The Captive

  He swore softly as he shoved the gun into his pocket, then drew her into his arms and held her close. "Shh. It's all right now," he said. One hand drifted down her back. Her skin was soft and warm, so warm. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her back to where she'd left her clothing.

  Ashlynne buried her face in his shoulder, embarrassed by her nudity, by the fact that she had behaved so stupidly. If Falkon hadn't come after her, she would be lying dead back there, torn to pieces by a wild animal. The thought drove everything else from her mind.

  "Don't think about it," he repeated, his breath warm against her cheek. She was aware of his hands on her body, rough, callused hands that held her gently.

  Her arms tightened around him. Thank the Maker for Falkon. He might be a mercenary and a renegade, but he was the strongest, bravest man she had ever known.

  When they reached the river, he put her down. She would have turned away, but he caught her by the arm, his gaze moving over her.

  Only then was she aware of the numerous cuts and scratches she had sustained in her wild flight. Fright had numbed the pain. Falkon's shirt front was stained with her blood.

  He jerked his chin toward the river. "Go and rinse the blood off."

  She wasn't anxious to go back into the river, but it offered her a way to cover her nudity and she waded into the water, her gaze darting up and down the bank. If there was one cat, there might be another. She sighed as the water closed over her. It felt wonderful, its warmth soothing, easing her pain.

  She might have stayed in there the rest of the day if Falkon hadn't called for her to come out.

  Knowing it was useless to refuse, she waded out of the water. Heat scorched her cheeks as he removed his shirt and began using it as a towel to dry her off.

  "I can do it," she said.

  With a nod, he thrust his shirt into her hands and turned his back, knowing that her image had been forever burned in his brain, from her full, pink-tipped breasts to her long, slender legs. Burned was the perfect word, he mused, because he was on fire for her. He stared at the water lapping gently against the shore. Stripping off his boots and breeches, he plunged in, hoping a cold swim would cool him off.

  But even that was denied him. The water was warm. Nevertheless, it soothed him, easing the last bit of fear he had experienced when he saw the cat chasing her, taking the edge off the ache in his loins.

  He swam for several minutes, then floated in the middle of the river, regarding Ashlynne through half-closed eyes.

  She hadn't wasted any time getting dressed, and now she sat on the riverbank, scrubbing the blood from his shirt. She spread it out on a rock to dry, then ran her fingers through her hair. She looked like an angel sitting there, he thought, her skirt spread around her, the sun shining in her hair.

  She looked up as he swam toward the shore. A flush rose in her cheeks as he stood up, and then, at the last minute, she turned her back to him.

  He was grinning when he stepped out of the water. He pulled on his breeches and boots, then slung his damp shirt over one shoulder.

  Ashlynne refused to meet his gaze on the walk back to the ship, and he wondered which bothered her more, the close call she'd had with the cat, the fact that he had seen her naked, or regret because she hadn't had the nerve to satisfy her curiosity.

  Chapter Seventeen

  There was an air of tension between them that hadn't been there before. Something had passed between them at the river, something for which she had no name, but Ashlynne felt it keenly as she sat in the copilot's seat staring out into the night.

  Falkon sat in the pilot's seat, muttering under his breath as he studied a star chart of the galaxy. She was surprised that he didn't have it memorized by now.

  Upon returning from the river, she had gone to her cabin to take a nap. Sleep, however, had been elusive, and she had lain there, wrapped up in a blanket, trying not to think about Falkon, about the gentleness of his touch as he had wiped the blood from her cheek, the way he had looked emerging from the river, rivulets of water dripping from his bronzed skin, his muscles rippling with every movement. She had been sorely tempted to see all of him but at the last minute, her cheeks burning with embarrassment, she had turned away.

  Dinner had been a quiet affair. She had found herself looking at him surreptitiously time and again. His long black hair fell to his shoulders, giving him a roguish look that was accented by the faint white scar on his cheek.

  Looking at him now, she wondered what he was thinking as he studied the chart on the screen.

  He turned his head then, his gaze meeting hers. She looked into his eyes, blue-gray eyes that seemed to hold all the secrets of the universe, that promised answers to every question she'd ever had, if she would only trust him.

  Time ceased to exist as he leaned slowly toward her, until they were little more than a breath apart. He didn't speak, only continued to look at her, and now there was a question in his eyes, a question she answered by closing the distance between them.

  His lips were warm and firm, his kiss feather-light, barely more than a touch. A shivery feeling slid down her spine. She scooted over, her eyes closing as his lips sought hers again.

  There was no hesitation in his kiss. He knew what he wanted, and he took it. His lips played over hers, flooding her with warmth. His hands slid around her waist and then he was lifting her out of her chair, settling her in his lap so her thighs straddled his. Her eyelids flew open in surprise.

  "Relax, princess," he murmured.

