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“Ye dinnae have tae be.”

That was all he said but it was enough and something inside her gave way. Her face crumpled before she could stop it. A sob tore out of her, harsh and humiliating, and she covered her mouth with both hands as though she could force it back inside.

She couldn't. The tears came harder. Her shoulders began to shake.

“I was frightened.”

The admission was so small that she almost wished he had not heard it.

But he did.

Marcas said nothing.

Neilina dragged in a breath that would not quite reach her lungs.

"I was so frightened." There was no composure left to guard the words. "They had my arms, Marcas, both of them, and I couldnae get free, and I felt myself losing the fight, and all I could think was—" Her breath caught, ragged. "All I could think was yer name. Over and over. Like it was the only thing I had left."

Her hands dropped from her face.

"They were going tae take me."

Her voice trembled.

"I knew it. I could see the horse waiting, and I knew if they got me there—" She broke off, pressing a fist against her mouth. "I thought—I thought I was going tae disappear. I thought no one would find me."

Marcas's expression tightened, but he did not interrupt.

She looked at him through tears.

"I tried tae fight them. I did everything I could. I still couldnae get away."

Her voice cracked.

“I couldnae.”

Marcas crossed the remaining distance between them.

She drew a shuddering breath.

She stared at him for a moment longer, then something inside her broke completely. She moved toward him. Marcas caught her at once.

His arms closed around her, one firm around her back, the other coming up to cradle the back of her head. Neilina buried her face against his chest and gave in to the ugly, exhausted sobs she had been holding back since the moment the blade appeared in the street.

Marcas did not tell her to calm herself. He simply held her. His hand moved slowly over her hair, again and again, gently.

Neilina clutched the front of his shirt. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath her cheek. He was warm and solid. And for the first time since the attack, she let herself believe that she was no longer in that street. Marcas only tightened his hold when she shook.

He remained beside her until her breathing finally slowed, one arm still wrapped around her as though he had no intention of letting go until she was ready.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

He held her until her breathing evened out and then guided her to the bed, easing her down among the furs. By the time he’d pulled off her boots and drawn the covers over her, she’d fallen into a deep sleep. Marcas sat beside her and gently cleaned the cut at her temple, careful not to wake her. When he was done, he lingered, watching her chest rise and fall, memorizing the plain, ordinary miracle of it, before he made himself leave.

He didn't make it farther than the corridor outside her door before he stopped, back against the cold stone, and let out a breath that shook far more than he wanted it to.

It was Fergus who pulled me away. A Cameron's blade and a boundary stone, and I went, because that's what a laird does, that's what fifteen years of duty has trained intae me and while I was at the other end settling a fool's quarrel over a fence line, three men had their hands on her.

His hand curled into a fist against the stone, his knuckles white, and he became aware, distantly, that he wanted very badly to hit something—the wall, the door, anything solid enough to give the rage somewhere to go that wasn't back into his own chest where it had been sitting, coiled and useless, since he'd first heard her scream his name.