Mungo followed the voice until he saw the arch of a black iron gate. It would lead to one of the elegant townhouses that had been looming above him in the shadows as he walked. The occasional hint of golden lamplight was the only bright thing in this foggy gloom.
Stepping through, he saw shapes ahead.
“Unhand me!” a woman’s voice cried.
“You can’t stop me. You’re nothing, and I have everything, so I own you.”
The slap was loud in the thick air. A man’s curse followed.
“I’m taking you here, bitch. Father told me to wait until it was time, but I’m teaching you a lesson now!”
“I’ll kill you before you do!”
It was 4:00 p.m., or near to it, and people were milling about somewhere in the fog, and a man was about to assault a woman. What kind of idiot thought he’d get away withthat? Mungo was not the only person to have heard this, surely?
A noble one, Mungo thought. Some of them believed they could do anything, and if he was honest, often did. Plus, who was going to intervene?
He was disgusted that no one else had come to see what was going on.
Moving forward slowly, he saw two figures take shape. A man was bent over a woman, and she was fighting with everything she had, but he’d got her onto the ground.
“You’ll stop that now,” Mungo said in a voice that would have his household running for cover. “Or I will make you.”
The man straightened, releasing the woman as he staggered back in shock. Even through the fog, Mungo could now make out the weak bastard’s features, but he’d never seen him before. He’d not forget him now, though.
“Leave,” the man demanded. “Or pay for your interference.”
“Up you get, lass, and come to my back,” Mungo said, moving to where she was now crouched, keeping his eyes on the man. He wasn’t big like Mungo, but short and solid, with thick brows and a sneer on his lips. “Up now,” he added as the woman seemed to curl in on herself. “He’ll not touch you again.”
Mungo placed his fingers under her elbow and helped her rise. She stumbled as she straightened, then fell into his body. He placed a hand on her back, reassuring her she was safe. Her cheek pressed into his chest briefly before she straightened.
“Thank you.” The words were whispered.
“Get away from her, you Scottish heathen!” the man roared. “She’s mine.”
“I’m the heathen, am I, when had I not stopped you, we all know what you would have done to her, you filthy Sassenachbastard. You’re a gutless coward to prey on a woman when your strength is twice hers. But then if it’s a noble you are, it’s not a surprise to me you have no morals.”
The woman pulled herself out of Mungo’s arms and turned to look at the man, who was advancing on them now. Mungo saw the knife he had clenched in his right hand. Before he could grab her, the woman had raised her leg, and kicked the hand, dislodging the blade.
“Bitch!”
“Well done, lass, but behind me now,” Mungo said, grabbing her hand. She pulled free to pick up a bag Mungo hadn’t noticed until then, and she swung it at the man, hitting him hard in the chest and sending him back a step.
Mungo wanted to applaud.
“You’re mine!” the man roared.
“I belong to no man,” the woman spat back. “You and your father are revolting, vile men who prey on those they employ. I will not allow you to hurt me as you have others! I’d rather live on the street than under your roof,” the woman hissed. “May the fleas of a thousand tavern dogs make their home in your trousers!”
Mungo snorted. Clearly the fear that had her leaning into him briefly was now gone. He admired her spirit. Plenty of the women in his family would have done the same as she had.
“Behind me now, lass.”
Mungo got a glimpse of a pale face, big dark eyes, and her long dark hair that hung in a braid over one shoulder, and then she was gone, safely out of the man’s reach, where she would stay.
“Don’t move until I tell you to,” Mungo added softly as the man braced himself to charge him.
“You’ve made an enemy of me and my father,” he said. “We’ll see you dead—both of you.”