  His voice moved over her like black velvet, warm and soft, making her think of long dark nights, of bodies entwined on silken sheets. She felt his breath on her face. Excitement bubbled up inside her as his hand cupped the back of her head and his mouth slanted over hers once again while his other hand traced ever-widening circles over her back.

  She should have pushed him away, but her curiosity was far stronger than her sense of propriety. Growing up in the jinan, surrounded by high walls and protective parents, she'd had little interaction with men, little chance to experiment, to flirt and be flirted with.

  And so she closed her eyes and let Falkon kiss her again. It was, after all, just a kiss, she thought. Surely there could be no harm in it.

  But this kiss was different from the last. His lips moved with tantalizing slowness over hers, evoking sweet sensations deep within her. His tongue slid over the seam of her lips. She gasped as his hand slid over her buttocks, drawing her hips closer to his.

  She put her hands against his chest, thinking to push him away, then slid her arms around his neck, holding him tighter as he deepened the kiss still more. Her heart was pounding now; her breathing was erratic. A moan rose in her throat. When he slid his tongue across her lips again, she welcomed him inside.

  She had never known passion before, never dreamed it had such power. She was on fire, burning, flaming, and all from a kiss.

  She clung to him, wanting to be closer, her hands restless as they moved up and down his back and over his shoulders, sliding down his arms to measure the muscles quivering there. A quick image of Falkon emerging from the river flashed through her mind, his body gleaming wetly in the sunlight.

  Falkon drew Ashlynne closer. Just one more kiss, he told himself, and then he would let her go. But one kiss became two, and then three. She was fire and honey in his arms, warm and sweet, so damn sweet. Her skin was soft and smooth beneath his hands. She moaned softly as his thumb inadvertently stroked the curve of her breast. It had been months since he had lain with a woman, tasted one, caressed one. Need and desire swelled within him, urging him to take what she was offering. Except she didn't really know what she was offering. She was pure and untouched, a virgin in every sense of the word, and he had no right to defile her, no right to take that which rightfully belonged to her future husband.

  He had done a lot of things in his life that he wasn't proud of, but he had never deflowered a virgin, especially one who was betrothed to another man.

  Lett
ing her go was the most difficult thing he had ever done.

  She blinked at him, her lips slightly swollen, her beautiful green eyes cloudy with passion. Stifling a curse, he placed her on her feet and then stood up.

  "You're engaged," he said with a tight smile. "One of us needs to remember that. Your fiancé might not be willing to pay for damaged goods."

  His words had the desired effect. Anger chased the passion from her eyes. A rush of color flooded her cheeks. With a wordless cry, she slapped him across the face, then ran out of the cockpit. A moment later, he heard the door to her cabin slam shut.

  He grinned as he rubbed his cheek. For a little thing, she packed a hell of a wallop.

  Chapter Eighteen

  She slept late after a long and restless night. Waking or sleeping, her thoughts had been of Falkon. Always Falkon. He was like a fever in her blood, an addiction for which there was no cure. One minute she was sure she hated him, the next she wanted to be in his arms, wanted to feel his mouth on hers, taste the forbidden pleasures promised by his knowing smile and roguish grin.

  Rising, she dressed quickly, determined to pretend nothing had happened between them the evening before.

  She was on her way to the galley for breakfast when she happened to look out the port. Frowning, she realized they were in space.

  Changing direction, she went into the cockpit. "Where are we going?"

  He looked at her as if she wasn't very bright. "Trellis."

  "How long will it take to get there?"

  Was it his imagination, or did she sound less than enthusiastic that they were finally on their way?

  "We'll be there late tomorrow night." He was taking her to her fiancé. Being with her, holding her, was far too seductive, far too dangerous, for his peace of mind.

  Last night, holding her in his arms, he had been tempted to forget about Drade, to forget about avenging the deaths of his wife and daughter. Last night, he had wanted nothing more than to take Ashlynne away somewhere and spend the rest of his days loving her.

  He fingered the collar at his throat, felt his anger stir to life once again, and with it his need for vengeance. Drade would pay for every day he had toiled in the mine, for every night he had spent locked in a cold, damp cell, for every minute he had spent in solitary, for every humiliation he had endured, every stroke of the lash.

  Ashlynne felt a sudden chill as she looked at Falkon. His eyes were cold; a muscle throbbed in his cheek. She wondered what he was thinking, sincerely hoping that she was not the cause of the anger seething inside him.

  She spent the day moving between her cabin and the galley. She stayed out of the cockpit, except to take Falkon his meals, which he acknowledged with a curt nod. She hadn't intended to wait on him. Why should she? He could get his own food if he was hungry. But it was a good excuse to go to the cockpit. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, why he was so angry, but she lacked the nerve to break the brittle silence between them.

