Page 54 of The Knight's Pledge
Effie shook her head. “The boy died. Winnie accused the physician of malpractice before the boy’s parentsandthe universityandthe guild. It was taken up by the court. The physician was fined and left London in disgrace, but not before he and some of the guild hadtheir revenge.”
Here, Winnie looked up at Lucan and opened her mouth, showing the scarred stub where her tongue used to be. Effie felt Lucan tense at her side. Winnie looked to Effie and made another short sign.
Tell him.
“They cut out her tongue,” Effie said. “And they raped her. And although it was no secret what had been done to her, everyone that could have helped her by bringing the men to justice ignored it. They didn’t want the same—or worse—happening to them.”
Winnie tucked in the end of the fresh, dry wrapping around Lucan’s foot.I do better work with the family now,she signed.Sir Lucan may put on the boot.
“She’s finished,” Effie said.
Winnie gained her feet and Lucan reached out for her hand before she could move away. Winne paused as Lucan brought the bony, spotted back of her palm to his lips.
“Grazie mille, maestra,” he said against her skin. “Sono grato.”
Winnie bent down and kissed each of Lucan Montague’s cheeks before squeezing his hand and walking away.
After a long, quiet moment, the murmur of the band in the background, Lucan said in a low voice, “When did the world go mad? And why did Inever see it?”
“No one wants to see the victims, Lucan,” she answered in an equally low tone while she studied his profile in the firelight—all angles and planes and so beautiful in the flickering glow. So much like the boy he’d been the night Castle Dare had burned, and yet so different. “The poor. The immigrant. Their tormentors—not the ones on the road today, but the ones who employ them—they are rich. Powerful. No one dares goagainst them.”
He looked toher. “You do.”
“Not just me,” Effie whispered. “You too, now. I hope.”
She didn’t know what had changed—was it the rescue or the rain or the very air?—but she suddenly wanted Lucan Montague to kiss her, more than she had ever wished to be kissed by anyone in all her life. But she could feel the weight of eyes on them, as if everyone around the fire had suddenly become interested in their conversation. And still, she felt the physical pull of him as if slowly leveraging herself over the edge of a cliff, and she so desperately wanted to let go.
“I have to go,” Effie whispered suddenly.
His nod was barely perceptible. “I know.”
“It’s just…why is it different now? Is itonly me, or—?”
“No,” he interrupted, his gaze holding hers. “No. It’s not only you.I noticed it—”
“Today,” she finished for him. “It’s odd, isn’t it? When we so dislike each other?”
“Very,” he agreed.
Effie forced herself to stand up and walk directly away from Lucan Montague. She found a seat on the other side of the fire, made for her when Kit Katey and Gorman moved apart. She sat as if landing in a safe haven, where the pull of Lucan could no longer threaten.
Still, she felt him watching her through the fire.
And she held that feeling close to her well into the long, cold night.
* * * *
The party skirted Edinburgh the next day, breaking on the fringe of the city while the handful of girls who resided there were returned to their homes. The cheerful sunlight seemed to mock Lucan though, as the band were forced to carry on to the bridge over the Firth west of the city with the majority of their charges—some had been sold to the traders, either by their employers or their families, so that if they returned, circumstances would likely only worsen for them. Some had come into Scotland through the harbor at Leith from foreign lands. Some of the girls couldn’t remember ever having anyfamily at all.
Lucan’s dark mood improved somewhat when it was decided that he should lead the caravan from this point forward with Chumley at his side. He knew this area, knew their destination. And he would no longer have to catch glimpses of Effie and Gorman through the riders. It helped that Chumley had returned from the city with a jug in each hand, and he passed one up to Lucan before mounting.
“Thirsty, love?” he asked easily.
“I am indeed, Chumley,” Lucan acknowledged darkly, urgingAgrios forward.
“I thought as much.” He adjusted his seat and then caught up with Lucan’s horse in a double trot. “’Tis not an easy road we travel.” He whistled over his shoulder and James Rose appeared on the other side of Lucan, escorting him up the road ahead of the caravan. He realized what they were doing—making Lucan out to be a man of import, travelling with his household. The only attention they would attract now would be admiration—a man so wealthy that all his servants rode astride.
They passed over the bridge easily, the keeper clearing the way for them as foot passengers and those of lesser means now stepped to the rough to let them through. Lucan heard jingling just behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see Gilboe and Dana tossing out coins. So many people with raised hands. So many poor, their ragged and dirty garments blending into the drab winter landscape. They seemed to be part of the bridge, part of the road, springing from seemingly nowhere and vanishing at once when they turned from his sight. Fifty…no, a hundred.
