The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(69)

As she turned the corner onto the high street, her step slowed. The street was well lit, a hubbub of activity, filled with merchants, alehouses, and even an inn. The noise was oddly reassuring.

Her room was just up the road ahead. She could make out the torch that the cobbler had left for her as she walked past the alehouse. The sounds of shouts and breaking glass weren’t all that unusual. But a moment later, a man stumbled out—or more accurately, was shoved out—right into her path. Unable to avoid a collision, she bumped into him and barely caught herself from falling.

“Pardon,” she murmured, instinctively trying to move away. But he caught her around the waist and spun her back to him.

“What do we have here?” he slurred, the stench of ale heavy on his breath. He was a big man, heavy and blunt-featured. A soldier. Ice ran down her spine. His arm tightened around her waist and he drew his heavily bearded face closer. “Ye’re a pretty littl’ piece, aren’t ye?”

Helen recoiled from the look in his eyes. Panic rose to wrap around her throat. No, no, no! Not again! She couldn’t go through it again.

“Let go of me!” she choked, trying to pull away.

He laughed. “What’s the hurry, pretty? We’re just getting to know one other.”

He wiggled her against his body. The feel of his hardened member sent a fresh burst of panic surging through her. She went half-crazed, hitting him, pushing against him with everything she had, knowing she had to get away.

“What the—?” His voice was cut off.

A black shadow crossed in front of her, and suddenly she was free. She heard the crush of bone as a fist slammed into the jaw of the brute who’d accosted her. He flew backward, landing on the stone ground in front of her. She could see the flash of steel in the torchlight from the blade at his throat.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you,” her rescuer said.

Muriel gasped. “Will!”

The dark, shadowy figure turned toward her. Their eyes caught, and she staggered.

He swore, lurching forward to catch her before she fell. He tucked her to his chest with one arm, the other still holding the sword, and she collapsed against him. “It’s all right,” he said softly, holding her up. “You’re safe.”

Will. He was really here! The soothing sound of his voice was like a dream come true.

The man on the ground took the opportunity to escape. Will started after him, but Muriel clung to him like a lifeline. “Just let him go,” she sobbed, the fear that had gripped her releasing in a flood of tears. “Don’t leave me.”

He held her close as he led her down the street to her room at the cobbler’s. He must have been waiting for her when he’d seen the man accost her.

He’d been waiting for her. Could it mean …?

Treacherous hope kindled in her chest.

He opened the door and led her into the shop. After lighting a candle, he sat her in a chair, while he went to the back of the shop and rummaged around for something. A moment later, he was back at her side, holding out a cup. “Here, it’s all I could find.”

Her nose wrinkled at the smell, but she drank the foul-tasting, fiery brew without protest. The whisky burned a path down her throat, warming the chill from her blood.

When some of the shock had worn off, she stared at him in disbelief. “You came.”

His handsome face hardened. “It’s a good thing I did. Damn it, Muriel, what were you thinking? You should know better than to walk alone at night. Don’t you know—”

He stopped, a look of shame washing over him.

She flinched. “Aye, I know what could have happened.”

“I didn’t mean …”

She laughed at his discomfort. “To remind me? God, Will, do you think I could ever forget? Do you think I didn’t see the men who raped me in his eyes? Do you think I wasn’t remembering every moment of that day in my head?” He reached for her, but she turned away. Pity wasn’t what she wanted from him. “Do you think I could forget what those men cost me?”

She’d been fourteen. The war had reached Berwick-upon-Tweed, and King Edward’s men had flooded the city. Her father had been at the hospital caring for the wounded when the soldiers came. Eight of them. Each one taking a turn raping her before they tossed her in the street like garbage. One of her neighbors had found her battered and bleeding to death in the street. Someone had sent for her father. He’d managed to save her life, but not all of her could be healed.

Because of what those men did to her, she would never be able to give Will a son and heir. Nothing she could do would change that.

They never should have fallen in love, the earl’s heir and the physician’s daughter. The first couple of years after she arrived at Dunrobin he’d barely seemed to acknowledge her. But perhaps she’d just been too wrapped up in her own pain to notice. Their friendship started out slowly at first, she’d thought, by accident. He’d be walking along the beach at the same time she was, or she’d run into him on the way back from tending one of the clansmen.

She’d been nervous around him at first—scared, really—the handsome young heir to the earldom. But after a while the wariness lessened. She began to trust him. She began to like him. He was kinder than she’d realized. Funnier, too. Single-handedly, he’d wooed her back into the realm of the living.