  In her cabin later that night, she tried to recall Niklaus's face, but it was Falkon's image that sprang readily to mind, the memory of Falkon's kiss that followed her to sleep.

  When she rose in the morning, he was sitting as she had left him the night before. Dark bristles shadowed the line of his jaw.

  With a sigh, she went into the galley and fixed two cups of coffee, one black, for him, one with cream, heavy on the sugar, for herself. She carried them into the cockpit and sat down.

  "Here." She handed him one of the cups.

  "I'm sorry," he muttered.

  "So am I. What are you going to do after you drop me off?"

  "I have an old score to settle."

  "What do you mean?"

  He rubbed his hand over the collar at his throat. "Do you know how to get this damn thing off?"

  She shook her head. "Maybe there's a release on the controller. Did you look?"

  "Yeah." He had looked, very carefully, afraid he might accidentally trigger the damn thing. He wondered what kind of man had invented such a barbaric contraption.

  "How much ransom are you going to demand for me?"

  Falkon shook his head. "I'm not."

  "Oh? What changed your mind?"

  "I decided it would be too risky. I'd have to arrange a meeting, and I'm sure your fiancé would inform the authorities." He shook his head. "I'll drop you off near his residence, and then you're on your own."

  She nodded. She had never been on her own before. There had always been someone nearby she could call on, someone to watch over her, take care of her.

  The hours passed slowly. She dozed in her chair, woke, and dozed again; her dreams were fragmented, confusing, filled with fuzzy images of her parents and Magny. And Falkon. Always he was there, a dark presence lurking in the background, both fearsome and reassuring.

  It was after midnight when they reached their destination. Falkon landed the ship at a free port near the south end of the city.

  Ashlynne looked out the window. Lights burned in a building off to the left. Three men were working on a Romarian league cruiser in a nearby hangar.

  She looked at Falkon. With a pang, she realized that he would soon be gone from her life and she would never see him again.

  He turned, his gaze meeting hers. "Well, princess, we're here."

  She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. He was her last link with her old life, with home.

  "Ready?"

  "It's late. Maybe we should wait until morning."

  "I thought you were anxious to get here?"

  "I was. I am. But…" She looked down at her dress. She didn't want to meet Niklaus looking like this, wearing a gown and sandals that were dirty from traipsing through the jungle of an uncharted planet.

  "Let's go find lodging," she said. "I need to clean up."

  "Lodging, princess?" Falkon shook his head. "I'm broke."

  "I'm not."

  He frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

  "I have credits in an account."

  "Why didn't you say so sooner?"

  She shrugged. "I didn't think of it, till now. It's just a small account, twenty thousand credits. My mother didn't want me be totally dependent on Niklaus. She said a girl should have a little something of her own to fall back on, so she opened an account for me. I wasn't to touch it until after I was married."

  Falkon shook his head. Her parents had been rich indeed if twenty thousand credits was considered a small amount. "You ready?"

  She nodded.

  "All right, this is what we're gonna do." He took the controller out of his pocket, blew out a sigh of resignation, and handed it to her. "We don't have any papers. When we get to the checkin point, I want you to tell them what happened on Tierde, tell them we stole a ship and escaped. They'll have heard about the attack by now. Have you got that stun gun with you?"

  "Yes."

  "Good." He pulled the gun he had taken from the guard on Enjine Base Nine out of his pocket. "Hang on to this, too. All right, activate the manacles on my wrists, and let's go."

  There were two guards clad in Romarian garb when they reached the port of entry.

  "I'll need your documents," the taller of the two men said, holding out his hand.

  "Documents?" Ashlynne said. She pressed a hand to her heart. "Oh, dear, I'm afraid I don't have any."

  "Who are you, and where are you coming from?"

  "I'm the daughter of Lord Marcus of Myrafloures. My father owned the mine on Tierde. We were attacked several days ago. My slave and I were the only ones to escape. We managed to steal a ship and get away."

  "We heard of the attack," the second guard said. "Damned green-skinned, black-hearted Hodorians. They can't be trusted."

  Ashlynne nodded. Tears pricked her eyes, and she let them fall. "My parents were killed. I'm on my way to Arkata. My fiancé, Niklaus Hassrick, lives there."

  The Hassrick name worked like magic. The guards stepped back and opened the gate. "We're sorry for your loss, my lady," said the first
.

  "Thank you. Can you tell me where I might find lodging for the night?"

  "I can do better than that. I'll have one of my men take you there."

  "Thank you, that's very kind."

  The guard smiled at her. Picking up a communicator, he summoned an amphibious surface transport craft and gave the driver directions.

  Ashlynne smiled her thanks as the guard handed her into the ASTC. "Come along, Number Four," she said in her best lady-of-the-manor voice.

  Keeping his face carefully blank, Falkon took his place in the rear seat of the four-seat vehicle.