“No,” he snaps, “I am not. You are not in any danger. Take some deep breaths and control yourself.”
My sweaty hand is on my door handle. I was so hopeful when he let me out of his beautiful prison, and now all I can think about is going back and hiding in my bed.
We stop in front of an ornate building with tall stone columns and I realize it’s a courthouse. It’s close to midnight by now and there’s no one on the streets in this part of the city, it’s eerily quiet. The driver pulls around to a discreet entrance to theleft and a nervous-looking man is holding the door open. He’s sweating, like me, running his finger around the collar of his shirt.
“Mr. -”
“You’re Johnson’s assistant?” My captor cuts off his greeting.
“Yes, sir. If you’ll come with me?” The man’s in his early twenties and is not cut out for this. He gives me a weak smile until my captor growls like an animal, low in his throat before he steps in front of me, blocking me from the man’s view.
If it was possible for the poor guy to melt into a puddle of terrified protoplasm, right there on the steps, he would have.
As he leads us hastily down the marble hallway on the second floor, I get quick glimpses of the grandeur, massive portraits of lawmakers in wigs from another century, gold embellished scones on the wall, and heavy velvet hangings. Opening a door, the man brings us into an antechamber. There’s a set of double doors in front of us, one has a plaque.
“The Right Honorable Malcolm Johnson,” I mumble. “A judge? Why are-” I’m hot, then cold, my skin prickling like I’ve been dropped on a bed of needles.
“Leave us,” my captor says to the assistant, who gratefully exits the room. He puts his hands on my shoulders as the door shuts. “Listen carefully. Thus far, your family has been spared.”
“Wh- what are ya’ talking about?” I whisper.
His smile is not pleasant. “After purchasing you for a rather significant sum, I notified your family that you were alive.” His expression tells me that he was not at all reassuring about how he handled it. “They’ve offered multiple ransoms and have tried to meet with me repeatedly.”
“They’ll pay you back,” I stammer, “just-”
“I am not selling you; I am not returning you,” he cuts me off. “I am, however,” he seems to find this terribly amusing, “going to marry you.”
“No.” I back up a step, then another, foolishly shaking my head, like that would make his words disappear. “I’m not marryingyou.You’re a monster who buys human beings and-”
“You are the first person I’ve ever purchased at one of those contemptible auctions,” he says coldly. “I bought you as an investment, not a slave. This is what I require of you. You will walk in there, speak your vows like a good girl, and in return, I will not harm your family.” Another unpleasant smile. “Unless they attempt to harm me first.”
“Why would you want to marry me?” I gasp, “How can that possibly make sense?”
“That’s not your concern,” he says, his cold, shuttered expression firmly in place. “Do you care enough about your brothers and sisters-in-law to protect them? Your brother Cormac has already given me several opportunities to ambush him at a meeting.”
“You evil, twisted- you’re just the most-” I can’t seem to get a full sentence out, just furious bursts of language that filter away like smoke.
He checks his watch.
He checks his watch.Like marrying me is simply another item on his ‘to-do’ list and my hesitation is taking him off schedule.
The young assistant comes back, smiling apprehensively. “Sir? If you’re ready, His Honor will be happy to see you now.”
My feet may as well be nailed to the floor. I can’t move them.
My captor’s hand on my arm tightens and he leans so close that I feel his warm breath on my cheek. “Make a decision. Be a good girl and stop the potential violence to your family. The judge does not care how you came here. He does not care if you’re willing or not. But if you fight this, we will still be married and you’ll go back into your room, shackled to your bed again.”
I remember what that was like, those long days sitting in front of the French doors in my room and staring up at the sky. Shuddering, I nod. I’m weak. I know I’m weak but I can’t go back to that.
“Very well,” his voice is slightly kinder now, probably trying to keep me from bolting from the room and screaming down the big, empty hallway. “Come along.”
We walk into the judge’s office, with a massive desk and the traditional wall full of pristine, leather-covered law books that no one ever reads. The older man has a full, bushy mustache like a walrus. He sighs when he sees us, getting up from behind the desk and straightening his robes.
“There you are, brother! I was beginning to wonder if your sweet bride managed to escape you.”
It’s his friend, the dark-haired one who stared at me that day in my captor’s library with disgust, like I was a chubby pigeon who’d just scuttled into the room with a half-eaten French fry in my beak and he wanted to stomp me under his boot.
He stands, straightening his suit jacket and strolling toward us as the judge gathers his papers.
