Sebastian the Alchemist and His Captive [Medieval Captives 1] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Read online

  “And the poetry?” he prompted, shamelessly attempting to provoke her blush.

  She wrung her hands together, clearly embarrassed as she admitted slowly, “Bards visited my uncle’s hall. I remember everything they spoke and sang.”

  Why is she ashamed of an excellent memory? No wonder they used her for messages. Sebastian made a mental note of that and pointed with the quill to a low footstool beside the fire. “Sit.” He waited till she did so. “Will you keep me company?”

  “You give me the choice?” Surprise rang in her voice.

  “If you can be quiet, allow me to work and do the tasks I ask of you—tasks Robert or I usually complete.” He fixed her with a dark, intense stare. “All are quite simple and painless.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now sit still.” Sebastian returned his attention to the petitions.

  Melissa sat by the fire, feeling light-headed with either the wine or relief. When she had been summoned to the top of this stone tower she anticipated being taunted, tormented, even raped. She had half-expected to be flung from the roof onto the rocks and snow below. Instead she was warm for the first time in an age and felt almost safe. The anxious fluttering in her chest that she had always known in her aunt’s and uncle’s household was gone. There might be worse to endure but for tonight she felt peaceful. It was…pleasant to stare at the flames and to listen to the soft padding of the wolf and the scrape of the quill.

  He was working again. Melissa glanced at her idle hands, too comfortable to be guilty or frustrated. She stole a glance at him, Sebastian. The twisting light of the fire made the stark, strong planes of his face seem even grimmer. He had a high forehead, a square, clean-shaven chin, and a long aquiline nose that was crooked. He was very pale and his hair very dark, not the blonds and russets she was used to seeing. Standing, he was the tallest man she had yet seen, yet he moved smoothly, with a lithe, sinuous grace she admitted, in the safety of her own free mind, was good to watch. Even a lover would not call him handsome, but he was commanding.

  Sebastian. She had heard rumors about him, terrible things. He hates me because of my parents. To her surprise she was sorry as well as scared about that.

  The scraping had stopped. Too late, Melissa ducked her head when a snort confirmed that her staring had been spotted.

  “Bed, I think.”

  Instantly her heart raced as if she had sprinted up all the tower steps. Worse, she automatically looked up again to find a pair of dark blue eyes gleaming at her. Unable to break their gaze, Melissa saw the man’s eyelashes tremble, with amusement, no doubt. What long dark lashes you have, master wolf.

  Her heart threatened to burst from her chest as Sebastian rose. Yes, he was very tall, rangy, dressed head to foot in black. No, not black, a dark blue, blue as his eyes, Melissa thought, wishing she could move, could stop this wild, unwelcome waterfall of thoughts. What do I do? What do I say?

  “Spare nightgown under the pillow on the far side of the bed in the corner.” Speaking, Sebastian was looming closer, leaning across the table to her, his fine black hair falling across his face. She flinched as one of his large, long-fingered hands passed her head to pinch out the table candle. “I must go speak to Robert. Get yourself changed and settled in. Artos! Keep her safe, understand? Keep safe.”

  Already he had gone by, and she was still dithering on her low seat, panting and trying to stop her head from swimming. The door opened, a draft of cold air swirling into the chamber, and then she heard Sebastian striding away. I am always the one to be left. Quickly, telling herself to move, Melissa forced her clammy limbs to stir, yelping at the pins and needles in her legs.

  She changed as rapidly as her trembling fingers allowed, folding her too-large clothes into a neat pile on top of a chest and diving into the whitish-gray nightgown. It was soft and clean but too long in the sleeves, stopping at her knees. A shirt, she thought. One of his shirts. So what does he sleep in? Nervous again, she darted between the bed sheets and pulled the covers up around her chin. She kept her eyes determinedly shut when she heard the door re-open, clutching the top of the sheets in her fists.

  When she was not instantly assaulted, she opened her eyes slightly. Sebastian spoke to the wolf and then petted him, running his long, able fingers through the animal’s thick pelt. “Wish me luck tomorrow, old fellow,” she thought she heard the man murmur, and then growl, “No, you are right. I deserve no luck against such a fool opponent.”

