“And then what?” Megan pulled the blanket tighter aroundherself. “What happens to me in London? I’m…” She couldn’t finish. Couldn’t say out loud what she was.
Ruined. Used. Penharrow’s whore.
“You’re free,” Oliver said quietly. “Whatever you were to Penharrow, whatever he did to you, that’s over. In London you can choose your own life.”
“Can I?” The bitter laugh escaped before she could stop it. “A woman with no family, no references, no prospects, no money? What choices do I have?”
“More than you think.” Oliver stood and moved closer, not threateningly. “When we reach London, I’ll ensure you have money. Enough to live independently if you choose. You can go wherever you want, be whoever you want to be.”
“I don’t know who I want to be.” The admission came out broken. “I don’t know who I am. Who my family are. Whether they even searched for me.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Outside, the rain had started again, a steady drumming on the slate roof.
“You’re someone who survived,” Webb said quietly from his spot by the fire. “That’s who you are. Someone strong enough to endure the unsurvivable and still be standing.”
Megan looked at the older man, surprised by the kindness in his voice.
“You’re also someone brave enough to run when given the chance,” Oliver added. “You could have screamed when I came into your room. Alerted the guards. But you didn’t. You chose to take a risk.”
“I didn’t know what else to do.” She met his eyes. “But I warn you, if Penharrow catches us before we leave Wales, you’re both dead.”
“Then best we make sure that doesn’t happen. Now you’ve chosen, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”
Megan wasn’t sure it was a choice. It felt more like trading one nightmare for another. At least with Penharrow she’dknown what to expect, known the rules, the punishments, the boundaries of her cage.
These men were unknown variables. Oliver claimed to be honorable but so had Penharrow in the beginning. Webb seemed kind but so had the servants until they weren’t.
She couldn’t trust them. Couldn’t trust anyone.
But you trusted Mrs. Griffiths...
And yet she was still here. Still fleeing with them rather than waiting for Penharrow’s men to find her.
Because anything is better than going back. Anything.
Webb had been working while she thought. He’d arranged bread and cheese on the table by the fire. “After you’ve eaten, drink some whiskey, girl. It’ll warm you up and help you sleep.”
She tentatively took the flask and sipped. The liquid burned her throat, but she felt the warmth settle in her stomach almost immediately.
They ate in silence, and soon she could barely keep her eyes open.
“You should rest. Take the cot here by the fire.” Oliver settled back against the wall. “We’ll move again at dawn. Until then, try to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep.” The thought of closing her eyes, of being vulnerable while these strange men were awake, was impossible.
“Then just rest. Close your eyes.”
“How do I know that’s safe?”
“This again?” Oliver’s honesty was almost jarring. “You have to choose to trust us. Or at least, choose to believe that we’re better than Penharrow. Which, frankly, is a very low bar.”
Despite everything, Megan felt something that might have been the beginning of a smile. “That’s true. Penharrow is many things, but gentlemanly isn’t one of them.”
“Then choose to believe we’re not Penharrow,” Oliver said. “And rest. You’ll need your strength for the journey ahead.”
Megan wrapped herself more tightly in the blanket and settled on the cot near the fire, though not close enough to either man to feel threatened. She watched them through half-closed eyes as Oliver cleaned his weapons with military precision and Webb’s breathing deepened into something close to sleep despite his injury.
They didn’t look like villains. They looked exhausted. Worried. Human.
