Sorcha…
The next morning, my captor doesn’t come to get me as usual. Instead, Eileen opens the door.
“Good morning Miss-” Her eyes widen and she clears her throat.
“Good morning Eileen,” I give her a huge smile. “You know, my friends call me Scorch. You calling me Scorch would be grand. Or Sorcha. Whichever.”
Poor Eileen shakes her head and soldiers on.
“Good morning. Would you like to come down for breakfast? Mr.-” This time, she sighs irritably. My captor’s insistence on no names to break me down is clearly getting toher.“There are slippers here with very thick, comfortable soles. It should make walking around less painful on those stitches.”
“Thank you Eileen, that’s very kind of you.” She may not be able to say my name, but I will say the hell out of hers.
The walk down the stairs is not my best moment of the day. They’re marble and a little slippery, so I’m clutching the railing and walking with the speed and agility of your average ninety-year-old. My heel with the deepest cut is throbbing by the time I make it to the bottom, but it’s worth it. I can walk again.
And soon, I can run.
“You’ll have more freedom now,” Eileen says happily after she’s served me coffee and croissants for breakfast. “I’ll show you around a bit. The master of the house informed the guards and me that you are allowed access to the downstairs.”
“Thank you!” Oh, lord, I’m so happy. “Um, would that extend to the terrace?” I can see the back gardens and potted trees from the kitchen and the longing to get out of the house and walk in the grass is almost painful.
Her pleasant face drooped a little. “I’m sorry, I was not given that instruction.”
“Oh, thank you very much, all the same. I’m happy to walk around a bit.” I smile and nod, and she smiles back. I’m glad that stuffy bastard who bought me didn’t instruct her to pretend like I don’t exist, the way he seems to. Other than picking me up and carrying me around, he ignores me. I’m glad my feet are healed enough that he doesn’t have to drag me around like a lapdog any longer. I was beginning to relax in his arms. It feels safe, and he smells so good- but his grasp isnotsafe. I’m here because he’s going to do something horrible to my family and he is using me as a tool.
Don’t forget who the enemy is,I remind myself,even if you’re trapped in a luxurious cage.
I seat myself with a book in a sunny alcove by the front door. It gives me a chance to watch the guard rotations and I note the times they seem to switch off and how they circle the penthouse. Even here, inside this man’s fortress, there are still two guards who silently pad through the halls. Four more men circulate through the terrace that wraps around the penthouse and the rooftop gardens.
Shite. Six men. All the time.
One of them passes by me for the third rotation inside the penthouse, but this time, he slows down a bit.
“It’s a fine afternoon,” I offer. This is the man - the one I dubbed Helpful Lad - who gave me the little smile when I was out on the terrace that day.
“It is,” he murmurs, giving me another fleeting smile before turning and heading toward the back. If the timetable I’ve created is right, he should be back in half an hour. I wait, clutching the book I’m pretending to read. And like clockwork, he is.
“I’m Sorcha,” I whisper, “what’s your name?”
He’s like the rest of them; dressed in a dark suit with a grave expression on his face. He looks younger than most of the security here, he’s got some scarring on his neck, and his buzzcut makes me wonder if he’d been in the military. His blue eyes watch me warily. “Steven.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” I give him a tentative smile. He nods, just barely, and starts his rotation again.
Another twenty minutes. Maybe Steven is the guy who can get me out of here.
“You dinna seem like you hate me like the other guards,” I venture as he walks past again. He’s definitely slowing down when he gets to the alcove, I can see that now.
“I don’t think anyone here does, Sorcha,” he murmurs, “we do have our orders to keep away from you unless you’re in danger.”
He said my name. God, it’s good to hear it again.
“Iamin danger!” I whisper frantically. “Your boss is planning something and it’s going to be bad. Can you contact mybrothers? They can pay you a very generous sum to help me get home.”
My heart nearly seizes when my captor suddenly strolls out of his office.
“Move along, Christenson,” he snaps, glaring at the poor guard and then at me. I blink up at him innocently and return to pretending to read my book.
I don’t see Steven again as the afternoon drags on and I worry that my captor punished him for talking to me. Giving up with a sigh as Eileen announces its nearly dinner time. I’m required to dress for dinner here, something even my mother, the Lady Elspeth, doesn’t always make me do. Bracing for another night of eating in complete silence while the man across the table ignores me, I head up to change.