  What opponent? That sounded like a duel, but why and who was he fighting? Melissa slammed her eyes shut again, wishing she could ask more, despising her own feeble ploy of pretending to be asleep. As if that will stop him doing…anything. Yet what did it matter to her who Sebastian fought? Please, no more deaths, she prayed, her jaw feeling too stiff to form the words.

  Sebastian seemed untroubled. Peering through slit lids again she tracked him, banking down the fire, checking the scrolls of parchment, stretching with a grunt, before he approached the bed. Melissa froze, willing her body to appear relaxed. Sebastian was at the other side of the bed, stripping off with an economical efficiency and grace. Frankly too scared to look, she heard clothing hit the chair, then felt the mattress sag as a long, heavy body settled beside hers. She stifled a moan as she felt a pillow butt against her back.

  “So much more safe and practical than a sword between us, do you not think?”

  Mellissa’s eyes flew open at the dry, deep voice, but Sebastian was behind her, sliding into the bed with his back to her.

  “Good-night, little Felix. Try to sleep.”

  She waited until his breathing slowed before wriggling into a less cramped position. She did not expect to sleep but it was…pleasant to experience the comfort of another person, the heat of another body. At her aunt and uncle’s home she had slept in odd corners, often wakeful due to attending the wants of the younger children. This sense of floating on a sweet-smelling mattress, of being surrounded by warmth, was delicious.

  In the semi-darkness, Sebastian smiled. So we begin. He did not truly know what he wanted from the girl or his feelings for her beyond a powerful desire, but he could hardly wait for tomorrow.

  Chapter 2

  Her clothes had disappeared. Sitting up in bed, Melissa found herself alone. Her tall, not-quite-so-terrifying companion had gone, as had Artos. On the chest where she had piled her things stood a bowl of washing water, a breakfast of still-warm bread and dried fruit and a tied bundle.

  Melissa stretched and scooped a handful of raisins, eating the sweet treat before she jerked fully awake, remembering what she had overheard last night. Sebastian, fighting a duel.

  “No!” she cried, unaware she had spoken. Acting on instinct she tore the coverlet off the bed, wrapped herself in it and waddled to the door. She had no real idea of what she was doing, certainly no coherent plans, of escape or anything else, but she had to know.

  What was happening? Was Sebastian unharmed? Why a duel?

  Draping the sheet over herself in a rough mantle and toga, using one end to cover her hair, Melissa yanked at the door. Half-expecting it to be locked, she tottered as it swung silently inwards, revealing a thin, chestnut-headed young man squatting at the top of the short landing. “The duel? Sebastian?” Melissa blurted, realizing as she spoke that the youth was scratching the letters H and R into the wall.

  He twisted round, mouth hanging open, his dagger glinting in the dim light from the arrow slits.

  “Lady, what are you about?” He shot the knife safely into the sheath at his belt and leapt to his feet so rapidly he threatened to over balance and tumble down the spiral steps.

  “Look out!” Melissa made to grab to catch him, but other longer and stronger arms seized and steadied the youth. Dark eyes flashing, Sebastian stalked up from the darkness of the staircase.

  “Stop floundering like a fish, boy, and get down to breakfast.”

  Melissa took in both the lad’s scampering departure and the towering blaze of indignation closing
rapidly on her, and fixed on one thing. “You are all right.” Alive. Unhurt.

  “Naturally.” The powerful arms that had cradled and prevented the youth crashing headlong downstairs snatched her, imprisoning her limbs within the sheet. “Why the concern, Mistress Felix?”

  Looming, Sebastian dragged her to him, shook her and lowered his furious, reddening face to snarl, “You do not know me, so do not pretend to care! Or is this another ploy, like your mother before you? Bewitch the poor man-servant, beguile the rest? Was the shy virgin act last night too hard to keep going?”

  Gasping in the vile torrent of accusations, Melissa was too angry to feel fear. She writhed within the encasing sheet and when it proved impossible to free her hands, she deliberately stamped on the man’s foot. “You left me no clothes!”

