by Aileen Adams
“Well?” Hamish glared at her. “Clean up that mess! I’ve enough to do already.”
Her soul shrank just a bit further than ever before. She would have to clean…
She looked to Derek, who had been watching her all along from his table. He no longer looked as relaxed as he had on first arriving, every muscle now tensed. Ready to spring into action. The entire room was between them—but she had the feeling that he would’ve leaped to her aid had she needed it. Just as he had along the docks.
There was pity in his eyes, and concern. He had warned her, after all, but there wasn’t a trace of smugness about him.
Somehow, his pity stung even worse than if he’d rubbed in how right he’d been.
Why did he have to be there at that moment? Instead of offering comfort, he merely reminded her how foolish she had been to accept work in a place such as this.
She swallowed back her fear and disgust, fetching a jug of ale and a mug and taking it to his table. It meant walking through the bloody straw, but she did it as though the straw were still as clean as it had been that morning. Even when it soaked into the bottom of her kirtle, she pretended not to care.
“Here you are,” she said, pouring the ale. “I’ll be busy cleaning up the mess, but please, call out for me if you require anything else.”
He didn’t reply, choosing instead to stare at her.
She managed to wait until the rush ended and the village went back to work for the day before escaping to the storeroom to weep behind her shaking hands.
15
The following day wasn’t much better, though there was no fighting.
Hamish had apologized for his temper and assured her he wouldn’t take anything out of her wages.
“A broken piece of crockery or two is nothing,” he’d assured her in a tone so completely unlike that which he’d used earlier that she wasn’t certain how to take him. Was he quite all right? Moving so rapidly from one mood to another, and back again.
Just another reason to be sure she’d made a mistake. She’d never know how to take him.
Even so, no reason to lose the chance to impress him. “If you wouldn’t mind, I would be happy to scrub down the kitchen when the tavern is closed for business. I’m sure you haven’t had the time, being as busy as you are.”
The fact was, hunger was leaving her weak—but the thought of eating anything from the kitchen made her stomach revolt in disgust. She’d had just a little dried meat left in her pack and had eaten that after her first night of work, leaving her with nothing else.
His eyes had nearly glowed with appreciation. “That would be a welcome favor, and I thank you for it. You can do it on Sunday.”
Sunday.
Her heart dropped. The day of rest, the one day a week she’d counted on not working. She’d thought about asking after churches in the village, hoping to visit one of them. Any thin connection to her old life, to what had mattered to her for so long. Spending the day cleaning was not what she’d expected.
What choice did she have?
“All right. Sunday it is.” She had done everything in her power to sound cheerful, and he had seemed willing to believe her.
In the meantime, what was she supposed to do for food? Perhaps she should lower her standards—after all, men visited and ate there and didn’t seem to suffer any ill effects. But they didn’t see the kitchen, did they?
Hunger would eventually win out, she knew, and she would have to break down and eat what she could find. Just another choice which wasn’t really a choice at all. To think, she had taken off from home with the certainty that she’d be able to make decisions on her own, to avoid the demands and opinions of others.
One more thing she’d been painfully wrong about. She was getting used to being wrong.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked a patron who’d come in long after the midday rush ended. Her feet were terribly sore, she was nearly dizzy with fatigue and hunger, and she wished most fervently that the man would leave so she could sit down and perhaps eat some bread, at least. Anything…
“I’ll tell ye what I need, lassie.” He laughed nastily, in a way she now recognized clearly.
She had never heard a man laugh like that before her arrival in Kirkcaldy and was already accustomed to it.
Before she could turn away, his arm shot out and wrapped around her waist. She couldn’t suppress a cry of revulsion as he pulled her to him, the scent of his body choking her. She turned her face away, unable to believe this was happening as he used his free hand to squeeze her breast beyond the point of pain.
“Stop! Leave me alone!” she shouted, beating at him with both fists.
He was either immune to pain or too drunk to feel her blows, because she might as well have been beating at the air for all the good it did.
She was already so weak, so tired, and what remained of her strength faded away as the man continued to touch her.
“Oh, please, stop,” she nearly wept.
There was no one to help her, with Hamish having gone to the locksmith to inquire about a new door while the tavern was otherwise empty. She was all alone with this animal.
“Just be nice,” he laughed, straining upward in the hopes of kissing her.
His breath stank almost as strongly as his body—and he wanted to put his mouth on her—
Something deep inside her mind snapped at the revolting thought and gave her just enough strength to pull back her arm and bring it down in a wide arc, her palm making contact with the side of his face and sending a jolt of pain up to her shoulder.
No more than the pain she’d inflicted on him.
He leaped to his feet, incensed, sputtering and swearing with a glaring red patch in the shape of her hand on his cheek.
She nearly laughed at the sight, wondering how he would explain that to whomever he saw later in the day.
“How dare you?” he spat, advancing on her, hands curled into fists as though he intended to pummel her in return for her slap.
