The Captive (21 page)

Niklaus didn’t reply as he turned and walked away.

“Dammit, Ashlynne, don’t you ever go down on your knees to
that bastard again.”

“It was worth it.” She reached for him through the bars, her
arms wrapping around his waist. “I told him I didn’t want to marry him. I even
told him about the baby, but he said it doesn’t matter, we’re getting married
as planned.”

“And if you refuse?”

She looked up at him, the answer there in her eyes.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s what I thought.”

“I can’t let him kill you.”

“He will anyway. You must know that.”

“No!”

With a sigh, he lowered his head and kissed her. His lips
moved over hers. Sweet, so sweet.

She looked up at him when he drew away, her eyes searching
his. “Falkon…”

“Do what he wants, Ashlynne. Don’t defy him. It will only
cause you pain and unhappiness.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want you to forget about me when you walk out that door.
You have the baby to think of now. Nothing else matters.”

“You can’t mean that!”

“I’ve brought you nothing but trouble, princess. You’ll be
better off without me.”

“That’s not true!”

He placed his hand over her belly. “Take care of yourself.
And the little one. Don’t give him any reason to hurt either of you.”

He backed away from her, and she reached for him, tears
streaming down her cheeks. “Falkon!”

“Ready, my dear?”

She froze at the sound of Niklaus’ voice behind her. Heart
aching, she looked at Falkon. “I love you.” She mouthed the words, blinking
back her tears as Niklaus took her by the arm and led her away.

Falkon stared after Ashlynne, knowing he would never see her
again. Hassrick had informed him that the three of them would be returning to Tierde
immediately after the wedding. Hassrick would take over the running of the
mine. Falkon’s fate would be decided by Drade.

He laughed softly. His fate had been decided long ago.

Ashlynne moved through the next few days like a sleepwalker.
She was nauseous in the morning, tired all the time. Every time she thought of
Falkon, locked up in a cold dark cell, she wanted to cry. And she did cry.
Constantly. She wept for him, for herself, for her unborn child, for the loss
of her parents, who would never see their grandchild. Hassrick had little
patience with her tears. Sometimes, when he looked at her, she was certain he
hated her.

She counted the days until the wedding, trying desperately
to think of a way to make him change his mind. Unable to sleep, she prowled the
house in the dark of night. One night she had gone down to the dungeon in hopes
of seeing Falkon, but the door had been locked. She had spent an hour punching
random numbers into the keypad, hoping she might hit the right sequence, but to
no avail. Defeated, she had returned to her room and cried herself to sleep.

Her initial dislike for Niklaus was quickly turning to hate.
She had no choice but to accede to anything he desired, knowing that, if she
refused, Falkon would be made to suffer for her disobedience.

There were parties and gatherings almost every night in the
month before the wedding. Ashlynne would have much preferred to stay in her
room. She was nauseous almost constantly and wanted nothing more than to stay
in bed and be left alone. Niklaus was coldly unsympathetic. He didn’t care that
food and wine made her sick to her stomach or that dancing made her dizzy.
Putting up a good appearance was everything to Niklaus. She was his fiancée,
and she must play the part, must pretend she was happy, eager to wed Niklaus.
She must smile and laugh as if her whole world wasn’t falling apart. Dance with
Niklaus’ friends. Listen politely to conversation that bored her to tears. Be
agreeable to his mother, respectful to his father.

The days passed quickly, too quickly. And soon the day of
the wedding was upon her.

Ashlynne looked at herself in the mirror, and grimaced. The
dress Zahara had chosen was green. Puke green, she thought, with a short,
matching veil and soft-soled slippers.

A short time later, she stood beside Niklaus, fighting the
urge to vomit as she spoke the words that made her his wife. It was like a
nightmare, only worse. There would be no waking up from this one. Tomorrow and
tomorrow she would still belong to Niklaus.

It would have been the happiest day of her life if the man
standing beside her had been Falkon.

Falkon. Pain twisted through her heart whenever she thought
of him. She had begged Niklaus to let her see him again, but he had adamantly
refused. The last time she had asked, he had threatened to activate the
controller if she bothered him about “that man” again.

