Captive Embraces

Book 2: Captive Series

by Fern Michaels

Genres: Sea Adventures; Romance; Action & Adventure Romance; Historical Romance

Synopsis

A bold romance from international bestselling author Fern Michaels about a beautiful a fierce, fearless young woman conquers the high seas to win back the man who stole her fortunes—and her heart. . . Proud and beautiful Sirena Córdez was once commander of her own ship, battling pirates to avenge her sister's violent death. But Sirena's life as the Sea Siren ends when she meets Regan van der Rhys. Handsome, ruthless, and as fearless as she, Regan is the only man who can possess her, body and soul. Once enemies on water, they become lovers on land until their marriage is shattered by heartbreaking tragedy. Abandoned by her husband and left to face an uncertain future, the Sea Siren hoists sail again, embarking on a passion-filled voyage to reclaim her destiny. . . Praise for Fern Michaels and Her Novels "Heartbreaking, suspenseful, and tender." — Booklist on Return to Sender "A big, rich book in every way. . ..I think Fern Michaels has struck oil with this one." —Patricia Matthews on Texas Rich 175,000 Words

Release date: February 20, 2014

Publisher: eClassics

Print pages: 481

Sample

1628

The late afternoon sun dipped low on the western horizon, suffusing the tropical isle of Java in a red glow that crept through the tall, narrow windows and reflected off Luanna’s slim naked beauty. Sleekly formed hips, narrow as a boy’s, caught the sun as she raised her arms to undo the pins at the back of her head, allowing her jet-black hair to cascade to her slim waist. Her small breasts were firm and high; her body absent of hair as was the Javanese tradition. Luanna was fully aware of the sensual picture she presented to Regan van der Rhys. As the most sought after and notorious prostitute on the island, it was her business to know how to appeal to a man’s lusty appetites.

Regan watched Luanna’s preparations; mentally comparing her to a sultry feline. She moved toward the bed where he waited, sliding in beside him, pressing her hips suggestively against him. Her oblique, dark eyes smiled into his. Regan pulled her to him, conscious of her slender length against his flesh, feeling his responses rise to a throbbing urgency. Her skin was cool and fragrant, her hair perfumed and silky, falling over his face as she kissed and nibbled artfully at his lips. He returned her embrace, tasted her mouth, enjoyed the suppleness of her body. His hands found her breasts and he heard her make a faint sound almost like the purring of a contented cat. He wanted to taste, to feel, to lose himself in her, to forget.

Passions mounted and he tumbled her beneath him, burying his face in her cloud of hair, experiencing the slow curl of heat in his belly, aware that Luanna was matching his movements with a rhythm of her own.

Luanna’s hands kneaded the broad muscles of his back, drawing him closer, excited by his increasing passion. Her thighs closed savagely around him, locking him to her as she felt herself being swept away by the wild emotions this man created within her. “Regan ...” she moaned against his demanding mouth, tasting the sweetness of the wine he had consumed.

She was aware of the thick golden fleece on his chest brushing against her breasts, stimulating their coral tips to stand erect, the hard flat muscles of his stomach pressing against her, the strength of his arms and hands, the clean masculine scent of him. Each of her senses was heightened and filled by this man who could make her feel as though she’d never known another lover, who could make her believe she was created for his pleasure alone and, in giving that pleasure to him, find her own.

Her fingers traced the lines of his face and, even with her eyes closed, she could perceive his image. The brightness of his hair was like moonbeams captured on the water, thick and crisp and whitened like the grasses on the hillside during the summer. His heavy brows gave such a defiant, determined expression to his cool, agate-blue eyes, eyes that could pierce a woman’s soul and make her his slave. The bronze of his skin, warmed by the sun and stung by the sea; his full sensitive lips—his smile, white and strong—the cleft in his chin which gave him a certain boyishness and endowed his handsome, almost craggy features with a vulnerability.

Touching his broad shoulders and rock-ribbed torso, she knew the power of this man, a force and energy that made a woman aware of her own defenselessness. But she also knew his gentleness, his consideration. She was reminded of it and reassured by it with each caress stirring her desires and leading her to the threshold of ecstasy. His hands reached down to grasp her hips and she gasped with anticipation. His mouth closed over hers and she began to moan and he carried her with him. Together they spun over the threshold of sensuality into the universe, whirling on a roll of thunder and blinded by a flashing bolt of rapture. In the quiet of the room she heard his voice, deep and heavy, “Sirena ...”

