Free Bound to Be a Bride by Megan Mulry Page B

library in other languages, but nothing could have prepared Isabella for the way it rolled through her when Javier spoke German. The hard consonants, the rounded vowels. He sounded like another person altogether. Someone important. Even so, he sat on the stool with his usual casual ease. She knew by now that he kept a knife hidden in his left boot as well as the rather heavy looking saber that hung from the leather belt at his waist.
    Javier was looking at her expectantly. “Please let us show the gentleman what you have to sell, my dear.”
    “Oh. Yes.” She stumbled over the words. “It’s in rather an awkward spot. Do you have a separate chamber where I might… remove it?”
    Javier smiled at his little rebel. “Sewed it into your dress, did you?”
    “Drawers, if you must know.” She answered haughtily, as if she said the word drawers in front of two men in a disreputable jeweler’s shop in an unsavory part of a foreign seaside town at every possible opportunity.
    “Allow me to assist you, my lady.” Javier rose to join her.
    “That’s very kind of you, sir, but I’m sure I can manage. You are not the only one with a small knife hidden on your person.”
    The German man repressed a chortle and Javier crossed his arms over his chest and sat back down on the stool with a huff.
    “The first door on the left is a small storage closet, my lady,” the German man directed. “It should do.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    Isabella was gone for a few minutes and returned with a victorious grin spread across her face. “Very well. Here it is.” She handed the rough cross to the German, but just before he could take it into his eager hands, Javier leapt from his seat and clamped his hand around Isabella’s wrist.
    “Ow!” she yelped. “You’re hurting me, Javi! Stop that!”
    He pried the cross out her hand with his strong fingers. His face was dark with fury. “Give it to me now!” His voice was cruel and foreign to her ears.
    The German stood up again. “Now, sir, if the lady—”
    “Silence!” Javier barked in German, but his meaning was clear enough in any language.
    “Where did you get this, you lying thief?!” Javier growled the words at Isabella.
    Isabella looked over her right shoulder, as if he must have been speaking in such a vicious, accusatory way to someone else.
    “Who are you looking for? Your accomplice? Tell me!” His voice became crueler and quieter the angrier he became. His grip on her wrist was so tight, she suspected the bones were about to crack.
    Isabella felt her blood turning to ice. “It is mine. I swear it.” Tears were rolling down her ashen face. She turned to the German. “Do you have a Bible? I will swear on the Bible. I will swear on my soul.”
    Javier continued to stare at her, speechless at last. His hand loosened a tiny bit on her wrist, but not enough to free her. The German got up from his seat, going to retrieve the requested book.
    “There’s no need for a Bible,” Javier said, never taking his eyes off Isabella. The German sat back down.
    “What is your full name, Isabella?” Javier demanded.
    “Why? It’s not a name I will ever use. I hate my name.” It was the first time he had ever seen her speak with real venom.
    “I will never ask you to repeat it, but this once, you must. I have to know how you came to possess this cross.” He held the heavy gold cross in his free hand and shook it twice in her face, too close, threatening her.
    She stood tall and firm, her chin slightly raised as her father had taught her, despising every familiar syllable. “I am Doña Isabella de Suárez de Figueroa y Córdoba, daughter of the Duke of Feria and granddaughter of the Duke of Medinaceli.”
    The jeweler’s monocle slipped from his eye and clattered to the surface of his workbench, punctuating the silence that surrounded them.
    Javier released her wrist too quickly, making her feel filthy or diseased, as if he could not even bear to touch her wretched