It took five solid hours of the hardest, filthiest cleaning she’d ever subjected herself to, but when she finished, Margery finally felt confident in the kitchen’s cleanliness.

Dumping the last bucket of nearly-black water in the back alley was a relief on par with the most heavenly relief she’d felt in her life.

There were moments in which it had felt like she’d never finish. The amount of grease and grime which had built up over the years had turned her stomach more than once.

The only way she was able to distract herself from focusing on the task at hand was to think about Derek.

Not that she had much choice in the matter. She’d thought of little else but him since that last encounter on the docks. When he had shown her how to defend herself—and, coincidentally, had held her closer than a man ever had.

He wasn’t just any man, either. Any other man wouldn’t have set her heart off at a sickening pace, enough to make her head swim and her breath come in short little gasps as he had. He was nothing like any of the ones who’d come into the tavern over the five days she’d spent working and living there.

There was a sense of great honesty about him, and integrity. She respected honesty more than just about anything else. It wasn’t difficult to imagine him being successful in business if he treated his customers as decently as he’d treated her.

He was protective, too. He’d insisted on showing her how to defend herself in the future. He’d even double-checked that she was certain about going back to her position at the tavern.

Why did he care the way he did? He was only being kind, she was certain. There couldn’t be any other reason.

Could there?

She could hardly breathe when she considered it. No, he thought of her as a sister or a good friend—as tempting as it was to hope otherwise. The sort of friend one grew up with and never thought of as anything more than a close companion. After all, he’d had more than enough chances to take liberties with her or at least to attempt wooing her.

Not that she would know for certain if a man were trying to woo her. How did one determine such things?

She thought this over as she washed up and dressed, having worn her travel clothing while cleaning in order to keep her kirtle grease-free.

The freedom of being able to work in nothing but a tunic and thick stockings was considerable, as well. No long skirt to bunch up over one’s knees before kneeling to avoid tearing it.

These were the times when she most missed having her sister to confide in. Perhaps Beatrice would know better than she how men wooed women, though it was doubtful. How would she have learned of such things when Margery hadn’t? They knew all the same people and had lived nearly the same life.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered to herself, braiding her hair and smoothing it into place. After all, she had told him to leave her alone. It had seemed like the most responsible request to make at the time, since his appearing at Hamish’s tavern might put her in further danger of losing her position along with her room. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had.

What must Derek think of her? He’d been nothing but kind, thoughtful, generous and understanding. She had only shown him contempt and the sharp side of her tongue. He deserved better than that. If she had the chance, she would apologize most sincerely.

She wouldn’t get the chance, would she? He had most likely left the village by now, three days having passed since their encounter. Surely, his business concerns had been settled at this point. She wondered vaguely as she left the empty tavern whether he’d sold his shipping business or not.

He wanted to settle down in a home, with a family. If this were true, he would’ve sold, and would’ve earned a bit of money for it, too. The sort of money that would make him even more attractive as a suitor. Not that he needed any help.

Who would the lucky girl be? She would be lucky, for sure. Luckier than she knew.

Margery’s chest tightened at the thought, and for the first time in her life she understood what it was to feel truly envious of another woman. A woman who didn’t even exist outside of her head, a made-up creature. Knowing this didn’t stop her from wanting to scream in jealous rage as she walked along the streets, enjoying the relative quiet of a Sunday afternoon.

It was a beautiful day, and she resolved to focus on the deep blue of the sky and the soft, warm breeze instead of envy over a make-believe situation. On a day such as this, it was almost possible to believe the village was a lovely, inviting place.

To think, she’d been on her way to London—or, at least, so she’d intended. A place far worse than Kirkcaldy, if what she’d been told was to be believed. How much worse would life have been if she’d stowed aboard the correct ship?

Derek wouldn’t have been there to save her.

Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him, for heaven’s sake?

Her swirling, conflicted thoughts rang loud enough in her troubled head to drown out the sound of the two men who followed her up and down the streets.

Not until it was too late did she notice the sound of their breathing just behind her.

In an instant, they crowded her, bundling her into a dark alley and pressing her against a stone wall.

She opened her mouth to scream, eyes wide and panicked, but a filthy hand clamped over her mouth. She clawed at it, desperate to pry it loose, but there was no moving it.

“A tasty thing,” the one who held her in place whispered in her ear, his breath hot and sour. “All alone, just waiting for us.”

His body crushed hers, his leg sliding between her thighs.

She screamed behind his hand, the sound lost, tears streaming down her cheeks as she realized for certain just how hopeless the situation was.

The streets were nearly empty, the alley dark and quiet. Nobody knew her, nobody would look for her when she didn’t come back after her walk.

The second man was to her left, his hands sliding over her body as he chuckled nastily. “Save some for me,” he whispered before laughing.

Her skin crawled at his touch.

Black dots danced behind her eyes and sheer terror threatened to overtake her and plunge her into unconsciousness.

Just as it had back in the tavern when she’d been mistreated, something snapped in her brain.

This time, it was Derek’s voice which flooded in, pushing aside her cold, blind panic with his deep voice.

Do not panic. That is the one thing you cannot do. Hurt him. Hurt him as I taught you.

And so, she forced herself to keep from fainting. Instead, she felt along the ground with one foot, identifying the foot of one of her attackers. It didn’t matter which one—if she stomped hard enough, it would throw them both off-balance.

She lifted her leg with difficulty, pinned to the wall as it was, but managed to get it off the ground.

Oh, please, she prayed.

Then, she stomped.

“Argh!” It was the foot of the man beside her, and his scream rang in her ear just before he fell back, doubling over to clutch his injured foot and curse her in ways she had never heard before.

Just as she had prayed, her attacker backed away in surprise, just enough to give her room to slide her hand between their bodies.

She’d never do anything like this at any other time, but this was more important than propriety or the teachings of the Church.

She felt the bulge in his tattered trousers and curled her fingers into claws, latching onto it before twisting with a sharp flick of her wrist.

His scream echoed off the walls as he dropped to his knees, nearly taking her with him as he fell.

She released him, leaving him to roll onto his side with both hands clutching himself as he whimpered and wept while she gathered her skirts and took off at a run, nearly flying from them in her haste to escape.

Manic laughter bubbled up in her throat and out of her mouth, mingled with her rapid breathing as she continued to run without taking notice of anyone or anything around her.

She wasn’t afraid. For the first time since arriving in Kirkcaldy, she was alone, but unafraid.

She had never felt so capable, so strong.

Another laugh escaped her, and she didn’t care who heard.