Page 37 of A Legacy of the Light

“I’m sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong person,” I tell him quietly while trying to free myself.

He presses in closer to me and the smell rolling off him turns my stomach.

“Some fuckin’ princess you are. Lettin’ them rebels attack and not bein’ ’ere to lead your people. You should be ashamed of yourself!” His words are slurred and he sways on his feet as he tries to keep his focus on me. My heart races and my breathing gets shallow as panic sets in.

“Murdoch will be rollin’ in his fuckin’ grave! I should do us all a favor and have you join him.” He moves to pin my throat with the hand that’s not holding my wrist. The pendant against my chest starts to pulse a steady rhythm.

Before I can squeeze my eyes shut tight and pray for a quick end, Reyne appears beside me and grasps the man’s forearm, twisting it away from me at an uncomfortable angle. He releases a growl from between gritted teeth.

“That’s quite enough,” she commands, stern and fierce. “My friend told you, you’ve got the wrong person. I think it’s wise you let her go and step away.”

He sneers down at her. She barely clears his shoulder.

“On whose authority?” he challenges with a hiccup.

Reyne steps closer to him and narrows her eyes. “Mine.”

They stare each other down, waiting for the other to make a move. My fear climbs another level thinking about this man attacking Reyne, and she takes a small step closer to him.

“Let. Her. Go,” she demands again. There’s no room for argument in her tone and it's deceptively soft.

He snatches his wrist from her grasp and stares at her in defiance for another minute before casting a scathing look in my direction. The pulsing of the Craobh increases as the tension, and my anxiety, pulls tight between the three of us.

“You’ll get yours, bitch,” he growls, spitting at our feet before releasing my hand and storming out onto the street.

Reyne turns her body as he passes us, putting me behind her. She stands at her full height in front of me, making sure he’s well clear before straightening her shirt. My wrist throbs where he held me and I try to slow my breathing down.

“Are you okay, Elsie?” she asks turning to me.

I stare after the Seelie, fear still holding me tight.

“Elsie?” Reyne reaches out and gently touches my shoulder, making me jump.

“Oh. Sorry. Yes, I’m fine. I . . . I just need a minute.”

“I’ll wait just on the street. Will you be okay?”

I nod, and she squeezes my shoulder before stepping out and leaving me to my thoughts.

I rest my back against the wall and brace my hands on my knees, pulling in a few ragged breaths as the pendant settles against my chest. I’ve lived in New York my entire life and I’ve never encountered any issues. I’ve never been in a situation where I needed to defend myself. I always thought I’d know what to do, but I was utterly helpless and frozen by fear just now. And that doesn’t sit well with me. Even faced with Tavish yesterday morning I at least grabbed a knife. Maybe deep down I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me? I don’t know.

I consider what the drunk said to me. Màiri must have been the name of the princess who died. I recall the portrait with the burnt faces. One of the figures had the same hair color as me. Was that her? Is that why he thought I was Màiri? Why would he attack if that was the case?

“Elsie, are you okay? Let’s go to the loch, it’s quieter there,” Reyne calls softly, interrupting my spiraling thoughts.

Joining her on the street, she slips her arm through mine, keeping me close, and leads me towards the shores of the lake.

I keep my head down and focus on the cobbled streets in front of us, not wanting to draw any more attention in case he’s out here, waiting.

“Only another five minutes or so. I know a really secluded spot,” she tells me.

The noise of the city fades behind us, and the buildings turn from businesses to homes, as the sound of water lapping against the shore gets louder.

The breeze is stronger here close to the lake. Reyne stops and lets go of my arm to sit at a wooden bench secured into the ground in front of a table looking out at the view.

“Why did you call it a loch before?” I ask quietly, sitting next to her.

“It’s what we call bodies of water like this. You’d call it a lake.”