Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

I t was a lot quieter outside the tavern. Amelia hadn’t realized how badly she needed the fresh air until the cool night wind struck her, tousling her hair and rustling her skirts around her legs. Hamish was striding ahead of her, clearly trying to vent some of his fury with the long, jagged strides he was taking. She followed him up the deserted street, quickening her own pace to keep up without much effort.

“You were right when you said we ought to shove him off a cliff,” he grumbled once he’d cooled off a little. They’d walked right to the outskirts of the village and halfway back again, which brought them to the town square. Hamish slowed his pace to a shambling walk, kicking at loose stones as he circled, aimless and frustrated, in the empty square. With a sigh, Amelia took a seat on the edge of the raised platform that stood at the center of the square and waited for Hamish to join her.

“You know I was joking about the cliff thing, right?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I don’t want to give you diplomacy lessons or anything, but murdering the man would only cause bigger problems.”

“I’ll handle them. I’m good at big problems. That’s why they brought me here.” He scrubbed his face wearily as she laughed, sympathy as well as amusement coloring her voice.

“You sound like me.”

“A high compliment, Miss Cosgrove.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into the warmth of him, smiling softly. “I do think you’d be safer at the Keep though, Amelia. Truly. Will you consider it?”

Frustration flared in her chest, and she reminded herself that he was under pressure before she responded. “I’ve considered it, Hamish,” she said, keeping her tone level. “And my considered answer is still ‘hell no’. Men like Taffington don’t respond to the high road, they just take it as an encouragement to get worse.” Seeing him tonight had solidified this impression once and for all, and she could feel the truth of it ringing in her voice even as she explained. “The only thing that’s going to stop Taffington from behaving like he does are the kinds of consequences he can’t run away from with money or influence. Like me breaking his nose,” she said brightly. She’d intended it as a joke, hoping to lighten the mood, but if anything, Hamish’s expression was even more dour as he took in what she’d said.

“I think you should reconsider,” he said, his voice sharp and jagged. “I know you’re strong, Amelia, and I know you’re very wise about the world you come from, but things are different here. I don’t want you to get hurt by Taffington or anyone like him. I couldn’t stand it.”

“I understand that,” she said, fighting to keep her temper under control. “I really do. But at the end of the day, Hamish, what I do is my decision, not yours.”

“Of course it is. I just?—”

“—you’re just only happy with that when my decision is the same as the one you’d make on my behalf?” she countered, feeling a sudden burning anger low in her belly.

“I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“You’re trying to control me,” she snapped, knowing it was unreasonable but finding it difficult to care all of a sudden. “Hamish, you’re supposed to be the good guy here, aren’t you? You’re supposed to trust me. What happened to all that stuff about how I’m a warrior? About how you wished Amy had been a little more like me, and fought back against that guy who killed her?”

She regretted it the minute she’d said it, but it was already too late. Hamish’s expression had gone wooden, and he was silent for a long, horrible minute that made her feel like her heart was going to sink right through her feet and through the cobblestones. She kept trying to think of something to say — but she couldn’t think of any way of taking it back without weakening her point.

“I know you’re trying to protect the local women from Taffington,” he said finally, his voice cold and distant. “But I’m telling you that you’re underestimating the amount of danger that’s putting you in.”

“And I’m telling you that it’s my damn choice,” she said through gritted teeth. Suddenly, she couldn’t stand to sit still for another second. She pulled away from him and rocketed to her feet, restless and furious. “I think we both need to cool off for a minute, alright? I’m going for a walk.”

“Amelia—”

“Step back, alright?” she snapped, wheeling on him as he took a few steps after her.

She hadn’t meant to do it, but old habits died very hard, and she’d dropped into a fighting stance before she could stop herself, fists shielding her face, center of gravity dropping. Hamish stopped dead in his tracks, raising his hands in surrender as he took three pointed steps away from her.

“Thanks,” she said softly, lowering her hands. And before she said or did anything else she was going to regret, she turned on her heel and walked off into the night.

She walked fast, trying to steady her breathing as she went. It was quiet out here, especially in contrast to the crowded tavern where she’d been spending the last few evenings, but somehow that wasn’t much comfort. She hadn’t disagreed with Hamish like that before, and it was setting off all kinds of uncomfortable thought spirals that she knew, on some level, had more to do with her own traumatic history than they did with his actual motivations. She’d never reacted well to the feeling of being controlled, even the suspicion of it — perhaps because for the longest time, she hadn’t realized how controlling and coercive her own father had been. She’d been too young to remember much about her mother when they’d lost her, and no doubt some of her father’s own grief played into the way he’d treated her… but she was a long way from being able to sympathize with him.

The only thing that had gotten her out of that situation, her father’s demanding, controlling tendencies, the way he’d shout at her if she was even a few minutes late from school or hesitated in explaining her whereabouts, the way he’d go through her things whenever he felt like it, the way she hadn’t had any privacy for most of her adolescence… the only thing that had made her feel like there was a better future ahead had been martial arts. When she was training, when she was fighting — she was never more powerful, never more in control of herself, of her own body, her own space, her own destiny. That had been the source of all her drive, all her commitment, her ability to train harder than the others, to dig deeper, to fight harder… it wasn’t that she was frightened of going back so much as it was how much she valued what it would give her. The freedom of control. The inherent, overwhelming joy of self-determination.

Could Hamish ever understand that? she wondered. He was a man, in a deeply patriarchal society… could he ever know how frightening it could feel to move as a woman through these awful power structures, to know that the men around you held an awful power that you could only hope to manipulate, never to own yourself? He’d work it out, she reassured herself as she walked the sleeping village. He was a diplomat, wasn’t he? If he could figure out the political complexities of two warring nations, he could use a bit of that intelligence to empathize with her plight…

It was her distraction with the subject of Hamish that meant her situational awareness wasn’t quite what it usually was. That was the only reason she didn’t hear the warning signs earlier. She was heading back toward the tavern with half a mind to go up to her old room — though she’d been sharing a bed with Hamish the last three nights, of course, she still had the key to the her original room, and the idea of having some time and space to herself seemed like the best course of action. But as the tavern came into view, a figure stepped out abruptly from a narrow alleyway between two buildings.

“There you are,” came Taffington’s unpleasant voice. But the steely hand that was tightening around her wrist wasn’t his — and nor was the hard, metallic object she could feel pressing into the small of her back.