A Bride Most Begrudging (3 page)

“No damaging of the goods, matey, until after you buy her,” Cooper said. “Pat all you want, but don’t be leaving any bruises.”

She stiffened. Emmett released her with a shove, and she would have fallen backward if the big man called Woodrum hadn’t caught her elbow. Once she was steady, he relaxed his hold, then let go of her completely.

Emmett raked his gaze up and down her frame, rubbing his hands against his puny chest. “Why’s she up here away from them other brides?”

“She’s one of them ladies of the realm, she is,” Cooper responded.

“And she’ll cost you a few more tobaccy leaves than them others.”

“What proof you got fer yer claim? I say she’s nothing more than a quail plucked right off them London alleyways.” He eyed her again. “She shore got what it takes to do the job, and I ain’t gonna be paying out a bunch of sot weed for used goods.”

Woodrum scratched his cheek. “How much are you asking for her?”

“Two hundred pounds,” Cooper answered.

Emmett harrumphed. “Of tobaccy? You’ll not be gettin’ two hundred pounds for a light skirt.”

“She’s a gen-u-ine lady, mate, but no bloke’s a forcin’ you to claim her. We already got us a bid for her, we do.”

Emmett furrowed his brows. “From who?”

“Drew O’Connor.”

Woodrum and his silent companion looked at each other, caution evident in their expressions. Emmett’s eyes took on an unnatural brilliance. Constance didn’t know what game the first mate was playing, but she would hold her tongue for now.

“O’Connor, you say?” Emmett asked. “How much did he offer?”

“Two hundred.”

“Then why’s the maid still here?”

“She has to be paid for in tobaccy only. No vouchers. The capt’n wouldn’t release her or take her off the block before collecting payment. O’Connor went to collect his sot weed.”

As far as she knew, that was an outright lie, but she couldn’t be certain.

The merciless sun beat down upon them. Sweat trickled down Emmett’s face and into his snarled beard. “Well, ain’t that interesting.” He wiped his hands against his backside, then looked to the first mate. “May I?”

“Help yourself,” Cooper replied.

Emmett reached for her.

She leaned away from him. “Touch me, and I’ll see you flogged before the morrow’s sun appears on the horizon.”

Emmett’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Ho, ho! Would you listen to that? A saucy one, ain’t she?” Cackling, he rubbed his hands together.

Constance tensed.

“Leave off, Emmett,” Woodrum said, grabbing Emmett’s arm. “It’s clear that she is healthy and there is no padding beneath her garment.”

Emmett’s lip curled. “What’s it to you, Woodrum?”

“Either up Drew’s wager or keep your hands to yourself.”

“I ain’t makin’ no bid till I test the goods.”

Without taking his eyes off Emmett, Woodrum handed his hat to his companion, removed his coat, and relinquished that as well. He slowly began to roll up his sleeves.

The man’s belly may have been round, but his arms and chest appeared to be solid rock. “You’ll not touch her unless you pay for the privilege.”

Smelling a fight, the farmers on the upper deck had begun to crowd close.

Emmett slowly lowered his hands. “Two hundred twenty, Cooper. I’ll give you two hundred twenty pounds for her.”

“Two twenty-five,” Woodrum countered.

It was time to speak up. “Gentlemen,” she interjected, “this is really all quite unnecessary. I am not a tobacco bride. I am the daughter of an earl. The captain kidnapped me and is trying to sell me unlawfully. As soon as the governor comes aboard, I will have an audience with him and will then be freed and on my way back to London.”

Her statement, made during one of those unfortunate moments when every person in the crowd, for whatever reason, is silent all at once, carried across the entire breadth of the ship.

The quiet that followed her pronouncement was fraught with shock. On the heels of that, a huge swell of laughter and guffaws from the whole company of men rose to alarming levels. Even Woodrum was amused.

“Oh, she’s a wicked one, she is,” Emmett cackled. “Where’s the capt’n?”

