"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.
Chapter Twenty-one
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. 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-haired 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, while criminals who were considered nonviolent were sold to those who could afford them. The credits earned from the sale of slaves paid the wages of the prison guards. 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 she walked down the line of barred huts, but it was impossible. They all looked at her with 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 time you and your friend paid 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 grunte
d 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's 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.
Chapter Twenty-two
Falkon paced his cell, unable to sleep. Time and again he went to the small barred window and peered into the darkness. He could see the second story of the house, barely visible beyond the rise. Lights shone in several of the windows. He wondered if Ashlynne was still awake, how she had passed the evening, if she had been alone with Hassrick.
Jealousy burned bright within him at the thought of Hassrick touching Ashlynne, holding her in his arms, kissing her… damn!
His hands curled around the bars. He had to get out of here!
He stood at the window, watching the lights in the house go out one by one.
Turning away from the door, he stretched out on the narrow cot, his arms folded behind his head, but sleep would not come.
"Falkon?"
He was at the window in two long strides. "Ashlynne, what are you doing down here?"
"I wanted to see you."
He reached through the bars, his fingers stroking her cheek. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
"Come here."
She moved closer to the window. Standing on tiptoe, she leaned forward, her eyelids fluttering down as he kissed her.
She was sweet, so sweet. He cursed the door standing between them, wishing he could take her in his arms. He had never thought to fall in love again, had forgotten how overpowering it could be.
Ashlynne sighed as he took his lips from hers. Just one kiss, and her whole body was trembling, quivering with desire. "I wish—"
"What do you wish, princess?"
"I wish you'd stop calling me that."
He grinned at her. "Tell me."
"I wish we could make love."
He couldn't see her face clearly in the darkness, but he had a feeling she was blushing. "I know." He reached through the bars again, his hand cupping her face.
"I love you," she murmured. "I love you so much."
"Ashlynne…"
"Tell me," she said.
"I love you, too."
She covered his hand with hers and rubbed her cheek against his palm.
"You said Hassrick wants to get married right away. Have you set a date?"
"In three months."
Falkon grunted softly. Three months. If he couldn't find a way out of here by then, he never would.
"Niklaus said we're going to Tierde after the wedding."
"Oh?"
Ashlynne nodded. "He's going to take over running the mine." She hesitated a moment. "He said it belongs to me now."
"I thought the Romarians had confiscated it."
"So did I, but the mine didn't belong to the Confederation. It belonged to my father. Falkon…"
"What?"
"Never mind." There was no point in telling him that Drade was on Tierde. Not now. There was nothing he could do about it, nothing to be gained in the telling.
"What is it?"
"Nothing. Just that Niklaus has assigned you to work in the stable. You start tomorrow."
He grunted softly. Shoveling manure was a hell of a lot better than digging crystals out of a dark mine deep in the bowels of Tierde.
She squeezed his hand. "I'd better go before I'm missed." She leaned forward for his kiss, whispered, "Goodnight, I love you," then turned and ran up the path to the house.
Falkon turned around, his back against the door as he glanced at his surroundings. "Goodnight, indeed," he muttered.
He was roused first thing in the morning. A servant brought him breakfast. It was hot. It was good. It was filling. He reminded himself again that things could be worse, that he could be back in the mine, but he had a hard time convincing himself. A prison was a prison, whether it was a cold dark cell or a furnished room. And he was damned tired of being locked up.
Twenty minutes later, the door to his hut opened. A man stood just outside the door. He was close to seven feet tall, with short black hair, narrow brown eyes, and the biggest hands Falkon had ever seen. A deep scar scored his right cheek. He wore brown leather pants and a garish green shirt. He carried a stun gun in a thick leather holster. But it was the controller that caught and held Falkon's attention.
"I am Moldaur, in charge of this section of the estate. You are to report to the barn immediately. Bryson will give you your orders for the day. Is that clear?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Insolence is not tolerated here," Moldaur warned. "Do what you are told, and you will be well treated. Any trouble you cause will reflect on me. I do not like slaves who cause me trouble." He tapped the controller with his knuckles. "Do so, and you will regret it."
"I've heard the drill before," Falkon muttered.
"You will return here for the midday meal, and again at the end of the day. Do not be late."
"Is that all?"
Moldaur let out a sigh. "Remember what I said."
The Hassrick family had a good eye for horseflesh. Five blooded mares and two stallions occupied the barn. Horses were rare, and a luxury few could afford.
He spent the morning mucking the stalls. It was a chore most found odious; Falkon enjoyed it. He liked the way the barn smelled, the air filled with the scent of sweet hay and horseflesh and the not-totally-unpleasant odor of manure.
At noon, he returned to his cell for the midday meal. A tray awaited him. As soon as he steppe
d into the cell, the door closed and locked behind him; thirty minutes later, the door opened.
He returned to the barn, felt a peculiar catch in his throat when he saw Ashlynne standing inside the doorway. She was wearing a pair of sleek red pants, soft knee-high black boots, and a long-sleeved white sweater. He stared at her, trying to recall if he had seen her in pants before, trying to ignore the heat pooling in his groin. She had her back to him, petting one of the mares.