*Just a heads up, I'm not sure how I like this chapter or certain elements of it, anyway, so I might be changing a few things in the future. It's unedited, so that probably explains some of its problems 😜. Anyway, let me know what you think!*

It must have been nearly noon when Nickolas reined up. Cassandra had discovered a few moments before that she was starving and tired.

When she took in their surroundings, she realized they were on a low hill overlooking a little village. It was tucked away in the middle of nowhere—she couldn't see any other signs of life in any other direction—on the edge of a great loch. Nondescript and shabby as if was, she thought it was the most beautiful thing she'd seen.

Nickolas dismounted stiffly, and she wondered what sort of injuries he'd sustained during the past days. He reached up to help her down, and she felt suddenly quite exposed. It was one thing for him to see her dressed like this in the dim light of Fulsmith's dining room but quite another in the full light of day.

Seeing no other alternative—she could hardly scorn his offer—she slid into his arms, averting her gaze shyly from his. His hands were cold on her waist—almost like they were touching her bare skin. She gasped and felt a trail of goose bumps travel up her legs.

Nickolas's arms lingered around her for a moment, and she finally looked up at him. A burning blush crawled up her cheeks for no apparent reason, and she wondered if he noticed. He gave no sign, only too her hand and led her toward a little house that was slightly isolated from the rest of the village.

"Do you own it?" She found herself saying, more as a way of filling the silence than actual curiosity.

"If it makes you more comfortable." And he shot her an almost mischievous grin.

He unlocked the door and threw it open. Looking at her, he gave a mock bow with far too many flourishes. She noticed him wince as he bent but didn't know how to mention it without making him feel uncomfortable, so she simply stepped across the threshold.

It was a small bungalow that no one had taken the time to decorate, evidently. It smelled musty and old as if no one had been there in some time. To her left, there was a small kitchen with a table and a couple chairs. There was a bookshelf and a dresser directly in front of her, and to her right, light airy curtains danced slightly in the breeze from the open door.

"I know it's not much, but it'll be dry and safe for now." Nickolas said behind her. He moved past her and pushed the curtain back to reveal a bed. "There's a bathtub on the other side."

His voice was slightly hoarse, and she thought he sounded tired. His shoulders weren't as straight as usual, and there was a slight hitch to his walk. Still, he was obviously trying his best to make sure she was comfortable and happy.

"I'm going to go get some firewood. It gets pretty cold out here at night. Make yourself comfortable." He smiled at her.

She nodded, and he walked out the door, shutting it gently behind him. Alone in the house, she inspected it a second time. There was a small mirror on the wall beside the bed, and she looked into it.

There was a smear of blood on her cheek, and she looked at her hands. Dried blood was encrusted around her fingernails, and in a flash, she felt the warm blood trickling over her fingers. Gasping, she turned her hands over.

She'd killed someone. Now that she was alone, she let it sink in. Someone was dead because of her. She had to clean her hands, had to get rid of the blood that was a brand of her guilt.

She moved toward the kitchen, tripping over her own feet in her haste. Crawling the rest of the way, she jerked open one of the drawers, hysteric sobs rising in her throat. She had to get clean!

In the second drawer she opened, there was an old rag that had evidently seen better days. Snatching it up, she began scrubbing at her fingers with violent vigor. She had no water to wash them in, so this would have to do.

Her fingers began to feel raw, but the blood remained as thick and damning as ever. Tears were flowing down her cheeks unhindered now, but she barely took notice of them. Memories from the night before swelled within her until she could barely breathe.

She heard it all, felt it all again. The pain in her hands was the only thing that kept a piece of her mind in the present. Her scrubbing grew faster and more abrasive with every passing second.

Hands covered her hands, stopping them from moving as strong arms encircled her. Nickolas folded her close to him, whispering softly in her ear. A broken sob welled within her, and she hid her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

"I killed him." Her voice sounded foreign and fragile in her ears. "And the blood—the blood won't come off my hands." She wept.

"He was going to kill you or take you prisoner again, Cassandra. You did what you had to to survive." She felt his voice rumble from deep in his chest. "That's what we do: survive. And sometimes, it would be a whole lot easier not to, but that doesn't mean we give up."

