Page 17 of Brigand

Her belly growled but she ignored it. There would be nobreakfast until she finished this task. She couldn’t bear to think of the pileof unwashed linens. She had not yet heated the water for those.

She squeezed the water from Mungo’s shirt and arranged itover the drying line. Her gaze snagged on her hands. They were red and puckeredfrom the hot water. Her skin burned from the lye. Her nails were cracked andtorn. She looked like a washerwoman. Which she was.

Tears threatened again but she forced them back. She wouldnot break. She would not show him he’d beaten her down. She would be brave. Continueon. If it killed her.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

Violet stiffened. A flame of fear flickered in her breast asa too-familiar, oily voice slithered through the washing room. She turned, notbecause she needed to see who it was but because self-preservation demanded it.Craig was the kind of man one wanted to keep an eye on.

She really didn’t like his expression as he kicked the doorclosed with his heel. Violet had left it open because otherwise the steam fromthe boiling pots filled the room.

She forced herself to stiffen her spine, to pretend hispresence here did not make her quake in her worn-out slippers. “What do youwant? I have work to do.” She hated the quaver in her voice.

He said nothing as he prowled toward her, rubbing his palmson his braes. He was a large, muscular man with a thick neck and a scragglybeard. His nose was blunt and turned up like a pig’s; his eyes were close-set,ratlike and clouded by a dark, bushy brow. A scar traced his right cheek. Butnone of that mattered. It was his expression that made her shudder.

As he neared, she backed away but there was nowhere to go.

His breath reached her first. Her belly clenched, churned atthe stench.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t ya?” He reached out apaw and rubbed a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. “But aprissy miss. Acting like you’re so much better than us.” He fit his hand aroundher throat and tightened on her windpipe. She gasped for breath. Her head spun.Dark spots clouded her vision. He sniggered. “I could snap your neck like alittle bird, girly. You know that, don’t you?” As he spoke, he closed in onher, pressing his sweaty body against hers, backing her up to the damp wall.

“L-let me go.”

Again a dark laugh, one that rumbled ominous and low. “Idon’t think so. How often does a man corner such a high-flown sweetmeat likeyou?”

His head lowered. Dear God. He was going to kiss her. Acidchurned in her gut. Bile burned in her mouth. He was a very strong man, allmuscle and sinew. She was a small girl with no weapon save the wooden paddleshe used to stir the pots and that was out of reach.

So she did what she could. She turned her head.

He snarled as his mouth found only a mutinous cheek. Hegripped her chin so tightly she cried out in pain. Resolutely, he held it inplace…and sealed his mouth on hers. Revulsion swept through her at the taste ofhim, the feel of his damp lips, his thick, insinuating tongue.

Her gorge rose. And as his hoary claw found her breast in abruising grip, it erupted. Into his mouth.

There wasn’t much because she hadn’t eaten for nearly a day,but it was enough to make him lurch back with a feral roar. He spat on thefloor and fixed her with a furious glare. “Bitch,” he growled. “You’ll regretthat.”

He backhanded her. The blow felt like Thor’s hammer. It senther flying. She bounced off a stack of heavy pots—sending them crashing to thefloor—and landed in a crumpled pile on the waiting linens. He was on top of herbefore she could regain her bearings. On top of her, heavy and hot. He pinnedher with his bulk. His breath came in fetid pants. He grunted and rubbedhimself against her like an animal in heat.

Her horror rose when she felt him fumble with her tatteredskirts, yanking them up. At the same time he pulled her bodice down. She barelyheard the rip. Her ears rang. Her chin throbbed. Her entire body ached.

She was so weak, she couldn’t fight. Couldn’t resist in theslightest.

She knew what was coming but she was too tired, toodispirited to so much as contemplate her terror. She would lose her virginitynow. To this man. He would rape her.

It was more than she could bear.

She wished he had hit her harder. Wished he had killed her,perhaps. Wished, with all her heart, that Ewan had been a different kind ofman.

Craig tugged at the ties on his braes, yanked them open. Thehead of his manhood nudged her thigh. Violet clenched her teeth and closed hereyes and turned her head and willed herself away. As though another girl lay onthe floor in the washroom with a beast of a man holding her down. Another girlso close to disaster and unable to save herself. Another girl…

A dull thud echoed in the far reaches of her consciousness.A pained wheeze. Craig stiffened then collapsed on top of her. The air gushedfrom her lungs as his bulk crushed her. His drool, a cool trickle, tickled herneck.

Violet opened her eyes and tried to focus on a blurry formstanding over her. She blinked and her vision cleared, though the black starswere back, making it difficult to see.

Ah. Pip. Holding a heavy frying pan. And Jessie behind him.Violet opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.Couldn’t breathe.

“Get him off her,” Jessie snapped and together they rolledthe insensate man toward them.

Blessed relief gushed through her as her lungs once againfilled with air.