Afterward Luanna’s fingertips traced the frown that furrowed his brow. Lightly she kissed the slight downward pull at the corner of his mouth. She had seen him this way many times in the past months and she knew he only came to her when his passions demanded release and he needed the arms of a woman to comfort his sorrow. “There was a time, Regan, when I would have cheerfully killed you if you had whispered another woman’s name while you lay in my arms,” she said softly, watching the traces of bitterness cloud his eyes. “Do you know you call out for her?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Regan growled, making a move to leave her side.

“No, stay here with me,” she whispered, pressing him back against the bedding. “It’s time you told someone of your grief.”

Regan turned and looked at Luanna’s lovely face beside him on the pillow. “There is nothing to tell.” Wresting himself free of her, he rose from the bed and reached for his clothes.

Luanna sat up, her long hair falling over her shoulders, cloaking her nudity from his eyes. “You lie! Each time you come here to be with me it is her name you call out. Don’t you think I feel it in your touch? It’s not my body you reach out for, it is hers!”

“Leave me alone, Luanna. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spoke in a monotone, teeth clenched, frightening in his intensity.

Still, Luanna persisted. “I know. I am not stupid! Ever since you came back to Java with your wife and infant son you do not seek Luanna’s arms. You want no other woman, only Sirena. Yet, since your young son died it is to Luanna that you come with such loneliness in your eyes.”

“Nonsense!” Regan growled as he fastened the buttons on his shirt and reached for his boots.

“It is not nonsense. Do you think it is only Luanna who sees this change in you? Bah! You men! Always so strong! But a woman knows, Regan.”

“It’s your female imagination,” he bristled, angry with this turn in the conversation. “I don’t come here for advice, Luanna,” he smiled with bravado.

“You can’t fool your Luanna. It is not for me that you cry out at the moment of release. It is for your wife... Sirena! Go back to her, Regan, go to your Sirena. I can’t bear to see your heart breaking this way. Don’t you think I know a man starved for love when I see him? Go to her. Bare your heart to her. Make her love you. Force her if you must. Break through her grief, Regan, make her see that she needs you and loves you!”

Regan was taken aback by the sincere tears he saw in Luanna’s eyes. In the manner of a woman she saw straight through to the root of his problem. “Is this what I’ve come to, Luanna? A man who evokes a whore’s pity?” he asked softly.

“And the best damn whore in all the Indies!” Luanna a defended proudly.

Tentatively, he stretched out a hand to brush away the tears glistening on her smooth round cheeks.

“Get out of here, Regan! Go back to your Sirena!” Picking up the bedside lamp, she held it threateningly. “Go home to your wife!”

Silently Regan left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Twilight was descending again upon the long stretch of lawn that came to an abrupt end at the edge of the dense primeval jungle surrounding the van der Rhys mansion. From here, the busy growth of Batavia, Java’s primary seaport, was unnoticed. The vibrant foliage insulated the house’s inhabitants against any intrusion from the outside world. The splendid dwelling and outlying plantation had become the entire world to Sirena van der Rhys in the six months since the death of her only child, Mikel.

Tonight, as every night, Sirena took her place near the delicate pane-glass doors leading out to the garden, to stand sentry. Her deep green eyes penetrated the falling darkness as her mind trod the path to the edge of the lawn where Mikel’s lovingly tended grave rested.

If the once ebullient servants in the van der Rhys home were subdued and watchful in her presence, Sirena did not notice. If their once spirited steps were now a quiet shuffle, she did not care. If Regan looked to her for a sign of affection or a soft word, she did not think to respond. Sirena’s only thought was of Mikel. His world was her existence; his eternity her fate.

Regan watched his wife from beneath lowered eyelids as she stood near the doors. The muscles in his lean, clean-shaven jaw tautened as he observed her shoulders slump and her classic profile turn once more to gaze out over the lawn. It had been an error of judgment to allow Sirena to place Mikel’s grave so close to the house. He should have insisted that the child be placed beside his grandfather in the small plot of ground at the far end of the nutmeg grove. This standing guard, playing sentinel to a child six months cold was bringing him to the breaking point. He ran a sun-bronzed hand through his thatch of wheat-colored hair and groaned inwardly.

