The Captain of Her Heart

by Anita Stansfield

  * * * * *

   

  Kyrah was on her way out of the house when her attention was caught by a conversation coming from the library. She was not one to eavesdrop, and certainly had no interest in Peter Westman’s affairs. But the heated words filtered into the hallway with such volume that it was impossible to ignore what she heard.

  “You are welcome to leave here,” Peter’s voice came clearly with a defensive tone, “if all you’ve brought are threats.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” a smooth voice replied, not quite as loudly as Peter’s. “I just want you to know that I’m well aware of what you did to me, and sooner or later, justice will be met.”

  “Get out of here!” Peter demanded.

  “I’m leaving,” came the reply, “with pleasure.”

  “Good-night, Captain Garret,” Peter added bitterly, and Kyrah ran quietly down the hall toward the door. She felt suddenly afraid of what Peter might do if he discovered that she’d overheard.

  Walking slowly toward the cottage, Kyrah’s thoughts didn’t stay with the incident for long. Since she had seen Ritcherd that afternoon, visiting with Peter and his mother, her heart and her head had battled continually over what she should do. But she’d only come to one conclusion: she was confused. She hated the feeling creeping over her that she might have seen the last of Ritcherd Buchanan. He was a man who would only take so much, and she was certain he must have reached his limits. The scene in the drawing room flashed through her mind with fresh humiliation, and she thought of how much she hated Peter Westman. Then her mind darted to how it had felt to be kissed by Ritcherd Buchanan. Her heart made her wonder at times if she was doing the right thing. But logically she knew it would be best for both of them if she remained out of his life.

  Kyrah actually felt relieved that her work had taken her longer than usual today. It was well past dark, and she knew her mother would be sleeping by now. She wanted nothing more than just to be alone with her thoughts and go to bed.

  Not far from the cottage, Kyrah felt the hair on the back of her neck suddenly bristle. She hesitated and definitely heard something unusual behind her. Without turning around, she quickened her steps in time to her pounding heart. She had just decided to run when a hand was clamped over her mouth and she was dragged away from the road and into the shadows of a cluster of oak trees. The hand left her mouth only long enough to tie a scarf tightly there, and her protests were muffled. Another scarf went over her eyes, leaving her unable to see anything.

  Kyrah had never been so frightened in her life as both her wrists were taken into a firm grip behind her back and tied. She was forced to walk ahead of her captor in the darkness. She wondered how much worse her life could get! Her mind went to the conversation she’d just overheard, and she wondered if Peter’s visitor was going to use her to get even with him. Or perhaps he had somehow found out she’d been eavesdropping and feared what she knew.

  Kyrah was lifted onto a horse despite her continued struggling. Her captor mounted in the saddle behind her and they rode for only a few minutes. The horse halted and she was pulled from its back and carried through a door that was kicked open. Her feet were set on the ground and she heard the door close—then it was latched. She was picked up again and set rather firmly into a pile of straw. She’d barely realized that she was in a barn when the cover was pulled from her eyes.

  “Ritcherd!” she cried out, but the word was muffled by the scarf in her mouth.

  “Now, little lady,” he said firmly, “I have got some things to say to you, and this is obviously the only way I am going to get to say them. You are going to listen to me—and listen good. Do you understand?” She only stared blankly at him, not certain if she should be afraid of him or of her own feelings. “Do you understand?” he repeated adamantly, and she nodded.

  “Good,” he said and continued after he took a deep breath. “Now, Kyrah Payne, you and I have a problem, and I will not leave you in peace until we can work it out effectively. In order to keep things as simple as possible, let’s just throw out any level of romantic involvement between us until we can get this sorted out. The bottom line is that you and I have been the best of friends since we were children, and I have done nothing to deserve the kind of treatment from you that I’m getting. At the very least, you should consider me as a brother to you . . . because I practically lived under your roof for eight years. And your parents are the only people who ever truly loved me and cared what happened to me—except for you. Are you following me so far?” he asked. When she didn’t move he raised his voice. “Well?”

