‘I can get you more.’ She gestured to the purse. ‘Make more cakes, make more money. Just don’t do this.’
‘Don’t do this?’ Rudd jingled the purse a bit. ‘It looks like you were already doing it. I’ll merely profit more than I thought today. These kind gentlemen offered money as well. Not as much as you were being paid by that knight, but a deal is a deal. And you do need to pay your debt to my parents.’
This was personal. ‘Debt?’
‘You don’t know?’ Rudd laughed. ‘All the better that I get to tell the tale. Get to see your ugly pious face as I break your heart.’
Rudd ran his eyes over her and his laugh turned ugly.
‘You think they kept you here with a roof over your head, feeding you because they cared for you? That you worked all hours of the day, slaved until your fingers bled because you loved them back?’
They’d told her they loved her. So much pain she had suffered at the time, so many tears with the guilt of failing her sister, her soul, failing her family. She didn’t love herself, but the innkeepers loved her. Of course, she worked for them until her fingers bled. She’d still do it.
‘Oh! I can see you do believe it. They bought you. Two ageing failing innkeepers needed cheap help. Although I don’t think you came cheap to them. I believe you owe more on your debt.’
‘I don’t owe a debt,’ Helissent said, her eyes on the men who stepped closer. Too close. She took a couple of steps in the opposite direction and saw how their smirks increased. How had they become involved? ‘Whatever these men told you, I owe no debt.’
‘Oh, you do.’ Rudd ran his finger down the right side of his face. ‘My parents fixed you.’ His mouth turned like he tasted something vile. ‘Such as it is, but it was the best money could buy in these parts.’
He spit between his teeth. ‘You think your possessions from the ashes of your home paid for that healer. No, it was my parents, who paid that healer with my inheritance.’
He reached back and pulled out of his breeches a small, heavily written-on parchment scrap. ‘I have the evidence all here. Accounts from the healer and my parents. All about your treatment, and care, and healing.
‘Oh, they were crafty, paying for your care. But I know better. I was born and raised by those people, and everything became clear when this parchment was read to me. My parents were wondering if their slave would be working for them soon.’
For a split moment, she believed his cruel words for truth, felt the pain in them, but it didn’t take away her sudden yearning and keen desperation. For in Rudd’s hands was more treasure than she’d thought she’d ever see. A parchment, a few written words from two people she’d dearly loved and would give anything to hear from again.
She had nothing left of her own family, but Anne and John had become her second family. Now there was something of theirs, something she could read, to hold in her hand, to hear their voices again.
As he noted her fixation on the parchment, Rudd’s eyes gleamed. Let him think he’d hurt her with the words and not with the denying of a scrap of paper. He could never know.
‘The way I see it, you owe me, girl. And there’s only one way a disgusting creature like you could pay me back.’
Two sets of hands clamped on to her arms. She cried out and kicked. Too late. Her eyes focused on the bit of parchment; she forgot the men.
‘Is she ours now?’ The one on her left sneered, his breath heavy with onions.
‘Such a price you paid, how could she not be yours?’ Rudd’s snake expression turned to her. ‘Can you imagine any man would pay a price to be between your legs? But these men paid plenty. They seem to like their women damaged. Your ugliness is lining my pockets.’
‘Never had a burned one before,’ Onion-breath said with glee. ‘Last one was crippled and remember the blind one?’
The man on her left closed his eyes like he savored that memory, and she yanked her arm to hide her revulsion.
‘Our agreement was I had her first.’ Rudd tossed the parchment behind him, his hands immediately at his belt.
‘I get the ugly half,’ Ale man breathed.
‘No, I get the ugly half,’ the other argued.
In her struggle, Helissent yanked the men several feet before they dug their heels into the mud. Terror, like ice shards, struck underneath her skin. It was going to happen. She couldn’t stop it.
Rudd laughed. ‘I don’t want any half except what’s down below. Just shove her face in the mud. I don’t want to see it for a moment before I get the skirts up and over her face.’
The men chortled, their manacled hands loosening. ‘No!’ She pulled her arms free and ran. Her heart pumped; she tasted the iron of blood in her mouth. As she feared, her right leg immediately dragged behind her. Pounding of feet on the cold dirt behind her, pain in her arms as the men grabbed and shoved her to the ground. The wet mud momentarily masking the taste of blood in her mouth.
More pain as a knee jammed into the small of her back. She threw her body to the left, kicked out, made some connection. Another hand on her ankle, yanking it to the side. Too far out, her legs were now widespread.
She screamed and tried to kick again. Grunts and harsh breath from the two men pinning her to the ground. She fought harder, a foot pounded into her ribs, a fist on to her cheek.
None of her struggles drowned out Rudd’s laughter as he strolled up to them. His hands were at his waist, loosening his belt knot.
Waves of sickness crashed over her. Her lip was split open, but she wouldn’t give in. Gathering what was left of her breath, she screamed again before a muddy hand slammed against her mouth.
An unearthly growl resounded as a man leapt out of the darkness. His cape swirled like a vortex of black; the arc of his sword glinted like shards in the moonlight before he went out of her line of sight.
‘Let her go,’ he snarled.
