Page 7 of The Last Crimes of Peregrine Hind
“There’s a privy through that door. It opens over a rather perilous drop, so I don’t recommend using it as a means of escape. I’ll bring you water and fresh clothes.”
Alexander blinked up at him. “That’s very thoughtful. Are you this considerate of all your captives?”
“I’ve never had one before,” Peregrine said. “I’ll return briefly. Please don’t make life difficult for yourself by trying to run.”
“Never.” Alexander swore with such earnestness that Peregrine knew he was lying. But Peregrine also remembered too vividly how it felt to go without changing clothes or washing his body when he was on a long and bitter campaign, and he wouldn’t subject Alexander to that. Maybe he’d abducted him, maybe he’d kill him, but at the very least, his prisoner could be clean and comfortable.
For the time being.
Peregrine waited until Alexander went into the privy, and then he went out into the church and past the open cloister to the small, stark cell he kept for himself. He’d furnished the hideout to a high degree of comfort, but nowadays, he gave away most of the spoils to families who’d lost their livelihoods while living on Dartham lands.
After finding a clean shirt and breeches, he filled a large ewer with water from their cistern and brought it back to the sacristy. Perhaps not surprisingly, the room was empty of pouting, long-haired rakes.
With a sigh, Peregrine deposited everything on a table and then strode out of the church to the covered walkway that led to the old scriptorium and ultimately to the front of the building. The priory wasn’t massive, but it had been prosperous enough to warrant several small additions over its years, which meant a labyrinthine layout. An escaping captive would have a difficult time assessing the quickest way to the front door.
Sure enough, there was a flash of red wool through the arches of the cloister, just on the other side of the garth. Peregrine hopped over the low ledge, moved through the overgrown grass in a few long bounds, and jumped into the covered walkway on the other side in time to snag Alexander by the coat.
Alexander twisted and fought, but the game was up; Peregrine had him up and over his shoulder in a moment’s work. Peregrine immediately had to ignore how warm Alexander was. How firm.
How that lovely backside was currently calling for Peregrine’s palm . . . or his teeth.
Alexander stopped struggling the minute Peregrine hoisted him up, and slumped. “I thought the front door was closer,” he admitted.
“It’s not,” Peregrine said, turning and carrying him back to the church.
“Apparently,” said Alexander in a forlorn tone.
“What happened to being the best captive?”
Alexander shifted a little on Peregrine’s shoulder. “I think we could debate the meaning of the word best, don’t you? After all, from my vantage, the best captive would be the captive who doesn’t miss an opportunity to run.”
Peregrine’s voice was wry when he spoke. “And from my vantage?”
Alexander paused. “Well, obviously the best captive for you would be someone lively and interesting. Entertaining. To relieve you of boredom, of course.”
“Of course.”
Peregrine walked through the doorway and then dropped Alexander on the bed, where the young man lay with his limbs spread like a starfish, blinking up at the ceiling.
“Is this what my captivity is going to be?” Alexander asked. “You hauling me around like a sack of grain?”
Peregrine didn’t answer and instead gestured to the clothes and ewer. “I will be standing outside the door. I recommend you wash and change as I do. You’ll be more comfortable.”
Alexander hoisted himself up on an elbow, eyebrow curved in provocative suggestion. “More comfortable for what? Because I have some ideas.”
Alexander was too playful like this, too bright. Just looking at him on the bed, with his eyes glittering and his mouth quirked, made Peregrine’s blood feel like it was made of fire. It made Peregrine feel, period.
That was a problem, since Peregrine preferred only one feeling, and that was hatred of the Darthams. That hatred had been his only purpose, his single cold solace these last four years, and it was going to stay that way, no matter how playful or pretty this Dartham heir was.
With a shake of his head, Peregrine left the room, leaving the heavy shape of his own silence behind him.
Four
Sandy
Sandy rather wished he’d been able to escape, but he had to admit to himself that the last three hours of his life had been livelier and more interesting than the last three years put together, which probably also meant that he should admit to himself that the last few years of his life had been rather unsatisfying. Decadent, certainly, but in a way that increased his restlessness rather than soothing it.
Maybe he’d needed a good adventure to shake things up a little.
