The Captive (18 page)

Falkon sat on the floor in the back of the shuttle, vainly
trying to control his anger. To be a prisoner again, when freedom had been
within his grasp, was almost beyond bearing. He felt his rage build as he
recalled the sheer enjoyment evident on Hassrick’s face when he activated the
controller. The man had done it for no other reason than to watch him squirm,
Falkon thought bitterly, and then frowned, wondering if the man suspected
something was going on between himself and Ashlynne. It occurred to him that
Hassrick had activated the controller simply to watch Ashlynne’s reaction. It
seemed unlikely, and yet…he swore under his breath, knowing there would be hell
to pay, and he would be the one to pay it, if Hassrick discovered what had
happened the night before.

There was no point in dwelling on what might happen, he
thought, and turned his attention to the view outside the window. They had left
the city behind and were passing through a wide expanse of countryside. Arkata
was a fertile land, lush with green grass and a wide variety of trees, shrubs
and flowers. Long-haired cattle grazed on the hillsides, or rested in shady
glens.

After an hour or so, they passed through a small city and
then they were in open country again.

From time to time, Falkon heard Hassrick pointing out sites
of interest to Ashlynne.

He shifted on the seat, unable to get comfortable with his
hands and feet shackled.

They rounded a sharp curve in the road. Ahead, lay a huge
walled
jinan
. An intricate letter H was woven into the double
wrought-iron gates that swung open at their approach.

Falkon swore under his breath. The Hassrick holding was
bigger than many of the cities he had been in.

The road was paved with crushed white stones that glistened
in the sunlight. Tall trees lined the driveway. Acres of verdant grassland
surrounded the house, which resembled a gothic castle. Several smaller
buildings were located on either side of the house.

As soon as the shuttle craft pulled up in front of the
house, the front door opened and a man who was obviously a servant hurried down
the stairs. He opened the door for Hassrick, bowed low and then stepped aside
as his master stepped out of the vehicle.

Turning, Hassrick offered Ashlynne his hand.

Hassrick’s two companions got out of the craft. One of them
opened the door for Falkon and motioned for him to get out.

“Can’t,” he said.

“Lord Hassrick?”

“What is it, Brill?” Hassrick glanced over his shoulder.
Seeing the problem, he pulled the controller from his pocket and unlocked the
shackles on Falkon’s ankles.

Falkon slid out of the craft and the two men immediately
moved up beside him, Brill on his left, the other man on his right.

“Well,” Hassrick said, taking Ashlynne firmly by the arm,
“what do you think?”

“It’s…it’s quite lovely.”

“Yes. I think you’ll be happy here. Brill, take the prisoner
to the detention area and lock him up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ashlynne’s heart constricted as she watched the two men lead
Falkon away. It wouldn’t do to make a fuss, yet she had a sinking feeling in
her stomach that she would never see him again. She couldn’t lose him now, she
thought desperately, not when they’d been through so much. Not when she loved
him.

“What are you going to do with Number Four?” she asked as
Niklaus led her up the stairs.

“He’s a slave,” Hassrick replied. “We’ll put him to work, of
course.”

Falkon paced the floor, cursing his luck with every step.
Freedom had been within his grasp, and now it was gone. He paused to stare out
the small barred window. He was in a cell again, albeit a much nicer one than
the one on Tierde, but a cell nonetheless. He had been surprised to find slaves
on the Hassrick estate, but they were there, imprisoned in a long row of small
huts located at the bottom of a hill, out of sight of the house.

Several guards patrolled the grounds, along with some of the
biggest, meanest looking dogs Falkon had ever seen. Even if he could find a way
out of the cell, even if he could get past the guards and the dogs, there was
no way over the wall, which was a good fifteen feet high and looked to be lazer
shielded.

Damn! He had to find a way out of here. But how?

* * * * *

Ashlynne paced the floor of her room, too nervous to sit
still, too worried about Falkon and their future to concentrate on anything
else. Niklaus had shown her to her room when they first arrived, saying he
would show her the rest of the house later, suggesting that she might like to
take a nap after the long journey. But she was too worried about Falkon to
rest. In an effort to relax, she had taken a hot bath, then changed into one of
her new gowns, a silky soft dress of pale lavender that managed to be modest
and provocative at the same time. She had bought it with Falkon in mind, would
not have worn it now but it was the only thing she had that was suitable to
wear to dinner.

