Page 5 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
“You fight like a chambermaid,” she taunted, rolling over onto her back. Leah laughed upwards to Nash's face, challenging him with a twinkle of resistant fire in her eyes. She lay in a swelling puddle, and her vision danced back and forth as another kick came across her brow. “Poor little Nash,” she cackled against the pain as shock began to overpower it.,
“Shut up!” he screamed down at her, kicking again.
“Where's your wife, Nash?” She laughed up at him. It seemed to her she would die as his boot stuck her. Something changed then, with that strike. This had gone from a beating to a killing, and she could feel the difference in her ribs. “Run off with your brother, hasn't she?” she croaked up through her split lips. If she was going to die, at least she would haunt the bastard in his dreams.
“Time to die, cit!” Nash raised the rusty blade.
“Go to Hell, Nash,” Leah looked up at his raging face. It was a horrible last thing to look at.
“Stop! You there!” It was a man's voice that caused them to turn together. A voice that belonged to nobody in the group. A voice that meant their cover had been blown, a voice that brought with it a witness, and thus the murder could not take place.
A thug who had been minding the end of the alley stepped up to challenge the newcomer. Leah could not be sure of what she was seeing as another set of blows rained down on her, but from what she could tell the man cast the thug aside as if he were merely a sack of flour with a snap from his elbow.
“Split!” one of the thugs shouted, and they were everywhere at once, barreling away from the silhouette at the end of the alleyway.
“Hold there!” the voice challenged, and the man began running towards them. “Give pause, bastards!” he called, charging on ahead.
Nash spat down, gave Leah one final kick, and dashed off. The final blow sent her reeling, jarring her back against the wall, and everything swam circles in her head. It was a bright, warm feeling, radiating from the back of her head that enveloped her then. A great lightness, as if she were among the clouds and free as a bird. She moved to stand, but she could not, and she collapsed into a heap.
The shouts of Nash and the other men drifted off into the distance. The warmness overtook her, washing white the slate of her vision. For a moment, she thought she saw the glimmer of finely-polished shoes enter her line of sight.
What a fine buckle that is, and then darkness consumed her.
Chapter 2
Kenneth smashed the thug in front of him hard with his elbow and moved past the collapsing man towards the woman. She lay in a crumpled ball, being whaled upon by these animals, and he was set on saving her.
“Split!” one of them shouted, and they began to scurry about.
“Bugger off,” the one identified as Nash turned, and snapped at him. “She belongs to us!”
Kenneth sprinted the distance to Nash with speed that shocked everyone present and threw him against the same wall he had pinned the young woman to. The force of the movement caused Nash to drop his blade, and it spun off into a puddle.
For a brief moment, Kenneth was able to take proper stock of the man. Scars crisscrossing his right shoulder seemed to tally the innocent people who’d lost their lives, and their fortunes to this man. There was a deep-set hatred in his eyes, one that could be directed towards whatever or whoever caused him ill. Kenneth knew this type well; Nash represented exactly what he was working towards eliminating in England.
“There be lots more pain comin’ her way ‘cause of you. No one to protect her when you leave, puppy. You may as well gut her yourself,” Nash cackled into Kenneth's face, spitting beads into his cheeks. “You don't know who you're dealing with.”
“I could say the same to you,” Kenneth said through his teeth, holding fast on Nash's shirt. “You will answer for this!”
Then one of the thugs struck Kenneth across his back, and he was forced to release Nash with a grunt. Kenneth whirled about and struck the man responsible hard in the abdomen, forcing him to double over. When he spun back, Nash was gone.
Kenneth looked down the alley to see the criminal disappearing around the corner. Turning around once more revealed that the man who had just struck him was gone as well out the other end of the alleyway. Even the one he had struck in the nose had vanished.
All was suddenly silent, and Kenneth turned towards the wounded woman on the ground. She was badly beaten, he could clearly see. Her face was terribly swollen, and she curled in a way that indicated broken ribs and terrible pain. Kenneth had seen plenty of injuries, and he knew within a few moments of looking at her that she would live. She would be terribly sore for weeks, but she would live.
Kenneth knelt beside the girl and brushed aside a lock of silken, chestnut hair from her battered forehead. His breath caught at the sight of her bloodied lips and bruised cheeks. He had not seen injuries of this magnitude since his time in the army. Beneath her right eye, his attention was caught by a long, pale scar that ran down her face.
Although the scar was a blatant feature of her face, it did not detract from her somewhat angelic appearance. Her cheek bones rested gently around her thin lips. She looked to be at the age of consent to marry, which begged the question of her guardian’s whereabouts; however, as Kenneth observed the young woman’s appearance, he noticed the dirt beneath her fingernails and the calloused palms of a hard worker. Those factors, coupled with her beaten body, indicated a curious set of circumstances.
She wore ill-fitted gentleman’s clothing and her body was covered in more dirt than the ground beneath her, but there was no mistaking her for anything other than female. Kenneth checked her over for any severe injuries but kept his eyes and ears sharp in case the gang decided to return.
There was no doubt in his mind that she was meddling in something dangerous and drowning in more danger than she was capable of handling, but something within compelled him to lift her from the wet ground. He brushed his fingers gently across her soft, honeyed complexion. Her small frame was so different in comparison to his solid build, and he marveled at her ability to withstand the gang's assault.
Kenneth removed his hand from her face as she began to stir, the shame of touching her lingered in his mind. She blinked open vivid emerald eyes with impossibly long lashes. Like a painting of an enchanting pagan goddess, she honored him with a phantom smile as her mouth barely curled at the edges despite the swelling and bruising about her face.
“Anybody there?” he called out into the rain. “Somebody, help!” but no one seemed to hear him. The square seemed so far away, like a distant portal.
Kenneth considered the consequences. If he left this woman here in the rain, she would likely die. If he carried her back to his coach, as was his first inclination, he could be inviting a whole world into his life which he had not intended.