Why couldn’t Sirena turn to him? Where had he failed her? Could she not see that the loss of their son was as painful a cross to bear for him as it was for her? Couldn’t she see that sharing the loss would make the burden lighter for both of them? Where was the woman he had once known? Where was his Sea Siren? Had the spirit left her at the same moment the breath had left Mikel’s body?

Regan closed his eyes against the mournful sight of Sirena and he saw her once again as he remembered her; tall and slender, an expression of supremacy on her delicate features, the light of challenge burning in her eyes. Once again he reveled in the memory of her long raven tresses swept by the sea’s errant winds and the haughty set of her shoulders and the daring lift of her chin. He lived again the moments when he had seen her with a mantle of spindrift clouding her hair and settling in a salty wetness on the smooth, tawny flesh of her long, sensuous limbs.

How long had it been since he had heard her laugh? He imagined he heard it now as he had that day when he first saw her aboard her phantom ship, nearly six years ago. She had been a sea witch as she stood with feet placed firmly apart, the rapier’s point dug into the deck and her rippling laugh coursing over the waters to taunt him. Then, he had been aware mostly of her abbreviated costume which revealed much of her swelling breasts and all of her lightly muscled legs.

He had never seen a woman as beautiful as the Sea Siren and he realized that beneath the somber, heavy gowns which had become Sirena’s regular attire, the same beauty still lurked. The same loveliness, yet so much more. Her skin was still buffed ivory. Her eyes, once flashing emeralds, now without luster beneath a thick black fringe of lashes, were nevertheless wide and slightly tilted at the corners, giving her an Oriental appearance. And her full, sensuous lips were now drawn into a firm line. But once they had been mobile, smiling over strong, dazzling teeth. Motherhood had ripened her beauty and softened it. Though still as slim as a girl, there was a lushness about her.

His arms ached to hold her, to press her head lovingly against his chest and fill her world with love and tenderness and share with her again that all-encompassing. yearning for one another. His desire to love and be loved was only secondary to his wanting to comfort her, to be comforted.

Yet Sirena had denied them both this sweet release from grief. She had spurned his advances and turned him away. And fool that he was, he had allowed it His desire to see her comforted had controlled his passions. In his respect for her grief he had determinedly quelled his needs for her as his wife.

Currently, as Regan shifted his weight in the deep armchair he knew that the constraints of that respect had reached the breaking point. He wanted her, he needed her now! Mikel was dead and if the situation were allowed to continue there would be no respite from the eternal sorrow.

Night had fallen swiftly and the edge of the lawn was barely discernible. There was no moon to light a silvery path to Mikel’s grave. These were the times Sirena dreaded the most—when Mikel was shrouded in darkness.

The sound of Regan shifting in his chair caught Sirena’s attention. In the glass panes of the doors she saw his reflection. A deepening grudge burned within her. It was this emotion that was the only part of her still alive. She returned her attention to the darkness outside and recalled her horror the day Regan had come upon her soon after the child’s death when she had been placing a lantern upon his grave. “It’s for when the nights are black and long,” she had explained tearfully. She had expected Regan to understand. Instead he had wrung the light from her hand and sent it crashing against the simple stone marker. There had been a fury in his blue eyes and a tensing of the muscles along his jaw.

“Mikel is dead!” he had exploded in a demonstration of rage. “There is no earthly light which can ease his soul. Where’s your Christian belief, Sirena? Were you not taught that all little children find their place beside the Lord?”

“My son,” she had returned, “was fearful of the dark!”

“Your son!” Regan had bellowed. “Was he not also mine? Would you deny me my own grief that he should be taken from me so cruelly?”

“You bury what misery you feel in your damnable office. You leave this house with thoughts of business on your mind and give not a second thought to your own flesh and blood placed so heartlessly beneath this ground. Tell me, Regan, was it for you Mikel called in the night when a stray wind would blow out his lamp? Did you hurry from your bed to cradle him and chase away his imaginings of winged creatures?” Sirena’s face became alive with anger. “More than once you pulled me back against you with reassurances he would be over his terrors that much quicker if I paid them no mind! When I think of the times I heeded you, when I rested again in your arms and closed my ears to his whimpers to listen instead to your soft murmurings of love, it grates my soul! And now you would deny him this final respite which we alone can give him—a lantern on his grave!”

