What’s worse was that Lachlan had begun to challenge Edith to go out on her own, without Owen. She was terrified of the idea, but he continually promised that she would be safe.
It was never entirely clear what that meant, but he had been talking so much about resisting and rebellion that it had begun to sound like a fair idea.
So, she had begun.
She had made a few small trips on her own, just brief walks and errands, keeping her head high and pretending she was not a pariah in Society.
One day, she had found that Owen was still following her, though at a very great distance. He was not exactly pleased to have been discovered, but Edith was comforted by it all the same.
A sharp jab of a needle shook Edith from her reflections, and she hissed, shaking the injured finger out as she looked over the embroidery. No harm done there, fortunately.
Rufus could be heard baying loudly now, and Edith looked up at the ceiling ruefully, Lachlan’s low voice audible, but not intelligible.
Lachlan had been wonderful since he’d come to stay with her. He’d kept her from growing despondent, made her smile when she would have been solemn alone, and provided warm conversation with every meal. He did give her time alone and privacy whenever she wished, but if he caught her looking morose, he would do what he could to improve her spirits.
And he was marvelously protective. Sir Reginald’s henchmen had tried to come into the house two days ago, and it had only taken a scant few words from Lachlan and two punches to convince them otherwise.
There had been no attempts by any to enter since then.
Edith knew better than to suspect that her troubles were over, but the temporary reprieve was blessed indeed.
A thundering down the stairs brought a smile to Edith’s lips, and she glanced through the open parlor door to them. “I ken that Noah had a fair few animals in his ark, but if they came oot of that boat in a stampede, I still think ye’d make more noise than the lot of them.”
Lachlan stopped and made a face at her, rather as he had done for most of their childhood. “Dinnae get yerself in a kerfuffle, mo piuthar. The stairs remain unharmed, and yer neighbors will only think yer lover is pleased as punch to be wi’ ye.”
Edith covered her face and leaned forward, laughing in embarrassed hysterics. “Aich, ye gomeral, haud yer whist, and take yer blatherin’ off wi’ ye.”
Her brother chuckled without restraint and came to her, patting her on the head. “Tha’s the mos’ Scottish I’ve heard from ye since…” He trailed off, his hand stroking her hair far more gently. “Well, since I saw ye las’ at home.”
She looked up at him, smiling and taking his wrist in her hand firmly. “Having ye back with me, Lachlan, has brought a wee bit of Scotland back tae me. I thought I’d lost that part of me long ago.”
He smiled in return, exhaling. “Ye’d never lose Scotland, Edie. She’s in our blood.”
She squeezed his wrist in a show of gratitude, and his smile grew at it.
“Let’s have a stroll, Edie,” he said brightly, patting the hand on his wrist and stepping away. “The evening is verra fine.”
Edith glanced out of the window, then back at him. “This late?”
He pretended to look at the window, as well. “It’s no’ late. I still see the sun.”
She gave him a dubious look. “Barely.”
“Perfect.” He scoffed with a wave of his hand. “Come, a wee stroll will do us both good.”
“Are we taking Rufus?” Edith asked as she rose with a groan.
Lachlan shook his head. “No’ this time. The lad can stay here with Owen and learn the art of whiskey.”
“I have ears, ye ken,” called a voice from the hall.
“Aye, and a mouth tae go wi’ them! Hasna helped ye much yet!” Lachlan winked at Edith with a grin.
She rolled her eyes. Sometimes, there was no explaining Highlanders.
They both donned light outerwear and ventured out of doors, Lachlan surprising Edith by not taking her arm. Not that she minded, but he had always done so before this.
It was such a cool, fine evening, that there were a great many people about. Their usual walk seemed rather congested, so Lachlan nudged his head along another path, and Edith followed, not minding at all.
“Edie,” he murmured softly, leaning close, “do ye still carry a sgian dubh on ye?”
“Aye,” she replied in surprise. “The blade is no’ as sharp as it once was, but it would suffice.”
He nodded, smiling in his usual carefree way, not bothering to explain the question as they moved towards their new route.
But, it seemed, that path was just as popular with Londoners at present, for there were just as many others about here as there had been elsewhere. Edith frowned as she was suddenly separated from her brother, though it was not terribly surprising, as there were some very pretty young women about. Lachlan must surely have been bored with only her for company, and it was only natural that he should take the opportunity to be introduced to one or two of them.
Edith merely shook her head and kept going, knowing he would find her eventually. The path was a simple one, the route uncomplicated, and she was not very far from her house.
No one would expect Lady Edith Leveson to have an escort for a walk. Not anymore.
Only a few moments later, Edith felt the ribbons of her bonnet cut, the bonnet itself flung off, and her hair seized in a painful grip.
She reached back with a gasp, but she could not dislodge the ever-tightening grip.
“Sneaky little slut,” hissed Sir Reginald, wrapping his free arm around her waist while his fingers gripped her scalp with such pain that tears sprang to her eyes. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“I didna send for him,” she spat, struggling against his hold. “I told him you forbade it.”
“Not hard enough,” he insisted as he shook her head by her hair. “You could have cast him off, you could have barred him entry, and certainly to your bed. But you did not.”
He forced Edith to walk awkwardly as she was held fairly immobile by him.
Her sgian dubh was at her wrist, fastened into her spencer, if only she could get to it.
“I am free to do what I wish,” she told Sir Reginald, driving an elbow into his stomach. He grunted at the contact, but his hold remained.
“You are no such thing,” he ground out against her ear. “You are mine.” He hissed against the skin of her neck before running his nose, mouth, and even his tongue along it.
She jerked her head away, but he followed, and his fingers began to tear at her dress. Sleeves first, and then to her bodice, rendering the garment nearly indecent, though not entirely.
Edith growled in distress. “I am not!”
“Don’t fight me,” he barked. “I have been far too lenient with you, and that will change tonight.” He pressed against her forcefully, leaving no doubt as to his intent.
“I will fight you all the way, and you will never make it past the door,” she told him, struggling frantically as she reached for her sleeve.
“You’re making a scene,” he told her, finally moving his face away from her neck.
“Good,” was all she replied.
And then Edith screamed, a blood-curdling, ear-piercing scream, and all in the vicinity looked towards them.