Page 18 of The Last Crimes of Peregrine Hind
Peregrine didn’t bother to respond. He left Sandy the candle, and Sandy stared at the dancing flame for a long time after his captor left, acutely aware of how ridiculous it was to cry over a lover’s abrupt exit when the lover was his future murderer.
Sandy did it anyway.
Seven
Peregrine
“Is there a reason I’m not tied up?” Alexander demanded from the doorway of the sacristy.
It was late morning, and Peregrine was tired, having spent a sleepless night on the hard stone floor outside Alexander’s cell, wishing viciously that he was back inside it with a sleeping Alexander clinging to him like a limpet. But he’d had no choice. He’d come so perilously close to telling Alexander things that he’d told no one, not even Lyd, and that wasn’t right, that couldn’t be right, could it? That this man he was supposed to kill—or at the very least, hate—was the only person he wanted to trust with memories so painful he barely trusted himself with them?
No, he’d been right to leave.
Except he’d been restless all night and was miserable today, and seeing Sandy barefoot and looking like some kind of fairy-tale prince somehow made everything better and worse at the same time.
“I must be the luckiest kidnapper ever,” Peregrine said. “My captive reminds me to keep him bound.”
“It’s a favor to me, really,” Alexander said. “And you owe me so many favors by now.”
Peregrine grunted in response.
Alexander padded across the stone floor to the table where Peregrine sat. But he didn’t take a chair for himself; instead, he hopped onto the table in front of Peregrine, sitting on his papers.
Peregrine wanted to be irritated, but it was difficult when Alexander’s legs were spread so wide, and when his loose shirt had pulled to the side, exposing a bronze-pink nipple . . .
“Where are the others?” Alexander asked, reaching out to run his fingertips along the edge of Peregrine’s jaw. It felt so good, so comforting, that Peregrine found himself allowing the touch, even though he shouldn’t.
“They went to wait for the duchess on the road.”
“Judith,” Alexander said, sighing. “There’s no love lost between us, but you don’t suppose they’ll hurt her, do you?”
Peregrine shook his head that he didn’t know, his eyelids beginning to close as Alexander kept petting him. He couldn’t remember ever being touched like this, with such affection. With no further purpose other than to touch.
“I’m not sure how far Lyd will go, but if I had my guess, I’d say she won’t hurt the duchess. Not badly, at least. I did think they’d be back by now, though.”
Alexander made a thinking noise. “Judith was feeling poorly when I left two days ago. Maybe she’d planned to leave but then hadn’t felt up to it.”
Peregrine nodded, eyes fully closed now. This was ludicrous, foolish beyond all reason, being stroked into submission like a lazy lion by clever prey. But neither could he bring himself to stop it. Last night with Alexander had been the most sharply exhilarating pleasure he’d ever known, but this moment, with his captive perched insouciantly on the table and his caresses sweet on Peregrine’s face . . .
This was the kind of moment men fought wars for.
Peregrine spent the rest of the morning readying baths for each of them, and then after they washed, Peregrine bound Alexander’s wrists as he had yesterday. Alexander’s cock was thickly visible in his breeches before Peregrine finished wrapping even a single wrist with silk, and Peregrine’s pulse sped as he thought about what might happen later, after several hours of keeping Alexander so thoroughly teased.
But despite the pleasant, if petulant, scenery of his day, Peregrine began to feel the slightest curl of concern for Lyd and the others as the sun moved across the sky. It wasn’t a true worry, because Lyd was very good at her chosen vocation, and Ned and the rest were the perfect companions for highway robbery, but it was the seed of a worry. They had left witnesses to Alexander’s abduction, after all, which meant there was a chance that there would be a reward already posted for their band’s capture.
Which meant people would be scouring the road for traces of Peregrine and his fellow thieves even more than they usually were.
Peregrine decided to check the old alms box at the front of the priory, which was where the band left each other notes, and where any messengers from Chagford or beyond left their messages as well. Peregrine was careful only to hire people he knew he could trust, but even so, the messengers believed the priory was a waypoint for Peregrine and his thieves, a convenient place to stable horses or wait out some rain, and not their true hideout. He trusted those he hired, but even good men could be tempted by the thought of unprotected loot.
Or a handsome reward.
“I’m going outside for a few moments,” he told Alexander, who was currently lying on his stomach, reading one of the books Peregrine had found for him. “Do I need to tie you down so you don’t leave your bed?”
“Only my bed has this edition of the Earl of Rochester’s poetry, so no,” Alexander said, not taking his eyes off the book, kicking his feet in the air like a schoolboy as he read. “But leave my wrists tied, if you please.”
“As you say,” Peregrine said and left his pretty captive on the bed.
Peregrine quickly checked on the horses and then scouted the front of the priory to make sure there was no one about. Assured that it was only him, Alexander, and the horses nearby, he went to the box, which indeed had a small note tucked under the lid.
