Page 10 of On Thin Ice

Did I dare say anything? “It may be an old place…but it has history.”

“Exactly.” He pointed to the chair behind me. “Shall we?” He didn’t sit down until I did. “Do you remember the moves the pieces can make?”

I started by describing how pawns could move, probably more complicated than some of the stronger pieces. “And then the rook—”

“Wait. Do you remember what happens if your pawn makes it all the way to my side—to here?” he asked, pointing at the edge of the board where the stronger pieces stood ready for battle.

His question tickled my memory. “Oh, yeah. It becomes a queen.”

“Well…it doesn’t have to be a queen, but that’s usually what players turn it into.”

As I explained how each piece moved, working my way from rook to queen, I remembered loving this game and enjoying playing it with my father. Why had we stopped? And then it all came back to me…my mother had been jealous. She’d envied the easy, fun relationship my father and I had and she’d never wanted to learn chess. I remembered a time, probably just a few weeks before she’d left, when she’d thrown the whole board off the table in a fit of rage.

We hadn’t played again after that. And now I wondered if it was because she’d left or because of her tantrum that we’d stopped. Maybe later my father had thought about it again, but his hands had grown weaker over the years. On occasion, he’d had difficulty even feeding himself.

“Are you all right?” Sinclair asked.

Although we had moved into a truce, I didn’t know that I wanted to remind him how much my father meant to me. Blinking, I hoped the tears welling in my eyes weren’t obvious, and I kept my focus on the board. “Yes. Is there anything I’ve forgotten?”

He gave me a quick reminder of the castling maneuver and then he said, “Are you ready?” I simply nodded. “You’re white, so you go first.”

That was something I hadn’t remembered either. But I did recall the common first move I usually made: taking a pawn in front of one of my bishops up two spaces, recalling that this was the only time it could move more than one space. I did that because then it gave that bishop freedom, and I thought I remembered those being fairly good pieces to have in play.

Slowly, we moved many of our pieces toward the center of the board but, thus far, neither of us had captured another’s piece.

Until Sinclair took one of my pawns with a knight. Again, I remembered that a pawn was considered an insignificant piece, one that could be sacrificed without much harm to the overall game.

And that made me think of myself to some degree.

But it wasn’t long after that when Sinclair captured two more pawns, followed by one of my knights with a bishop—and he said, “You’re not putting up much of a fight, Lise.” Just the sound of my name on his lips made all my nerves stand on end.

“Oh, I will.” But I didn’t know if I actually remembered any tactics that could save me. He was obviously a practiced player. I spotted an easy capture, moving my knight to take a pawn, remembering to make sure that wouldn’t put that knight in jeopardy.

It didn’t—but I’d left my king vulnerable.

Still on his side of the board, he moved his other bishop. “Check.”

I let out a breath of air because I’d completely missed my king’s vulnerability. And now I was having to react and defend rather than attack. So I moved my king one space to the left where Sinclair’s bishop couldn’t touch it. I tried to study his moves as he made them—but I couldn’t recall enough about game play to know what his strategy might be.

I was able to capture one of his knights with a pawn—but I wasn’t sure he hadn’t sacrificed it intentionally. He said, “You did well in battle, soldier,” as I placed it on the side of the board. Three of his pieces were out of play compared to more than double that of mine. “Do you think you’ll be able to capture any others?”

I took that as a challenge—but, piece by piece, he wore down my defenses. A pawn, another pawn, a knight, a rook, a bishop, and there was little I could do about it.

But it didn’t feel like chess—it felt like he was playing with me.

And then he took my queen. “Ah, the lovely queen, taken for ransom.” After placing the piece on the side of the board, he looked me squarely in the eyes. “If you have a pawn who’s brave enough, strong enough…he could sacrifice himself to bring her back.” His finger tapped his side of the board as if daring me to move one of my last two pawns across that expanse.

I knew better.

Then he said, “Or the queen can stay with me as my prisoner…where her mind and body will become mine.” For a brief moment, I imagined myself in the garb of Guinevere, filmy scarves and a gold and diamond tiara, what I imagined her and other medieval princesses wearing when I’d get lost in fairy tales and stories as a young girl. Now, though, my adult mind pictured Sinclair as a knight in literal shining silver armor, stealing me away from the castle and taking me to his own—where he would demand of me whatever he wanted…including carnal pleasure.

I hoped Sinclair couldn’t see how my face had flushed.

And I lost that game…just as I knew I was going to lose the real one we were playing every single day.

But by now I was a willing victim.

Chapter 5

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