“How dare you?” Suddenly, a pair of hands took the man by his upper arms and yanked him away, hands attached to Hamish. He threw the man out, shaking his fist and shouting.
Margery couldn’t breathe. She bent at the waist, hands on her knees, struggling to pull in a single full breath. Her heart was racing far too fast, her lungs seemingly unable to take in air. She could still feel his arm about her waist, pulling her in… straining upward in order to kiss her, squeezing her…
Hamish’s questions and concern fell on deaf ears, since the blood rushed too loud in her ears to enable her to hear anything else. Not that there was anything he could say to make things better. If he had lingered just a bit longer at the locksmith’s…
She had to get out of there. “Air!” she gasped, pushing past him and hurling herself through the open door before he could stop her. She wondered if he would’ve dared.
There was a chill in the air, heightened by the closeness to the water. She couldn’t remember ever feeling that sort of chill before, the sort that sank into a person’s bones no matter how they tried to warm themselves. A chill that seemed to linger even in front of a fire.
The street was as clogged as ever—the same old woman with her cart of apples and onions, the stable hands leading horses to the blacksmith for shoeing, a little girl singing as she offered flowers for sale on one corner.
The contents of a slop bucket flew from an open window and landed not five paces from where Margery walked. She stepped over it, hardly caring anymore, and turned the corner blindly without slowing down.
And clipped the arm of a much taller, much sturdier body.
“Margery!” He caught her just before she tripped over her feet and hit the ground.
His voice was familiar, as was the touch of his hands on her arms. They didn’t hurt, they didn’t squeeze, and he didn’t stink of weeks spent without washing. He cared about her, he honestly did, or else he wouldn’t sound so alarmed.
“Oh, Derek.” She
felt herself melting against his chest as he pulled her to him—she told herself it was only his way of making sure she stayed upright.
A reflex. Even so, it was heavenly, feeling safe for the first time in days.
“What is it, lass? What’s happened?”
“I don’t know where to start…”
“You look a fright.” He removed the warmth and security of his chest when he held her away from him, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of her. “What’s happened to you? Have you eaten today?”
“No,” she whispered, feeling as close to weeping as possible without shedding tears.
“Och, lass. You’ve got to eat something. Here.” With a protective arm around her shoulders, he walked to the next street, where a baker sold meat pies.
It felt so nice, not having to think for herself for a moment. Giving herself over to him, allowing him to take care of her. Leaning against him as he nearly carried her into the baker’s shop, where the delectable aroma of meat pies made her mouth water.
Moments later, he handed her a steaming pie and led her back outside. “Eat,” he ordered, leading her down the street until they reached the docks.
She could breathe again, and made it a point to take deep, full breaths between the hurried bites of fresh, savory meat and root vegetables which had been stewed until they nearly melted in her mouth along with the thick, hearty crust.
He didn’t seem to mind when she licked her fingers at the finish. In fact, he smiled. “There. Better?”
“A little,” she admitted, once again in his debt. It occurred to her that she didn’t mind. If there was a single person in the world she didn’t mind being indebted to, it was him. He was the only one who had bothered to help her thus far.
“What happened to send you scurrying away from the tavern in such a way?” The question was a gentle one, without judgment.
Even so, she turned her face away and looked out over the sea, unable to put to words her shame and revulsion.
“Did someone hurt you, lass?”
When she still didn’t answer, he touched her hand to bring her to a stop and stepped in front of her.
“You might as well tell me. There isn’t much I haven’t heard or seen, and not much can shock me at this stage in my life.”
“It’s not you I’m concerned with,” she whispered, then shook her head. “It’s all too horrible. I don’t know what to do. When he touched me…” She shuddered, closing her eyes as though that would help push the memories away.
“Who? Hamish? I’ll kill the—”
“No, no, not him!” It was her turn to pull him to a stop, since he had already turned in the direction of the tavern. “One of the men who came in earlier. Not Hamish. Hamish was at the locksmith’s, since the place was empty once the midday rush ended. He came in just in time.”
He looked down at her with narrowed eyes. “Did you recognize the man from yesterday? Could you describe him?”
She shook her head. “Please, Derek. It isn’t worth it. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt, and not if you’re the one to do it. I wouldn’t want to see you get in trouble over something to do with me.”
He frowned, clearly torn between wanting vengeance and wanting to abide by her wishes. Finally, he sighed. “Did he hurt you?”
“Not very badly.” Her breast ached, and she was certain there would be bruises on it when she checked later on, but she wouldn’t dream of sharing this with him. Her heart hurt worse, and her pride.
“Swine,” he snarled, then spat on the ground.
She could only wrap her arms around herself and nod in mute agreement.
He looked her up and down, still unhappy with what he saw. “You’re not taking care of yourself, lassie.”
“You’ve seen what it’s like there. I have little time to even think about how I look.”
“Aye. I’ve seen.” He sounded absolutely disgusted.
