Free Spirit was my first try at a romance book. It has been rewritten
at least 4 times. I still think it could be rewritten, as I continually
find ways to improve my writing, but my publisher put her foot firmly
down and said ENOUGH!
Diesa de Tyronmen struggled angrily against the shackles, tipping her head back to take a breath. She had complained time and again to her captors
that the neck shackle was too small--a complaint that had fallen on deaf ears.
Oh well, Diesa thought grimly, it doesn't matter now.
In a few short minutes she would go on the auction block and whoever bought her would have to provide their own shackles, iron being as
expensive as it was.
She closed her eyes against the glare of the winter sun and shivered in her thin tunic. The voices of the market crowd were loud in her throbbing
head.
A head that wouldn't be throbbing, she reminded herself sourly, if
you could only learn to keep your mouth shut. Eight days of her constant complaining had at last driven the slave keeper
to blows. The evidence, however, was well concealed under her thick, waist-length black hair. It wouldn't do to sell damaged goods.
"Up!" barked a heavy-set man, yanking her to her feet. He prodded her along past other slaves and up the three steps to the auction
platform. Once there, he stripped off her tunic in one swift movement, leaving her nude on the platform. A gasp of surprise and embarrassment escaped her, but there was no escape, no place to go. She licked dry lips as her gaze traveled swiftly over those men seated at the buying table.
She sized them up swiftly. A Kalaithen--he would be looking for boys. A
human, big, ugly and old--he might be a problem. A brothel madam--she
would want someone better endowed. A dwarf--he was already turning his
eyes away in disinterest. A Diad--he was leering, obviously interested.
Another human, younger, more pleasing to look at, but with a cold grin
that sent shivers up Diesa's spine. And last, an elf--exquisitely
beautiful, with fair skin, hair the color of summer sunshine and cold,
gray eyes that appraised her thoughtfully.
The auctioneer brought his gavel down hard, startling Diesa, and the
bidding began. It started low and Diesa cringed. Not only was it a blow to
her ego, but it meant she could be forced to stand naked for a longer
time, shivering in the cold air.
"Come now," the auctioneer whined. "Surely we can do better
than fifty yemmocks! She's a fine young specimen with only seventeen years
behind her, worthy of any brothel."
"She'd have to grow some knobbies first!" a man's cry came.
Laughter erupted and Diesa flamed red. She knew her breasts were small.
But that's the way her body was--small, tight and wiry. Still, it did not
give him the right to draw attention to it. She lifted her chin defiantly,
suddenly determined not to let the men see how terrified she was, how
close to tears, to defeat. But the auctioneer's next words nearly broke
her willpower.
"She's part dryad," the auctioneer admitted, "but the other
half is all Crayoven. Crayoven! Think of it!"
It was a bold lie, meant to raise the bids. Crayoven! The word stuck in
Diesa's mind like poison. To even suggest she could be part of such a
sexually deviant race of people brought the taste of bile to the back of
her throat. She shuddered and forced herself to look at the buyers.
"One hundred yemmocks!" the madam offered, her heavily painted
eyes squinting at Diesa. "Based on trial."
"One hundred fifty, no trial," the young human countered.
"One hundred eighty." The elf's offer was not loud, though it
rang clearly.
Oh Gods, Diesa thought. Not the elf. Please, not the elf.
She knew his kind. Her clan had told her all about them. How they cared
for none but themselves, how they considered humans beneath them, how they
could claim a heart with their words, a soul with their touch. But not
mine! she thought wildly. She would lose her soul to no one, certainly
not someone who was not even human. Nor would she be owned by anyone,
least of all an arrogant, narcissistic elf. Her gaze settled on him and
their eyes met. The corners of his perfectly formed lips turned up just
slightly, although his gray eyes remained cold and aloof. Diesa could not
look away, and felt her heart hammering against her ribs. He was
beautiful! Painfully beautiful. You'll make me love you and give me
nothing in return. Nothing but aching emptiness.
::And you know this?:: His voice came clearly in her mind, startling her.
The Diad bid two hundred.
Quickly, Diesa brought up her shields to keep the elf's magic out.
The elf's smile grew, as if intrigued. "Two fifty," he called.
No, she cried. Not him. Please, let someone else…
"Two seventy five!" The young, attractive human was back in the
bidding.
::You'd rather go to him?:: The elf broke through Diesa's shields easily.
Diesa's gaze shifted momentarily to the human. It wasn't hard to imagine
what he wanted with her. Anger snuffed out her fear. That was all men ever
wanted. To use a woman for their own pleasure, to humiliate and torment
them. The elf would be no better, but he would control her mind as well as
her body. She glared at him. ::At least his pain would only be physical.
That I could live with.::
"Three hundred," the elf said.
Diesa stared in disbelief. ::I hate you! You know that!::
::Why?:: His question was curious, as the human once more raised the bid.
::You come into my mind without asking. That's the way with your kind.
With all men! They take what does not belong to them and then discard it
like trash. Get out of my head!:: Diesa strained with all of her psychic
power to reform her shields.
The elf's smile grew. "Four hundred."
::No!:: Diesa shrieked mentally. ::You'll take my mind first, then my
heart! I can't stand it!:: Her gaze went to the young human who had been
countering the elf's bids. Please, she begged, willing her thoughts
to him. Please.
The young man shifted uncomfortably, his face wrinkling into a hard frown.
"Four twenty five," he called hesitantly, as if the words had
been forced from him.
The elf smiled fully, his gray eyes sparkling with surprise. "Six
hundred!"
A gasp went up from the crowd, followed by a heavy, disbelieving silence.
The auctioneer regained his senses quickly, slammed the gavel down upon
the bidding block and jabbed a finger at the elf. "Sold!" he
cried.