The crowd parted, and the captain took the steps two at a time. Woodrum and his friend receded into the crowd.

Emmett grasped the captain’s hand. “I’ll give you a whole hogshead for her, capt’n, and while my field boy rolls it down here, I’ll be celebrating at the meetinghouse.”

The captain pursed his lips for a moment, then broke into a grin.

“Three hundred pounds it is, then. Gentlemen, Goodman Emmett here has purchased himself one high-born bride.”

The men roared their approval and surged forward, encircling Emmett. He put an
X
on the voucher and exchanged it for a receipt from the captain. The excitement escalated and the crowd pulled Emmett off the half deck and further away from her. He twisted around. The depraved promise in his eyes projected itself into her very soul.

Bile converged in her throat. She was going to be sick. Forsooth, she was going to be sick right here, right now.

Help me, Lord, help me. Where is the governor? Where are you, Lord? Please, please. Help me
.

As one, the company moved from the ship to the shore. And on, she supposed, to the celebration.

Chills from within shot through her body, causing a series of bumps to erupt along her arms and legs. Then an all-consuming anger at the incredible injustice of it all made her blood surge. Her resolve solidified and she focused in on the captain.

“How
dare
you!” she cried. “You will not get away with this. Mark you, if you do not arrange an audience with the governor at once, I will create a commotion of such magnitude they will write legends about it.”

The captain did not even bother to acknowledge her. “Throw her back in the hold, Cooper,” he said over his shoulder as he descended the steps.

She filled her lungs with the intention of letting out a scream the likes of which would not be ignored. Before she could release it, the first mate squeezed a band of skin between her neck and her shoulder.

Debilitating pain cut off her scream and buckled her knees. She crumpled to the ground. Cooper did not let go but followed her to the floor. She whimpered, trying to pull away from the torturous vice his fingers created.

His hot, foul breath invaded her ear. “Not one sound, dovey. Not one.”

chapter
T
WO
   

CONSTANCE LAY SHIVERING and alone belowdecks. Darkness entombed the hold. Midnight had passed, but morning was still more than a few hours away.

She felt certain the men’s celebration was over, for the balance of brides had been picked up long ago. All except for her.

She tried not to let desperation fill her. If the governor had put in an appearance, it was after Cooper had forced her back into the hold and secured her to the wall. With that opportunity gone, she knew there would be no other. At least not anytime soon. And by the time she did see the governor, it would be too late.

She would belong to a man. An odious, vulgar man who inspired revulsion, loathing, and horror. A man who, in the eyes of this colony, would have complete dominion over her. Who would have the right to do with her as he saw fit.

Her stomach clinched and she pushed herself up off the rough planks and heaved once again. Nothing left.

She’d managed to hold her fears at bay until the last bride had been led to her doom. When the trapdoor had closed behind that poor woman, it was the first time in over eight weeks that Constance had been completely alone. And it terrified her. The dark, damp, malodorous deck that had felt so cramped and hemmed in now loomed over her with a soundless assault.

The irons around her waist and wrists weighted her down. Collapsing onto the slats, she vaguely heard the scurrying of a rat echo off the walls of the hold. A fresh rush of tears spilled from her eyes.

Have you heard my cries, Lord? Have you destroyed my enemy? Is that why

I am still here?

As if in answer, the squeak of the trapdoor reached her ears just as light from a lantern reached her eyes. She covered her eyes with her arm, the clanking of her chains ricocheting around her.

The heavy tread of the mate clomping down the steps sent her heart into a terrible gallop. She curled into a tight ball.
Please. Please. Spare me, Lord. Rescue me. Please!

The crewman’s smell reached her before he did. “The call to reckoning has come, wench. Up with ye, now. Yer man’s arrived and it’s anxious he is to take possession of ye.”

In a pig’s eye,
she thought. A great calm settled upon her. She slowly unfurled, pulled herself into a sitting position, and looked up to see who had the late night watch. Arman. A beastly excuse of a man.