His cold voice raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Terror gripped her harder. Let her go, let her go for what? The two men tightened their grips and laid heavily on top, suffocating what was left of her air. Through her watering eyes, she saw Rudd securing his belt. A supplicant expression now masked his face. She knew that curve of his lips when he wanted to appease a customer.
‘Here now, this is none of your concern,’ Rudd said. ‘It’s late and there’s nothing to see. We only want a bit of privacy.’
‘You harm a woman. You’ll get no privacy except in death.’
The words were menacingly calm. He had a sword. Why weren’t they getting off her? She yanked her mouth to get some air and a sharp prick bit into her side.
She was going to die. The men held her down with a knife. She prayed it would be a quick death.
‘She’s willing,’ Rudd said, pointing towards her. ‘See how she lays still?’
There was a harsh staccato of heavy breath from the men holding her down and one started nervously smacking his lips. She could feel they wanted to run, but the knife against her side held firm and they didn’t move.
‘I’ll say this only once more. Call. Off. Your. Men.’
‘See here…’
A whoosh of breath and a sharp thump of one captor’s body like someone kicked him down. Then utter stillness as the knife released against her side. Onion Breath let go of her arm, scrambled before he slumped heavily on to her with a sharp cry.
Her eyesight dimming, she watched Rudd’s smug face draw white with fear as he ran towards the trees and disappeared.
A yank of one body above her released her legs, another released the rest of her. She tried to push herself away, but her arms wouldn’t work. Her legs jerking, she clawed the mud to flee from the man she hadn’t seen, but who she was certain just killed two men.
A hand upon her back. ‘Careful.’
She lashed out. Too slow to strik
e him. Too vulnerable on her back to run away. She froze, expecting a knife in her stomach.
Instead, the man crouched near her, his elbows resting on his legs, his hands hanging between them. Empty hands, his scabbard bare and no sword at his feet.
‘You’re safe now. They’re gone.’ The voice was no longer cold, but laden with an awkwardness in the cadence as if he was unused to giving comfort.
The full moon’s light revealed his tall and angular shape coiled with predatory strength even in his relaxed stance. Shadows and a hood covered his face, but she recognized the distinct masculine chin, and full bottom lip.
‘It’s you,’ she gasped.
CHAPTER FOUR
Holding her breath, she tried to sit up. Agony in her ribs.
‘Stay still,’ he said, a sharper tone to his words like he cut them against a blade, or wanted to cut another with it. ‘Is anything broken?’
Pounding beginning in her head, her cheek throbbed, and she tasted blood on her lips. She kept her eyes closed and eased down in the mud again. Her thundering heart hurt her chest almost more than where they’d kicked her. But she could move her arms and legs, and the stabbing pain in her chest lessened when she didn’t breathe deeply. ‘I don’t think so. I can’t stop shaking.’
‘I need to take you somewhere.’ He glanced beyond her and cursed.
It was then she heard the hurried footsteps and the sudden stopping of them. ‘Taking care of strays again?’ said a dry, but friendly voice. It wasn’t a voice she recognized, but she didn’t dare move her head yet. The giant, perhaps?
‘They’re not dead; I hit them with rocks. But if they wake, and I’m like this, I’ll use my sword.’
‘Well, for your sake then I’ll drag them into the forest—’
‘There’s another in the trees.’
‘How unfortunate for him.’
‘Make sure they’re divested of wealth and weapons.’
The man gave an exaggerated huff. ‘I’m a mercenary, remember? Is she hurt?’
They talked over her like she was dead. Parts of her were throbbing already, but she was alive and had suffered much worse. ‘I’m fine.’
‘She’s hurt,’ her shadow man said. ‘Her cheek…perhaps her ribs.’
‘Left cheek?’
‘Does it matter?’ her shadow man asked.
Helissent did risk moving her head as she heard the other man heave up the lax weight of one of her attackers. ‘I wanted to be sure I left them in the same condition they left her. Except I think I’ll take their…shoes…too.’
For one blazing moment, she wished he’d leave them worse off. But one look at her rescuers faces, and she knew they would be. Despite their easy banter, their faces were dark, their eyes speaking of a violence she had never committed, but had almost been victim to. Whatever happened to the men, they would be worse off than her.
‘Is there somewhere you can get help?’ he asked.
She turned her attention to the man still crouched beside her.
Nowhere. Her home was with Rudd, who’d just sold and tried to rape her. Her last view of him was him fleeing. Would he stay away for a night? ‘My home is behind you.’
‘Anywhere else?’ he pressed.
‘No, there’s no one else.’ His expression darkened. He didn’t like her answer, but what choice did she have? She pushed herself up, took heart that she stayed up this time. ‘I can get there myself.’
He adjusted his crouch. ‘I’m going to lift you now.’ He reached out and suddenly stopped. ‘This is no time for propriety.’
At his unforgiving tone, she realized she’d inadvertently stiffened as he leaned over her.
It wasn’t propriety that caused her to stiffen. No one had touched her since John and Anne, and before that, the healer, Agnes. No one. Not even when money or drinks were exchanged had she felt the brush of fingers. Travelers gave her a wide berth because she horrified them, regulars because they remembered her healing and didn’t want to hurt her.
