Caelan's Captive Read online

  He glanced out toward a rocky outcrop where a small troop of the island’s guards were stationed. What were those fools doing? Why had they not sounded the alarm? He would have them in chains for their incompetence.

  Not that he worried at this point for the island’s safety—the reef would claim the boat and any of its inhabitants soon enough, this part of the island was virtually impenetrable—but those damn fool guards would pay for their ineptitude.

  On his way back to the royal pavilion he planned to call on the ocean guard and instruct them to dispatch an investigatory party to search for bodies and debris. An enquiry would be launched into who had dared try and infiltrate his island.

  He took another glance out to the ocean and saw the boat tip and churn as it negotiated the reef. Unable to let the matter be, Caelan negotiated the rocks that led down to the sea with the ease of a man who had done so all his life. He ran over cool wet sand and toward the water’s edge as the sun beat down with its midday heat.

  He waded into the sea. The tides here meant he walked several hundred yards and was up to his waist when he came upon what was left of the small craft. He grabbed the rope that trailed in the water and pulled it to him. Inside the debris a small bundle lay huddled in the corner. He reached out and the bundle groaned softly and moved.

  A girl, he realized. Her long hair fell across her face like wet straw. As he touched her bare arm, his fingers connected with a fierce heat. Her flesh was scorched from the sun’s fire, yet she shivered uncontrollably. He hoisted the rope across his shoulder, turned, and pulled the boat ashore, dragging it from the water until it shifted onto dry sand. The girl moaned again as he lifted her from the boat and into his arms. Her head dropped back, revealing the delicate arch of her throat. Her free arm dropped away to her side, revealing the strips of clothing barely covering her. Not a girl, he realized without breaking stride as he made his way up the beach. A woman. Most definitely a woman.

  Striding up the beach toward camp, he felt his cock jerk in reaction to the plump, ripe breasts that spilled from beneath the rags. Her nipples were dusky and dark, and his mouth went dry as a sharp desire to taste those breasts filled him. Dear Gods of the Universe, he had most definitely been without a woman for too long.

  Groups of workers parted as he strode past them toward the royal pavilion, bowing from the waist as their leader passed by. He heard the surprised gasps, the gentle murmurs, and knew they were less aimed at the woman in his arms than they were at their prince being caught in such close proximity to a strange half-naked woman.

  Acknowledging nobody, he strode through the corridors toward his chambers where he lay her down on his bed and began to strip off the sodden rags that had once been her clothing.

  Two women servants of the court rushed in and gasped. “My lord…”

  “Water,” Caelan snapped without taking eyes from his task. “And Thistle Pulp. Now!” As the women continued to stare, and seemed rooted to the spot with shock, Caelan cast them a challenging glare. They visibly paled as they stared down at the small, unconscious female lying on the royal bed. A bed only the ruler’s chosen consort was permitted to sleep upon. He realized he was breaking protocol. They knew, as did most of the islanders, that when their ruler needed a man’s release, he took to the royal tent at the Doe Park or to his current lady’s bed. Never would he be permitted to have a woman who was not his wife atop his own bed.

  “Is your hearing impaired?” Caelan snapped at the woman nearest to him. “I said water.”

  One of the women hurried away, but the other, more senior, moved toward Caelan. “My lord, you must permit me to do that.”

  He glanced up into the eyes of the woman who had all but raised him when his mother died after giving birth to him. Tansa’s censure stopped him in his tracks and he quickly drew his hands away from where he had been removing what remained of the woman’s clothing.

  Stepping back, he folded his arms, watching as Tansa glanced from him to the shivering woman and back again. “She must not be here, my lord.”

  “She’s ill, possibly close to dying,” he snapped. “Do what needs to be done. We will deliberate the fineries of protocol at a later date.”

  He thought Tansa might argue, but then she nodded, leaned over the woman and lay a hand across her forehead. “She has a fever.” She glanced over to the door. “Where is that girl? I’ll take a strap to her one of these days.”

  As if on cue, the younger servant girl hurried through the door and thrust the water jug and a bowl of pulp at Tansa.

  “Pour it, girl,” Tansa said as she indicated the water jug. “And mix the pulp with bled leaves.”

  Caelan snatched the jug from the girl and reached for a cup beside the bed. He poured water and placed the cup to the woman’s colorless lips. She rolled her head from side to side, rejecting the feel of the cup against her mouth. Caelan held her head with one hand as he pressed the cup against her lips again. “Drink,” he ordered, hoping that the instruction would seep into the woman’s subconscious.

  When her head stilled, he tipped the cup slightly and watched the water slip between her lips, the residue trickling down her chin and onto her throat. Such a tantalizing throat, Caelan thought as he watched the trail of water. Delicate skin, fine features. Where in the heavens had she come from?

  “You should leave now, my lord.” Tansa’s terse instruction snapped Caelan’s attention back to the task at hand. “I need to get her out of these wet clothes and bathe her. She will also need treatment for the burns of the sun upon her skin.”

  Caelan wanted to argue, but he had already pushed stately etiquette further than he dared and saw no sense in courting more trouble. He feared the wrath of no one on the island—except Tansa.