"Julian's dead." She suddenly remembered, and pulling back, she looked into his face. "She's gone." He nodded. "I'm so sorry." She sobbed.

"What did Fulsmith do to you?" His voice was suddenly flat. "Did he. . .hurt you?" She understood what he meant.

"No." She shook her head. "He was going to, but you came for me first."

He nodded. "If they'd touched you—hurt you—I don't know what I'd do."

There was no hint of a smile on his face, not even the tiniest lilt of laughter in his voice. His grip tightened ever so slightly as if he wanted to reassure himself that she was really there. She ran her hand up his arm until her fingers grazed the skin of his neck.

"I'm safe. It's okay." She leaned her forehead against his. "Isn't it?" She sniffed. "Are we gonna be okay?"

He cupped her cheek in his hand, and she closed her eyes, leaning into him. His lips brushed hers in a feather-light touch, and she shivered, pulling him closer as he seemed about to move away.

She opened her eyes, needing to feel him, to see him. His eyes were clouded with uncertainty. For the first time since she'd met him, he was hesitating. She felt his doubt, but inside, she was all confidence. She wanted this. She wanted him.

Pushing herself up, she captured his lips with her own. For a moment, he was still against her, unresponsive and almost shy. Then he returned her kiss with a sudden fervency, a need that matched her own. His fingers tangled in her hair , holding her close.

She lost herself in him. Fulsmith and the horrors of the night before were little more than shadows in her mind as she sat there. Her heart beat a wild pattern within her, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, she wanted to laugh.

Just when they were on the brink of getting entirely carried away, Nickolas pulled away from her. He traced her jawline with a finger and smiled softly.

"We should get some rest." He whispered. "Being that it's us, there's no telling what's going to come next, and I need to be ready."

She nodded. Before he spoke, she knew he was going to tell her to take the bed. It wasn't fair really: he needed rest far more than she. Besides, how could she rest knowing he was on the hard floor?

"Will you hold me?" She pressed her forehead against his.

"Cassandra—" He said.

"No, listen to me. I just want you there. I need to know that Fulsmith isn't coming to get me every time I close my eyes." Tears prickled beneath her eyelids, and she found herself wondering how long her time in the manor would haunt her.

"I was going to say yes." Nickolas mouth was set in a grim line. "But now, there's nothing that would stop me."

He bundled her into his arms and picked her up. She heard him grunt softly as he got to his feet.

"Let me walk." She said, but he had already crossed the room and was setting her on the foot of the bed.

"The bedding isn't fresh, and I doubt it's very comfortable." He sounded almost apologetic.

"It's fine." She gave him a small smile, pulling back the covers.

Sitting on the edge of the bed with a suppressed groan, he bent slowly to untie his boots. She was on the floor beside him in a moment. Placing his foot in her lap, she undid the laces and pulled the boot off his foot.

As she worked on the other, she looked up to find him watching her. A blush crawled up her cheeks, and her fingers fumbled with the knot for a good moment before it came undone. Avoiding his faze, she got to her feet and pushed his coat off his shoulders, pulling his arms out of the sleeves.

She finally looked into his eyes as she set the coat aside. His expression was unreadable, but somehow, it lit a fire in the pit of her stomach. She didn't understand how he could have such power over her that she felt weak after only a glance.

"You should be more comfortable now." She explained, clearing her throat.

Moving to the foot of the bed to avoid him, she crawled to the top and curled up. Slowly, easing himself down, Nickolas winced as he lifted his legs into the bed. Turning to face her, he pulled the blankets over them.

"They hurt you." She said softly.

"A few broken ribs." He shrugged. "Nothing to worry about." He grinned, but it was weak, and she could tell he was exhausted.

Suddenly bold, she ooched closer to him, brushing his hair aside with her fingers. He pulled her closer still as his eyes drifted shut. Sleep overtook her, too, and the last thing she saw was his face.

———————————————————

She awoke because she was cold. Her eyes fluttered open to find the bed next to her was empty. With a gasp, she sat bolt upright, frantically searching the room for Nickolas.

He was standing over the stove, barefoot and in his sleep-wrinkled clothes, and he was cooking something. She'd never seen a man cook before, and the idea that Nickolas had taken the time to learn at some point in his career was attractive on far too many levels. He moved so naturally as if he'd been working in a kitchen all his life.

