“Here you are, lassie. As promised.”

Margery tried not to appear too eager as she held out her hands to accept the payment Hamish owed her.

She’d waited all day, wondering when he would finally get around to fulfilling his end of their arrangement.

The first wages she had ever earned. Oh, would that she could share her happiness with Beatrice.

Or Derek. But he was in the past. More than likely long gone by now, and already having forgotten about her.

She wished she could forget him.

Hamish wore a look of expectation, waiting for her to react. She forced herself to smile in spite of the way her heart suddenly ached. Curses on Derek for spoiling this moment for her.

“Thank you very much,” she murmured, weighing the coins in her palm.

“Don’t spend it all in one place,” he chuckled, almost fatherly.

How he could sound so threatening at times when at other times he could be so kind, she had no idea.

“Oh, I won’t,” she promised, shaking her head. “I have plans, you know.”

“I’m sure you do—and you’re not a silly lass, either,” he acknowledged, scratching his balding head as he summed her up. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“Thank you,” she smiled.

“But take care,” he warned, serious again. “Be certain you keep your money in a safe place. There are plenty of cruel, thieving folks who’d be more than happy to relieve you of it.”

“I will,” she promised, suddenly struck with the realization that she had no such safe place.

She went straight to the room which had been hers for the last seven days and looked around, chewing her lip. There had to be somewhere to hide it. Tied in a handkerchief, perhaps, on her at all times.

What would happen if someone became wise to this and decided to attack her and steal it? Within another fortnight or two, it would become too much for her to feel comfortable carrying. She wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it, would constantly be checking to make certain she hadn’t lost it.

Her eyes fell on the straw-filled pallet, and an idea took root in her head. There was bound to be a slight tear somewhere, or a fray she could work with her fingertip until it was large enough for her to work the coins into it. Until another option came along, it was the only chance she had to keep her precious wages hidden.

She examined the bed until she found just such an opening, likely chewed by a rodent who had once called the tiny room home, and slid the coins inside with shaking fingers. She’d never had money of her own before. She hadn’t guessed it would feel like such a heavy responsibility.

The sound of male voices rang out as the tavern began to fill. She was loath to leave her wages there, even hidden as they were. Was this the reason money was considered a curse? Why a rich man could never enter the kingdom of Heaven?

That was what she’d always heard, from the time she was old enough to attend services. The deacon was quick to remind the poor villagers that it was better for their souls that they remain poor, always, as money caused men to do wicked deeds and lose sight of the true aim of their lives.

She could see that as she went out to greet the men who had just entered the tavern, already laughing and sharing the stories of their day as they waited for ale to warm and cheer them further.

She’d wondered many times already how these men lived. Did they not have wives and children? Homes of their own? Why would they choose to avoid going home and enjoying the evening meal with their loved ones?

Not everybody had loved ones, she reminded herself as she went from table to table. It was easier for her to become lost in her thoughts, the work no longer as taxing as it had been only a week earlier. She could imagine what life was like for the men she served.

Perhaps they were all alone, never having married.

Or they were married but didn’t get along with their wives. This was true of several men who could be counted upon to complain loudly of the shrewish women waiting for them at home, who were overeager to collect the week’s wages and leave nothing for their hard-working man to enjoy.

Of course, Margery wondered about this. If she had a husband who spent his wages in the village tavern rather than bringing them home for the good of the household, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t behave exactly as the wives did.

Not that she would ever know how they felt.

Her chest ached, but she did her best to swallow back the pain she felt whenever thoughts of Derek haunted her. Why had she been so rude? Why hadn’t she explained just what his kindness meant to her? Even if she couldn’t have spoken the words—and she was never able to find the words to express herself—she could’ve shown him. Somehow.

She could’ve found some way to explain how her heart raced whenever he was near? How her skin tingled when he touched her, even in the most innocent way?

It couldn’t be right to feel the way he made her feel—perhaps it was for the best that he’d mostly likely returned home.

But how else did people find each other and marry if they didn’t feel the way she did whenever Derek was anywhere near? How did they develop feelings of love for one another without that first… something? It couldn’t be sinful if it came from her heart, which she was beginning to believe it did.

Not that it mattered. She would get over him in time. She had no other choice but to adjust to life on her own, as she was already beginning to do.

He had taught her what she needed to know, and that would have to be enough.

* * *

Margery rolled her head on her shoulders, every part of her aching the way it normally did after a long day of carrying jugs and platters of food, but it was a good ache. The sort of ache a person almost enjoyed when they knew they’d done a good job.

And that there was reward waiting for her, where she had hidden it.

Hamish was just going about the business of covering the cooking fires with ash to put them out for the night when Margery walked past the kitchen with the intention of going to her room.

“Good night,” she said, barely stifling a yawn.

“Good night to ye, lass.”

He was a pleasant man when he wanted to be, especially after a day in which she’d managed not to drop or break anything. As she walked away, she heard him begin to hum a happy little tune.

Life was certainly not the way she’d imagined, but it was becoming more bearable by the day.

She was smiling to herself when she entered her room, not noticing until it was too late that the latch gave way far too easily. As though it had been broken.

There was no time to gasp or make any sort of sound at all before a hand clamped over her mouth from behind and an iron arm closed around her, slamming her into an unyielding body which stank indescribably.

Her eyes found the bed, which naturally had been overturned and nearly torn apart. Her wages would be gone, somewhere on the person who held her tight.

“If ye don’t scream, this will go much better for ye,” he promised, his rasping whisper like a dagger in her ear when she understood what he intended to do.

No, no, no!

She slammed her heel down on what she hoped was the top of his foot, but he pulled it away just in time to avoid the worst of her blow.

His hand tightened painfully, squeezing her cheeks and crushing her lips until she was sure they would bleed.

“Now, now,” he hissed, turning and slamming her into the wall with his arms still around her.

The force of the impact knocked the air from her lungs.

She struggled to remember what Derek had taught her, what she had done before when she’d been cornered. But her arms were pinned to her sides, and no amount of fighting could dislodge them. He hadn’t told her what to do when that happened!

The man wedged his leg between hers, forcing her thighs apart. She screamed behind his hand but knew Hamish would never hear, having probably gone up to his living quarters.

He had to let go of her at some point, didn’t he? She would never stop fighting, not ever!

He moved his hand just a bit, giving her more room to breathe, and she managed to open her mouth and bite down hard on the side of his hand.

He drew in his breath in a hiss. “You wicked…!”

He threw her to what was left of the bed, finally giving her the chance to scream, but the air left her lungs again on impact. She struggled to draw in a breath to shout for help, but he fell on top of her before she could.

“You bloody bastard!” In a flash, the man was off of her and against the opposite wall, being pummeled by a pair of large, meaty fists attached to a screaming, raging man who grunted viciously with every blow.

She sat up slowly, unable to understand what had happened until her attacker sank to the floor and her savior turned, flying to her side with a stricken expression.

Her hair was loose and tangled about her face—when she brushed it aside with one shaking hand, she let out a whimper of disbelief.

“Derek?”

“Och, Margery.” He brushed back what was left of the hair covering her eyes and took her face in his hands. “Margery, lass, I’m here.”

He was there. Thank heavens, he was there.

She burst into exhausted, heartbroken tears.