Then, he heard it. A distinct cry immediately muffled. Human, certainly. Female, too.
Thomas didn’t think. He raced towards the dark treeline, his hand flying automatically to his dagger’s hilt. He cursed himself for not bringing a more adequate weapon.
He dived into the trees, branches slapping him in the face. The path was narrow, and the undergrowth pressed in on all sides.Without warning, the trees swept back, forming a neat little clearing conveniently illuminated by the moon.
He skidded to a halt, taking in the scene before him.
Two figures were struggling in the moonlight, a man and a woman. A dark lantern lay at the woman’s feet beside a basket full of some greenery.
The man stood behind the woman, one arm clamped around her waist, holding her close to him, the other hand pressed over her mouth. She was struggling, trying her best to break free, but he was too strong. His face was pressed into the side of her neck, and as Thomas watched, he spoke.
“Stop struggling, ye wee wench,” the man gritted out. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, eh?”
“What are ye doing?” Thomas’s voice rang out, his fists clenching at his sides.
The man jumped out of his skin, automatically releasing the woman. She hurled herself away from him, landing in a heap near the edge of the clearing. The man stared at Thomas, squinting in the dark. He was trying to see who had interrupted him, Thomas realized.
“Get lost,” the man snapped. “This is none of yer concern.”
“If ye are assaulting an innocent woman, I think it is.”
The man spat. “She’s no innocent woman. Ye ought to see how she teases me every day. She’s been asking for this since—”
He was interrupted by Thomas launching himself across the clearing, his fist connecting neatly with the man’s face.
Crack.
The man crumpled like a rag doll, making a feeble effort to defend himself. Thomas punched him again and again, a red mist sizzling behind his eyes. There was a metallic scratch, and the lantern flared into life, filling the clearing with soft, buttery light, not at all appropriate for the situation.
The guard’s good eye—the one that wasn’t swollen and bruised—widened in horror.
“Laird MacPherson!” he gasped, spitting blood down his chin. “I didn’t—didn’t know that it was ye, I didn’t—”
Thomas clenched his fist, noticing for the first time that it was splattered with blood. He deliberately lowered his fist, getting to his feet. “Get out of here,” he snarled. “Ye have not heard the last of this.”
The guard scrambled to his feet, limping away into the darkness. Thomas watched him go, straining his ears for the tell-tale metallic clang that would indicate that the guard, either out of foolishness or a fit of spite, had chosen to lock the gate behind him.
Nothing came. Satisfied, Thomas turned towards the woman, who was still sitting on the ground beside the now-lit lantern.
He sucked in a breath when he saw who it was.
“Emma!” he gasped, dropping to his knees beside her. He reached out automatically, and she shied away.
Thomas swallowed hard, curling his fingers into his palm and pointedly shuffling away.
Give her space.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
It was a somewhat redundant question. Emma’s hair was disheveled, short strands coming undone around her temples and ears as if someone had pulled on it. Her bodice was half-unlaced, revealing the curve of her breast.
Thomas resolutely did not look. He swallowed again, noticing red finger-marks on her neck and wrists, which would soon color to bruises.
“I came out to fetch more campion and thistle-row flowers,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “We ran out, and I meant to get some before. Delphine doesn’t usually let me go out so late, but I thought she’d be upset if we didn’t have some by the morning.”
“I think she’d be more upset to hear that ye were attacked,” Thomas said grimly.
He immediately wished he hadn’t because Emma hung her head as if ashamed.
