Wincing, Bryce hauled himself up on his elbows and took in his surroundings as best he could. Dirty straw littered a slimy stone floor. There were small, high windows to one side, boasting thick bars, and when he turned, making his world spin nauseatingly, he was confronted with more bars. The air was stale and carried the tang of urine in it. He cursed to himself, for he seemed to have ended up in jail, and he was not alone. Several curious pairs of eyes were turned to him.
He got to his feet, swaying, his stomach clenching with nausea. ‘Damn it to hell,’ he exclaimed through a throat that felt as though he had swallowed sand.
‘Aye, happen hell is where you are,’ said a slovenly man in a dirty plaid leaning idly against the bars. ‘But don’t fash. Your true love beckons yonder.’ He jerked his head to one side.
A gap-toothed whore beckoned to Bryce, stretching her filthy arm through the bars of a jail cell opposite. He barely glanced at her, for his head throbbed, and he longed to return to the sweet oblivion of sleep, but she kept calling to him.
‘Best leave it be, lass, for I’m not in the best of moods,’ he snarled, brushing dirty straw off his plaid. But there was no escaping her attention.
‘Look here. I’m Angel. Lie with me, and it’ll give you cheer. You’ll not regret it, Sir,’ she said, brightening once she had caught his eye.
‘I’d wager you will,’ said a scornful voice beside her, and Bryce’s bleary eyes fell on another lass sitting in the far corner of the cell. Where the sun shone through the bars, it highlighted red streaks in her hair. ‘Riddled with the pox, that one,’ she spat with a nod in Angel’s direction.
The whore called Angel rounded on her. ‘Shut up, you bitch,’ she hissed, fisting her dirty hands and turning a fearsome glare on the other lass.
‘Call me a bitch, again. Go on,’ said the lass, standing up, and Angel shrank away and turned back to Bryce.
‘Don’t mind her. You and me will get along just fine. It’s nought but a penny. What is your name, kind Sir?’
Bryce held up a hand. ‘A moment, lass, while I try to remember it,’ he groaned, squeezing the bridge of his nose to stem the throb at his temples.
‘Got to pay my way out of here, you see, Sir,’ continued Angel, her voice beginning to grate on him. ‘Let me pleasure you so hard that you forget your troubles.’ She smiled in what she thought was a seductive way, but her gummy grimace only repulsed Bryce. He did pity her predicament, though.
‘Delightful as your offer sounds, Angel, I must regretfully decline,’ he said with a smile.
‘Suit yourself,’ sniffed Angel, sticking out her bottom lip in a sulk. ‘No need to be uppity about it.’
‘Another time, perhaps you may tempt me, lass, but at present, I am incarcerated. And I doubt even my impressive manhood can span the gap between these bars for you to get your hands on it.’
He was treated to a loud snort of derision from the other whore. Angel was undeterred, however.
‘But when they let you out, which they surely will, for they do not keep fine gentlemen long, then come and find me, eh?’ she said. ‘I bide at the Groggy Mare tavern.’
The other whore was eyeing him disdainfully, and now that he had a longer look, it was evident that even dirty and ragged as she was, the lass was striking. Her chestnut hair was dishevelled but shiny, with a hint of fire, and it seemed she might have a temperament to match. Her disdain piqued Bryce’s interest.
‘My name is Bryce Cullan. And what is your name?’ he said to her.
‘Never you mind,’ she replied, looking him up and down and curling her lip.
‘Are you going to make me a better offer?’ he said with a smirk, cheering a little at the thought.
‘No,’ came the curt reply as the lass turned her back on him. ‘And any man who tries to touch me gets a taste of cold steel.’
‘Trust me, lass. I intend to touch as little as possible in this stinking hole. What did you steal to be thrown in her?’
‘Just men’s hearts,’ she said, turning back with a bitter smile.
‘Aye, you look like the kind of witch who feeds on them. And do not fash. You are not the type of woman I go for. I’ve always held that redheads are a little touched by madness.’
‘All of them, or just the ones who rebuff your advances? And I’m no redhead.’
‘There are touches of fire in your hair where the light hits it, and very lovely it is too.’
She frowned at him. ‘Find something else to stare at other than me. I don’t like it.’
‘Fair enough.’
Bonnie though the lass was, Bryce had more pressing concerns. There must be someone overseeing the prisoners who could aid him in getting out of this rat’s nest. Bryce began to shout for someone to come, and he did so, repeatedly, for nigh on an hour, promising coin if they did, but he got no response and, eventually, gave up.
