But he was bigger than her, stronger, and she was small and exhausted and untrained. Though she tried to run, he caught her easily, and when she struggled and fought, though she definitely managed to land a few good hits and heard him swear more than once, he simply held her tighter.
"Enough!" he snarled and pushed hard, forcing her down to the ground again and pinning her there. "Relax, sweetling. It'll be over soon. Now let's see what's under that skirt."
His hand started to move down her thigh and Maeve screamed.
Then, all of a sudden, the weight of the tavern owner was no longer pressing her down, and a loud cry of surprise and pain was left in its wake.
Maeve gasped and pushed herself into a sitting position. The drunkard from before had entered the room in a blur of fury, his fists swinging, and he'd thrown the man off Maeve as though Bill weighed no more than paper. The drunkard did not lighten up with his beating, kicking and punching and effortlessly avoiding Bill's retaliations, until at last the tavern owner fell back onto the floor, his eyes closed, unmoving.
Silence fell over the room.
At last, in a hoarse voice, Maeve asked, "Is he dead?"
The so-called drunkard turned to her, though the intensity in his expression made it clear she'd been right earlier; this man was not drunk in the slightest. When he spoke, there was no trace of the slur in his voice anymore. "Would ye mind if he was?" he countered.
Maeve thought about it for a long time, then decided to answer honestly. "I dinnae ken," she admitted, hating herself for it. It was a weak answer, not kind enough to wish him spared, but neither tough enough to revel in his death.
Her savior grunted, then approached and held out a hand. Maeve took it, and he helped her to her feet, then wrapped his cloak around her shoulders.
"Ye're shiverin'," he told her. "This will keep ye warm." He turned to look at Bill's unconscious body and said, "And he's not dead. Scum that he is, it wasnae worth murder on me conscience. Ye should go home tae yer mam, pet, and never come back here."
Maeve felt cold, and she bit her lip to stop herself from crying out in the sudden tumult of emotion that filled her. Here she was again, forced to run, forced to leave a life behind her, because a man had decided she was an easy plaything. Because she was weak.
"I havenae anywhere tae go," she whispered.
He surveyed her for a moment, then sighed. "What's yer name?" he asked her after a moment.
"Mae—Mary," she replied, catching herself before she accidentally revealed her true self. "And ye?"
"Senan," he told her. His brow furrowed. "What's yer story, Mary?"
Maeve glanced at the unconscious tavern owner and her head spun. She felt dizzy, and pulled Senan's cloak tighter around her shoulders, grateful at least for the comforting warmth it offered. "I'm a pawn," she told him bitterly. "It's all I've been me whole life; a weak pawn, made tae suit the whims of men."
Senan didn't react dramatically. He simply seemed to ponder her words. "I see," he said. "And ye're happy with this?"
"No. I want me freedom," she told him. "Ineedme freedom. But I dinnae ken what tae do now. Where tae go, how tae live. I dinnae ken how tae exist as anythin' but what these men want me tae be."
That intense coal-black gaze focused harder on her now. "And what would ye give up tae have that freedom?" he asked her. "What would ye be willin' tae do in order tae discover yerself, Mary? Tae be truly free, and naebody's pawn anymore? Would ye fight? Die? Kill, if ye had tae?"
Maeve thought of Ann, who had offered her the way of the Sparrows. She regretted now rejecting that chance when it was offered; she knew that not many people got a second chance. She did not know who this Senan was, but she knew that he'd saved her, and she knew that he stood against the False King that the Darachs loved so much.
It wasn't enough to trust someone, but he was offering her freedom. And she would not shrink away again.
She met his gaze unflinchingly, determination coursing through her now. "Anythin'," she said. "Anythin'." And she meant it.
5
Chapter Five
They set out right away, stopping only to gather a few of Maeve's things and take some money from Bill's stash. It was tempting to steal the lot — he certainly deserved it — but Maeve didn't take a penny more than she was owed for the two months of work she'd done so far. Her mare from when she arrived two months ago was still kept in the stables, and Maeve felt no shame in 'stealing' her back. After all, Ann had given the horse to Maeve, not to Bill. Senan had a horse of his own, and the two of them were mounted and riding out before half an hour had passed since the incident.
As the inn disappeared into the night behind them, Maeve glanced over her shoulder and sighed.
"Havin' regrets?" Senan asked her. "It's not too late if ye want tae stop. I can help ye find somewhere else in the village tae live and work, or another village if ye prefer."
Maeve shook her head. "It isnae that. I'm wonderin' about Bill. Ye say he'll live, but… what of the next servin' girl? What if…?"
Senan's expression was impossible to see in the darkness, but when he spoke, he sounded pleased by what she'd said. "Lesson one, lass. A true warrior kills without hesitatin' when it's necessary, but we dinnae take lives when we dinnae have tae. That tavern keeper is scum, it's true, but it might be he learns a lesson from the beatin' I gave him this night. Certainly, he willnae be botherin' any lassies while his broken bones heal."
