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“Mademoiselle, the journey is over,” Laurent said gallantly, moving his horse up alongside the one she’d been given to ride. Evelyn didn’t respond.
“Why so sad?” he asked, and lifted her chin with his dirty fingers. “Today, you will meet with your future husband. It is not often that these men have the pleasure of bartering for a white bride. In fact, I believe it is almost unheard of. You will be the talk of this year’s rendezvous.”
Evelyn gave a listless laugh. Hadn’t she left St. Charles in order to escape marriage to a man she didn’t care for? Charles Richardson was looking pretty good to her right about now.
“Future husband?” she asked, her voice raspy and foreign-sounding to her own ears. “Don’t you mean you’re selling me to be a whore to these . . . these beasts?” She jutted her chin in the direction of the large camp, and almost lost her balance. If she fell from the horse, perhaps she would break her neck, and her troubles would be over. As if he had read her thoughts, Laurent snaked his hand around one of her wrists, steadying her seat.
“Mademoiselle Lewis, are you ill?” Laurent asked. He leaned forward in his saddle and studied her face. Was that concern in his eyes? Evelyn blinked and looked away. The man, if he could even be called a man, didn’t have a shred of compassion in him. Why would he be concerned for her health all of a sudden?”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Berard,” she spat, not hiding the contempt in her voice. “I’m well enough that you can sell me like a pig at market. No one will know, or care, whether I feel ill or not. I only hope that whatever ails me kills me quickly.”
Laurent’s face hardened, and he abruptly yanked on her horse’s reins and kicked his own mount forward. Following the rest of his men into the loud and boisterous camp, cheering men quickly surrounded the new arrivals. Evelyn tucked her chin toward her chest and closed her eyes. She couldn’t understand a word of what was said around her, and she didn’t want to know. Instinctively she kicked out her leg when a sudden hand groped at her upper thigh. The roar of laughter all around her became deafening.
“I have waited weeks for this moment, Laurent,” a menacing voice next to her startled her. She opened her eyes to see Oliver Sabin leering at her. He had made it no secret that he wanted her since the night he killed Henry. “You want to barter her, let’s get on with it. I have a packhorse laden with trade goods, and I’m ready to barter for her now.”
Several other men who apparently stood close enough to hear the exchange cheered. It seemed to only encourage Sabin, and he grabbed for Evelyn’s arm.
In a move faster than Evelyn could comprehend, Laurent pointed a pistol at Sabin’s head.
“Those trade goods you speak of belong to me as much as they do to you, mon ami. Remember that I was part of that raid, and the cargo belongs to us all equally.”
“Yet you keep the woman for yourself,” Sabin shouted angrily.
“I am the one who found her aboard the boat, so therefore, yes; she is mine to do with as I please. She was not part of the raid.” Laurent didn’t waver. His hard stare dared any of the men to contradict him.
“But very well,” he continued after several tense moments, and shrugged. He lowered his weapon, and reached for Evelyn’s arm, pulling her from the horse. A wave of dizziness swept over her when her feet touched the ground, and for a moment she thought she might black out. Laurent tightened his grip on her arm to steady her.
“Spread the word that Laurent Berard has brought this beautiful white woman who goes by the name of Evelyn Lewis to rendezvous, and I will entertain all offers for her.” Like a theater actor, he swept his hand out in front of him in a dramatic gesture, pronouncing Evelyn’s name in his peculiar French accent. He scanned the large crowd of men that had formed around them.
“Bidding will begin in one hour.” His words were barely audible above the eager shouts of dozens of rough and eager-looking mountain men. Evelyn couldn’t bear to look. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her head felt as if it was made of lead. All she wanted to do was sink to the ground and allow sleep to overtake her. Perhaps then this nightmare would end.
Laurent led her further into camp, stopping next to a group of willow bushes.
“Rest here, mademoiselle. You will need all your strength.” He pushed her to the ground.
Evelyn raised her head and glared at him through unfocused eyes. “If you have even one shred of decency in you, you foul, disgusting excuse for a human being, you’ll take that pistol you’re so fond of and put a bullet through my temple.”
