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 strike 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.
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,