Regan had appeared as though struck full in the face. His features whitened, his mouth drew downward with sorrow. “You would have me believe Mikel cried out in fear. Think back, Sirena, and know the truth for what it is. When Mikel suffered nightmares, there was no chance for anyone besides you to go to him. I swear there were moments when I felt as though you kept your slippers on your feet perchance he should call to you. And those whimperings. Childhood dreams! The boy never turned in his sleep or sighed over dreams of angels that you didn’t rush to his crib to watch over him. If there were indeed nights when I was able to take your thoughts from him and turn them to me, they were rare indeed!”

“Now you would have me know you were jealous of your own son!”

“No, Sirena,” Regan had said truthfully, his rage calming and a tenderness creeping into his tone, “both of us know we exaggerate. It wasn’t nearly the picture we paint. You were a loving mother and I a loving father. We both know this. Scenes of our son resting against your breast still haunt me. Would that we could have another child to soothe your sorrow and lighten my heart.” A gentleness shone in Regan’s eyes as Sirena looked up at him. His golden head had been framed by the blue of the sky and the deepness of his eyes paled the heavens. He pulled Sirena close, crushing her against him, reveling in the feel of her breasts firm and full against his chest and the fragility of her waist’s small span.

Sirena’s senses had been filled with him, this man who could still quench her desires and fill her life and consume her, robbing her of every thought save him. The sun had beat warmly against her back but warmer still had been contact of their flesh; her body against his, his mouth upon hers, drinking in the sweetness of her kiss.

Regan’s hands had explored the soft swell of her breasts and he had reached lower to press her hips more firmly against him. Their thighs had strained toward union and their breath came in rasps of long-suppressed passion. Here was life, here was promise in Regan’s arms. His fingers found the lacings of her gown and she had felt the bindings loosening and the touch of his hand against her bare flesh. Her arms had tightened about his neck, pulling his head down to her, feeling his breath upon her cheek. She had offered him her mouth, her breasts, her rapture and the sweet remembered sharing between them became alive again.

Regan had been overcome with the return of his ardor and had felt the desire within his wife bloom to full flower. The sensation was heady, drowning his senses in the flood tide of longing for her. He had tasted her salty tears running in rivulets down her cheeks to the place where their lips met.

Sirena had felt herself on the verge of giving herself to him when the sound of Regan’s booted foot crunched upon the splintered glass from the lantern. The sound had penetrated her being and imbedded itself in her soul. Fraught with anger she had wrested herself from his embrace. “Would you take me here within sight of Mikel’s grave? Where is your decency? Upon the very earth which covers his tiny coffin? You rutting scurve! To think I almost was a party to your perfidy!”

Regan’s gaze locked with Sirena’s. Slowly and deliberately he had ground another shard beneath his heel. “Where will You lay with me, Sirena?” he asked in controlled fury. “Not anywhere near here, not within the walls of our bedroom, not upon a deserted windswept island ... where, Sirena? Where will you give yourself to me?”

The brilliant sparks had seemed to fly from Sirena’s eyes, the furies unbound her rage as she had turned to face him. Were she a dragon her nostrils would have spewed fire, were she an angel the vengeance of Heaven would have crashed down upon him. Her voice was a low, menacing hiss and the cords of her neck bespoke hatred. “I am not Gretchen Lindenreich. That German bitch, that flagrant whore, who would have no respect for those things sacred. She would have lain with you upon any grave, upon any deserted isle, indeed upon the Avenue of Lions within the heart of Batavia for all of Java to witness!”

Regan had knotted his hands into fists, his rage consuming him, depriving him of all good sense. “How easily you spit Gretchen’s name,” he had menaced, “now that she’s dead and therefore no threat. Leave the dead be, Sirena.”

“How quickly you jump to her defense! If that German bitch were here among the living, we would not be here spitting like two cats. You’d be in her bed!”

“You could do with a bit of the warmth Gretchen yeilded to me!” Regan had heaved in injury.

“To you and any other man upon the island!”

“Gretchen was always there,” Regan had said in a lowered tone, his eyes piercing Sirena’s with meaning.

Her eyes had murdered him as her reflexes had their way and the palm of her hand stung the flesh of his cheek in a resounding blow.

Without a second’s hesitation, Regan had retaliated in kind, sending her a blow which had knocked her off her feet and left her sprawling upon the shallow mound of Mikel’s grave.

That had been nearly six months ago and the same measured footsteps by which he had left her there, sobbing upon the soft earth, were now advancing upon her as she stood sentinel at the doors. She looked again at Regan’s reflection in the dark glass and saw there an expression about his mouth and a light in his eyes which spoke of his intentions.

