The Prince Kidnaps a Bride by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page A

Brigette.
    She held the end in her hand.
    A trap.
    “No!” he shouted.
    “Yes.” Her voice was flat. She pulled.
    He tried to run, but it was too late. As if he were a tiger marked for death, the net enveloped him.
    This had happened before.
    But he wouldn’t go back to prison. Not without a brawl.
    Maddened by panic, by fury, by anguish, he fought, growing more and more tangled.
    “Arnou, that’s enough.” Mother Brigette’s voice slapped at him. “Calm down. We’re not going to hurt you!”
    Nothing she said could mitigate his terror. He would not be snared again.
    A short, burly Scotsman stepped out from behind a screen. He flung a rope around Arnou’s chest. The bastard gave a jerk, tightening it.
    Between the net, the rope, and the panic, Arnou choked. He tried to claw himself free.
    “MacLaren, don’t kill him!” Mother Brigette warned.
    “He’s crazed,” MacLaren rasped.
    Arnou saw the gleam in MacLaren’s eyes. MacLaren liked trapping a man. Liked choking him. Forgetting the net, Arnou lunged at him.
    Because MacLaren was right. Arnou was crazed.
    He wouldn’t go back. He would not return to hell.
    He tripped. He fell. He thrashed on the floor, intent on killing MacLaren.
    He heard high, chirping cries of anguish.
    But they didn’t come from his mouth.
    Four nuns rushed forward from every corner of the room.
    The net tore at his face, snagging the rag over his eye, ripping it away.
    He froze, aware of what had been revealed.
    Sister Theresa gasped. “His eye. He has an eye!”
    “A perfectly good one.” Mother Brigette’s wrath pierced his fear, bringing him a moment of lucidity. “I was right. He’s lying.”
    The nuns threw wool blankets over him.
    Darkness enveloped him. Smothered him. Panic returned with renewed strength. Again he fought his bonds.
    The heat built up. The air slipped away. He couldn’t breathe. And before he lost consciousness, Arnou grimly reminded himself—he’d lived in the dungeon in a cell the size of a coffin. For years, he’d survived without light, without warmth, without decent food. His spirit had taken blow after blow. Friends had died. He’d been beaten year after year with a whip, with a cane... finally, after an interminable time filled with blackness and depression, his spirit had broken, and nothing mattered anymore.
    But somehow at that moment when all hope was gone, he’d discovered a tiny light within himself. Slowly, painfully, he’d come back from the brink.
    He would come back again.
    Because he was different now. Hardship had burned away his soft, privileged self, leaving nothing but steely resolve and a cool killing instinct.
    He would have Sorcha. He would save his kingdom.
    He was, after all, Prince Rainger.

Chapter 5
 
    The
Gala
Palace
in Beaumontagne
    Three years earlier
    W ith one skinny fist, Rainger punched a hole through the glass, then listened for a shout, which would betray that the guards had heard the crash.
    Nothing. For now, his luck held.
    Snaking his arm inside, he unlatched the window. The window swung open easily at his urging. He slithered into a dark, cavernous room and took a long breath of air rich with the scent of money. He was in the antechamber of the
Gala
Palace
, where even in the depths of night the walls glinted dully with gold. No candles lit the darkness, but his eyes easily adjusted. He’d been staring into darkness for so long, he no longer recognized the light.
    He had only a few minutes to find the fragile old queen and force her to do as he commanded. For if he was taken, he would be thrown into a prison cell—and he was far too familiar with prison to go quietly.
    She lived in the west corner, where she received the afternoon sun. He remembered her needle dipping into her embroidery, over and over, dragging thread behind it while her cold, clear voice nagged on and on...
    Stopping, he closed his eyes and swayed, lost in memories and sick with the need to avenge himself. And sick with hunger. God, it