The Bartered Bride Read Online Free PDF

gray eyes and the fair hair sun bleached to gold had to be European. She rose and crossed the cage, pressing against the bars as she studied him hungrily. The gaudy uniform wasn't British-perhaps German or Scandinavian. She clamped down on her longing by reminding herself that being European didn't mean he'd help her. Though she had instinctively pleaded for his aid at the market, now that they were face to face she reminded herself that Westerners who frequented the far corners of the world were adventurers and renegades. Perhaps this one had asked the sultan for the use of the European slave woman. No matter. Even if his motives were vile, he was her best chance for freedom, and she'd do whatever necessary to ingratiate herself so he'd help her.
    The man halted with shock when he saw her. Glad that he probably wasn't responsible for her presence, she asked, "Do you speak English? Parlez vous Francais?"
    "Both," he replied in English. "How did you come to be in my rooms?"
    "I have no idea." Unable to repress her bitterness, she added, "Slaves aren't usually told why things happen to them."
    His expression tightened. "I'm sorry-that was a foolish question." Though she'd repaired her battered cotton shirt as best she could, she was uncomfortably aware of how her breasts strained against the thin, worn fabric. She was larger than most Island women, and there had been no kebaya her size.
    When his gaze reached her breasts, he looked away in embarrassment. She found that reassuring-a man with a sense of the decencies might be more likely to help her.
    He stepped into the bedroom and returned with a neatly folded shirt. "Would you like this?"
    "Oh, please. " He passed his shirt through the bars and she immediately pulled it over her head. The garment fell almost to her knees. Before rolling up the sleeves, she rubbed her face in the crisp white fabric. "This smells so good. So clean."
    He glanced around the cage, which contained nothing but her and a brass chamber pot. "Do you need anything else? Food or drink?" She moistened her lips. Not having eaten or drunk since early that morning, she'd spent her first hour in the cage staring longingly across the room at a bowl of fruit on a low table. "Water, please. And then ... could I have some fruit?"
    "Of course." He set the fruit bowl on the floor so she could reach through the bars to help herself. While she peeled and ate a juicy local orange called a jeruk manis, the man collected pillows from a bench and pushed them through the bars. Gratefully she sank onto one. The last months had made her appreciate even the smallest of comforts.
    "No water, only rice wine, I'm afraid." He settled on another pillow outside the cage, holding a bottle and two glasses. "Drink with caution. This is quite potent."
    "Thank you." The rice wine went rather well with the banana that she chose, and she welcomed the spreading warmth that unknotted her tight muscles. She closed her eyes for a moment, reveling in the company of her own kind. "I'm sorry, I've forgotten proper behavior. My name is Alexandra Warren, and I'm English."
    "I'm Gavin Elliott out of Boston, and master of a merchant ship." He noted her gaze. "Ignore the uniform-it was designed only to dazzle."
    An American? Not quite as good as a fellow Briton, but close enough. "Why were you at the slave auction?"
    "Pure chance. Sultan Kasan wants my trading company to become his exclusive shipping agent, so he showed me his city."
    She smiled cynically. "Did he also show you his pirate fleet? Probably not-I think it's on the other side of the island."
    He stared at her. "The sultan owns pirate ships?"
    "I'm not sure whether he is their chief, or merely allows them to use his island as a base in return for a percentage of their loot. In either case, dozens of pirate praus call Maduri home." Elliott's expression turned forbidding. "I know that in this part of the world piracy is considered just another family trade, but I don't share that point of