The Captive

Amanda
Ashley

Blush Sensuality Level: This is
a suggestive romance (love scenes are not graphic).

Falkon’s life has gone downhill
fast. He’s lost his family and his former life, all to be a slave working in
the mines. But when Ashlynn, the spoiled master’s daughter, gets him in her
sights, he is soon brought to her father’s house to work. When they are forced
to flee from the house after an attack, they are left alone to find a way off
the planet. But Ashlynn’s control over Falkon soon slips away when they can’t
find their attraction to each other anymore.

A Blush®
historical romance
from Ellora’s Cave

The first time Lady Ashlynne Myrafloures saw the prisoner
who would be known as Number Four, he was nearly naked, lying face down in an
ever-widening pool of his own blood. She could not see his face, covered as it
was by a tangled mat of long black hair. His back was a broad expanse of
bronzed flesh, most of it laid open by the lash. A dirty bandage, stiff with
dried blood, was knotted around his right thigh.

She watched in horrified fascination as three of the mine’s
biggest guards fought to hold the prisoner down while a fourth guard attempted
to collar him.

Stubbornly, and surely knowing he could not win, the
prisoner struggled to fight them off, his fingers digging into the hard ground
for purchase, his whole body trembling violently with the effort it cost him to
resist.

Stay down
. The plea was a silent cry in Ashlynne’s
throat.
Please, just stay down
.

But he didn’t stay down. He went still for a brief moment
and she could almost see him gathering his strength; then, with a feral scream
of pain and rage, the prisoner surged to his feet, every muscle taut and
quivering with the effort, his eyes blazing with defiance as he made a last
desperate attempt for freedom.

She cringed as Dain plied the whip with stunning, terrifying
accuracy.

The sinuous strip of thick black Parthian leather whistled
through the air, laying open the skin on the prisoner’s left cheek. It was a
cruel weapon, that lash. Her father had often spoken of Dain’s skill. Dain
wielded it with an expert hand, her father boasted, able to flay a man’s back
to the bone, or flick a fly from a karu-atar’s ear, with equal skill. She had
always thought her father was exaggerating, but no more.

As many times as she had heard of Dain’s whip, this was the
first time she had seen it in action. There were other, less barbaric, more
refined methods of inflicting punishment, but her father had always maintained
that there was nothing quite so painful, or so devastating to a man’s pride, as
an old-fashioned flogging carried out in public. It was also, he had once
asserted, a remarkably effective deterrent to those who were made to watch.

To her horror, she knew her father was right.

“Dain! Enough!” Parah, chief overseer of the mine, strode
into view.

Looking disappointed, Dain let the whip fall to his side.

In the end, as she had known he would, the prisoner lost the
battle. She couldn’t help but admire his courage even as she wondered at his
wisdom. Certainly he had known he could not win; certainly it would have been
far less painful to simply submit to the inevitable.

Humbled and bloody, he fought until they forced him down to
the ground where they held him down, spread-eagled on his stomach. A hoarse
scream of outrage erupted from his throat as a heavy
lynaziam
collar as
wide as the span of her hand was locked around his neck; lynaziam manacles were
also fitted to his wrists and ankles.

He would soon learn the folly of further resistance, she
thought sadly. Dain had only to activate the controller in his hand to bring
Number Four to heel. Pressure applied to the top of the control panel would
send blinding pain searing through every nerve and sinew of the prisoner’s
body; if depressed three times in rapid succession, the result was a slow,
agonizing death. Pressure applied to the sides of the controller activated the
magnets located within the manacles on the captive’s wrists and ankles.
Pressure to the left side would cause the thick bands on his wrists to snap
together, turning them into unbreakable handcuffs; pressure applied to the
right side of the controller brought the shackles around his ankles together,
effectively hobbling his feet so that he could neither walk nor run. No man
alive possessed the strength to force the manacles apart once they had been
activated.

She had been told the cruel restraints quickly brought even
the most recalcitrant of prisoners to heel.

There was one more indignity for him to endure. She heard
Parah shout “Number Four” and Dain came forward carrying a glowing brand.

A hoarse cry of pain emerged from the prisoner’s throat as a
large number four was seared into the flesh of his left arm, high up, near his
shoulder, and then he was jerked to his feet.

