Taunting Bosque was the only thing keeping Sarah’s fear from
overwhelming her.

Bosque shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I have no intention of killing you.
That is Tristan’s work. I came to find you only out of curiosity.”

Sarah wanted to scream,
Tristan would never hurt me.
But Bosque’s confident smile and easy manner sent chills spiraling through Sarah’s
veins.

Sensing her doubt, Bosque’s smile broadened. “It was a pleasure.”

And suddenly he was gone and Sarah lay in a heap on the cold floor. The tentacle that
held her was once again only a carving around the column. For a moment, Sarah let
herself believe she’d imagined it all—a hallucination born of stress and exhaustion.
But when she crawled to her feet, the pain in her ribs made Sarah gasp. Opening her
robe, Sarah looked down to see the blue and purple marbling of bruises.

She sank back to the floor, the trembling in her limbs rendering her unable to stay
upright.

I have no intention of killing you. That is Tristan’s work.

Sarah huddled on the floor, growing colder by the minute but feeling too weak to move.
He won’t hurt me. Not after everything.

She closed her eyes and tried to conjure Tristan’s face and the love she’d seen in
his eyes. But in the darkness of her mind, the only eyes Sarah remembered were silver.

TRISTAN HAD JUST
emerged from his room, dressed and ready to seek out Seamus, when the wolf found him
first.

“We need to talk,” Seamus said.

Tristan nodded. “Where?”

“Ride out to the edge of the eastern wood and tether Ares there,” Seamus replied.
“Walk along the forest line toward the coast. I’ll meet you.”

Without another word Seamus shifted form and slunk away. Tristan had never seen the
wolf so agitated, and that couldn’t be a good sign. He wasted no time getting to the
stables and taking Ares out of the castle grounds. The stallion sensed Tristan’s restlessness
and responded in kind, making a wild dash to the eastern side of the island. Ares
bucked and snorted his disapproval when Tristan reined him in at the edge of the woods,
making it clear that the horse had a mind to take a run around the whole of the island.

“In a bit.” Tristan patted Ares’s neck, slowing the stallion to a walk to cool him
down before they stopped.

Taking Ares just inside the line of trees, Tristan dismounted and unbridled his horse.
He replaced the bridle with a halter and used a lead line to tie Ares onto a low-hanging
branch. While Ares contented himself with snuffling out sweet spring shoots from the
undergrowth, Tristan went in search of Seamus.

Tristan stayed close to the forest’s edge as the wolf had instructed, and after he
had walked a quarter of an hour, he heard Seamus call from deeper within the woods.
He found the wolf sitting atop a boulder in a small forest glen. When Tristan approached,
Seamus jumped down from the giant rock and walked over to meet him.

“Has something happened?” Tristan asked.

“I’m of a mind to ask you the same thing, lad,” Seamus replied. “But yes, I overheard
a conversation between Lana and Owen.”

Tristan’s mood darkened instantly. “And?”

“Lana wants to summon Bosque to the castle,” Seamus growled. “Owen was trying to talk
her out of it. Protocol and such.”

“Yes,” Tristan said. “If she summons Bosque without my consent, she’s circumventing
my authority.”

“I think she’d like nothing more at the moment.” Seamus rolled his head from side
to side, cracking his neck loudly. “You’ve managed to get quite the rise out of her.”

“She had no right to—” Tristan stopped himself. He didn’t want to waste energy on
Lana’s behavior.

“It’s not about what Lana thinks she’s entitled to,” Seamus told Tristan. “Her jealousy
is simply a front because she senses what’s really going on.”

Tristan asked warily, “What do you mean?”

Seamus gave him a long look.

“I’m in love with Sarah,” Tristan said. It was strange to say it out loud, frightening
even.

“Of course you are. You’d be a fool if you weren’t.” Seamus’s growl was followed by
a sigh. “But if Lana goes through with her plan, which she will, then when Bosque
returns, he’ll make you kill Sarah. No—he’ll more likely let Lana kill her and make
you watch. You must know that.”

Tristan’s fists clenched, but he nodded. “What can I do?”

“There’s only one thing you can do. You can run.” Seamus turned his gaze toward the
sound of crashing waves in the distance. “Go to her people. They’re the only ones
who might be able to hide you away.”

“How can we run?” Tristan asked. “I’m always watched.”

Seamus grinned at Tristan, revealing a wolf’s sharp canines. “Well, first you’ll need
a distraction.”

Tristan laughed at the wolf’s eager expression. “Why am I inclined to believe you’ve
thought about this before?”

