AT FIRST SIGHT: A Novella(19)
Evangeline felt as if the rug had been yanked from beneath her, staggering her. Indeed, she fell back a step, trampling on boots – Sutcliff’s high boots. From behind her, the despicable man steadied and held her shoulders, but she bothered with neither apology nor thanks.
Her frantic thoughts were like hands grasping in the air for other options. Peter was younger than she, both in years and maturity. Further, she was repulsed by him.
But it was more than that. She had been on her own for so long. She would not be trafficked like a movable commodity. Could she surrender her autonomy and the inn she had scratched out of this wilderness? The laws of coverture prohibited a married woman from owning property, even if the ordinary was hers before the marriage.
However, the alternative to marriage with Peter – the executioner’s axe – was, of course, not an option. All of this went through her mind in but the skipping beat of her racing heart. She glanced panicky around the room. The blurred sea of faces presented a formidable barrier to flight. Yet she must have made a move to dart, because Adam’s hands gripped her shoulders tighter.
“I lay claim to this sweet strumpet,” he said. “At least, for the night.”
Among those who understood English, a collective whoosh of inhaled breaths could be heard. Those who could not understand English, nevertheless, perceived a drama such as they had never witnessed in the settlement was taking place. All eyes swerved from her to him.
Astounded, even she, like an owl, swiveled her head around and up to stare at him, aghast. Then she glared at the other men. “Have you asses spared me any honor?”
“You piss-drinking bastard,” William said, springing forward.
Adam glanced inquiringly at Risingh, in tacit recognition that he presided there
Risingh put out a restraining hand. “Prithee, Baron Craven, hear what your countryman has to say.”
Adam’s fingertips pressed once against her right upper arm and then again. “My claim to her supersedes that of the other two, Governor Risingh. I bedded the . . . uhh . . . milady here within the last fortnight. She may even carry my bastard child. Of course, one doesn’t need to post the banns to take the marriage vows with a woman – and God knows many a man chooses to take the vows in front of a comfy, canopied bed with a woman they have no intention of breakfasting with.”
He grinned at Peter. “However, if young Erichsson here still wants her, then one more night of my bedding her won’t make a difference, will it? And, Craven, by the time you would return with your warrant, milady and I will have been done with our pleasuring, and she will be yours – for another one-hundred Dutch guilders. Given into the keeping of the Governor for me.”
“I’ll see you at the bottom of the sea, before I pay you another red cent for her,” William growled.
Adam canted his head to better view her countenance. His own was lively with amusement. “The ultimate choice with whom you spend this night is yours, milady. Marriage with Erichsson, arrest by Craven, or bedded by my illustrious self?”
A reprieve – her choice was obvious. Her only chance of survival was to outwit Adam before William returned with the warrant. The air was so thick with tension she could hardly breathe. The words she gritted were like sand in her teeth. “You should know I prefer you above the other two – just barely.”
Peter wore the resentful expression of a rejected suitor. William’s was baleful. And Adam’s was one of half-mocking amusement. “Then I suggest,” he said, “we repair to the Cock and Bull Tavern for the remainder of what promises to be a highly entertaining night.”
§§ CHAPTER SIX §§
Once again, Evangeline faced Adam in a bedroom, if this, one of the tavern’s four bedrooms, could be designated as such.
Not much larger than a horse stall, the sparse room contained a rope-strung bed overlaid with a straw mattress barely wide enough for two. Three wall pegs for hats and cloaks, topped by a shelf with ceramic pitcher, basin, and chamber pot, completed the room’s furnishings. His russet cloak hung from one peg, along with his hat.
“Another one-hundred guilders?” Her chin jutted and her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. “William had already paid you to find me – and then you had the gall to bed me, as well? Mercy me, aren’t you the opportunist?”
“Well, not quite in that order.” He dribbled wax from the candle stub he held onto the shelf and anchored the candle in it, then he tossed his saddlebags on the warped, pine floor beneath. “And you do recall that it was you who sought me out in my bed,” he added, as nonchalantly as though he were discussing livestock breeding.
“And now this – this latest escapade of yours.” She jabbed her finger at him. “How did you delicately word it before God and the world at Printz Hall tonight?”
But he was not listening. He had gone to the window and unbarred the shutter, opening it only slightly. A rush of cold air fluttered the candle. His and her shadows combined to waver eerily on the wall. He appeared to be intent on the comings and goings of the late-night merrymakers on the street below. Their laughter and good-natured shouts mocked her foul temper.
“A strumpet you called me.” She ranted on, both thoroughly humiliated and, aye, nervous. The hint of danger about him she had perceived at the Virgin Queen Tavern was more pronounced now here, at the Cock and Bull. What had transpired between them at her ordinary had occurred by mutual consent. But this, this was cold-blooded, heartless, and hurtful.