And now she was Mrs. Niklaus Hassrick. She stood in his
arms, stiff and unyielding, he lifted her veil and claimed his first kiss as
her lord and husband.

“Smile.” He hissed the word at her as they left the church.

She did as he told her, smiling and laughing like a robot as
she accepted the congratulations of those who had been invited to the wedding.

Later, she sat beside him at the lavish twelve course dinner
that followed the ceremony, danced the first dance with him, the second with
her new father-in-law. She accepted more congratulations and good wishes, and
all the while she was dying inside.

It was near dawn when the party ended. Exhausted and sick at
heart, Ashlynne followed Niklaus up the stairs to his chambers, which occupied
the third floor of the house.

She stood in the middle of the sitting room. It was a
masculine room, decorated in shades of dark brown and rust. There was a tele-screen
on one wall, a shelf filled with old books and an antique clock. There was a
large basket of fruit and a bottle of champagne on the marble topped table
beside the sofa.

“Sit down, my dear,” Niklaus said. He removed his jacket and
tossed it over the back of a chair.

She sat on the edge of the luxurious leather couch, unable
to still the trembling in her hands.

Niklaus sat down across from her. Opening the wine, he
poured a glass and handed it to her.

She didn’t want it, but she drank it anyway, hoping it would
calm her nerves.

“Relax, my dear.” He leaned back, his legs stretched before
him, one arm flung over the back of the chair. “You needn’t worry. I’ve no
intention of bedding you.”

Her surprise must have shown on her face, for he laughed
softly. “I’m afraid I’ve no taste for another man’s leavings.”

“Then why did you marry me?”

“All in good time, my dear. You look tired. Why don’t you go
to bed?”

She didn’t question him, didn’t care at that moment why he
had he had been so determined to marry her. All she wanted was to be alone. She
put her glass on the table and stood up, then hesitated. “Where should I
sleep?”

“Never let it be said that my manners are lacking where my
new bride is concerned. Please, take my bed. I’ll use the couch.”

With a nod, she left the room.

* * * * *

Falkon paced the dark cell. Today was Ashlynne’s wedding
day. Hassrick had visited him earlier to make sure he knew.

He stared into the darkness, wondering if Hassrick intended
to leave him down here in isolation until he went slowly insane.

Weeks and weeks of darkness, relieved only when one of the
servants brought his meals. Oppressive darkness, so heavy at times he felt like
it was smothering him. Nothing to see. Nothing to do. He had lost track of
time, didn’t know if it was day or night. Only the arrival of food broke the
endless monotony, and even then he was left to eat in darkness.

It was her wedding day. Was she alone with her new husband
now? Sharing his bed? The thought burned through, eating at his soul like acid.
She was his. His, dammit! She carried his child. What right did Hassrick have
to marry her?

He drove his fist into the wall again and again, a wordless
cry of jealousy and rage rising in his throat, emptying into the darkness.

The sound of his own scream jolted him back to sanity. Pain
exploded through his hand, up his arm. He cradled his wounded hand, feeling the
warmth of his blood fill his palm. Stupid, he thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Filled with bitter despair, he sank down on the cot and
closed his eyes. Ashlynne, forever lost to him.

* * * * *

Her hands were still trembling as she removed her wedding
gown. In spite of Niklaus’ declaration that he didn’t want her, she had locked
the door.

Naked, she stood in front of the mirror, one hand splayed
across her belly. Falkon’s child was in there. Falkon. She closed her eyes,
wondering if she would ever see him again. Niklaus intended to use Falkon to
keep her in line. She stared at her reflection, her eyes widening as a new
thought occurred to her. She would do what Niklaus asked, but with one proviso.
She would insist on seeing Falkon. She would tell Niklaus that she had to see
Falkon so that she would know he was still alive. She would insist on seeing
him once a week, just to make sure.

The thought of seeing Falkon again made her smile. She had
thought of him all day, wished it had been him standing beside her when she
spoke her vows.

