Page 20 of No Place in Time

She cried out and threw up her arm as he grabbed for her shawl. The fabric tore. She stumbled, striking the stone wall hard enough to force her to the ground.

The sight of her on the ground did something to Finn he couldn’t pull back from. He drove forward, ramming the man away from her, his knife raised. He didn’t aim to kill. His blade cut shallow across the man’s side. Not a killing wound, but deep enough.

That did it. The first man bolted for the door with a yelp, not looking back. The second hesitated, eyes darting between Finn’s knife and Cecily crumpled against the wall. Then he turned and ran.

Finn stood there for a moment, chest heaving, knife still raised. When he was sure they were gone, he lowered it.

Cecily crouched on the floor against the wall, one hand pressed to her ribs. “Finn.”

He turned and headed toward her.

“You’re hurt,” he said, already reaching for her.

She shook her head, though her face had gone pale. “I’ll be alright.”

Then he checked the machine. One of the main coils had been pried from its housing, its wiring snapped and dangling.

They couldn’t stay. That much was clear.

∞∞∞

Finn found a carter on the edge of town willing to rent out a small shed for a few days, no questions asked. He secured a horse and cart just long enough to haul the machine out under cover of dusk. It cost him more coins than he wanted to spend and every ounce of strength he had, but together they got it loaded and covered as well as they could with debris.

“Cecily,” Finn said, assessing her. She looked a mess. Her hair was loose and tangled, her dress, once a fine outdoor frock for a noble girl, was torn and caked with mud. “I still have a few coins. Let’s buy some decent clothes, plain clothes, have a good meal and a bath at the inn down the road, and rent a room for the night. Then we’ll figure out what to do.”

Her shoulders dropped, and the corners of her mouth turned up into a small, tired smile.

“Yes, Finn. That sounds wonderful.”

∞∞∞

They stopped first at a shop to purchase new clothing, then found an inn. Later, when they had both cleaned themselves up, Finn saw her properly for the first time. She wore a simple wool dress, a blue ribbon in her hair, and new sturdy leather shoes. He hadn’t expected her to look like that—like someone entirely different, or perhaps entirely herself.

The evening meal was already being served downstairs, a thick pottage served in a trencher, coarse bread with cheese, and a flagon of ale.

Finn watched Cecily eat so quickly and with such gusto that he laughed. “Hey, brat,” he said with a chuckle, “slow down. Let it reach your belly before you cram in more.”

She looked up, pottage clinging to her lower lip. “If you had the sense God gave a rabbit, you’d be eating quickly too. Who knows when our next meal will come?”

“Oh, there will be a next one,” he said dryly, leaning back to watch her.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” she said, cocking her head. “Well, you don’t. I’ll admit you’ve been helpful so far. But who rescued you from the soldiers?”

Finn shook his head. “I liked you better when you were slopping food down your gullet instead of talking.”

∞∞∞

The space was small. One bed. Two basins of water. Clean straw strewn across the floor. When they lay down—fully clothed, backs turned—sleep refused to come.

He was too aware of her. Of the warmth at his side. Of the steady rise and fall of her breathing. He thought about turning toward her. And then the thought that followed stopped him.

She knew nothing about him. Nothing of his father, Lord Alard, the very man she would rather die than marry. It was a bitter irony.

He stared into the darkness, his jaw tight.

“Finn?” she murmured, half-asleep.

“Go to sleep, brat,” he mumbled.