"It's not polite to stare." His voice startled her, and as he turned to look at her, mischief dancing in his eyes, she cleared her throat and looked away.

"I wasn't staring." She licked her lips and looked back at him innocently.

"Really?" He raised a brow and turned back to the stove, forking sausages onto a plate.

She couldn't help but follow him with her eyes as he stacked some things on a tray and brought it over to the bed. Settling down on the edge of the bed with one leg curled under him, he looked so. . .at home. . .comfortable.

"Like what you see?" He grinned.

"I always like breakfast." She raised a brow, smiling sweetly at him.

He chuckled softly, handing her a plate. "A man could do worse than to be associated with breakfast." He winked.

Taking a deep breath of the meat and eggs, she was reminded how hungry she was. "What time is it?" She looked up from the plate for a brief moment.

"You'd be better served to ask what day it is." He smiled, picking up one of the sausages and biting into it. "We slept all afternoon and all night. It's nearly ten o'clock."

Cassandra regarded her food for a moment, raising a brow.

"I don't have any silverware." Nickolas shrugged apologetically.

"In that case," Cassandra took a bite out of one of her sausages, closing her eyes to savor the taste.

They ate in silence for several moments. Cassandra found herself at peace. In his presence, she found the demons of the last few days were gone. She could live like this forever.

Looking up, she discovered Nickolas watching her. He was wearing that same, unreadable expression, and she frowned slightly.

"I thought we already came to the conclusion that it wasn't polite to stare." She raised a brow.

"Only if it's something that's not worth staring at." He grinned, but that expression remained.

"What does that face mean?" She narrowed her eyes.

"What face?" He looked down at his food, eating another sausage in two bites.

"The face you're making." She frowned slightly.

He cleared his throat. "I'm not making any face." He set his plate on the tray and carried it to the kitchen. "Finish your breakfast."

He was uncomfortable. The realization struck her as he began cleaning up. She noticed him wince as he lifted one of the pans. No wonder he was making faces! He must still be in pain.

Setting her half empty plate aside, she slid out of the bed. Padding across the floor, she touched his arm. He jerked, moving faster than she would have thought humanly possible and gripping her wrist. Realizing it was her, his grip relaxed and he sighed.

"You startled me." He breathed. "Don't do that."

"Sorry." She bit her lip. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I want to see where they hurt you." She stepped closer to him.

"It's fine." Nickolas half turned away from her. "I'm fine."

"Nickolas, you've taken care of me so many times. Let me return the favor." She said. "Please."

He hesitated for a moment before nodding curtly. "There are some salves and supplies in the top drawer of the dresser."

Cassandra moved in the direction he indicated as he pulled up one of the kitchen chairs. She found an odd assortment of little bottles and white bandages. Grabbing a handful of the wider strips of cloth and one of the containers of salve, she turned just in time to watch him pull off his shirt.

A warm blush blossomed in her cheeks, and she realized this might not have been the greatest idea. He wasn't facing her, so thankfully, he hadn't noticed the sudden color in her cheeks. He laid the shirt on the table and dropped into the chair.

His chest was a mass of dark purple bruises, and there were quite a few scabs. Crossing the space between them, Cassandra made herself busy with her supplies, trying not to think about the men who had hurt him. Kneeling beside his chair, she dipped her fingers into the salve and rubbed it on one of his scabs. He flinched at her touch.

"Your hands are cold." He grunted, his muscles tensing.

"Sorry." She chuckled. A moment of silence passed between them, and she went about tending his injuries the best way she knew how. Then finally, a question occurred to her, and she looked up at him. "How did you get away? Back at the pub, Fulsmith told me that he was going to blow the place up the moment you walked through the door into his room. I was sure you were going to die. I thought not even you could escape that."

"Were you worried about me?" Nickolas grinned for a moment before turning serious. "He didn't count on us coming up so quickly. The men weren't finished setting up the charges. We took care of them and stole the explosives to use on Fulsmith's manor."

"How did you know where to find me?" She didn't realize her hands had stilled on him.

"I asked the men." He replied, and Cassandra knew what he meant. He'd interrogated those men for the answers he wanted. "Honestly, I thought I'd be too late. I thought Fulsmith was going to grill you for information, and when he found out that you didn't know anything, well, I. . .thought he would kill you." His hand covered hers.