“I’ve just been itching for a real fight.” Seamus shrugged. “All the wolves have.”

“You think the whole pack will side with us?” Tristan asked with surprise.

Seamus paused, scratching at his beard. “Not all, but most. Even those not overly
fond of you have a sense of loyalty to me. Even if they don’t aid us, they won’t interfere,
either.”

“I’ve done a piss-poor job of ruling this place, haven’t I?” Tristan rubbed his temples,
suddenly bone weary.

“You arrived here a boy and never became a tyrant.” Seamus clapped Tristan on the
shoulder. “That’s a feat most Keepers I’ve known can’t manage.”

“That’s not the most flattering measure of success,” Tristan said wryly.

“It’s not the worst, either,” Seamus said. “The truth is you’ve never been given the
chance to find out who you are—you’ve only been told. But I’d wager that you’ll be
a good man once you’re free of this place.”

Tristan looked closely at Seamus and frowned. “But if you help us escape, what will
happen to you and the other Guardians?”

“It depends on how the fight goes down,” Seamus told him. “If it’s staged as a Searcher
attack, we might be able to give you the time you need to run without giving our involvement
away. If that doesn’t work . . . well, I’d rather go down fighting.”

“You’d take that risk for me?” Tristan murmured.

“That question can only be answered with acts,” Seamus said. “Not words.”

Tristan crouched on the forest floor and bowed his head. “Your courage only makes
my cowardice more shameful.”

“You’ve never been a coward, Tristan.” Seamus paced alongside the Keeper.

“You might not say that if you knew what I’m feeling,” Tristan replied.

“Why don’t you tell me and we’ll find out,” Seamus said.

Tristan forced himself to stand up. He might feel like a cowering child, but he at
least could act like a man. “I’m afraid.”

“Of what?” Seamus asked.

“Of life,” Tristan said, then laughed at the absurdity. “Of her. Of happiness.” Tristan
swept his hand through the air. “This is all I’ve known. What if I go with her only
to prove that I’m worthless without all the trappings and protections Bosque has always
provided?”

Seamus stood face-to-face with Tristan. “You’re afraid. But you want to go nonetheless?”

“I can’t lose her,” Tristan said. “That’s all that matters. Wherever she goes, I’ll
go.”

“A true coward never admits fear,” Seamus said. “Recognizing fear is the only way
to overcome it. You’ll be fine, lad.”

“Thanks . . . I think.” Tristan smiled at the wolf.

Seamus returned Tristan’s smile. “Don’t worry about what happens outside the island
until you’ve managed to find a way off it. The Guardians can help you fight, but the
leaving is another matter.”

“I know,” Tristan told him. “I don’t know how any of this can possibly work, but she’s
determined that it will.”

“Quite a remarkable lass you’ve found.” Seamus chuckled.

“I know,” Tristan replied. “Believe me. I know.”

As he rode back to the castle, Tristan was overwhelmed by a strange emotion that he
soon realized was contentment.

He laughed aloud, prompting a snort of suspicion from Ares.

“Don’t worry, lad.” Tristan leaned forward to pat the stallion’s neck. “I’m just surprised
to be so happy, given that I’m about to run away from home.”

That made Tristan laugh again, and Ares tossed his head, annoyed by his rider’s odd
behavior.

When they arrived at the stables, Tristan dismounted and led Ares toward the outbuilding
that held the horses’ stalls. Without warning, Ares gave a high-pitched whistle and
reared, almost tearing the reins out of Tristan’s hand.

Tristan wheeled around to face the panicked stallion. “Whoa. Easy, lad. What’s the
matter?”

“Some animals find my presence unsettling.”

The voice made Tristan’s heart seize up. Gripping the reins tight, Tristan turned
to face Bosque. The tall man blocked the entrance to the building and he was holding
a pitchfork. The sight was such a caricature of a devil lying in wait that Tristan
could have laughed if not for his horror.

“This is a surprise,” Tristan said, forcing a pleasant tone.

Bosque returned his smile. “I’m sure it is. Lana sent for me.”

“I figured as much.” Tristan’s mind was racing, scrambling for the right word or action
to prevent impending disaster.

“Have you also guessed why I’m here?” Bosque asked. His voice was soft as velvet,
but Tristan knew that meant only bad things lay ahead.

“My prisoner.” Better not to name her, Tristan thought. Better to project nonchalance,
indifference.

