Captive (10 page)

What an adventure this will be.
Full of a deep satisfaction he’d never experienced before that moment, Tristan pulled
a random volume from one of the shelves. Flipping to the title page, he discovered
that fate chanced to give him an 1885 edition of
The Book of a Thousand Nights and a Night
.

Laughing quietly to himself, Tristan settled into a chair and began to read.

THE TEA MOIRA
prepared proved much more comforting than Sarah had imagined it would be. Steam curled
from the porcelain cup as Moira hovered nearby.

“Can I get you anything else, miss? Biscuits. A scone?”

“This is fine, Moira,” Sarah replied. “I’ve been told I’m expected for dinner.”

“Yes, miss.” Moira went to one of the armoires. “Do you know which gown you’d like
to wear?”

Sarah glanced down at the sweater and leggings she was wearing. “What’s wrong with
this?”

“Nothing, miss.” Moira tittered, opening the armoire. “But you’ll be expected to dress
for dinner.”

“And will Tristan be wearing a gown as well?” Sarah asked bitterly.

Moira giggled, and Sarah gave her a pointed look.

“Master Tristan will likely wear a suit to dinner,” Moira explained. “That’s his custom
when he entertains guests.”

“I am not a guest!” Sarah set her teacup down with a bit too much force, and its saucer
clattered on the silver tray. “I’m a prisoner. Doesn’t anyone in this castle understand
how different those two things are?”

Inching away from the hanging gowns, Moira ducked her head. “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t
mean to upset you.”

“Don’t apologize, Moira.” Sarah rubbed her temples. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you.
None of this is your fault.”

“I’m instructed to give you anything that will make you more comfortable,” Moira offered
meekly. “You’re meant to enjoy your time here, miss.”

Sarah had to grit her teeth to keep from snapping at the girl again. Her brief interaction
with Tristan had left her deeply unsettled. She wasn’t simply a prisoner in this castle;
she worried she might be at the mercy of a psychopath.

You grow to like it here and decide to stay.

The mere suggestion of such an outcome was preposterous, but more disturbing had been
the smooth confidence with which Tristan had spoken, as if what he’d said was perfectly
reasonable.

I’d say it’s your best option. You get to survive.

Had he meant it as a threat? Or was it just a twisted joke, a way of telling her that
she wouldn’t leave the island alive?

Who the hell is he? Why would he ever want me to stay?

“Are you unwell, miss?” Moira asked.

Sarah didn’t answer. She had to pull herself together. If Tristan intended a slow,
cruel unraveling of her sanity, she couldn’t succumb to fear. That he could make her
quail even a little infuriated Sarah.

Seizing upon that flare of outrage, Sarah stood up and went to the armoire. She would
beat the Keeper at his own game. And then some.

“I’m fine, Moira. Help me find a dress.”

When a knock sounded at the door several hours later, Moira was close to swooning
from giddiness.

“Oh, miss, oh, miss. You’re so lovely!”

Sarah gave Moira an indulgent smile. For the girl, Sarah’s gown represented a beautiful
dream of romance and luxury, but Sarah knew she was about to do battle of a different
kind. Silk would simply be her armor this evening.

Moira skipped across the room to answer the door. Sarah couldn’t help but wonder if
there were any other girls or boys near Moira’s age in the castle. The girl had shown
such enthusiasm when helping to pick a gown for the evening, Sarah suspected that
Moira was starved for female companionship.

“Oh!” Moira’s cry yanked Sarah out of her musing and brought her attention to the
figure at her bedroom door.

Though she didn’t voice her surprise, Sarah had expected Tristan to appear. Instead
the Guardian Seamus stepped into the room. He nodded politely at Sarah.

“I’ll escort you to dinner now.”

Sarah noted that Seamus hadn’t made a request, but she offered him a smile. “Of course.”

Moira curtsied when Sarah swept past her. “I’ll lay your nightgown out and turn the
bed down, miss.”

“Thank you, Moira.”

Seamus walked stiffly and remained silent as they passed through the castle halls,
so Sarah took the opportunity to make up for the tour she’d ended so abruptly.

From what she could surmise, only one additional room occupied the castle’s uppermost
floor beyond those she’d already seen.

They descended a narrow stone staircase until they reached Castle Tierney’s ground
floor. Sarah hadn’t given much thought to how hungry she was until rich scents wafted
through the air and made her mouth water.

“The kitchens,” Seamus jerked his head toward a door to their right. “The dining hall
is this way.”

He turned to the left toward a set of double doors. Seamus pulled one open and gestured
for Sarah to enter. She stepped into the dining hall and heard the door shut at her
back. The room stretched, long and narrow, the full length of the castle’s ground
floor.

The dining hall’s central feature was a table nearly as long as the hall itself, large
enough to seat two dozen people for a feast. This evening, however, only two places
had been set: one at the head of the table, the other to the right of the first. The
table linens and fine china were the only signs that the room expected guests that
evening.

Sarah was alone.

She walked the length of the table, trailing her finger along the mahogany surface,
which had been polished to a mirror shine. Flames licked across kindling and logs
that had been carefully laid in the fireplace set into the outer wall, casting a warm
glow throughout the room.

Sarah heard the door open and turned. Tristan strode into the room but halted abruptly
when he saw her standing alongside the table. He’d changed from jeans and a button-down
shirt into a dark, slim-cut, three-piece suit. Sarah might have found the look pretentious,
but Tristan had neglected to wear a tie, instead leaving his shirt collar open.

While he stood very still, watching her, two thoughts jumped to the fore of Sarah’s
mind. The first: that she’d picked the perfect dress for her intentions that evening.
The silk charmeuse gown draped beautifully over her figure, its bias cut clinging
to her curves. The midnight blue of the fabric highlighted the contrast of her dark
hair and pale skin.

And Tristan couldn’t take his eyes off her.

The second thought battling for her attention was that, once again, Sarah had become
captivated by how strikingly beautiful Tristan was. Lean and tall, he exuded a strength
that was graceful rather than brutish. The firelight emphasized the golden undertones
of his skin and the honeyed shade of his light-brown hair. His gaze was riveted on
Sarah, and she observed the clench of his jaw, the tension in his lips.

Rather than greet him, Sarah turned away and was rewarded by the sound of his sharp
intake of breath when he met with the sight of bare skin revealed by her backless
gown. Sarah preferred to wage war with her daggers, but in this place her blades weren’t
an option and her adversary had elected to meet her on a different field of engagement.
She’d never used seduction as means to an end, but with little else to draw upon Sarah
had determined it was her best path to freedom. Tristan was a Keeper, but at the end
of the day he was also still a man.

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.