Mary sped her pace.
“Hay! We wanna t—talk to you!”
She had finally reached the narrow, stone arched passageway that led out of town when a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder. Mary swung around, leading heavily with her knee. It knocked him squarely in the cods and he fell to the ground with a groan.
“Oi!” one of his friends shouted.
Then she was surrounded. She had the urge to look about frantically for someone to save her, but she firmly tamped the impulse down. No one would save her. The street was vacant and even if it wasn’t, the likelihood of someone coming to the rescue of a pub “wench” and amateur actress were slim if not non-existent. No. She must save herself.
“Come, come, whore, you know you wanna lift your skirts for us fine blokes,” a man behind her said, a waft of his whisky-soaked breath reaching her nose.
“Yesssh,” the other sneered, “we’ll even pay ye for it.”
The injured man still writhed on the ground, his hands clutched at his man bits.
“Let us sthee your purdy face…”
Suddenly her hood was removed from her head in awhoosh, her wild hair loosening haphazardly. The man behind her tugged harder and her mantle fell entirely from her shoulders, leaving a wash of frigid air to steal over her body.
“Cor!” one of the men exclaimed. “I get ‘er first.”
Moving on instinct, Mary spun on her heel and ran.
Then, they were on her.
Heavy breathing came from behind her as one arm snaked around her waist. The man pulled, forcing her back against his chest. Mary struggled even as his other arm came to join the first, his grip tightening. Her elbows connected with his ribs and her fists pounded at his forearms to no avail. The blackguard grunted as she made impact, but he held fast.
The other two men rounded in front of her, reaching for her skirts, the injured man evidently recovered. She kicked her legs, trying to connect with anything sensitive.
The tip of her half boot hit one man’s shin. “Damn it!” he roared.
Desperate, Mary flung her head backwards, directly into her captors’ nose.
Several muffled curses rent the air as he released her to cover his injury.
She staggered away, then picked up her skirts and ran. She sprinted as fast as she could through the narrow pathway that led to Lord Winning’s estate, her breaths coming in panicked pants. The passage was too long. Too far. She couldn’t gain enough of a head start from these attackers.
Disembodied huffs of breath followed closely behind her as she ran. Her pulse raced almost painfully in her chest, her throat and lungs felt seared with cold as she laboured for each gulp of air. It ached. It burned. But she pushed herself on.
The gate to Lord Winning’s fields was just up ahead. If she could but reach it…
A hand clutched her elbow and wrenched her arm backward, sending screaming pain up into her shoulder, and forcing her into an abrupt stop. She swung around, prepared to deliver another knee to this man’s parts, but he anticipated her movement and blocked her with his own knee.
Mary scoured her mind for the other manoeuvres she had learned for defending herself, and in a last-minute effort, Mary stiffly extended her fingers and jabbed them just below the juncture point of one ruffian’s ribs. That earned her a brief respite as he wheezed for breath, but one of his hateful companions quickly took his place.
His large hand gripped her jaw, his fingers digging deeply into her skin, pinching her cheeks together and forcing her lips to purse.
His blood-soaked lips curved back to reveal startlingly white teeth. “You,” he said, his voice dripping with malice and his breath reeking of drink and the metallic zing of blood. “You will suffer for this.”
The next moments were a blur of agony. She kicked and fought as much as she could, taking solace in the evil villains’ grunts of pain as her fists and heels connected with their soft flesh.
The sound of quick footfalls registered in the back of her mind, but her thoughts were focused solely on her own defence.
A swift movement caught her eye as one of the men drew a fist back to deliver another blow to her face. Mary grimaced and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, preparing for another blazing burst of fire to radiate through her head.
“Release her,” a cultured voice brimming with controlled rage said from somewhere beyond her assailants.
In that instant, Mary’s bravery fled. Even though her arms were suddenly free, Mary didn’t move. She clapped her hands over her ears and kept her eyes squeezed shut, flinching as warm liquid splattered her. The sounds of muffled shouts, thuds, cracks, and all manner of other nauseating noises could still be heard through the barrier of her hands.
