‘Don’t push your luck. Begone, Cullan, and just one more thing. I hope that murderous bitch makes you miserable.’
Chapter Seven
Maren woke to a discreet cough and Bryce Cullan standing over her. She leapt up and regarded him coldly. He had obviously gained his freedom, for he was washed clean, his hair neatly tied back in a queue, and he wore clean breeches and a dark blue jacket that emphasised the breadth of his shoulders. There were two pistols tucked into his belt. Perhaps he had come to help her break out of jail. But no, that was too much to hope for, and she was no fool.
‘So, you greased enough palms to gain your freedom, Bryce Cullan,’ she said, standing up stiffly.
He smirked. ‘So it would seem.’
‘So why are you back here with us villains?’
‘Came back for my plaid, didn’t I,’ he said, reaching out to grab it.
Maren shrank back, clutching it around her. She’d had a more comfortable night with the thick wool to keep out the chill.
His smile faded. ‘A jest, lass. I would not take it from you. And I would give you another gift.’
‘And what is that?’
‘Your freedom. I have a proposition for you.’
‘Of course you do.’
‘We need to go somewhere private, away from the others,’ he said, his eyes predatory.
‘Not a chance. I will not let you get me alone.’
‘You don’t have a choice. ‘Tis all arranged with my new friend, Maggot, and don’t worry, I have no designs on your comely, little body. Now, are you going to snap and snarl at me or listen to what I have to say? I swear it will be to your advantage and not your peril.’
Maren looked around at all the other unfortunate women lying on the floor, strewn like discarded toys across the dirty straw. She didn’t have a choice, so she nodded at Bryce, and he shouted for Maggot to come and open the cell door.
Bryce took hold of her arm firmly and steered her out of the jail. They emerged into a small, enclosed yard. In the morning light, Maren was struck by how god-like Bryce Cullan was in his manly beauty with his bright blonde hair and so tall, clean and vigorous. The breeze wafted a smell of soap to her nostrils, and Maren became acutely aware of how bedraggled and disgusting she must look. She wriggled out of his grip.
Bryce Cullan smiled his winning smile and said, ‘I need a woman in a hurry, and I will pay a handsome sum if you accompany me from this vile place.’
‘Ah, of course. Do you want to celebrate your release by having me? You think you can buy me like everything else in this world.’
‘I am indeed a free man, and aye, you will be a release of sorts, but not like that. I am facing another kind of prison from which I need deliverance.’
Maren frowned. He was slippery, this one, and she did not believe him. ‘Did you forget that I am no whore? ‘Tis a shame Angel has departed. She would have been thrilled to be of service.’
‘I don’t need that kind of service. What I need is a wife.’
‘What is this trickery?’ said Maren, stepping back, her heart sinking. He had not come to be kind or check on her welfare but to take advantage of her, thinking her body was for sale, or worse, to mock her. The arrogance of the fool made her want to slap him.
Bryce Cullan held up his palms. ‘There is no trickery, lass,’ he said in a voice like a caress.
Had any woman ever been able to say no to him?
‘I have an honest proposition for you, and it is this. If you will be my wife, I will settle a sum of money on you, oh,’ he bit his lip, ‘shall we say, fifteen guineas?’
The arrogant fool said ‘fifteen guineas’ with a shrug as though it were nothing. Yet it was more than Maren would see in a lifetime, and she struggled to keep her face impassive.
‘Not a chance,’ she said. ‘As if I would shackle myself to a man I barely know for what is, frankly, an insultingly paltry sum of money. Go and find a whore, scrub her clean and wed her.’
‘A whore will not do for what I have in mind. I need someone who can pass for a lady in the highest circles. You have a refined way of speaking, you clearly have your wits about you, Maren, and you will be presentable enough once we scrub the stench of jail off you.’
She bridled at his insult. ‘If you are in such a fearful hurry to wed, why do you care what kind of wife you have as long as you have one.’