Sickened by what she had seen, Ashlynne was about to turn
away, intent on hurrying back to the peace and safety of the
jinan
, when
the prisoner looked up. She drew back, her heart pounding. She was not supposed
to be down here, would surely be punished if her presence were made known. Had
he seen her?

She peered around the tree she was hiding behind, and his
gaze locked on hers. The power of that look, the sheer fury of it, held her
spellbound, like a rabbit caught in a trap. She could not determine the color
of his eyes, but she could feel them boring into her, as hard as the rocks
scattered upon the seashore. Tortured eyes that burned into her and through
her, making her suddenly ashamed of the soft blue velvet of her dress, the
white ribbon in her hair, the unblemished gloves upon her unblemished hands.
Ashamed because it was the endless toil of men like this one who provided the
funds for the outrageously expensive clothing she wore, the fine house in which
she had lived her whole life, the very food she ate.

Why had she come here?

She wanted to turn away, to run away, but his gaze held her
fast. Never, in all her life, had anyone looked at her as this man was looking
at her. Never! She was Ashlynne, daughter of Lady Jadeleine and Lord Marcus
Myrafloures. She was accustomed to being treated with deference and respect.
But this man, this dirty, bleeding criminal, looked at her with open contempt,
as if she were some form of dirt to be shaken from the soles of his feet.

And then Parah activated the collar around the prisoner’s
neck. With a strangled cry of pain, the slave now known as Number Four dropped
to the ground, hands scrabbling at his neck, his body writhing in agony as the
lynaziam
collar sent hundreds of short, sharp electrical currents jolting through him.

With a soft cry of dismay, Ashlynne lifted her skirts and
ran up the path toward home.

* * * * *

“‘Tis very quiet you are this evening,” Jadeleine remarked
at dinner that night. “Is something amiss, my daughter?”

Ashlynne had been toying with the food on her plate. She
looked up at the sound of her mother’s voice. Jadeleine wore a gown of emerald
green that matched her eyes and complimented her complexion. Her hair, a shade
darker than Ashlynne’s, was short and curly. As always, she looked beautiful,
calm, serene.

Ashlynne shook her head.”No, nothing’s wrong,” she replied
politely.

“You look quite pale,” her father said. “Are you ill?”

“I’m fine, Father. Truly.” Ashlynne pursed her lips and then
said, in a rush, “Magny mentioned that some new rebel slaves were transported
from Romariz today. She said they were rebels from Daccar and Riga Twelve, and
quite fierce.”

Jadeleine and Marcus exchanged troubled glances.

“Indeed?” Marcus lifted one brow, his displeasure at
learning that Ashlynne had been gossiping with the overseer’s daughter clearly
reflected in that simple gesture.

Ashlynne nodded. Magny was Parah’s only child. It was from
Magny that Ashlynne learned all the latest gossip from the mine and the city.
Her parents disapproved of Magny. She was a year and a half older than
Ashlynne. Her parents considered Magny wild and willful and a bad influence,
but she was the only other girl in the area close to Ashlynne’s age.

“I had no idea you were interested in what went on at the
mine,” her father said, looking somewhat amused. “But if you must know, several
slaves did arrive this morning.”

“In good health?” Ashlynne asked, and then wished she had
not. In all the years they had lived here, she had never before shown any
interest in the captured rebel prisoners who were sent to toil in the mines.

She could see by the expression in her father’s eyes that he
was thinking the same thing. “Those who survived the journey arrived in
moderate health,” he replied.

Moderate health, Ashlynne mused, remembering the bloody
bandage on Number Four’s leg.

“How many did we lose?” Jadeleine asked. Business was rarely
discussed at meal times, but tonight seemed to be an exception.

“Only three. Two died of a fever while on board ship. One
attacked an officer and was terminated. The remaining six will be put to work
after they’ve been quarantined.”

With all of the modern technology at their command, ore from
the mine was still dug out of the ground by human labor. Ashlynne had never
wondered why until now. Surely robots could do the work faster and more
efficiently. There had been a time when robots and androids had been used for
practically everything. Ashlynne had been glad when their popularity died. She
had never liked them. Soulless creatures, their presence in the
jinan
had made her feel uncomfortable.