Sirena withdrew from the doors and skirted past a small table, her movements wary and her sea-green eyes feral. Her fists, alabaster white in the dim lamplit room, clenched tightly into balls as she turned to face her husband.

Her eyes pleaded with him; her breath caught in shallow sobs. She thrust her chin upward in a silent demand that he understand her feelings. Still he advanced, slowly, purposefully. She was assaulted by a memory of a long-ago occasion when he had confronted her just this way, with the same deliberate glinting in his eyes. Then he had taken her against her will. Regan had had his way. Rising above her desperate agony, Sirena managed to whisper, “I need more time, please, Regan. Don’t do this to me. Just a little longer.”

Regan stalked her slowly, insidiously, the magnitude of his strength looming between Sirena and the glowing light. His shoulders were massive and appeared even broader in comparison to his tapered hips and lean length of thigh. The white shirt he wore emphasized the bronze of his skin and was open to the waist, revealing the golden fur on his chest. He held his arms at his sides, his strong, capable hands barely touching his tight-cut breeches, calling to Sirena’s attention the swell of his manhood beneath the thin, buff-colored fabric.

Regan realized the effect these movements were having upon Sirena. He could see the wild look of apprehension in her eyes and sense her sharp anxiety with each step he took. Within him, he was aware of a desire to quell her misgivings and tell her of his yearning for her, the longing, the agony of this life apart from her, the need to be yet still within the reaches of her gaze and the aura of her presence. He needed her as he needed the air he breathed and the blood which coursed through his veins. He needed his wife, for she alone could ease this void in his heart. Yet these words would not come from his lips. He knew she would find argument with them and he would spend another night alone with his arms hopelessly reaching out in his sleep to cradle her close to him. If Sirena were to become his wife in every way, as she had once been, it would call for stronger methods.

“You have avoided me long enough, Sirena. You asked me for just a bit longer months ago and since that day, we have been separated in more than body. We have separated in spirit. I’ve respected your wishes, but the time has come for you to respect mine.” His voice was low and matched his deliberate motions.

“Please, Regan, a little longer,” Sirena breathed, taking a step backward.

“Do my ears deceive me, are you pleading with me? The Sea Siren begging?” His laugh came harsh and tinged with menace in the quiet room.

“The Sea Siren is dead. That was another life, long ago. Before Mikel, before everything.” Still Regan advanced and Sirena read the determination in his eyes. She felt his powerful emotions as if they were tangible. Ironically, she remembered the effect his blue eyes had once had upon her. She knew how they could render her immobile, bent on his bidding.

Regan advanced another step as Sirena clutched at the edge of a square table, keeping its width between them. “How long?” he taunted. “A day, a week, a month? How long?”

“I don’t know. Just a bit more... I...”

“My patience is at an end. Six months is more than any man can be expected to bear. You’re my wife and I expect you to act like it!”

“I can’t ... not yet ... just—”

“Mikel is dead. You can’t bring him back! Put it behind you and go on from there. If you don’t, then we’re both doomed. There can be other children; we have years.”

“Easy for you to say, your arms aren’t empty! I was his mother, he was my flesh and blood! I’ve had everyone taken from me, everyone I loved. Tio Juan, Isabella—and now Mikel. This godforsaken land has taken everything from me.” Sirena’s gaze became misty and her lower jaw trembled from suppressed tears.

Regan’s heart went out to her. She was so vulnerable, so defeated. “And what of me, love? I haven’t been taken from you. Can’t you find some small joy in the fact that we still have each other?”

Regan’s words caught Sirena’s attention and stirred her from the depths of self-pity. The lamplight behind him cast deep shadows over his rugged face but there was an emotion to be read there which made Sirena issue a slight moan. Regan was a virile and vital man, not one to be put aside to spend the remainder of his days in celibacy. She loved him, she knew that, yet her arms seemed weighted and strapped to her sides, her feet frozen to the floor. There was a dull ache deep within her as she recognized his loneliness, yet she was powerless to lift her arms to embrace him. Her feet refused to take that first small step which would take her to him and find her crushed against him, sharing the burden of grief and finding joy in loving.

