The Captive
Chapter Twenty

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 him and Ashlynne. It occurred to him that Hassrick might have 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. Longhaired cattle grazed on the hillsides and 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 sights of interest to Ashlynne.
He shifted on the floor, 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 probably laser 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 except that 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, a man she
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 that 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. She 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 there.
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's father was a tall, imposing man, with iron-gray hair, a clipped mustache, 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. His parents 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 necessary."
"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 there.