The Barefoot Princess Read Online Free PDF

you can’t keep him out, then I suppose he will burst in.” Snatching the missive from the man’s insistent hand, Harrison opened the crinkled sheet and read the carefully penned lines.
    I hold the marquess of Northcliff captive. Leave ten thousand pounds in the old Northcliff’s Castle on the isle of Summerwind, five days hence or your nephew dies.
    Harrison gaped, disbelieving. It wasn’t…it wasn’t possible! Such a happenstance was amazing, impossible…more than he could stand.
    Throwing back his head, he burst into wild laughter.
    At last, at long last, fate had played into his hands.

Chapter 4
    B y degrees, Jermyn came to consciousness. He didn’t particularly want to; he had just enjoyed the deepest sleep he’d had since he’d broken his leg. But his neck was kinked oddly and his mouth was open, dry, and pressed into the pillow. So although he fought waking, awareness came inevitably, filling his senses.
    First he noticed how very much he liked the scent in his room, like clean linens overlaid with the odor of freshly turned earth. The sounds that came to his ears were rhythmic, a light clacking interspersed with a deep creaking. A warm weight rested against his side. He felt rested, really well, except…He frowned. What odd dreams he’d had, about bad wine and a boat and a beautiful girl with eyes the shade of poison—his eyes popped open. He sat up in bed.
    No, not a bed. A cot. A narrow iron cot attached to the wall with bolts, with a thin feather mattress, thin sheets, and a shabby fur throw.
    Beside him a huge black cat rumbled its displeasure, then settled more comfortably in the middle of the mattress.
    A swift survey of his surroundings showed Jermyn a room with three small windows near the open beamed ceiling…a cellar. Gray light filtered through the glass, its feeble illumination allowing him to discern no more than still square shapes…furniture. Achest. A long table. Chairs. A small iron stove. He touched the wall beside his cot…rock. Cool, hard rock.
    He still wore his clothes, although his cravat was gone and his boots were off. He wasn’t wounded or hurt. So…“Where the hell am I?” he asked aloud.
    “In Miss Victorine’s cellar,” a calm, female voice answered.
    The clacking and the creaking ceased. He turned to look behind his head, and a womanly form rose from a rocking chair. With daunting efficiency, she lit a lantern and lifted it, hanging it on a hook on the ceiling. It illuminated his surroundings—a cellar the size of a bedroom, full of empty wine racks and old, broken furniture—but most important, it illuminated her, the girl with the poison-colored eyes.
    She was handsome, with a thin figure and features so proud as to be disagreeable. The color of her mouth reminded him of cherries in the spring, but her expression was reminiscent of that of his first governess when she had gazed on the small, dirty boy she had been given to tutor. Something about this girl’s air made him very well aware of his dishevelment and more than a little abashed that he’d slept in her presence. Sleeping was vulnerability, and he didn’t want to be vulnerable in front of her. “Who, madam, are you? And what am I doing here?”
    “I’m your gaoler, and you’re our prisoner.” Her matter-of-fact tone made the words all the more incongruous.
    “Absurd!”
    At his vehement denial, the cat rumbled its displeasure and leaped toward the stairs.
    Jermyn put his feet to the floor.
    He heard a rattle.
    Could it be…? Was that…? But no, that was impossible.
    He moved again. Again heard the clank of metal against metal.
    A chain? Was that a chain? Did she dare…? He extended his foot. He looked…and saw it.
    He saw it, but he couldn’t believe it. He could not believe it. “That is a manacle.”
    “So it is.”
    “Around my ankle.” His chest constricted.
    “You’re a bright one.” Her calm manner proved she didn’t even recognize her danger.
    “Get…it…off.” Chained!