She looked up, about to question her father, when she
realized he was studying her intently. He was a tall, handsome man. His dark
brown hair was sprinkled with gray, his eyes were blue. Some claimed he was
austere and unforgiving, but she had never known him to be so. True, he was
strict at times, but never cruel. In addition to his responsibilities as owner
of the mine, he had held the highest seat of power in the Tierdian government.
Because of his wisdom and his diplomatic skills, Tierde had been at peace for
the past twelve years.

She smiled at him. It wouldn’t do to ask any more questions
about the prisoners, she thought, not now. He must never know she had gone
riding outside the compound, snooping in places she had been forbidden to go.

Ashlynne turned her attention to her dinner while her
parents resumed their conversation. She stared at her plate, made of fine
china, at the heavy silver flatware, the elegant candlesticks in the center of
the table, the fragile crystal glassware that glistened in the candlelight. Her
plate was filled with a variety of steamed vegetables, fluffy brown rice and
fresh fruit and she wondered, for the first time, what type of fare the mine
slaves received. Funny, she had never wondered about that before. Never
wondered, or cared, until now.

Magny had told her the most recent batch of prisoners were
mercenaries who had been captured fighting against the Romarian cause, and that
most of the captives were from Daccar. The inhabitants of that distant planet
were a dark-haired, dark-skinned race, rumored to be barbaric in the extreme,
and said to be enemies to all but their own kind.

After dinner, Ashlynne followed her parents into the back
parlor. She sat down at the piano, playing softly, while her mother and father
discussed mine business. Tierde was the last free planet in the quadrant that
produced
baneite
, the rare black
baneite
crystals which were a
primary source of power for the starships of Romariz, Tierde, and Riga Twelve,
as well as several of the other Confederation planets.

Her fingers moved over the keyboard effortlessly, hardly
aware of the tune she played, her thoughts focusing on Number Four, as they had
ever since the moment she had first seen him. She had rarely seen any of the slaves
close up, save for the ones who occasionally worked inside the compound. If
Magny had not dared her, Ashlynne knew she would never have found the courage
to venture down to the landing bay. Her father had forbidden her to go anywhere
near the place, and now she knew why. She wished, suddenly, that she had
listened.

Leaving the piano, she went outside. The twin moons of
Tierde lit her way as she walked along the narrow footpath that led to the far
side of the yard.

She stared up at the moons. It was the Term of Tranquils.
Riasna shone a pale pale-blue at this time of year. Brell was a golden amber.
Legend had it that Brell and Riasna had been lovers. When Riasna died, her soul
had gone to live in the sky. Unable to live without her, Brell had hurled himself
from a cliff. In taking his own life, he had angered one of the ancient gods,
who had decreed that, because Brell had done that which was forbidden, he would
be cursed to spend all of eternity pursuing his love, able to catch her only
four times each year at the beginning of each new Term.

When she reached the back wall, she climbed up on a large
flat rock. Standing on tiptoe, she peered over the top of the wall. Far below,
she could see the ocean, the light of the twin moons shining on the water, playing
in the waves that tumbled over the shore. And near the ocean, the mine, and the
squat shapes that were the mine’s outbuildings. Number Four. She pressed her
hand to her left arm, trying to imagine the pain he had endured as they burned
his flesh. He was down there somewhere, huddled in one of the small stone cells
that housed the slaves.

What was he thinking? Was he one of the rebels? Had he left
a family behind? Magny had told her that some of the prisoners refused to
adapt, refused to obey. Rebellious and unmanageable, they were terminated,
their bodies tossed into the endless depths of the sea. Would Number Four be
one of those, an intractable creature who would chose death over servitude?

Jumping lightly from the rock, she wandered through the gardens,
pausing to admire the way the moons’ light shimmered on the water in the small
pool at the base of the waterfall. The garden was like a faerie place, with its
tall gray-green ferns and the profusion of colorful flowers.

With a sigh, she returned to the house. Her parents were in
the main room, reading to each other as they often did in the evening. They
shared everything…the running of the mine, a love of books and birds and
science.

She watched them a moment and then, feeling as though she
were intruding, Ashlynne bid them goodnight and went upstairs to her room.