Going to the window, she stared out over the grounds,
wondering where the detention area was. Falkon was down there somewhere, locked
in a cell. He would hate being a prisoner again, hate being confined in a small
space.

She turned and looked around the room. She was a prisoner,
too, she thought, even though her prison was quite the biggest, most
comfortable room she had ever seen. The carpet on the floor was white, at least
two inches thick. The walls were a pale, pale blue. There was a small sofa, an
enormous bed covered with a silky blue comforter. Large windows overlooked the
yard. There was a white brick fireplace in one corner. A tele-screen filled one
wall. The adjoining bathroom was equally plush. But it was still a prison, and
she was promised to a man she didn’t like, and didn’t trust, though she wasn’t
sure why. He treated her well enough, seemed concerned for her welfare,
endeavored to make her comfortable, and yet there was something about him that
made her cringe. She remembered the look on his face when he had activated the
controller. He had done it on purpose, she thought, done it simply for the
pleasure of watching Falkon writhe in agony.

Falkon. She glanced at the bed, and wished, shamelessly,
that he was there, that they could make love again. Would they ever make love
again?

A knock at the door drew her attention. “Lady Ashlynne?”

“Yes?”

“Sir Hassrick requests that you join him in the library in
thirty minutes. He would like you to meet his parents.”

“Very well.”

“I shall come for you then.”

“Thank you.”

She had thought it strange she hadn’t met his parents
earlier, but Niklaus had told her they were away for the day.

She was not looking forward to meeting them, or to
discussing the wedding. How could she marry Niklaus when it was Falkon she
loved? And what would happen if she refused, if she told Niklaus she loved
Falkon?

She was certain Niklaus would not want her if he knew she
was no longer a virgin. And knew, just as certainly, that Falkon’s life would
be forfeit if Niklaus learned what they had done.

Briefly, she contemplated telling Niklaus part of the truth,
that she was sorry, but that she was in love with someone else and could not
honor their engagement. Niklaus was a proud man. It was unlikely that he would
still want to marry her if she loved another. But would he let her take Falkon?
He had no right to refuse her. Falkon was her property, after all. But could
she take that chance? What if she told Niklaus she wanted to break their
engagement and he agreed, and then refused to let her take Falkon when she
left? She couldn’t leave him here.

With a sigh, she sat down on the bed and put on the soft
slippers that matched her gown.

A moment later, one of the servants arrived to escort her to
the library.

* * * * *

Niklaus’ father was a tall, imposing man, with iron-gray
hair, a clipped moustache, and cold blue eyes. He wore a pair of black trousers
and a dark green shirt. He rose as Ashlynne entered the room. His wife was
rather plain, with short curly black hair and dark brown eyes. She wore a
brilliant pink jumpsuit. A jeweled bracelet sparkled on her left wrist. They
both radiated the calm assurance that seemed to be an innate characteristic of
all people who were born to wealth and privilege.

“Mother, Father, this is Ashlynne. Ashlynne, this is my
father, Rugen, and my mother, Zahara.”

Rugen came forward, smiling. “At last,” he said, “you’re
here. Welcome, daughter.”

For all his kind words, she did not feel welcome.

Zahara smiled and held out her hand, and Ashlynne crossed
the room to take her future mother-in-law’s hand in hers.

“We were so sorry to hear about your parents,” Zahara said.
“You must consider this your home now, dear.

“Thank you.”

Zahara beamed at her, then patted the seat beside her. “Sit
down, dear. We have much to discuss.”

“Ah, yes,” Rugen said. Moving to a cupboard set into the
wall, he withdrew a crystal decanter and filled four glasses. “The wedding.” He
handed each of the others a glass. “Let us toast the bride and groom.”

Ashlynne forced a smile. She was never going to be happy
here, she thought. Never. There was no love in this house, no warmth or caring
between Rugen and Zahara.

“So, my dear,” Zahara said, “have you thought of a date?”

“No, not yet,” Ashlynne replied. “So much has happened.”

“Yes, dear, of course, but life goes on.”

Ashlynne nodded.

“We were thinking of next month,” Rugen remarked.

