He was behind her now. The man whose voice had cracked over the air, saving her moments before she was sold to the likes of the wretched tanner. Nothing could be worse than him. She felt certain of that. Even the unknown had to be better.
John Larkin always made her skin crawl. As far back as when she was a little girl and she accompanied her father to his shop, the tanner had always made her uncomfortable . . . luring her to the side with a sweetmeat as Papa browsed, petting her hair, remarking what pretty braids she had and how far they went down her back.
The few times she had accompanied Mr. Beard to Larkin’s shop, he’d always found a way to get close to her . . . a way for his hand to brush or grope some part of her body. Never, in her worst imaginings, could she envision him as her husband. She shuddered again.
She could not seem to stop the reaction. Even though she had escaped that fate, it was enough to make her shake and the bile rise up in her throat. Who knew the untold miseries he would have inflicted on her before she managed to escape?
She sucked in a breath and fought back another shudder. She had vowed to stay strong. Whatever happened today, she’d survive it. Just because she was being cast into the unknown as the wife of a stranger did not mean her life was over.
This stranger would be better than the tanner who smelled of rot and animal carcasses and whose touch made her recoil. Hopefully he was a reasonable man. She could talk him into releasing her. Or she could work off the money he spent to procure her. If that failed . . . well, she would tackle that obstacle when she came to it, but she’d existed as a glorified slave for long enough. She was done living that life.
Suddenly the stench of manure reached her nose. For a moment she wondered if thought of the foul-smelling tanner had conjured the aroma.
Then a deep, decidedly English voice asked, “Where do I pay for the girl?”
Turning, she found herself pinned beneath a deep blue gaze. For a moment, it was all she could see. A dark ring of blue-black surrounding cobalt. Those eyes stared back at her. The air froze in her chest and she had the utterly ridiculous thought that no wrong could be committed by a man with eyes like that.
And yet even as mesmerizing as those eyes were, nothing could distract her from the fact that the man smelled like a barn.
No, worse. She enjoyed the smell of a barn when it was full of fresh cut hay. This man smelled like the back end of a mule. Her gaze swept over him. He was a big man. Tall. Bearded. She could see little more than those impressive eyes and the straight slash of his nose above that heavy growth of hair.
It was difficult to determine his age but his hair was a rich dark brown, very nearly black. Not a strand of gray so he couldn’t have been very old.
And this man is your husband.
She was now bound to a man (at least temporarily) that didn’t look like he had taken a bath in the entirety of his life.
“Ah! There ye be. Come this way.” The auctioneer led them to the table, releasing his grip on the infernal rope, much to her relief. She pulled it over her head, flinging it to the ground as though it were a poisonous serpent. She rubbed at the skin of her throat where it had chafed.
Her skin prickled again and she looked to the side to find the stranger studying her again. Stranger. Husband. She did not even have a name for him yet.
He looked away then and stepped past her, joining Hines and Beard at the table.
“Jus’ need both ye tae sign these documents and then ’ere again in the ledger. My son ’as already detailed the sale. Yer signature is the only requirement.” He paused to laugh. “And the money, o’course.”
The stranger reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pocketbook. He opened it and removed the money, handing it over as if it were nothing for him to part with such an exorbitant amount. The glimpse she managed told her there had been more inside that pocketbook, too.
Mr. Hines accepted it and handed it to his son. After taking out a small fee for their services, Mr. Hines handed Mr. Beard his cut. “I trust ye are pleased, Beard. She brought a ’efty sum.” He turned his attention to the buyer. “And I ’ope yer ’appy in yer purchase.” Mr. Hines sent her a stern look. “Be a proper biddable girl and keep ’im satisfied, Alyse.”
She seethed, inhaling through her nose.
“You’ll not address her by her Christian name.”
At this deep-voiced rebuke, Alyse blinked, looking at the dark, bearded man. Ironically, she didn’t even know her surname. She was Alyse Bell originally. She still felt like Alyse Bell even after she married Mr. Beard. She always would.
Hines blustered, his face reddening.
Mr. Beard hastily pocketed his money, clearly eager to finish with the lot of them. Especially Alyse. He bent over the table and picked up the quill, quickly making his mark. She knew it well. It was only his initials. JB. Something he had perfected over the course of his life. Those were the only letters of the alphabet he knew.
Her husband-to-be stepped forward and took up the quill next. Unlike Mr. Beard, he took his time reading the document. And there he hesitated. He looked at the words, then to her, then back to the words again. She couldn’t read them from her vantage, but she well imagined the substance of the document. They severed her ties to Mr. Beard and made her the stranger’s wife now.
“Well, on wi’ ye then,” Mr. Hines snapped, all goodwill he had felt toward the stranger gone. “I’ve things tae do yet. Many more animals tae be auctioned.”
The man leaned over the table, quill braced tightly between long fingers. Filthy or not, she could not help noticing he held himself differently from other men. At least differently from all the men she had known. The men of the village.
His bearing was almost dignified. Too dignified. As though he held himself above everyone else. This place, these people. Yes. That would even include her.
At last he signed. First the document and then the ledger as directed. The scratch of quill on parchment seemed loud. And then it was done. Documented for posterity.
Like chattel, she was conveyed from one owner to another.
She thought of Papa then and it almost hurt. He couldn’t have imagined it being like this. He couldn’t have known the indignity of it all . . . the potential peril.
She tried to step forward and peer at his name so she would know who she had bound herself to, know what name she now bore that would never fit. But he stepped back, blocking her view.
Mr. Hines’s son quickly sanded the parchments and then folded them, slipping each inside an envelope with neat movements.
Mr. Hines took up both envelopes. “A bill of sale fer each of ye,” he pronounced. “Ye’ll want tae keep those. Although ’tis a matter of public record now.” He winked at Mr. Beard and clapped him on the back. “Yer a free man once again, Beard. Enjoy yer bachelorhood.”
Mrs. McPherson was suddenly there. Or perhaps she always had been lurking close. She squealed and clapped her hands, pushing her way into their circle. Clearly he wouldn’t be a bachelor for long.
“Fifty quid! Mr. Beard! Och, wot a feat! Never tae believe! Wot a sum fer a bag of skin and bones such as our Alyse!” Her gaze flicked over Alyse dismissively.
Alyse bit back a burning retort for the old hag and shifted awkwardly on her feet, aware of the stranger’s scrutiny and uncomfortable beneath it.
“Come.” The stranger—her husband—directed.
She still did not know his name. She had no idea what to call him.
Before she turned to follow, Mr. Beard reached for her arm. “Alyse.”
She stopped and looked at him, bracing herself for his farewell, hoping that she maintained her composure and didn’t lash out at him as every ounce her being willed her to do.