Page 7 of Highland Jewel
His face was largely in shadow.
“I need to get back to my family. They’ll be worried.”
“Worried? You think of themnow?” he scoffed. “Were you thinking of them when you went up on that platform and exposed yourself to every kind of danger?”
Surprised by the directness of his verbal assault, Maisie said nothing. Her relationship with her family was none of his business. The Drummonds had their life, and Maisie had hers. Her only true family was Isabella, a Drummond by marriage. Maisie was unwilling to bare her soul to a stranger, even if hehadrescued her from a dire predicament.
“You could have been cut to pieces by that yeoman’s sword. Trampled beneath the mob’s feet. Do you realize what your punishment would be if you were arrested? Do you know what they do to women like you, who—”
“Please stop,” she interrupted, holding up one hand. “A father or a husband or a brother might take such a reprimanding tone, but you are none of those to me.”
She returned his gaze. His eyes had thinned to slits, and they were spitting fire.
“You saved me. I am deeply grateful to you.” She paused, remembering she’d handed her reticule to Fiona. She had no money, but Maisie guessed an offer of that kind would have offended him, anyway. “But the danger is passed, and I need to be on my way.”
“First, you must give me your word that you willneverput yourself in a situation like that again.”
She stared at him, perplexed. She did not know this man. She’d never seen him before. And what he asked was impossible as well as impertinent. But there was no point in arguing.
“I’ll be going now,” she said instead, taking a step toward him.
For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to let her pass. Finally, with a shake of his head, he backed out of the close, and she moved past him.
It was unlikely that they’d meet again. He’d not introduced himself, and she wasn’t going to offer her name. Still, she owed him a great deal. Certainly, her freedom. And quite possibly, her life.
She spun around, intending to thank him, but the words caught in her throat. The man was certainly tall and broad, but his entire demeanor was that of some war god. His longish hair, thrown straight back, revealed a face that had surely seen battle. A thin scar ran along the line of one cheekbone, and his nose had the slight bend of one that had been broken. The injuries did nothing to diminish his beauty, however, and only heightened the effect of his intensely blue eyes and full, sensuous lips.
“Thank you,” she managed to utter again.
Turning away, Maisie retraced her steps and looked out across the cobblestones. The Grassmarket now sat nearly empty. Whatever injuries had been inflicted, whatever arrests had been made, the victims had been taken away. The only remaining presence consisted of several small clusters of dragoons.
Nervousness bordering on fear washed through her like a chill wind. Standing there alone, she had no protection now, and the last thing she wanted was to attract the attention of the yeomanry. Turning on her heel, Maisie hurried past a closed shop door and turned up a dark, narrow wynd.
The alleyway twisted and turned between the jumble of tall tenement buildings. Above her, wash hung like dingy flags on wooden poles, and the frightened eyes of a woman stared down at her from an open window. Ragged children edged out of her way as she passed. It was cold and damp here in these alleys where sunlight never penetrated. These were precisely the people she was fighting for, she told herself.
No protest in Edinburgh had been broken up this way before. She knew that the government was cracking down. Just from observing the activities of Isabella’s husband and his friends, Maisie knew the authorities were regularly arresting and interrogating reform leaders. When they were released and brought to the surgery on Infirmary Street, she saw how brutal the questioning could be. But today, the militia had turned its violence on ordinary citizens who’d gathered peacefully to raise their voices.
She shuddered, thinking how close she’d come to arrest, injury, death. She was not out of danger yet. But a stranger had endangered his own life to save her.
The filthy passageway and flights of slippery stone stairs eventually ended at Bow Head, where the street leading down from the castle became High Street. This was the place where she and Fiona had agreed to meet if a problem at an assembly ever caused them to become separated.
Carters and vendors and a multitude of pedestrians filled the street. Protestors jammed the cobblestones as well, moving away from dragoons riding in small groups back toward the castle. By the old stone pump at the intersection, she was relieved to see Fiona standing beside a hackney carriage. Her friend waved at her before scrambling into the vehicle. Maisie waited until a pair of blue-coated yeomen passed, and then she hurried toward the carriage.
“Thank you for waiting for me,” Maisie said as she climbed in. “That was terrible, down there. I can’t believe the militia attacked.”
“The dragoons have been riding past, looking for organizers.”
“We should go,” she said, reaching over to close the door. “How did you manage to get a hackney cab?”
Before Maisie could pull it shut, a hand appeared on the door.
Her alarm turned immediately to relief when she realized it belonged to the man who rescued her. He’d followed her, and she had no doubt he’d done so to make sure she was safe.
Feelings of gratitude flowed through her, but before she could say or do anything, he climbed in and slammed the door shut behind him. Maisie stared, momentarily stunned.
Her friend, however, was not surprised at all. “I’m so glad you two found each other.”
“We found each other,” he said curtly. “But we had no chance for introductions.”