Slipping on the pale blue nightgown Zahara had chosen for
her bridal night, Ashlynne crawled under the covers and closed her eyes, and in
her mind Falkon was there beside her, his arms warm around her, his eyes dark
with desire…

* * * * *

She woke to find her bags packed and breakfast waiting.

“You’ll have to hurry,” Hassrick said. “Our flight leaves in
an hour.”

She blinked up at him. He hadn’t made any mention of a
honeymoon, nor did she want one. “Where are we going?”

“Tierde.”

“Today?”

He nodded. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

“Wait.” She sat up, holding the covers over her breasts.
“What about Number Four?”

“What about him?”

“Is he going with us?”

“No.”

“I won’t go without him.”

“You are my wife now,” he reminded her. “And you will do as
I say.”

“He belongs to me, and I won’t go without him.”

He regarded her thoughtfully for several moments, and then
nodded. “Perhaps it would be wise to bring him along. Hurry now.”

* * * * *

Falkon blinked against the morning light. For the first time
in months, he was outside again. He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs
with the scent of fresh air, of earth and grass. He didn’t know what Hassrick
had planned for him, and at the moment, he didn’t care as long as it got him
out of that dark hole.

A shuttle waited in front of the house. Hassrick’s
bodyguards stood nearby.

One of them opened the back door and motioned Falkon inside.

He glanced over his shoulder at Hassrick. “Where are we
going?”

“Get in.”

“Where’s Ashlynne?” he asked, then reeled back as Hassrick
struck him across the face, the heavy ring on his left hand slicing into his
cheek.

“You will not speak my wife’s name again,” Hassrick said.
“Now, do as you were told.”

Anger boiled up inside Falkon. There was little he could do
with his hands shackled, yet he had an overpowering urge to try, and only the
sight of Ashlynne coming down the stairs kept him from attacking. By Jupiter’s
rings, she looked like an angel. She wore a dress of some clingy pink material
that outlined every curve. Her hair was coiled atop her head and held in place
by a jeweled clip; one long curl fell over her shoulder.

She stopped near Hassrick. “What’s going on?” she asked,
nodding in Falkon’s direction. “What happened to him?”

“A little discipline is all,” Hassrick retorted. “Get in.
We’re late.”

One of the bodyguards shoved Falkon into the backseat and
sat down beside him. The second bodyguard took the other side. Hassrick
activated the shackles on his feet.

Moments later, they were speeding through the city toward
the space dock.

* * * * *

Ashlynne settled herself in her seat. Pulling a palm-sized
portareader from her pocket, she selected a book and pretended to read, but the
words on the screen were a blur. She was going home, only her home was gone,
her parents were gone, and she was as much a prisoner as Falkon. She had dared
not protest when Hassrick locked him in the cargo hold. She could still see the
angry cut on his cheek, the blood dripping from the wound, the barely
restrained anger in his eyes. She had to be careful, for both of them.

The Hassrick cruiser was sleek and fast. Hassrick rode up
front, with the pilot, leaving her blessedly alone.

Now that it was too late, it occurred to her that she might
have made a serious mistake in insisting Falkon go with them to Tierde. In her
anxiety to have Falkon with her, she had forgotten that Drade was waiting on
Tierde.

They arrived at Enjine Base Nine late that night. Hassrick
had called ahead and made arrangements for a room. Ashlynne bit back her
protest when Falkon was taken to the detention level, telling herself it would
only be for one night.

Their room was small, just a bedroom with bathing facilities
adjoining, nothing like Commander Casman’s lavish quarters. She undressed in
the bathroom, then slipped under the covers of one of the twin beds.

She could hear Hassrick’s voice coming from the bathroom,
though she couldn’t distinguish the words. She wondered who he was talking to
so late, but she didn’t really care. Tomorrow they would be back at the mine.
She didn’t want to see it again, didn’t want to be reminded of what had
happened there, of all she had lost.

With a sigh, she burrowed under the covers and closed her
eyes, wondering if the nightmare would ever end.

The mine looked much as she remembered. The buildings which
had been destroyed had been replaced. There was a new domicile for the mine
manager; new cells for the slaves. For there were slaves. Almost a dozen of
them.