  Her toes and entire left foot screamed in agony and she wanted to do the same. Kicking a solid black boot with bare feet was not wise. And when have I ever been that? Refusing to flinch, she bit through the pain and glared back.

  “I do not know you, but dueling is not Christian, nor safe,” she went on, aware she was courting danger but still determined to speak. “And if you want me to know you—”

  “This is no courtly romance with flowers, girl!”

  “—to like you, to respect you,” Melissa persisted, surprised at her stubbornness. I must speak for my own self. “Please stop insulting my mother. It hurts, understand?”

  Unable to continue looking into the harsh, unyielding eyes above her, she turned her head. “Hurts,” she whispered.

  Hot breath hissed across her forehead as the bone-crushing grip around her body tightened. “Your new gown is in the bundle on the bed-chest.” Sebastian whispered into her hair.

  “Oh.” Melissa tried not to blush. “I remembered the duel and I wanted to know…” Her explanation spluttered and died when Sebastian plucked her off her feet and carried her back into the chamber.

  “Dress. I shall wait for you outside. Bring your breakfast with you.”

  For an instant she thought she felt a fleeting kiss against her temple, and then Sebastian let her go and stalked off. He was still wearing the padded under-jerkin that fitted beneath his armor, and his fine, dark hair was matted with sweat. He came to me straight from the battleground. “Wait,” she called, and almost took a step back to him. “The other man?”

  “Defeated. Shamed.” Sebastian glowered at her over his shoulder, his plain, thin-lipped face again unreadable. “Morcar called you a bastard.” Now he showed his long teeth in a scowl. “The fool. He will not insult your lineage again.”

  The door slammed on her astonishment.

  I am not ashamed, nor disconcerted, Sebastian told himself. He had been startled to hear his own ranting, surprised that his natural possessiveness had already taken hold with regard to the girl. No, he should not have spoken of Rosemond in that way to Melissa, nor accused her, either. He wanted to begin afresh, if she would allow it.

  His brooding lifted when she slipped out of the chamber. Thankfully, she was dressed this time and carrying the bits of food he had left for her in the cloth in which he had previously bundled her new clothes. As Artos trotted past him to skip and fawn, she gave the wolf a cautious pat and him a surprisingly sweet smile.

  “Thank you for the gown and…everything.” Her cheeks flushed a little at the final word.

  “Turn.” He made a stirring motion. “More.”

  She did so fluently, clearly not one to nurse a grudge as he himself might have done. The dark green gown revealed the richness of her brown hair and the flaring skirts showed off her narrow waist. The gold-trimmed bodice fit her as snugly as his breastplate on himself, cupping the gentle swell of her bosom. He thought of stroking a finger between the cleft in her breasts and immediately was glad of his usually pale complexion.

  Round she went, delicate as a dancer, her thin shoes soundless on the stones. Tempted to press his lips against the creamy skin of her tiny neck, to trace his fingers over every bone and sinew in her narrow back, he was ready this time for his own arousal. Had he not lain awake half the night previously, in just such a state? A waft of scent assailed him as she twirled a second time, clean and fresh, Melissa herself. The soft silk of the gown swished against her legs, molded and fluttered over her firm, round bottom. A rump he wanted to bite and suck on, like an apple.

  She makes me eighteen again myself. Wondering if his smile was as crooked as it felt, Sebastian said, “That is enough.” More than enough, really. “I must tend my armor and my herbs and red-work. Do you know the properties of plants?”

  Halting from a breathless spin and smoothing down her gown like a butterfly folding its wings, Melissa looked wary again, as if expecting censure, but also curious. Bewilderment put a small wrinkle in her forehead that he wanted to kiss away, but he quelled the impulse, waiting, and she admitted nothing.

  “Follow on, then, and Melissa.” He stopped at the head of the stairs, turning to her a second time in warning. “I expect you to pay attention and repeat what I show you, what I do, exactly.”

  Her head tilted up slightly, her lips reddening as she nodded.

  “You wish to help me?”

  Her “Yes sir,” was resigned but he breathed more easily, sensing he had won that encounter with his prize. Although, winning and losing with Melissa, was that all it was about?