“Next month?” Ashlynne exclaimed. “So soon?”

“Well, there’s no reason to wait, is there?” Niklaus asked.

A reason, she needed a reason. And then it came to her. “You
seem to forget, I’ve not had time to mourn my family properly.”

Niklaus and his father exchanged glances that Ashlynne could
not interpret.

“I’m afraid I’m really not in the proper frame of mind to
plan our wedding, Niklaus,” she said quietly. “You do understand, don’t you?
Besides, I should like some time for us to get acquainted. We are, after all,
strangers to each other.”

“Yes, of course. You must think me quite insensitive to your
loss. It’s only that I’ve waited for you for so long.” He smiled at her. “Take
as much time as you need.”

“Thank you.”

“How much time will you need?” Zahara asked.

“Six months should be sufficient.”

“Six months!” Rugen said.

“That’s rather a long time, don’t you think?” Zahara said.

“A year is the normal length of time on Tierde,” Ashlynne
said.

“I should think three months would be sufficient,” Rugen
said.

Niklaus looked at Ashlynne. “Will three months be long
enough? We can plan the wedding in that time. It will give you something else
to think about.”

“Yes,” Zahara said. She patted Ashlynne on the arm. “Don’t
you agree, dear? Keeping busy is the best thing.”

“Yes, I guess so,” Ashlynne said. Three months. Surely, in
three months, she would be able to find a way to get herself and Falkon out of
here.

Dinner was a formal affair, the four of them sitting at a
large table spread with expensive china and crystal and gold flatware.

They spoke of the wedding, discussing the menu, the guest
list, the food for the reception following the ceremony.

After dinner, Niklaus took her on a tour of the house. She
had never been in a place so large, or so grand. One room was filled with
expensive paintings and ancient tapestries, another held a collection of
blue-green Venusian glass. There were more bedrooms than she could count, each
one lavishly appointed, all with fireplaces and tele-screens, one with a
waterfall.

He switched on the outdoor lights and they walked around the
grounds. She saw rabbits scurrying here and there, peacocks, a trio of deer.
The stable held a dozen hot-blooded horses. Long haired cattle and curly hair
sheep grazed on the verdant hillsides.

“It’s amazing,” she said. “Simply amazing.”

Niklaus smiled, his face fairly glowing with pride.

“I should like to see Number Four while we’re here,” she
said.

“You worry overmuch for his welfare, my dear.”

“Perhaps, but I should like to see him just the same. The
man saved my life at great risk to his own. The least I can do is make sure he
is comfortable.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Niklaus agreed.

They walked down the narrow path that led to the detention
area. It had become a common practice for the wealthy to keep slaves. Ashlynne
had never given it much thought, until she met Falkon. It had been a fact of
life on Tierde, as it was in other places. The Confederation had abolished the
death sentence; incorrigible prisoners were sent to the prison planet Jaol with
no hope of pardon, criminals who were considered non-violent were sold to those
who could afford them. The credits earned from the sale of slaves paid the
wages of the prison. She wondered how Falkon had escaped being sent to Jaol. He
was a hired mercenary; certainly he would be considered dangerous.

Hassrick’s family kept six slaves. She tried not to notice
the faces of the imprisoned men as they walked down the line of barred huts,
but it was impossible. They all looked at her through eyes empty of hope.

Niklaus paused at the last hut.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Ashlynne peered inside.
“Number Four?”

She heard him swear, and then he walked out of the shadows.
He stopped several feet from the door. His face was set in hard, implacable
lines, his blue-gray eyes were cold when he looked at her.

She wanted to smile at him, to tell him she loved him, but
she couldn’t, not with Niklaus standing there beside her, listening to every
word.

“Are you well, Number Four?” she asked, unable to keep the
tremor from her voice. Why was he looking at her like that? Surely he knew
locking him up had not been her idea. “Is there anything you need?”

He shook his head, his gaze moving past her, his hands
clenching when he saw Niklaus.

Ashlynne glanced over her shoulder. “He’s very good with
horses,” she said. “Perhaps you can find a use for him in your stable.”

Niklaus shrugged. “Perhaps.” He frowned as he pulled his
portacom from his pocket. “Excuse me, my dear, I need to take care of something
over at the barn. I don’t know how long I’ll be. Can you find your way back to
the house?”