The slaves emerged from the bowels of the mine just as they
arrived, eleven men fitted with the heavy collars that marked them as slaves,
their faces and bodies covered with layers of fine black
baneite
dust.

The prisoners came out of the mine one by one and made their
way to the cells, looking neither right nor left. It bothered her, their
complete lack of interest in what was going on around them.

A guard trailed behind them, closing the cell doors, which
locked automatically.

She slid a glance at Falkon, who was standing beside her,
his hands securely shackled. She could feel the tension radiating from him as
he contemplated returning to the mine. She had pleaded with Niklaus to let
Falkon work up at the house, but he had adamantly refused.

“We have servants,” he had replied coldly. “We don’t need a
dirty slave.”

She heard Falkon swear softly, turned to follow his gaze.

A tall man with cropped brown hair and pale brown eyes was
striding toward them. He moved with the pride and arrogance that seemed to be
characteristic of all military men, whatever their allegiance.

She recognized him immediately as the man she had seen
interviewed on the tele-screen. Drade. The man behind the attack on Falkon’s
home.

A smile broke over Drade’s face when he saw Falkon.
“Niklaus!” he exclaimed. “You’ll get a fat reward for bringing him in.”

Hassrick grinned as he shook the other man’s hand. “I’m
counting on it.”

Drade laughed good-naturedly. “You should have it by the end
of the week. Not that you need it.”

“Excuse me,” Ashlynne said, “but Number Four belongs to me.”

Niklaus glared at her.

Drade lifted one brow. “And who is this?”

“My wife. Ashlynne, this is Drade. He’s been looking after
the mine.”

“Ah, Lady Hassrick, it is indeed a pleasure to meet you.”

“Number Four belongs to my family.”

Drade smiled expansively. “Be that as it may, he’s an
escaped slave.”

“How can that be,” she asked quietly, “seeing as how he is
here?”

Drade looked at Hassrick and grinned. “A good point.”

“He was never an escaped slave,” Ashlynne said. “When we
were attacked, he escorted me to safety. I would not be here today if it
weren’t for his loyalty and devotion. I will not have him executed.”

Niklaus took Drade aside. Ashlynne could not hear their
words, but she had the feeling that Niklaus was telling Drade that it was
necessary to keep Falkon alive.

“Very well,” Drade said. “We’ll pretend he’s not here.” He
clapped Niklaus on the back. “I’m afraid that means you can’t claim the reward.”

Niklaus’ smile seemed to fade a little around the edge as he
muttered, “As you said, I don’t need it.”

“Indeed.”

A look that could only be called conspiratorial passed
between the two men.

“Well,” Niklaus said, “we’ll leave him in your capable hands.”

“Don’t worry about Number Four,” Drade replied. “I’ll take
good care of him.”

Was it her imagination, or was there a very real threat in
those words? But she had no time to wonder. Taking her by the arm, Niklaus led
her to a waiting shuttle and hurried her inside.

She looked out the window, her gaze lingering on Falkon,
wondering if she would ever see him again.

* * * * *

Ashlynne stared at the house, unable to believe her eyes.
“How?” she asked. “When?”

“Men working round the clock,” Hassrick replied.

She shook her head. A new house stood where hers had been. A
bigger house, three stories high, surrounded by a high wall.

The windows were of Hodorian stained glass, very rare, very
expensive. The grounds were landscaped with exotic plants and flowering shrubs.
A large swimming pool had replaced the lake she had loved. She saw a new barn
in the distance.

“Well, shall we go in?”

She nodded, amazed that he had built a house so quickly. He
had hired a staff, too, a cook, a maid, a housekeeper, someone to tend the
grounds, a groom to look after the three horses that had been sent ahead. She
nodded as he introduced her to the staff. The cook was a grim-faced man named
Ogger, the housekeeper looked like she had just graduated from school. She was
young and pretty, with long red hair and slanted brown eyes. Ashlynne wondered,
fleetingly, if Hana was there to do more than tidy up the place.

