Tiger's Eye Read Online Free Page A

threat was accompanied by a grunt as he freed her hands. Isabella catapulted off the bed, visibly shaking, while he scowled at her, then turned his attention to the rumpled quilt.
    This was the moment, the only chance she might get. She had to incapacitate this big, burly man who was easily twice her size—but how?
    “I don’t see no mouse.” He was pawing rather gingerly at the quilt. Isabella’s eyes settled on the filthy pitcher in its equally filthy bowl on the washstand not more than a pace to her left. From their grimy state, neither had held water for at least a year.
    “It’s there, it’s there!” she cried, pointing as he cast a suspicious look at her over his shoulder. “Get it, oh, please, get it!”
    Thus adjured, he turned back to the bedclothes. Isabella took a lightning step toward the washstand and grabbed the pitcher. He was still bent over the bed, but he was turning his head to look at her again.
    “You—” What he was going to say, she never knew. Strengthened by terror, she brought the pitcher crashing down on the side of his head. It shattered. The man blinked once as she watched with horror, dreadfully afraid that she had done no more than annoy him and he would straighten up to his awful height and murder her on the spot.
    Then he collapsed like a punctured balloon, sprawling facedown across the bed.

IV
    F or a moment Isabella stood frozen. But only for a moment. She had no idea how long he would remain unconscious, but she didn’t think it would be for very long. Should she tie him up? Foolish to waste precious time, especially when she doubted that any knot she tied would hold him. Her best use of these precious minutes would be to flee into the night.
    Isabella raced to the door, stopped, and listened. She could hear the sound of voices from below. Of course, the other men would be down there, and Molly as well. If her caretaker didn’t appear shortly, one of them would undoubtedly come looking for him.
    On that thought, Isabella closed the door and turned the key in the lock. On the bed, the man groaned and stirred. Heart pounding, Isabella ran back to hover over him. He was waking up!
    Snatching up the brass candlestick he had carried upstairs with him, she snuffed the flame. Then, when he groaned again and lifted his head, she bit her lip so hard it bled and brought the candlestick crashing down on the back of his skull with all her might.
    He sank like a stone.
    Going out the door and through the house was out of the question. That left the window.
    After bludgeoning him a third time with the candlestick for good measure, Isabella went to the window. It was high, and narrow, and thick with dust.
    Praying it would open, she tugged at the sash. At last it moved one inch, two, with great reluctance. Finally she managed to force a wide enough opening to permit her to wriggle through.
    The man groaned again. Cold sweat broke out on Isabella’s forehead. She ran back to the bed, lifted the candlestick high in the air, and brought it crashing down on his skull for the fourth time. This time the blow was so hard that his head bounced against the mattress.
    He made no further sound as she went back to the window and slipped out. Only when her feet dangled far above the ground below did Isabella realize just how high up she was. The house was a two-story, rickety farmhouse; the ground sloped away from the foundation, making the drop seem much farther than it actually was.
    There was no alternative. She had to let go and pray she didn’t break a leg, or her neck. Holding her breath, she squirmed backwards until only her head and shoulders remained inside the room. With another silent prayer and a last, fearful look at the still figure on the bed, she wriggled one last time, until her entire body was dangling from the window and she was hanging from the sill by her hands.
    The edge of the sill bit into her palms. There was a tremendous strain on her shoulders. She could not hang on for