Tristan’s pulse bespoke his lack of indifference, barreling as it was through his
limbs, making him dizzy as blood rushed to his head and heart.

“Yes,” Bosque replied. “You have a Searcher in your house. I’ve met the girl. Quite
feisty, isn’t she?”

Tristan couldn’t stop himself from blanching, and Bosque tilted his head, regarding
his ward curiously.

“Tell me, Tristan,” Bosque said, “do you think it wise to give a Searcher free run
of the castle?”

“She’s being watched,” Tristan answered. “The Guardians—”

“Yes, yes,” Bosque interrupted. “I suppose she is on a short leash. And what she’s
done and seen here are of little concern to me.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Tristan stepped back to stroke Ares’s bowed neck. The stallion
was blowing hard and stomping his feet.

The poor creature is desperate to get away from Bosque.

“What I am concerned about,” Bosque said, “is Lana’s assessment of your feelings for
the Searcher.”

“Lana is jealous because I’ve been fucking the other girl.” Tristan tried to make
his tone as harsh as possible.

You have to play this off as a petty thing.

Bosque seemed to give Tristan’s assertion some consideration. After a few minutes,
he said, “Lana is a creature of impulse, and she could very well be swayed by jealousy.”

Holding Tristan’s gaze, Bosque continued, “But tell me, Tristan, what then are your
plans for this Searcher?”

“I hoped to gather information about the Searchers from her after she came to trust
me.” Tristan drew a quick breath. “I’ve found seduction to be a rewarding form of
entertainment.”

With a chuckle, Bosque said, “I suppose that’s fair.”

Tristan’s frenzied pulse began to ease. “You have nothing to worry about. I assure
you.”

Bosque nodded, drawing closer to Tristan. Ares jerked back on the reins and almost
pulled Tristan off his feet.

“Easy,” Tristan murmured to the horse, but kept his eyes on Bosque.

“I want to believe you, Tristan,” Bosque said, walking alongside Ares. “But I worry
that perhaps I’ve been too lax in my attention to you.”

“You’ve given me everything I could have ever wanted,” Tristan said quickly. “I’m
indebted to you.”

“Yes,” Bosque said. “You are. And you’ll pay that debt by continuing the legacy of
your grandmother Eira.”

“I intend to.” Tristan watched Bosque walk in a slow circle around Ares. He worried
that the stallion might strike at Bosque with his hooves, but Ares stood still, his
entire body quivering with fright. Lather had formed on his neck and shoulders. Tristan
had never seen the stallion in such a state.

“Good.” Having made a full turn around them, Bosque paused in front of Tristan and
Ares. “Because you’ve spoken the truth, Tristan. I have given you everything.”

“I know.” Tristan had the sudden urge to flee.

Bosque smiled slowly. “But I wonder if you don’t understand that I can also take things
away.”

Without warning, Bosque hefted the pitchfork and drove it into Ares’s chest. The stallion
squealed, rearing with such force that he ripped the reins from Tristan’s hand, tearing
skin off his palm.

Bosque struck again and again. Ares’s breath became wet wheezes. The stallion groaned,
falling to his knees and collapsing onto his side. Tristan stood paralyzed by disbelief
and anguish as he watched the horse drown in his own blood.

Tossing the bloodied pitchfork aside, Bosque said quietly, “That was a merciful death.
Your Searcher’s end will not be so swift if you disobey me.”

“What do you want me to do?” Tristan whispered, his voice hoarse.

“I’d be happy if you killed her,” Bosque replied. “But if your carnal appetites demand
she be available to you, I’ll allow it. However, she must become a true prisoner under
Lana and Owen’s guard. Do you understand?”

Tristan nodded. Ares had stopped moving. The stallion’s eyes had become flat and glassy.

“It’s time for you to accept your place in this world,” Bosque said. “Don’t disappoint
me, Tristan.”

“I won’t.”

And Bosque was gone.

Tristan stared at the dead horse for a long time. Turning his back on Ares, Tristan
walked away from the stable and toward the castle, knowing he could no longer escape
his fate.

Sarah stripped the covers from her bed, wrapped them around her body, and sat in front
of the fireplace. She couldn’t seem to get warm. It felt as if Bosque’s presence had
taken her body temperature down several degrees. Gazing into the ruddy glow of the
flames, Sarah tried to rid her mind of Bosque’s words.

That is Tristan’s work.

The Harbinger used words like an expert torturer used a knife, cutting but not killing—maximizing
pain without taking life.

The sound of the door opening made Sarah jump to her feet in alarm.