Niklaus followed her as she went from room to room. It was a
large spacious house, beautifully furnished, but she knew it would never be
home. She remembered her parents’ house, the cozy fireplace, the sense of
security she had known there. Her bedroom had been filled with the treasures of
her youth. She felt old now, lost and alone.

Her rooms were located on the south end of the second floor.
His were at the other end of the house.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Niklaus said. “Drade will be
joining us.”

With a nod, she closed the door to her room. The tears came
then, hot swift tears that did nothing to ease the ache in her heart.

* * * * *

Falkon stood at the door of his cell, staring out into the
compound. The new cells were no better than the old ones. They were just as
small, just as dark. The only improvement was that he now had a hard narrow cot
to sleep on instead of a hard dirt floor. Of all the rotten luck, he thought
bitterly. Not only was he back at the mine, but Drade was in charge, at least
temporarily.

Drade, who strutted around like some little tin god. Drade,
who was sure to make his life a living hell. A living hell that started at dawn
the following morning.

Breakfast was the same as always: a hunk of dark bread, a
bowl of gruel, and a cup of the hot bitter brew so dear to the heart of the
Romarians.

He was given a quarter of an hour to eat and relieve
himself, and then the manacles on his wrists were activated and he was ordered
out of his cell. When all the slaves were assembled, they were herded into the
mine.

He kept his face carefully blank as he passed Drade and
ducked into the shaft’s opening.

The underground cavern was enormous, lit here and there by
small lamps that offered only enough light to work by. The black crystals, so
precious to the Confederation, did not come easy. The ground was broken with a
pulse axe, and then the crystals were dug out of the earth by hand. It was
dirty, back-breaking work. The crystals were large and heavy, yet for all that,
they were amazingly fragile.

The slaves toiled in the mine from dawn ‘til noon, at which
time they were given a break for the mid-day meal, and then it was back to work
until dark. Seven days a week. A world without sun, without warmth. Without
her.

During the next two days, he watched the comings and goings
of the guards. There were fewer now than there had been before. As far as he
could tell, there were only four guards on the premises; two who watched over
the prisoners while they toiled in the mine, and two who patrolled the compound
at night.

He had been in the mine just over a week when one of the
slaves went berserk. With an inhuman shriek, he hurled himself at one of the
guards. The results were immediate, and fatal.

The slave dropped to the ground, writhing in agony. A shrill
scream erupted from his throat as pain shot through his body while the collar
around his throat slowly strangled the life from his body.

The guard pointed at Falkon. “You. Haul his carcass out of
here.”

Wordlessly, Falkon grasped the dead man by the ankles and
dragged him out of the mine. Emerging from the bowels of the cavern, he paused
a moment, basking in the warmth of the sun on his face.

“What’s going on?”

Squinting against the sunlight, Falkon saw Drade striding
toward him.

“I asked you a question, Number Four.”

“See for yourself.”

Drade grimaced as he glanced at the dead man. “What
happened?”

Falkon shrugged. “He attacked a guard.”

Drade grunted, then gestured toward the bridge. “Get going.
We’ll dump him in the ocean.”

Resisting the urge to refuse, Falkon slung the dead man’s
body over his shoulder and headed for the gate. Drade punched in the code and
the heavy iron gate swung open.

It was a quarter of a mile to the ocean. He was sweating
profusely by the time they reached the water. A natural dock formed by a long
finger of land extended about twenty yards into the surf. Falkon carried the
body to the end of the jetty and dumped it into the water. He stood there a
moment, feeling the spray on his face, wondering what his chances were of
overcoming Drade and making a break for the jungle.

He cursed as Drade activated the manacles on his hands. The
man was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid.

Turning, Falkon walked back to the beach. “Why?” he asked.
“Why did Hodore attack the mine? Why did they destroy Marcus?”

“Let’s go, slave.”

“Answer me, dammit.”

Drade laughed softly. “I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“You owe me plenty.”

Drade ran his finger over the controller. “Amazing, what
this can do, don’t you think?”

Falkon’s hands curled into fists. His gaze bored into the
other man’s. “Go ahead, use it.” Heart pounding, he waited, wondering what
foolishness had prompted him to say such a thing. Drade had always been a
bully, always enjoyed inflicting pain. At the academy, he had delighted in
tormenting the incoming cadets.

