Mystic Mountains

man in the area fade into insignificance.
    "What you want, Tiger Carstairs?" Malloy snarled.
    No mistaking where this Tiger had acquired his nickname. With that mane of hair and his eyes, he bore a striking resemblance to a wild animal. At this moment he looked like a lion about to pounce on his prey. Every woman in the line had turned to watch him.
    "Now, ain't 'e the finest bit of man flesh you ever laid yer eyes on," the woman now at the front of the line declared loudly, sashaying her hips and whistling through her brown teeth.
    "Keep yer filthy maulers off him, Gert," Gracie hissed. Isabella turned in time to see Gracie giving Gert a jab in the ribs with her elbow. "I have a feeling 'e's not the sort to cavort with strumpets such as you, yer old faggot."
    "Aw—a girl can dream," Gert sighed, clutching at the neck of her shift until her breasts almost popped out of the torn bodice.
    "I have a letter from the Governor 's office that states I have the right to select a female of my choice from this shipment, Malloy," Tiger Carstairs stated calmly. "So take your filthy mitts off the girl. I saw her first."
    Astonished, Isabella stared at him. The boldness in his eyes as he looked her over was startling.
    "I 'ave a letter from the Guvner's office," Malloy mimicked, pulling his mud-spattered trousers up with a jerk. "Sod off Carstairs, an' take your sodding letter with you!"
    Isabella also glared at this Tiger. He looked as if he thought he owned the very ground beneath his feet. Another Englishman making claims on her. Another of the arrogant aristocracy. He must be a nob if he was a friend of the Governor.
    Isabella cringed inside. Every Englishman was the devil 's spawn. Most of the women in the line were now calling out their willingness to go with him. They could take her place as far as she was concerned. The arrogant golden-haired man ignored all the offers and catcalls as if he hadn't heard them, continuing to appraise Isabella, making her feel like a fattened calf at the market.
    "The wench comes with me," the ugly Irishman claimed, his slash of a mouth twisting in a parody of a grin.
    Despite the heat Isabella shivered as he wiped a drop of spittle from his chin with a filthy hand whose nails were bitten to the quick. Dirt was ingrained into his flesh. She doubted he'd washed in months, perhaps years.
    "I beg to differ, Malloy. She comes with me," the tall Englishman said.
    "Now, just a minute both of you," the official interrupted. "The lass has been assigned to work in the kitchens of Mr. Tonkins. It's not up to either of you to decide on the matter." With a glance at Tiger Carstairs he put up a hand and called, "Mr. Tonkins, come and collect your charge."
    Isabella 's knees went weak with relief when a small rotund man came forward, a cautious look on his kindly ruddy face. Obviously not of the gentry, he looked to be a tradesman of some sort, his homespun clothes plain, his boots unpolished.
    But her relief was short-lived when he said diffidently, "I have no problem with exchanging my assignee with Tiger 's." He gave the tall man a wary glance. "I simply want a young woman to assist my Emily with her household chores. It matters little who I get as long as she's young and able." Isabella could have screamed her outrage. With a pleading glance at him she silently begged this Mr. Tonkins to change his mind.
    But Gregson said, "Very well. That 's settled," and she knew her fate was set. With a long-suffering sigh the official drew a line across the page, altering names. "If you're willing to change, and Mr. Carstairs has a letter from the Governor's office, it's a matter between you. Moira Paine, come forward. You go with Mr. Tonkins."
    "But, but . . ." The man named Malloy pressed his palms on the table. His face was turning purple and more spittle flew from his mouth.
    Gregson, the government man, took a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his face. "For goodness sake go over there and await your turn, Malloy. Now," he ordered when the Irishman dallied, a stubborn look in his watery eyes.
    The giant called Tiger took Isabella 's arm and began to lead her away. Amused, the guards shouted obscene remarks. He ignored them.
    "Take care girl," Gracie called.
    Isabella sent a smile tinged with nervousness and terror over a shoulder as she was steered across the wharf. Helpless despair filled her. This Tiger Carstairs who now owned her body and soul led her silently along narrow alleys. Raucous cries of