She leaned in closely, her voice an anxious rush. She had to make him see reason before it was too late and she was marched up that dais. “So now you will sell me to a stranger? Do you think that is in keeping with the spirit of your deathbed promise to my father?”
Hines’s voice boomed between them. “Come. It’s time.” His heavy gait thudded down the remaining steps toward where they stood. Clearly, he was prepared to escort her.
She stared at her husband, beseeching, hope burning in her heart. She had served his family well for seven years. Certainly he would not betray her in this way.
Beard looked from Hines to where the widow waited.
Mrs. McPherson must have sensed something was afoot. She left her friends and moved closer, her giant bosom cutting through the crowd like the prow of a ship. Her sharp gaze flitted between them. She crossed her arms over her massive chest and lifted both her eyebrows in a gesture that could only be termed threatening.
Sighing, Beard faced her again. “I’m sorry, Alyse. I’m no’ a young man anymore. I dinnae have time tae waste. Yer young yet. Ye have yer entire life ahead of ye.”
She stared at him in stark wonder and released a shaky breath. A life he was about to sell at auction to some person. Some man.
An entire life bound to a stranger.
Bound to a man in this crowd who could use and abuse her any way he wished.
Was he mad? Did he not see how he could be sentencing her to a life of misery?
She shook her head slowly side to side. No. This was not what she had waited so patiently for all these years. She had not endured for this. The thought—the word—slipped past. “No.”
But no one heard her. Her voice was a croak lost amid the loud crowd clamoring for the next item to be auctioned—her.
Hines reached her, his thick girth brushing against her side. “Let us tarry no more. Word of the wife sale traveled far and this crowd is most anxious to proceed.”
Indeed. The custom was not commonplace. Even in rural parts of the country like this, wife auctions were few. The crowd was hungry for the spectacle. She was the fatted goose and they were famished.
Resignation stole over her as she looked out at the horde.
She hadn’t shed a tear when her father died. She’d cried enough before that day, during the months he had been ill. She had loved him more than anyone in her life and nothing had been as terrible as losing him.
Not even this.
She flinched as the rough hemp rope dropped over her head and settled about her throat. That was custom, too. Binding the wife. As though she were nothing more than a field animal. As though she might run.
She released a choked little laugh. She had nowhere to go. Yardley wasn’t here. He wasn’t coming. She needed to let that dream go and focus on the reality of now. She had to keep a cool head and brace herself for whatever was to come. She lifted her chin and reached down deep, grasping for her composure.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad.
Clearly she couldn’t go on living as a nonwife to Mr. Beard. Today would put an end to their union. There was that. That mattered.
The temporary degradation of this auction would be over soon.
And then you will be the wife of someone else.
She fought back a shudder. That terrifying thought threatened to swallow her. You’ll manage. You always do. You’ll find a way. Make a plan. Escape if necessary.
She was sensible. No sense panicking until she knew what she was up against.
As this internal dialogue played out in her head, Hines yanked on the rope, propelling her to move. The frayed hemp bit into her skin. She caught herself, one of her hands flying out and landing on a rough wooden step, breaking her fall.
Mr. Beard reached for her, his hand circling her elbow to lift her up. She pulled her arm clear of him, shooting him a hot glare. “Don’t.”
She would not give him that satisfaction. He did not get to walk away from this day thinking he had helped her in any way. Not after seven years. Not after promising.
“Come,” Hines snapped, looking back down at her as though she were a troublesome child who couldn’t keep up.
She regained her feet. Standing on the bottom step, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She’d walk. No one would drag her.
With a satisfied nod, he turned, still gripping the end of the rope. He took the rest of the steps leading up to the platform. The rope tightened around her throat, the length of it stretching taut between them like a long thread of doom.
The hemp tugged around her throat, the rope chafing her tender skin. She ascended the steps and followed Mr. Hines to the center of the platform. The market square looked bigger from up here. People were everywhere. Faces all staring at her with avid eyes. There were more people than she had ever seen in one place before.
She swallowed against the giant lump in her throat and told herself to be strong. Don’t let them see how very scared you are.
Even if she was.
She’d survive this as she had everything else in her life. She’d make it through this day.
Chapter 3
The hungry wolf spies the dove . . .
Fate was conspiring to keep him in this cesspit of a town.
Marcus guided his mount through the village lane, weaving between carriages, darting children and carts of steaming meat pies, blood-dark kippers and shanks of roasted pork.
He was forced to stop several times. His gelding, Bucephalus, tossed his head in annoyance at the crowd, clearly hating being fenced in and wanting his lead. Marcus could appreciate the feeling. That’s why he was on this journey, why he’d departed London. He’d felt fenced in. Choked. Surrounded by people he could not seem to like anymore—himself included.
He patted Bucephalus’s neck. “Easy, boy. We’ll be free of here soon. I know. I can’t wait either.”
Straightening, he tugged at the collar of his cloak, grimacing at his own odor. He wondered how far it was to the next village. He was in dire need of a bath, and tonight, he vowed, he would be sleeping in a bed. Preferably a luxurious down-filled mattress with crisp sheets.
Suddenly the traffic in the road thickened and he was forced to stop. He stood in his stirrups and craned his neck, attempting to see what was transpiring ahead to impede his progress.
He could see nothing beyond a throng of bodies, all turned in one direction, their backs to him as they pushed forward in an attempt to gain better view of something happening ahead.
Sighing, he glanced back behind him, wondering if it wouldn’t be easier to turn back around and find another way out of town.
A heavyset woman with a face that reminded him of the bulldog his headmaster used to walk around the grounds charged ahead with no mind to anyone in her path—including him and Bucephalus.
She landed a hand on the rump of his horse as she passed.
He called down to her. “What is all the fuss?”
She paused and lifted her jowly face up to him. She motioned ahead, her cheek jowls swinging. “Don’t ye ken? There’s an auction in the square.”
Almost in response to her words, the crowd rumbled and shouts carried forth from the public square.
“It’s startin’!” She forgot all about him and pushed her notable girth amid bodies, determined to clear a path for herself.
An auction warranted all this frenzy?
He sent another glance behind him. It wouldn’t be easy venturing back that route. He’d be going against the flow of people. Best continue on his path moving forward and make his way around the periphery of the square.
He nudged his mount ahead, curious at what could have incited such excitement in these villagers. Perhaps they were auctioning off a two-headed goat. He snorted at the thought as he nudged inside the entrance to the square.
He pulled up to a stop. People bumped into each other, but were indifferent to the contact, their gazes fixed on the livestock pens ahead.
He followed their gazes, looking to see what these rustics found so diverting.
At the far end of the square, at the forefront of the pens, a dais was erected. His attention fell on the single individual standing on that platform.