That decided him. She was touched in the head. There was no other excuse. How in the world did she think she could possibly protect herself, even in a village of this size?

She clearly knew nothing of the world. She knew nothing of the damage men could do. She couldn’t possibly know how to identify a thief or other sort of criminal on sight. She certainly couldn’t handle herself when in the middle of leering, grabbing, lusting men. He had seen that much for himself.

He’d once known a boy who was touched in such a way. Young Isaac, whose father’s farm was the closest to theirs, sitting at the northern edge of Duncan lands. He had always been a rather shy, timid sort, always more comfortable indoors with his mother and sisters. He hadn’t been the sort of rough-and-tumble lad the McInnis brothers were.

Still, he’d been a good lad. Until the day he stood too close to the mule, without thinking. He never was one for using common sense, his thoughts normally in the clouds. The mule had spooked, kicking out behind himself, clipping Isaac’s head.

After that, things simply weren’t the same. He’d recovered after half a year. Derek could remember the way the poor lad’s poor parents had rejoiced, certain that this was a sign from heaven. God had brought their son back to them.

Only he wasn’t their son. The difference had been plain from the start. Where he’d been slight, timid, nearly afraid of his own shadow, he was suddenly more boisterous than either of the McInnis brothers. Always looking for an adventure, always raring for a fight.

At first, the brothers had enjoyed their new companion. Until they became frightened of him. He was so… intense.

And then came the day they’d rounded the sheep pen and found him torturing one of the lambs, holding it up by its hind legs and swinging it around his head until the limbs had snapped. Derek would never forget that sound. Hugh had turned and retched quietly, while Derek stood and gaped and the horror in front of him. The lamb’s blood, flowing freely on the well-trodden earth while the sheep bleated and screamed.

Isaac’s father hadn’t wanted to believe it. Not his boy, his good boy, the one he’d often had to force out-of-doors in order to get some fresh air and avoid becoming too much like a woman. He’d rebuffed the brothers’ claims and insisted they were making it up. They were always troublesome, always looking for a fight.

Two nights later, the home and all its contents—including the family—were lost to fire.

Nobody ever knew for sure how it had started. There was never any proof. Even Isaac had died, which Hugh and Derek’s mother had insisted meant he had nothing to do with the setting of the blaze. If he had, she’d reasoned, he would’ve escaped.

Derek was never so certain. He’d seen the empty look in his friend’s eyes after mercilessly torturing the poor lamb. As though there was nothing there.

He shook himself away from this turn of thought, wondering where the memory had come from. He hadn’t thought of Isaac or his family in years. This girl was nothing like him. There was life in her eyes, determination. The only person she was a danger to was herself.

Somehow, this thought didn’t make him feel better.

“What do you plan to do to earn a living?” he asked, leaning forward, searching her face.

It was a lovely face, to be sure, delicate and smooth and clear. A face that had never known hardship. Bright eyes, behind which was intelligence but little common sense.

She frowned, her smooth forehead creasing. “I’m not entirely certain of that yet.”

He refrained from rolling his eyes. “What can you do? Do you have any skills?”

“I’ve run my household for ten years. More than that, in fact.”

“No parents?” Broc asked.

It was rare for him to speak in such a situation, especially since his question was rather insensitive. Derek had the impression his friend had grown tired of her, and possibly of him.

He wanted to bring an end to the whole affair and get back to the reason why they’d come to the village. It had already taken longer to reach their destination than originally intended, and it had been a far less comfortable journey than he was accustomed to. His patience was as thin as a pane of glass.

Margery winced, but took the question in stride. “My father passed away when I was very young. My mother was sick for many years, and passed away over the winter.”

For the first time in their long acquaintance, Derek saw Broc’s face darken in what could only be labeled as a blush.

“I beg your pardon,” he mumbled.

She shrugged it off. “I’m skilled at caring for the infirm, cooking, baking, washing, tending garden, sewing and mending. And many other things I’m sure I’ll remember if necessary.”

“How do you plan to use any of those skills to earn a living?”

She waved her hands, becoming flustered and more than a bit frustrated. “Aren’t there inns? Seamstresses? Healers? I would do anything.”

“What did I tell you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Careful the words you use. You would not do just anything. Never offer anything without being specific.”

An exasperated sigh exploded from her. “Are people really as evil as you make them out to be?”

“Not evil. Not truly. But… more than willing to take advantage. Not everyone. But most people. It’s clear you haven’t had much experience with the world, or you would understand this already.”

He couldn’t say what was in his heart—he didn’t truly understand what it was, either. Why should he care the way he did? She was none of his concern. A stranger, a girl obviously determined to allow life to beat her down.

And that was what weighed heaviest on him, the fact that she would lose the refreshing innocence about her, the frank, clear-eyed, level gaze that seemed to penetrate his thoughts. She would grow older in an instant. Perhaps even bitter. He hated the thought of it.

“I do not think this is a wise undertaking,” he said again, as though she had forgotten. As though she cared.

“It is a blessing, then, that you have no concern in the matter.” She wiped her fingers on the hem of her tunic before standing. “I thank you most humbly for your assistance. Truly, you’ve saved my life today, a fact that is not lost on me. I shall include you in my prayers.”

“I can’t say anyone has ever offered to pray for me before.” He chuckled, glancing at Broc.

She frowned. “Do you find it amusing that I plan to pray for you? All the more reason, then.”

She was the one she should be praying for, but he didn’t have the heart to remind her one more time that she was bound for disaster. She was still determined, eager, even enthusiastic. Who was he to break her of that?

She picked up her pack, allowing the long, red braid to hang over her shoulder once again. “I suppose there’s no longer any need to disguise myself,” she smiled.

“I suppose not.”

“Best wishes to both of you.”

Broc and Derek stood out of deference as she left the table.

Derek followed her progress as she wound her way through the growing crowd inside the tavern before reaching the open door.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not going to let her go that easily?” Broc muttered.

Derek remained silent.