Regan watched the play of emotion Sash across Sirena’s face. He saw the thick, black fringe of lashes close over her wide, cat-like eyes. He experienced a weakness, an anticipation of hunger soon to be fed, a longing and yearning near the brink of being fulfilled. Her moist lips parted and he could not take his gaze from them, remembering their warmth and sweetness as they clung to his, easing his passions and replenishing his sense of wonder that this vivacious goddess, who had once been named “Sea Siren”, should have chosen him above all other men to gift with her love.

Regan’s heart thundered in his chest. Somehow he had to stir Sirena from her apathy and make her come alive. Again he pressed, “Am I to think I count for nothing?”

“That’s not what I meant...” Sirena stammered. “I speak of what was mine. My flesh and blood.”

“You told me once that a person can’t own another. You didn’t own your uncle and your sister. We were both parents to Mikel.”

The dark head lifted, her sea-green eyes turned murky. “Mikel was mine. I gave birth to him and now he’s dead. That fool of a doctor killed him and you let it happen!”

Regan’s shoulders slumped, but only for a moment. “There were two doctors and they both agreed. Even the natives, who have lived with the fever for as long as memory, agreed. Mikel was beyond saving. Place no blame on my shoulders, Sirena. If it’s children you want, then you’ll be pregnant nine months out of the year,” he grinned mischievously.

Her eyes sparkled dangerously. “So you can run with every whore from Java To Sumatra? No thank you.”

“You expect too much,” Regan said with forced evenness. “I’m a man and six months is—”

“Too long to be faithful!” Sirena interrupted. “Say it, Regan. You don’t care how I feel and what I think. All you know is that you must have your lust satisfied. Then go satisfy it somewhere else,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing, the delicate line of her jaw tight and forbidding.

“I will do exactly that,” Regan growled, “but not until—”

“Think again, Regan. I’m only yours if I want to be.” Sirena said softly, blood surging through her. “I have no intention of playing this cat-and-mouse game. I know what you want. I know what all this is leading to. I gave you my answer once and I will only repeat it one more time. I am not leaving this island!” She came around the table, stepping close to him, challenging him, speaking slowly, giving each word its full weight. “I stay here with Mikel. I will not live with the thought of the damnable jungle creeping over my son’s grave, obliterating it! I stay here. When I begged you to leave while Mikel was still alive, you refused. Now the shoe is on the other foot. I’m staying here! Go, go to Spain and see to my, holdings. That’s what you want. You want to take everything from me. Take it. I no longer care!”

“Your inheritance is mine, but only in the eyes of the law. You speak as though your holdings are my sole interest in you. Still, someone must put them in order,” Regan said defensively.

“And you’re that someone! I know the laws, you made me painfully aware of them a long time ago. What I own is yours, not mine, not ours, yours. Take everything that belongs to me and I’ll still survive to tend my son’s grave.”

Regan drew his breath in sharply. “The child is dead, you must stop grieving. Life is for the living,” he said, reaching out for her.

“Leave me alone,” Sirena warned, grasping a decanter of wine, holding it aloft.

“And if I don’t? Will you fight me when I simply want to claim what is mine?” Regan asked churlishly.

“Why can’t you be more patient? Why do you have to be such a bull? Listen to me, Regan,” she said softly. “Much has happened to me. So much, too much to forget. My arms ache to hold Mikel. My eyes burn for the sight of his sweet face. My heart is dead. In time I’ll accept my loss, but that time hasn’t come. I do love you. I’ll always love you, but you can never replace that which I felt for my son. Why won’t you understand?”

His agate eyes clouded, spelling their own message of loss. “He was my son, too. We should share our grief. We should comfort each other. I tried to ease your agony but you rejected me just as you rejected Caleb. How do you think the boy feels?”

Sirena’s hand, holding the decanter, lowered. A new pain came into her eyes when she thought of young Caleb. She adored him. He was like a brother to her. A much-loved brother. But he wasn’t Mikel. Somewhere in her mind it registered that Regan was too close, almost upon her. “You have Caleb. He is your son, your flesh and blood. I have nothing. You lost one son. I lost my only son! I have nothing. Nothing!”

Regan grasped her arms, pulling her across the floor, her heavy, black skirts trailing.

“Take your hands off me! No man will ever again subject me to rape and that includes you!” she snarled, her teeth bared. “Sooner or later you’ll have to release one of my hands and the moment you do, you’ll be blinded. I’ll pluck your mocking eyes out of your ignorant head!”

Regan merely laughed, the sound raising the hack