He removed the lock attaching her to the wall and pulled the chain from around her waist. Grabbing the irons around her wrists, he yanked her to her feet. The room swirled round, but Arman gave her no time to gain her sea legs.

She stumbled. He shoved her forward. She fell hard on her knees, pain shooting up her legs to her back and neck.

“Get up,” he snarled, jerking her back to her feet. “You’ll not be playing yer high-and-mighty games with me, missy. Ye might work yer wiles upon Cooper, but yer nothin’ more than a hen to that struttin’ rooster on the uppers, and if ye think to be givin’ him or me any troubles, it’ll go the worse for ye.”

She kept her face expressionless, but she would not cooperate with Arman or the rooster. And she was prepared to do whatever it took to free herself from the knave.

When they made the upper deck, she scanned the area for the despicable Emmett man that had purchased her. He was not there. Instead, Arman led her to stand in front of the dark-haired farmer they called Drew O’Connor.

What was he doing here? Was he to take her to Emmett? But, no, it had been clear those two were not on friendly terms. Confusion clouded her thoughts.

“Remove the fetters,” O’Connor said.

“I wouldn’t advise it, sir. The dove has been a bit of a trial.”

O’Connor scrutinized her. “A strong gust of wind would knock her over. From what I hear about the victuals you serve the felons, I would imagine she’s too weak to put up much of a fight.”

Arman stiffened. “She was fed.”

“Um. Let me guess. Pease and loblolly?”

“Once a day.”

“Remove the fetters,” O’Connor repeated.

“You remove ’em.”

O’Connor snatched the keys from Arman’s hand and reached for her wrists. She jerked them back.

He paused. Moonbeams glanced off the ship’s metal bell, throwing his features into dark relief. “Do you not want to be released?”

“I, of course, want to be released, but not only from these irons. I want to be granted my freedom. The captain of this ship kidnapped me.

I did not come here voluntarily as a tobacco bride, nor am I a felon.”

“Then how is it you stand before me bound with shackles?”

The irons surrounding her wrists rattled as the wooden deck shifted beneath her feet. “My uncle was a prisoner on this ship. I came to bid him good-bye—”

“Lies,” Arman growled.

“Hold, man,” O’Connor snapped. “I’ll hear what she has to say.”

A whisper of hope flickered within her. “My uncle was sentenced to seven years of indentured servitude for not subscribing to the king’s supremacy. By the time I learned of his sentence, he was already on board the
Randolph
. I hastened to this vessel. No sooner had I located Uncle Skelly than the captain grabbed me and threw me in the hold.”

“What of your escort?”

She hesitated. “I escaped from my maid’s watchful eye. Had she known of my destination, she never would have permitted it.”

“And the other visitors on board? Surely someone saw this atrocity occur?”

“The last of the visitors were leaving by the time I arrived and boarded.”

“Did not your driver notice you failed to return?”

She sighed. “I hired a hackney. My own driver is loyal to my father and would not have brought me to see Uncle Skelly. I’m sure the captain saw to my hired conveyance for me.”

O’Connor arched a brow. “You were alone?” Looking aside, she nodded.

“On the docks?”

The disbelief in his tone brought her chin up. “Uncle Skelly was like a father to me. He’d raised me since my mother’s death. I was hardly more than a babe. My real father didn’t bother to make an appearance until he needed me for a marriage alliance. An alliance I refused to accept.”

“Who’s your father?”

“The Earl of Greyhame.” The tackle creaked and whined against the water’s pull but held the slaver fast to the dock.

O’Connor glanced at Arman. “I’ll speak with the prisoner she calls Uncle Skelly.”

Arman snorted. “There ain’t no such person.”

“He’s dead.” The words fell flat from her lips. She still couldn’t quite believe it. Forcing down the lump in her throat, she contemplated the vast watery cemetery beyond the dark horizon. “He didn’t survive the passage over.”