Ryan's Bride Read Online Free Page A

fingers in her hair and gave a hard yank. “Don’t argue with me, you little bitch, or I’ll tear it out by the roots.”
    Angele managed to stand. He shoved her toward the door, and she nearly fell but righted herself in time.
    “Walk ahead of me.” He pulled a leather baton from his belt. “And if you try anything, I’ll lay your head open with this.”
    Angele had no doubt he would. She had heard him do it to another prisoner and had peered out the opening in the door to see the blood streaming down her head. She had been dragged out and never brought back. Angele wondered if she had died in The Grave.
    After climbing steps that seemed to go on forever, she was taken to a small office where a man sat behind a desk.
    He had dark, mean eyes, bushy brows, and a hawk nose.
    His mouth twitched with either pleasure or annoyance.
    She could not tell which.
    He stared at her in silence for a few seconds, then stood and waved Leon from the room and told him to close the door after him.
    “My name is Captain Duclos,” he said, rising. Then, hands splayed on his hips, he began to circle her as his gaze flicked up and down in scrutiny. “Skinny,” he murmured. “But you should still bring a good price.”
    He took her by surprise when his hand clamped about her throat to jerk her face close to his. “Open your mouth.”
    She did so, dizzily recalling how her father had always looked at a horse’s teeth before buying the animal.
    She fought to keep standing despite how her knees knocked together. He had said she would bring a good price and frantically wondered what he meant. She wasn’t a slave to be sold at auction. She was a prisoner, and there was a difference. Dear Lord, there had to be.
    He released her, and she coughed a few times before she was able to ask, “When will I go before a judge? I’ve been here—”
    His hand closed around her throat again. “You will not speak unless I ask you a question. Is that understood?”
    She struggled to nod.
    He went back to his desk and sat down. “This is not the city jail,” he said, as though she did not have sense enough to figure that out for herself. “We take prisoners here when they don’t have room there. But we are getting crowded here, as well. I have to make room. Some of you have to leave.”
    Angele wanted to ask where she would be taken, but he looked as though he was hoping she would so he’d have an excuse to choke her again. She swallowed her curiosity.
    “You are a thief. You will go to prison for a long time. You may even die there. How do you feel about that?”
    It was her cue to speak, and she quickly did so. “I…I feel badly,” she said, wanting to sound contrite when it was all she could do to keep from springing across the desk and raking her nails down his arrogant face. But she had to play by the rules if she was to survive, and that meant she had to appear whipped, beaten. “If you will let me go,” she dared add, “I promise I will never steal again.”
    “Really?” He smiled and leaned back to stare at her through templed fingers.
    “Yes. I swear it.”
    “And why were you stealing in the first place?”
    “I was hungry.”
    “And what will you do when you get hungry again?”
    “I’ll find work.”
    “Doing what?”
    She had no idea. She had tried everything, from mending clothes to scrubbing floors. But she couldn’t let him know that. “I’m not sure. There must be something—”
    “Of course there is. And it’s the only way you can stay out of prison.”
    Apprehension was a snake, curling about her spine. “What do you mean?”
    He did not meet her querulous eyes. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll be well taken care of. A man will be coming in a few hours to pick you up. Leon will see to it you get a bath and clean clothes.” He wrinkled his nose. “You smell to high heaven. All you wenches smell.”
    He shoved a piece of paper across the desk along with a pen. “Here. Sign this.”
    His hand was