‘Yes,’ she whispered.
She gave a ragged sigh and rested against him. And in that way, he felt Alice as he had always dreamed he would.Her—her body. His defences gone.
He’d never held her like this. And in the dark, he was conscience of the way her legs tangled with his, the curve of her hips just under the sweep of his fingers, the give of her breasts, the tenderness of her hands clutching his tunic.
He shouldn’t feel the relief and satisfaction that he did, but he felt it down to his very marrow. More so because by wrapping his arms around her, he had eased her trembles.
‘Still?’ he said.
She rubbed her face, her tears, against his tunic, somewhere near where his heart lay. ‘Afraid of the dark?’ she whispered. ‘Yes...ridiculous for a grown woman.’
‘Not ridiculous when you suffered the way you did.’
‘Itisfoolish since I’ve been scared of the dark for longer than I was stuck in that well.’
As he looked back over the years, the memory of her shrieks that day still broke him. He didn’t even remember why he had been in that part of town. But he remembered seeing Allen and his friends laughing and patting each other on the backs and shoulders.
Their camaraderie hadn’t made him pause. In fact, he usually did everything he could to ignore them. But their self-satisfied expressions had stopped him cold that day. They were pleased with themselves. And he knew Allen, the largest of the boys, tormented those weaker than him.
Sometimes he taunted Hugh with snide comments regarding his father or his threadbare clothes. Most times he preyed on someone younger or smaller than him. If Allen was happy, he and his friends were up to no good.
So Hugh had changed direction and walked towards the well. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking. He hadn’t needed to get involved. He’d had enough to do; his own burdens to carry. But his steps had steadily brought him closer.
It was then that he’d heard her bitter cries for help. The pleading, the words, the shrieking.
Alice’s helplessness had snapped his pent-up rage. His fists curled; he’d lengthened his strides into a run before he’d given it a thought.
He hadn’t shouted out as he’d ploughed into Allen. It had been as if Allen’s cruelty was the manifestation of all the years he’d fought against his father. Against the town. Against his peers, who were supposed to be his friends but who heaped only more torment upon him.
With the first swing he’d felt the satisfying crunch of breaking Allen’s cheekbone. Then he’d taken on the rest until they’d run.
He’d never felt anger like that—neither before nor since. He had still been angry when he’d lowered a rope to pull Alice up. So angry he hadn’t explained that it washim. So up had come the shrieking child, her arms and legs swinging.
She’d broken his nose...and made it worse when she’d tried to fix it.
He rubbed his hands down her back, soothing her, soothing his memories. It was only the two of them in the dark, their past remembered through her fear and his actions.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.
‘I’m the one who broke your nose.’
He huffed out a breath. ‘It looks better this way.’
She had said that to him at the time. ‘You remember that?’
‘How could anyone forget how you attacked me? I was in agony, but you wrenched my nose to the left.’
Her small hands on either side of his bloody nose...his eyes streaming... He had held her then, though he’d wanted to fling her away. Held her until her trembles and fears had eased. Like now. He rubbed her back. Felt the warmth, the curves, her strength—felt her hands grip his tunic in answer.
‘You could have stopped me.’
‘I tried.’
No, he hadn’t. Not really. He had been comforting her and drying her tears.
‘I made it worse. What did your father think when you got home?’
Alice regretted her question the moment he tensed against her.