  He hurried ahead, gliding down the central spiral stair of the tower, pointing out rooms and chambers, answering her questions. He heard the rapid footsteps of Melissa trailing behind him and the steady padding of Artos, then came a stifled cry. Whirling about, he wrapped his arms automatically round the small, panting figure as Melissa toppled into him.

  “Sorry, sorry, sir,” she was saying, her hair tangling about his hands and thighs exactly as if they were writhing in bed together instead of keeping a precarious balance on the narrow steps.

  “No harm, these treads are steep,” answered Sebastian with a steadiness he did not feel. Anyone else he might have berated for clumsiness or taunted, some quip on stairs and falls—twice this morning with my youngsters— but he merely set Melissa back on her feet. Moving on, he cut the length of his pacing and kept one of her narrow hands in his. For the rest of the morning, speaking with Robert and his men in the armor room in the ground floor of the tower, he kept recalling the warmth of those small fingers.

  Melissa was working and enjoying it, too interested to be bored or frightened. Seated on a long bench in the armory, looking out through the open double doors onto the sunlit, snow-capped hills, with a brazier warming her left side and the heat of Sebastian’s body on her right, she copied him as he checked his weapons and chainmail. Sebastian was patient, showing her how to lift sections of mail to the light and flex it.

  “An easy method to spot damaged links,” he explained, in a low, almost caressing voice. She had never been spoken to in that way before. It had been all “You, girl!” at her aunt and uncle’s. He scrubbed the mail lightly with a cloth, guiding her hand under his—I like this—so she could understand how cleaning—“not washing unless absolutely necessary”—would restore the shifting armor. The weight of the mail he kept across his knees, feeding her sections at a time. If any chain mail rings were beginning to splay apart, Sebastian pinched them together with pliers. It was peaceful, exacting work.

  “In summer we clean these by putting them in a barrel with fine sand and rolling the barrel down a hill,” he told her. “You can help me with that next time.”

  Melissa nodded, pleased there would be a “next time.”

  No one pestered them, although men and even women approached quite freely and asked Sebastian questions on rights, on land judgments, on harvests, and the man patiently replied to them all. Artos dozed at Sebastian’s feet, his huge head on the man’s boots. Chestnut-headed Robert sauntered over without ceremony and asked if she and Sebastian wanted some mulled wine.

  Sebastian raised a black eyebrow. “Yes, for me. Melissa?”

 
She nodded, whispering, “Thank you,” when a steaming cup was placed beside her on the bench. Robert nodded in return and smiled at Sebastian, stepping back to join a small, stocky lad crouched carving a mortise and tenon joint in the brighter light of the doorway.

  “Henry.” Sebastian supplied the young man’s name.

  “They care for each other?” Melissa murmured, seeing the pair speaking softly together, their breaths mingling as they settled shoulder to shoulder.

  “Yes, they are lovers.” Sebastian smirked. “I have threatened Robert with mucking out the stables for carving their initials everywhere and had him do it, but that never stops him.”

  “Lovers.” Melissa felt as if the mail beneath her fingers was growing hot and slick. She truly did not know what to think. “The church says it is wrong.”

  “And if they are happy and do no harm to themselves or others?” A strong, harsh face filled her vision as Sebastian’s dark eyes bored into hers. “You believe everything the church teaches? You do not think for yourself?”

  A sticky tide of humiliation slithered over Melissa. It was true, she had never considered any teaching of the priests, not thought, simply accepted. She glanced across at Robert and Henry. The pair were still seated together, and Robert massaged the smaller man’s hands, dropping a brief kiss on a graze on Henry’s wrist as Henry rested his fair head against his shoulder. Witnessing their simple affection, Melissa felt a jolt of envy, then more shame. Sebastian must think me a fool, a hurtful fool.

  She wanted to do something, say something to show she understood. “They say you are a necromancer, a body snatcher. Are you?”

  Fool! The one thing you should not say, just because it is foremost in your mind at the moment. Now it is worse than ever. Huddling down on the bench after her tactless confession, Melissa stared at the distorted reflection in the breastplate that Sebastian had swapped for the mail that had been draped between them and had just begun to polish.