But this man, this stranger, hadn’t hesitated. It startled her.
‘I’m sorry, it’s just—’
‘That man’s going to wake and we’re not going to be here.’ Without warning, he simply lifted her.
Held. She was being held as if her entire body was of little consequence.
No, he held her securely in a way she’d never been held before. She was acutely aware of the heat of his body, the smell of leather and evergreen, the way his chest rose and fell with his breath. Knew exactly where his arms touched her underneath and his hands. His hands—how they cradled her arm, the outside of her thigh.
All of it intimate suddenly as if they weren’t outside with a vast forest at her back and clear night skies above. Her and only…him.
His hood partially fluttered when he lifted her. This close, she could see him if it wasn’t dark. As if he could sense her scrutiny, he shifted his head away from her gaze.
‘It is you, isn’t it?’ she said, before she stopped herself.
Almost imperceptibly, he tightened around her. ‘Does it matter?’
Did it matter that the one man who gave her a compliment on her baking, who rescued her from rape and maybe death, was the same? To her, very much. To him, probably not.
His long strides quickly covered the distance to her home, to her only sanctuary that wasn’t any more. Stopping at the door, he asked, ‘Are there any others here?’
She shook her head, and he opened the door. His only hesitation was as he took in the main living area, and the one closed door that indicated Rudd’s room.
Thankfully, her pitiful home was dark and covered in shadows. ‘You can put me down.’
‘You need to lie down. I want to see the extent of your injuries, and if I can do anything. I have salves I can bring for you.’
There were hardly any candles. And she didn’t want this man seeing her home, or her bed shoved under the crooked eaves in the back corner.
The only indication of privacy was from the coarse torn sacks she had sewn together and hung from the eaves. They were far too short, and hung only on one side, but they blocked her view of Rudd’s door. She had once had a more proper room made by the innkeepers. Nailed-up boards and heavy quilts. When Rudd moved in, he claimed he was cold and took the quilts and yanked down the boards. He had been displeased when she made herself a cruder bit of privacy, but thankfully, he’d remained quiet about it.
‘I have salves here.’ Many of them. Her skin was sensitive to heat, to cold, and she often injured herself in the kitchens. Her skin could hardly take a scratch. ‘I can care for myself.’
She hadn’t had to take care of herself like this in a long time. Tonight reminded her how it felt to be helpless. She hated it more than the pain. She knew what it took to heal a body and straining it when it was already damaged wasn’t wise. However, right now she just wanted him gone and she held her ground, though it was starting to cost her.
‘I’m not harmed,’ she said. ‘Set me down.’
‘It’s the shock. You’re trembling—when it eases, you’ll feel the pain. We need to care for you quickly.’ He looked around the room like he was trying to find an answer. It was too dark for him to see her bed and he slowly lowered her to the ground, but he did not let her go. One hand around her waist, the other at her elbow.
So easy to lean against him, and for an odd suspended moment that was exactly what she wanted to do. Instead, she stepped away from him. Only to stumble as her legs gave and his hold tightened.
‘Your bed,’ he said firmly.
She was trembling so much she couldn’t hold herself up. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘We waste time arguing this. My man is out there.’
How could she have forgotten? One man against three. She nodded her head towa
rds the corner and he half-carried her there, batted away the thin hanging sacks and set her down on the bed. Instant relief for her throbbing leg, but a sharp pain in her ribs. Swiping her tongue against the blood flowing from her lip, she tried to control her shaking body.
It was overwhelming to have this man in the same room with her. Rudd was large, broader, but somehow he didn’t take up as much space. She hurt, felt sick, the last thing she wanted was to humiliate herself in front of him, and yet she simply sat as he stood over her.
She couldn’t quite see him. Yet some odd pressure built between them and reverberated around the room. He was a stranger and yet familiar in a way she couldn’t comprehend.
Silence held suspended between them as his hand went to the dagger at his waist, then his scabbard.
He glanced at his hand, then lowered it as if remembering what he’d left behind. The sword he pointed at the men. But he had knocked them unconscious with rocks when he could have easily killed them. It was another indication of the caliber of man he was. That he was well trained and honorable. But she didn’t know the other man, who was a giant and sounded like he relished battering those men.
‘Will he be all right?’
The room was dark, but not absolute. She could almost see the lifting of his arms, the untying of his cloak. Hear the heavy fabric pool to the floor.
‘Your man, out there,’ she explained. ‘Rudd’s unharmed. He could return and then—’
He made some sound, amusement and disbelief like her question surprised him. ‘Nicholas can hold his own.’
There was something dangerous about his amusement and she was brutally reminded they were mercenaries. Hired swords. Men who made their living on violence and killing. Yet, she wasn’t afraid of him. He had been kind to her and liked her cakes.
‘Do you want them?’
He suddenly stilled.
‘The cakes,’ she explained around the split in her lip. ‘There’s twenty-five of them cooling in the kitchen.’
Marriage Deal With the Outlaw & the Warrior's Damsel in Distress & the Knight's Scarred Maiden : Harlequin Historical August 2017 (9781488021640) Page 49