"I told him I didn't have anything to do with it, fed him some story about being a ladies' maid. I guess he wanted to believe it." She shuddered.

"You're safe now. I'm not going to let anything like that happen to you again." He cupped her cheek in his hand, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lips.

Cassandra was surprised at the sudden action. For a moment, she went completely still, and then she stood up, breaking the kiss. She realized how much she wanted this. All of this. The little house in the country, the rugged breakfast, the unshaven, shirtless man before her.

Bending suddenly, she kissed him. Nickolas pulled her closer, and then she was on his lap. His hands held her hips, his fingertips pressing into her flesh. With her mouth against his, she felt her body come alive. He touched her bared thighs, and a moan escaped her lips.

She tangled her hands in his hair, tugging him closer as she kissed him with everything she had. She had kissed other men before, but none of them had had this affect on her. She felt numb and electrified all at once, and she wanted all of him, every single inch.

"Cassandra," Nickolas groaned, pulling away from her.

His eyes were dark, and she knew he wanted this as much as she did. She tried to kiss him again, but he held her back.

"We shouldn't be doing this." His voice was low and husky.

"Why?" She breathed. "What's wrong?"

"Look, you have no idea how much I want to, have wanted to for a while, but I can't do that to you." He whispered, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand.

His touch played havoc in her mind, and she pressed her lips to his palm. He jerked away from her with a strange guttural sound. She could tell he was trying to even out his breathing.

"I want this." She leaned into him. Taking his hand in hers, she placed it on her thigh. "I want you."

"Damn it, woman, I'm trying to preserve what reputation you have left. Don't you know what people will think when I get you back home? If you behave like this, the stories will be true." He breathed.

"Then let them be true." She leaned into him and pressed a kiss to his collar bone.

She heard him curse under his breath, and then his hands cupped her backside, and he kissed her. It was a slower, gentler kiss somehow. There was a wildness in it, but it was reserved at the same time.

He stood up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. His fingers pulled at the thin fabric covering her, and she felt it give way. He leaned over, and she felt something hard beneath her back and realized she was on the table.

In a flash, she remembered what Fulsmith had said about what he was going to do to her on a table. She didn't want her first time to be tainted by such memories.

"No, wait," She breathed, and Nickolas immediately pulled away even though she could tell he didn't want to.

"What is it?" He said, his thumb rubbing down the length of her neck.

"Not here. Not on the table." She touched his lips gently.

Nodding, he picked her up without question. She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting them gently slide down his arms when he set her on the bed.

As complicated as it was, she helped him loosen the thin bodice, feeling shy beneath his scrutiny. He looked at her as if he'd never seen something so precious in all his life, like he was holding the whole world in his hands when he was hugging her.

His lips found hers before tracing a path down her neck. She buried her fingers in his hair, closing her eyes and giving herself wholly to the feeling of his touch.

The heavy pounding on the door startled both of them. Cassandra gasped, clutching at the blankets to cover herself. Nickolas frowned at the door and stood up.

"Give me a minute." He narrowed his eyes, pulling the curtain closed on his way to the door.

She heard him talking with someone, but the words were inaudible. Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, Cassandra licked her lips. For some reason she couldn't explain, she felt sad and hollow as if something were happening at this moment that was going to change everything.

The door clicked shut, and Nickolas's familiar footsteps made their way toward her. When he pulled back the curtain, she found the confirmation for her fears in the firm set of his face.

"What is it?" She clutched the blanket more tightly around her, feeling a sudden chill.

"Fulsmith is here." He dropped a piece of paper with a scrawled note on it on the bed beside her.

——————————————————

Dun dun DUN! Yeah, sorry, they really can't get a moment's peace, can they? This chapter is extra long, because I didn't know how to split it without making things choppy, and I didn't want to do another part 1-2 thing. So I guess you just have a lot more to read. . . .hopefully that's a good thing!!

What do you think will happen next? Am I keeping you firmly on your toes? Maybe I should start a ballet school. . .ok, ok, I'll stop now. That was pretty bad. This is why you can't let me get carried away. . .Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one is currently in the works, so expect to hear from me soon. . .ish. 🙃😝