  He strode from the room, but could not resist one last glance at the pale beauty lying on his bed. And she was beautiful. Even half alive, her skin burned by the sun, her voluptuous body trembling with fever, she was beautiful. It was perhaps not entirely chivalrous to find the sight of her lying against his bed cloths erotic, but he was nothing if not an honest man.

  His concern should not be directed to such ends, but should be focused on finding out who she was, how she had found her way to his island, and what her purpose was.

  It was not beyond the realms of reasoning to fear that the king had sent her as a plant. Had charged her beauty to infiltrate Caelan’s mind, to discover his future plans. To weave her magic around his fortitude, and get him to reveal his strategy, should he be planning to regain his land from Zomotian rule.

  All is not as it will seem...

  His father’s warning came thickly, and Caelan knew he needed to guard his initial response to the woman. He needed to find out about her. And, to the detriment of his myriad other tasks, he would begin with what was left of her boat.

  Chapter Two

  Lahna felt the weight of something cold and heavy across her eyes, but when she raised her hand to try and remove it, pain ripped through her shoulder and into her neck.

  “Do not move.” The voice was deep and husky, the hand that lowered her own large and strong.

  Her hand brushed the soft bedding, and memories sharp and terrifying assuaged her. She jerked away from the man’s touch. Dear goddess protector, was she back in the king’s palace? Was the touch of silk against her skin that of her own sleeping quarters? Had she but dreamed her escape?

  “I … where…” Her throat burned as she tried to push words out. “Please…” Ignoring the pain the movement brought to her body, she raised her hand to her eyes again, her fingers brushing away the cloth that rested there.

  Once more, the strength of a masculine hand removed her own. “Allow me.”

  Gently, the weight of the cloth left her skin and she drew in a breath as her eyes flickered open. The light burned. Her eyes smarted against the harsh glare of daylight entering through slatted windows. Different from her own sleeping quarters, which had no windows.

  She squeezed her eyes shut again. “Where … am I?”

  “Do not talk.” Again that gruff and darkly deep voice. Lahna’s heart squeezed. While she was not in her own quarters, she feared she was indeed back in the palace and under this man’s guard. She remembered stealing the small boat, remembered the days adrift on the ocean. What fate awaited her, now that her attempt at freedom had failed? The king did not suffer betrayal at the hands of his slaves. And for all her status and privilege, that was indeed all she was. The king’s slave.

  She lay perfectly still, not about to give her guard any reason to touch her again. Although his touch had been gentle enough, she knew of the brutality displayed by the king’s guards and she would not give the man who watched over her any opportunity to lay his hands on her again.

  Her heart ached with despair and her body felt as if it had been battered and bruised beyond reason. This would not stop her. A setback, that’s all it was. She would rest, grow strong, and then she would again plan her escape.

  Keeping her eyes closed, Lahna heard the man moving beside her and then a cup was pressed to her lips. “Drink,” he ordered, a faint memory sliding through her consciousness. Had she heard him give the same order before? How long had it been since she was discovered and brought back to the palace?

  Seconds later, she felt the warm drift of unconsciousness take her under.

  When she again woke, her first thought was that her body felt loose and relaxed, her mind clearer. As she remembered her failed escape attempt, and the implications of her capture by the king’s guard, her muscles tightened again in response.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes to the glow of soft candlelight flickering around the large bedchamber. Indeed, it was not hers. This room was larger and unadorned, aside from a few artifacts of battle lining the w
alls and dark purple drapes at the window openings. Without moving her head, she tried to see if she was still under close guard, but could find no evidence of any other presence in the room.

  She raised her head, winced against the pounding in her skull, and glanced around the room. A man’s room, although mostly definitely not the king’s chambers. Indeed, why would the king bring her to his chambers? She was now his enemy. She had dared attempt an escape from his clutches. The only explanation was that she was in a room belonging to one of his guards, probably the one whose voice she had heard when she had first awoken. Only one of his elite guards would warrant such a large room.

  This was different to other rooms in the palace. The air felt lighter, sweeter. She glanced over to the huge wooden door. It was shut and probably bolted from the outside.

  Lahna lay her head back against the soft pillows, feigning sleep when the door opened. She sensed rather than heard footsteps and felt a presence beside her.

  She tried to lay still, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that she had regained full consciousness and was therefore ready to accept whatever fate awaited her. She heard water being poured, smelled fresh bread and honey.

  Her treacherous stomach gurgled.

  “Do you wish me to help you sit?”

  That dark, gruff voice again. The voice of her guard. Her captor.

  Lahna kept her eyes shut, wanting to cling to the last few moments of her freedom before reality seeped back and she would be forced to endure the king’s revenge. She wondered if she would be tortured, then flung into some dungeon deep beneath the palace walls where only the Goddess of the Damned knew what would await her. More likely she would be offered to the palace guards as payment for their services to their king. Perhaps she had already been so offered and the man who now stood over her offering food and water was her new master.