With her or with the tavern itself?
“It’s all right,” she insisted, feeling foolish.
She couldn’t possibly convince him, though, could she? Not after admitting how terribly she’d been treated. Not after nearly dissolving into tears against his chest.
He looked down at her, his face stormy, his eyes sad and angry and disappointed all at once. She had never seen such a mix of emotions in anyone’s eyes before. “How bad does it have to get before you decide to do something else?”
“What else is there?” she shrugged, her stubbornness coming to the rescue just in time to stop her from admitting how wrong she’d been about everything. “I’ll grant you, life is a bit… rougher than I’d imagined, but it’s nothing I won’t get used to.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, lassie,” he nearly whispered before raising his right hand, as though he were about to touch her hair or cheek, then quickly lowering it.
What did he mean by that?
She felt hot and prickly all over, an uncomfortable feeling she didn’t wish to continue. It seemed the longer they stood there like that, looking at each other, locked in each other’s gaze…
“What are you still doing in the village?” she asked, desperate to change the subject.
He chuckled, shaking his head a bit as they continued their walk. With hot food in her stomach and plenty of fresh air and sun on her skin, she felt better than she had since she’d first stepped off the ship. “How do you know I don’t live here?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I only had the feeling.”
“You’re right, naturally,” he chuckled. “I came to the village to pursue business concerns. I’m still here because those concerns haven’t been settled.”
“What concerns?” It wasn’t that she cared, not strictly, but she enjoyed listening to him as he spoke.
His brogue was almost musical, rising and falling over the course of each sentence. Unlike anything she’d heard before.
“I own a shipping business,” he explained. “I’m uncertain as to whether or not I wish to keep it.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” She blushed and bit down on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry if my questions are too much.”
“Not at all. In fact, it’s a comfort to be able to speak freely on it.”
“What about Broc?”
“He’s been my first mate for many years, and he’s too involved in the business. I have a responsibility to him, too. If I were to sell, he would lose his livelihood.”
“Why do you want to sell, then?”
He let out a long breath.
She waited.
“It’s far too complicated. Not for you to worry about, lass. I’ve been living in the bosom of a happy family for these last many months and, well, everything looks different than it once did.”
She guessed at his meaning: he wanted to settle down. Many men reached that point in their lives, when they decided the comforts and joys of home outweighed what had once mattered to them.
“I think that’s a good idea,” she offered.
“You do?”
“Men should settle down and marry when possible,” she reasoned. “Otherwise, how would families come to be?”
“A keen observation,” he chuckled.
For once, it didn’t bother her to hear someone laugh at something she’d said. He had a pleasant laugh, and it wasn’t as though he laughed at her expense.
He peered at her from the corner of his eye, pursing his lips as though deep in thought. “You insist on going back to the tavern, I assume?”
“I do,” she replied, resolute.
He grimaced. “Aye, then. If you insist, lass, I insist on teaching you a few ways with which you can defend yourself in case of another swine like the one you met today.”
She weighed this in her mind and quickly decided that it was better to learn a thing or two than to be defenseless should another such situation show itself. “All right. If there’s anything you have to teach me, I’m happy to learn.”
“And once again,” he growled, “w
atch how you say things, lass. There are men who would take advantage of that.”
Her cheeks heated, making her duck her head in a vain attempt to hide her embarrassment. If he noticed, he was kind enough to pretend not to.
He stood in front of her, his height and broad shoulders reminding her how small she was in comparison. The sheer size of him was enough to take her breath away—unlike the other men she’d met thus far, he didn’t intimidate her. Instead, when he looked down at her with stormy eyes as he did just then, her heart beat a little faster.
“I’m about to attack you,” he snarled, his eyes flashing.
She swallowed back the fear which seemed intent on choking her. “You’re what?”
“I’m pretending,” he muttered, coming back to himself for a moment before turning nasty again. “I have you cornered. There’s nowhere to go. No one around to stop me.”
It seemed silly, pretending that such a thing were true when they were out in the open, and there were people moving back and forth all around them, but she was willing to pretend for the sake of learning.
“Now. I’m going to place my hands on your shoulders to pull you to me.” He did just that, his hands all but swallowing her. “And then, one hand over your mouth while I wrap my arm around your back. Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”
If there was one thing in the world she worried about, it was not that. He would never hurt her. She was as certain of that as she was of anything else. When his hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes widened, but she didn’t fight him off, and he didn’t apply pressure.
The nearness of him, the sheer masculinity of him, was delicious. It had to be a sin, having such thoughts, but there was no avoiding them.
“There are two things you can do now,” he muttered, clearly unaware of what went on in her mind. “There is one thing you absolutely cannot do. Can you guess what it is?”
She shook her head—not that she could speak with his hand over her mouth, anyway.
“Panic. You cannot panic. No matter what. You must keep a clear head and remember what I’m about to tell you. Promise me.”
He lifted his hand enough for her to agree. “I promise.”