Page 31 of No Place in Time

Cecily did not answer. She took one step back, then another, keeping her face calm though her pulse had risen into her throat.

The man started walking toward her. Not fast. He swayed slightly on unsteady legs.

Cecily turned and began moving toward the shed, forcing herself not to run. Her boots sank in the wet ground. Her injured arm bounced against her chest, and pain shot through her each time.

Behind her, the man laughed.

“Aye, go on,” he said. “Pretty little thing out here alone. Thought I was seein’ a angel at first.”

Cecily kept going.

The shed door seemed suddenly far away.

“Are ye lost?” he called. “Run off from yer man, have ye? Or maybe yer pa, from the looks of ye.”

She reached the doorway and stepped inside, pulling the door toward her with her good hand. It scraped along the ground.

The man was already too near. He shoved at the door before she could close it and stumbled inside, catching himself against the wall. Standing in the doorway, he grinned.

Cecily backed away until the boards pressed against her spine.

“Get out,” she said.

His gaze dropped to the sling, then traveled slowly back to her face.

“Got yerself injured, have ye?” he said. “Ain’t that a shame.”

He took another step. The smell of him filled the shed.

Cecily’s hand went to the knife.

“Leave,” she said again, her voice rising. “Now.”

He chuckled. “Pretty little girl. Young thing.”

She drew the knife and held it between them.

The man squinted at it, then laughed again, softer this time. “Lookey that,” he said. “A little lady with a blade.”

“Back away,” she said.

He swayed, then lunged for her.

Pain tore through her injured arm as he caught her wrist. She screamed. The knife wavered. Her grip loosened. The blade fell to the floor.

Cecily gasped and struck his cheek with her free hand. It was weak, but it made his head snap to the side.

His expression changed.

He grabbed her other arm and shoved her back against the wall. His hand slid up to her shoulder, pinning her there. His breath was hot and sour against her cheek.

Cecily turned her face away, her throat constricted. She tried to lift her knee, but he shifted his weight and blocked her.

“Whus matter with ye, lass?” he said, slurring his words.

From outside came the scrape of something dragged over frozen ground. Then running.

Finn.