He took a deep breath as Drade’s thumb hovered over the
controller, looked up as the sound of hoof beats reached his ears. Ashlynne!
Mounted on a snow white stallion, her hair flowing wild around her shoulders,
she looked like an avenging angel.

She reined her horse to a halt a short distance from where
they stood. “What’s going on?”

He bit back a grin at the sound of her lady-of-the-manor
tone.

She directed her question to Drade, but her gaze rested on
Falkon.

“Just disposing of a dead slave,” Drade replied easily. He
smiled at her, his gaze moving over her in a long slow look that bordered on
insolence.

“What killed him?”

“He attacked one of my men.”

“I see.”

Drade shrugged. “It happens sometimes. They all go a little
mad after a while. Fortunately, there’s always a ready supply of rebels like
this one to take their place.”

“Number Four is not to be hurt,” Ashlynne said. “He belongs
to me, not to you. Not to Niklaus. You would do well to remember that.”

“Yes, ma’am. Your husband made that quite clear. Of course,
if he attacks one of my men, he’ll have to suffer the consequences.”

“He’s not to be hurt,” she said again. “If anything happens
to him, I will hold you personally responsible.”

It was an empty threat, and they both knew it. Niklaus was
in charge. She had no power at all.

“Yes, ma’am,” Drade replied. “I’m sure Number Four
appreciates your concern, but we’ve got to be getting back now.”

Ashlynne gazed at Falkon, drinking in the sight of him,
longing to go to him, to wipe the bitterness from his eyes.

“Are you well, Number Four?” she asked.

He looked up at her, his expression closed, his jaw rigid.

“Number Four?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are they treating you well?”

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, his words edged with bitterness.
“Food fit for a king. A feather bed. A hot bath and a massage every night.” He
regretted his words as soon as he spoke them. Pain flickered in the depths of
her eyes.

Drade laughed. “Let’s go.”

Falkon looked at Ashlynne and shook his head, silently
asking her forgiveness.

Drade poked Falkon with the riding crop he always carried.
“Move it, slave. Being out in this hot sun is making me thirsty.” He touched his
forefinger to the brim of his cap. “Pleasure seeing you again, Lady Hassrick.”

Ashlynne nodded, her heart aching as she watched Falkon turn
and walk back toward mine.

* * * * *

“I’ll be leaving first thing tomorrow morning,” Hassrick
said. He sat back in his chair, a look of utter contentment on his face as the
housekeeper filled his wine glass. “Thank you, Hana.”

Hana smiled at him, then left the room, her hips swaying
provocatively.

“You’re leaving?” Ashlynne said.

He nodded, his gaze following Hana.

“How long will you be gone?” She tried to keep the
excitement out of her voice.

“No more than a week. I have business on Hodore.”

“Hodore!” she exclaimed. “What kind of business could you
possibly have there?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with. I’ll require your
signature on a few documents before I go.”

“What documents?”

A lazy smile played over his lips. “I think it would be in
your best interest to assign ownership of the mine to me.”

She stared at him. “Why would I do that?”

“Perhaps I phrased it wrong. It would be in Number Four’s
best interest if you did as I asked.”

The unspoken threat made her stomach clench. “And if I
refuse?”

“I’m afraid your slave might meet with an unfortunate
accident.”

“And what’s to keep him from having an ‘accident’ once I
sign?”

Niklaus regarded her through narrowed eyes. “I get the
feeling you don’t trust me, my dear.”

She looked at him, but said nothing.

Niklaus blew out a sigh. “Very well. When I return, I’ll
have some papers for you to sign.”

“What kind of papers?”

“It doesn’t matter. You will sign them.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“I see we understand each other.”

She nodded again, then excused herself and went to her room.
Going to her computer, she typed in her password, then wrote a short letter of
instruction, which she sent to her father’s older brother, Samuel. Much to her
father’s chagrin, Samuel had entered the ministry and was a priest of the old
religion on Cannus Twelve. Aside from Falkon, he was the only man she trusted.