The Irish Bride by Alexis Harrington Read Free Book Online

vibrating in his touch. Dear God,
he wouldn’t start trouble in here—he couldn’t. Not with all these
vicious sailors—
    The harridan, who stank of garlic and
stale wine at this close range, raked Farrell with her wee piggy
eyes. The undisguised slight brought a hot flush to Farrell’s
cheeks and made her worn skirt and her rough shawl all the more
conspicuous. Suddenly she shared Aidan’s anger and she exchanged a
look with him. Tired as she was, she straightened her spine,
drawing herself to her full height to stare back at the coarse
woman, unflinching.
    Aidan leaned across the
counter and in a low, even voice said, “Judging by the looks of
your other customers, I’d say ye can’t always tell whether a man is
a beggar just by his face or dress.” He pulled a coin from his
pocket and put it on the bar between them. “Now I want hot meals
for my wife and me, and then we’ll be wanting a room. A private room, not one
that sleeps six to a bed.” The quiet, commanding words left no
doubt of who would have the last say.
    “ Hmph ,” Kate grunted, then plucked up the coin. She clamped it
between what remained of her big yellow-brown molars, presumably to
see if it was genuine, then nodded at the taproom behind them.
“Well, get on with ye to a table, then.” She bellowed into the
kitchen, calling someone named Ann. “I’ll have the girl bring yer
food. You can take room number three upstairs after ye sup.” She
tossed a large iron key across the bar.
    With the matter apparently resolved,
conversation around them resumed, and Aidan led Farrell to a corner
table. She sank onto a chair, grateful to be sitting on a
stationary object that didn’t rock, pitch, and rattle her teeth. He
dropped into the seat opposite her, his gaze still surveying the
people around them.
    “ I hope you’ll move the rest
of the coin to a safer place than your coat pocket,” she whispered,
also glancing around at the pub’s clientele.
    Aidan gave her a long, wry
look with those unsettling sapphire eyes. He whispered too, but his
voice had an intimate quality that she recognized even over the
noise in the pub. “Farrell, I hope ye don’t think I’m a stupid man. And I’d
wager that ye’d turn the color of old Kate’s nose over there, if I
told you where I’ve hid the other money.” He leaned back in his
chair and with those eyes directed her attention to his crotch,
where a noticeable swell stretched the fabric of his trousers. His
meaning was plain enough, and she was reminded once more of the
power he now held over her. “So I’ll just say that ye needn’t be
worrying about it.”
    She averted her gaze to the sticky
tabletop and her cheeks burned again. In too few minutes, in the
time it would take a starving man to devour his food, Aidan would
usher her upstairs to room number three and demand his due as her
husband. Her right to choose the man she would give herself to had
been one of the few things she still owned in the world. Now that
was gone too.
    Farrell glanced at his hands where
they rested on the table in front of him. They were strong hands,
broad across their backs and dotted with old and newer scars from
work or fights, she didn’t know which. They’d certainly be strong
enough to hold her, and he probably would have no regard, no
sentiment for her woman’s tender feelings.
    Like a child, she hoped that maybe if
she lingered over her supper long enough, Aidan would be too weary
to do more than sleep when they went upstairs. Yes, it could work,
especially if he was like most men—feed them and they went as lazy
as swine.
    Just then, a scrawny, timid creature,
most likely the unfortunate Ann whose name Kate had brayed earlier,
brought a tray with two steaming plates of some kind of stew, a
couple of old-looking biscuits, and two pints of ale. The moment
the food was put in front of Farrell, all of her other concerns,
and her plan, were forgotten.
    The broth was thin and bland, and the
mutton in it had