  Kyrah nodded and he went on. “All right. So, you can think of me what you want, and your feelings for me are certainly beyond my control. But I will not stand by and allow you and your mother to go on living this way. And if that wounds your sweet pride, so be it. There is no place for pride in this relationship. Because I know that . . .” He hesitated, feeling a sudden surge of emotion that verified all over again what he was trying to tell her. “I know,” he repeated and his voice cracked, “that your father wanted me to see you and your mother cared for, and as God is my witness I will do that, with or without your approval. If you must be so proud as to work for a living, then I will help you find a suitable, respectable position in some other part of the country, away from my mother and that idiot you’re working for now. Is that clear?”

  Ritcherd watched her closely and had no doubt she wanted to give him a piece of her mind. But that didn’t lessen his conviction. She would have her chance to speak, but for now, he was grateful she couldn’t. Again he took a deep breath and forged ahead. “Now,” he said more gently, “there is something that needs to be made perfectly clear, so that you don’t have room to misconstrue how I feel. I love you, Kyrah. Let me repeat it: I love you. Read my lips, Kyrah.” He mouthed it, I love you. “Three years away from you, nearly losing half my arm, my mother’s scheming, and all the horrors you went through while I was away have not changed how I feel. I love you! I always have and I always will. And because I love you, your happiness is more important to me than anything else. You have the freedom to make your choices. I know I can’t force you into feeling something for me that you don’t feel. But if that’s the case, I deserve to be told—straight out.”

  Ritcherd saw that recently familiar scorn appear in her eyes, and he wondered why this would raise her ire more than what he’d said so far. He pulled himself away from the distraction of futilely pondering her motives and forced himself to finish what he had to say.

  “So, this is the way it’s going to be, Kyrah Payne. You and I are going to talk; we’re going to talk like two mature adults—because that’s what we are, although it’s difficult to tell. Quite frankly, I believe you acted more like an adult when you were seven years old than you have since I came home. I’ve said it before, and I’m saying it again: I have too much invested in you to be thrown out like an old pair of shoes because you’ve suddenly changed your mind about what you think is best for me. Well, I won’t stand for it. I want to hear how you feel and what you want and what you need. Let me repeat those three items: how you feel, what you want, what you need. And when you can tell me those things honestly, then we will work all of this out accordingly. So consider me your brother, your friend, your husband, or all of the above. But I will not walk away from you until my responsibilities are taken care of, and I know exactly where I stand with you and why. And remember,” he lifted a stern finger, “I said honestly. Maybe if you start being honest with yourself, you can manage to be honest with me and we can get past this, once and for all.”

  Ritcherd suddenly ran out of words and figured he’d said all he needed to say. But the growing contempt in Kyrah’s eyes let him know that this was far from over. Of course, he’d known in bringing her here that he could force her to listen to him, but he couldn’t force her to be reasonable. Hoping to soften her feelings, he lowered his voice to a gentle plea and added, “All I ask is that you talk to me, Kyrah . .
. that you remember everything we’ve shared together. Help me understand what you’ve been through. We can work this out.”

  Her expression didn’t change, but he figured he’d done everything he could. Blowing out a long breath, he knelt behind her to untie her wrists. He’d practiced tying the knots enough to do it efficiently in spite of his disabled hand. But untying it took more time, and he felt awkward and uncertain. When she was finally free, she jerked away from him and wrestled the scarf out of her mouth, leaving it to hang around her neck.

  “You pompous, arrogant brute!” she growled. “You have no right to treat me this way, and I won’t stand for it!” Kyrah had expected him to throw anger back at her. When he just stood as he was, looking sad if anything, she was stunned into silence.

  When she turned toward the door, Ritcherd said in a tone that emphasized his sadness, “You can run, Kyrah, but you will never be free of whatever it is you’re hiding from. And I will not rest until I do what your father wanted me to do.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, unlatched the door, and was gone. Ritcherd followed her home at a cautious distance to be certain she made it safely. Then he went home and crawled into bed, praying that she would somehow come to understand how deeply he cared for her.