“Yes, of course.”

With a curt nod, he turned and headed across the yard toward
the stable.

Ashlynne turned back to Falkon. “Are you all right?” she
asked anxiously.

He approached the door then, his expression softening.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He grinned ruefully. “This reminds me of the night you and
your friend made me a midnight visit.”

Ashlynne nodded, pain twisting through her heart as she
thought of Magny.

“Why did you and your friend come down to the mine that
night? What were you looking for?”

“You, of course. Magny thought you were very handsome. She
talked about you all the time.”

“Yeah?” He reached through the bars and stroked her cheek.
“And what did you think?”

She covered his hand with her own and drew it down over her
breast. “I thought you were a scoundrel.”

“Ah, that cuts me to the quick.”

“A very handsome scoundrel.”

He laughed softly. “Is that why you were always following me
around?”

“I was not!” she exclaimed, and then shrugged. It was true
and there was no sense lying about it. She looked past him into the hut. It was
small, but clean, a vast improvement over his cell at the mine. There was a
narrow bed against one wall, a single chair, a square table. “We have to get
out of here.”

“I’m open to any suggestions you’ve got.” He glanced at the
door between them. It was solid and could only be opened by entering the right
code into the keypad. His free hand slid up to curl around the bars.

“Maybe I can find the code.”

“Maybe.”

“They must have them written down somewhere.”

“Yeah, unless the same code opens every door.”

“Well, they still might have it written down,” she insisted.

He shrugged. “Maybe. So, how are things with Hassrick?”

“He wanted to get married right away, but I told him I
needed some time to mourn my parents. Why do you think he’s in such a hurry?”

Falkon grunted softly. The answer was obvious to him. She
was beautiful, desirable. What man wouldn’t want her?

“Ashlynne, why are you still here?”

Falkon withdrew his hand and took a step backward.

Ashlynne turned at the sound of Niklaus’ voice. “I was just
leaving.”

* * * * *

Later that evening, Niklaus escorted Ashlynne into the
solarium. It was, Niklaus informed her, tradition for the family to meet there
each evening before bedtime.

Zahara took Ashlynne aside. She switched on the tele-screen
and a variety of wedding gowns appeared, along with veils and shoes.

“That one is quite lovely,” Zahara remarked, pointing at a
bright yellow gown of crushed velvet. “Although the color might not be right
for you. Perhaps it comes in green. Or would you prefer a more old-fashioned
look?”

“I prefer white,” Ashlynne replied. She had dreamed of being
married in a long white gown and veil ever since she was a little girl and had
seen an old photograph of her great-grandmother’s wedding. These days, vivid
colors had replaced the once traditional white, but she didn’t care about style
or fashion. She wanted a satin gown and a gossamer veil and a bouquet of snow
roses…she blinked back her tears. She had wanted Magny to be there with her,
had wanted to walk down the aisle on her father’s arm. What difference did it
make what she wore, when she couldn’t marry the man she loved, when her best
friend and her parents couldn’t be there to share the day with her?

“White? No, I don’t think so.” Zahara shook her head. “It
simply won’t do. What will people say?”

“You’re right, of course,” Ashlynne agreed. What difference
did it make what she wore?

“Yes, I think the spring green,” Zahara said, nodding. “It
will look wonderful with your hair and eyes.”

Several minutes passed by while Zahara clicked through a
number of different styles. Ashlynne watched the screen, paying little
attention to the discussion between Niklaus and his father until Rugen
mentioned Tierde, and the mine.

“Niklaus, what about the mine?” Ashlynne asked. “I heard the
Romarians had taken it over.”

“Yes, temporarily,” Niklaus said.

“Temporarily? I don’t understand.”

“The mine belonged to your family,” Niklaus said. “The
Confederation cannot claim control so long as there is an heir.” She stared at
Niklaus, finally comprehending what he was saying. Of course, the mine belonged
to her now. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Not only the mine, but her
parents considerable fortune, as well.

“After the wedding, we shall return to Tierde,” Niklaus
remarked. “Until then, Commander Drade and his troopers are overseeing
production.”

Drade! The man Falkon blamed for the death of his wife and
child.