Beloved Captive Read Online Free

for only two things: a father who stayed sober past dark and a mother to offer a kiss and a bedtime prayer.
    Neither seemed terribly important until this moment. What she lacked, she’d made up for in the early and unwavering understanding that faith filled the empty spaces in her heart and held her in the blackest of nights.
    “Might I. . . ?” She reached for the miniature, and the effort of keeping her fingers steady made speaking impossible. Only the knowledge that Papa seemed too absorbed in studying the pattern on the bed coverings kept her from making an excuse for it.
    “It’s yours,” he said as his fingers traced the petal of a rose on the bed curtain, “for I’ll be seeing her soon enough.” A shuddering sigh silenced him for a moment. “Although like as not, St. Peter will bar the gates once my list of transgressions are read.”
    “The Lord forgives,” she said. “As far as the east is from the west, that’s what He does with our sins if we ask Him.”
    Her father’s silence continued. This discussion would go no further tonight. It never did.
    “Thank you, Papa,” she finally managed to say as she felt the cold weight of the portrait balanced on her palm. “I shall treasure this image of my mother as no doubt she did.”
    “It was done from memory. She never saw it.” A fierce look came over his pale, drawn features. “Leave me now. Go.”
    Emilie bit back a sharp retort and tucked the miniature into her pocket then patted her father’s shoulder. “Of course. Your rest is most important.” She affected a smile that nearly cost her composure. “I’ve many stories of the children under my tutelage back on the key. Perhaps tomorrow I can tell you more.”
    “Tutelage?”
    Emilie swallowed hard, then proceeded carefully. “Yes. In a curious twist of events, I’ve found myself an educator. The island children are quite eager to learn, although they often lack for the most basic of—”
    Brittle laughter shook the silk-covered walls, then faded into a fit of gasps. “You, a cosseted pet, now a common tradeswoman? A teacher?” he finally managed.
    The word seemed to taste ill in his mouth, such was the expression on his face. In his struggle to rise from the pillows, Papa slid dangerously close to the edge of the bed.
    Emilie remained rooted in place. Heartless as it might seem, she had no further desire to comfort a man who took pleasure in laughing at her expense.
    “Do be serious,” he finally managed after settling himself nearer to the center of the bed.
    Then she took a deep breath. “I am serious,” she said carefully. “I have found a gift for educating. I rather enjoy it, actually, although I must say I perform my work under the most primitive of conditions. In fact, there is a serious deficit in funds. I had hoped…”
    Emilie let the though trail away as her father reached for the silk handkerchief on the bedside table. Likely an announcement that she’d decided to sell her wares in a bordello or sail off to a life of pirating would have displeased him no less.
    “Why did you summon me, Papa?” she demanded.
    He paused to study her, or at least that is how it appeared to Emilie. “You’re afraid.”
    “Should I be?” she asked in lieu of admitting the truth of his statement.
    He dabbed at the corner of his mouth with the silk square and then let the handkerchief fall unnoticed. “Yes,” he said slowly. “You should. Isabelle was my property and you saw to her escape. And you?” He paused but this time looked past her rather than directly at her. “You are my property as much as Isabelle.”
    “Your property?” The words flew out, too late to retrieve them. “I am your daughter,” she corrected in a tone she hoped would meet the gap between challenging the old man and placating him.  
    “Yes, you are my daughter,” he said softly, his gaze now solidly fixed on her. “A pity neither of us is proud of that fact.”
    Anger, her well-hidden companion,