  Her blood chilled and her stomach revolted at the thought of being bargained in such a manner. She swallowed hard, the movement of her throat giving away her conscious state to her captor. She jerked at the feel of his hand sliding beneath her neck and lifting her head from the pillows.

  “Leave me alone!” Despite the pain that accompanied her violent movement away from the man, Lahna opened her eyes and stared at him. He stood mere inches from her, his face so close that his warm breath brushed her cheek. His eyes, a dark turbulent blue, stared into hers and the intensity made her stomach again lurch, but this time in a completely unfamiliar manner. “Do not touch me.”

  He moved back a few inches, but subjected her to that same hard look. “I meant only to assist you.”

  “I … I can sit unaided.”

  He straightened, looming over her with his arms crossed at his chest. A black tabard covered his muscular torso, the material parting to reveal a long V from his shoulders to his waist.

  He stood there as if waiting for her to do exactly what she had assured him she could do, his firm stance indicating he was going nowhere until she did.

  As Lahna began to rise, the slide of sheet against her skin indicated that beneath the damson silk covering she was naked. She hadn’t realized her state of undress until that moment.

  He stared down at her as if he could see straight through to her nakedness. She wished he would move away, or at the very least stop watching her like that.

  “Turn away,” she demanded, putting all her court training into effect. “Or I will have you whipped.”

  Lahna wanted to weep at the futility of her words, but her unshed tears dried at the sound of his laughter.

  “Oh, will you now?” When he sobered, he leaned forward, easing her back against the pillows and bracing an arm either side of her shoulders. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

  His eyes bore into hers, his chest mere inches away with only the merest layer of silk separating them. He smiled down at her. It was a smile Lahna imagined seeing on the face of a predator assured of his prey.

  She would do well to remember she was at this man’s mercy, at least until she could regain her strength and plot her next course of action in her attempt at another escape. It was in her interests not to antagonize the man, or make him suspicious of her plans. Although it went against the grain, she knew the best way to deal with one of the king’s brutish and arrogant guards was to acquiesce, or at the very least appear to do so.

  Acknowledging her vulnerability, Lahna averted her gaze from his and looked toward the table beside the bed where the much-needed pitcher of water lay. “I would welcome a drink.”

  She glanced back to see him smile again, this time less threatening. Good. She had been right to appear submissive and compliant.

  “Then it will be my pleasure to offer it to you.” With another patronizing smile, he turned to the table and lifted the cup. He held it to her lips and she drank.

  When she’d finished, she lifted her hands from beneath the covering and caught the edges to raise them to her throat. “Am I permitted to have my clothes?”

  He frowned a little as he shifted to sit beside her on the bed. “You are not yet well enough to dress. Your injuries are still raw and your shoulder was torn from its socket. Rest some more before trying to move.”

  He sounded genuinely concerned for her injuries, but Lahna wasn’t fooled. The palace guards were famed for their outwardly courtly manners, as much as for their brutality. But she would indeed be foolish not to take advantage of this opportunity to delay whatever he had in mind for her, so she nodded and slid deeper beneath the covers.

  He lifted the plate from the table and held it out in front of her. “Eat. Gain your strength.”

  Careful not to let the cover slip, she tentatively reached out one hand and took the bread and honey he offered. It slid down her throat like the nectar it was. She managed to eat more of the bread than she thought she might, but when her stomach protested from being filled too much too soon, she slipped the remainder back on the plate.

  He replaced the plate on the table and again offered her water.

  She watched him as she sipped. He was not like any of the guards she had the misfortune of coming up against. He didn’t look like one; he didn’t act like one. Oh, she had no doubt he was capable of defending the king and the palace. His strength oozed from every pore and sinew. Despite his gruffness, there was a gentleness about him in the way he tended her.

  His appearance differed from the other guards, too. His hair was long, drawn back from a strong forehead, and the dark strands fell beyond his shoulders. The guards often wore their hair so short they were almost bald in appearance. He had markings on his skin, the type that were forbidden by the king. What looked like intricate black ribbons circled his muscled upper left arm. He also had scars along his right arm, the kind made by weapons of battle.

  He caught her staring at him and she looked away, sipping at the water again.

  “You find something of interest?”

  She swallowed before glancing back at him. “You are not what I expected.”

  His expression darkened and a tension moved into his big body. “Indeed. And what did you expect?”

  At the coldness in his eyes, Lahna reached for her inner strength and all the bravado she could muster. “You wear the marks of battle and your hair is long.”

  His gaze held hers, searching for some hidden answer for which she didn’t know the question. Then he leaned closer. “Before anything else, I am a warrior. You would do well to remember that.”

  She pushed her head back into the pillow as he leaned farther down. When her stomach pitched again, she wondered at the wisdom of eating too much bread. Except this feeling didn’t feel like over-indulgence.

  Only when he straightened did she breathe once more.

  “What is the name by which you are known?”

  What kind of game was he playing? Of course he knew her name. “Lahna,” she sneered, lifting her chin.

  He said nothing, but narrowed his blue gaze directly at her.

  She wouldn’t be intimidated. “How long am I to remain here?”