Sara’s throat felt like it was closing up. The young Lord Pliar Yronwood was a little less than a head taller than her, nor as bulky as Kyne or even Axton, but the sense of helplessness and fear as he pressed her up against the cart in the secluded courtyard he’d found her in was familiar. She’d sworn to herself she would never go through this again. She wasn’t eleven anymore, with her fifteen-year-old bully of a brother slapping her into submission. She was a good swordsman, better than most her age, and she never ever felt helpless about anything. So why did her body feel like jelly, tears threatening at the edges of her eyelids.
She took a deep, shaky breath, remembering what Kyne had told her after that. “Swear. Just say the worst thing you could possibly think of as loud as you can. Keep shouting until all the nerves go away, and then hit him until he bleeds. You’re good at that, aren’t you?” She was. She always had been.
Pliar was giving her the opportunity, too. Though it was disgusting to have his lips at her neck and his hands pressing her into his groin, it meant her mouth was free, to scream. “FUCK THE MAIDEN. AND THE FATHER. MAY THEY GO GRINDING DOWN THE SEVEN HELLS TO SLEEP IN TAINTED GRAVES DISTURBED BY THE DOGS.”
The boy molesting her jerked back in surprise, and Sara found that as ridiculous as that strategy had been, it did indeed make her feel better. Shaking now with anger instead of fear, the daughter of House Manwoody clenched her fist and punched the Yronwood in the face. He reeled back, and she kicked him in the groin, and as he fell to the ground, she kicked him again, first in the face, then in the stomach. And as she did so, she found the tears falling, and she screwed up her face and went right on yelling. “Don’t EVER touch me again, you filthy son of a three-legged swine! I hope your dick rots, and your line fails! Do you dip your fingers in horse manure all the time?! You smell disgusting! You look disgusting, too!” She kicked him again in the stomach, and then grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him upright none too gently, before smashing the side of his face into the cart he’d pushed her up against. His nose was bleeding and he was groaning in pain. “You’re ugly and stupid and weak, and the next time you touch me, I will kill you!” She screamed. “I’ll kill you!” She kicked him in the arse. “Stupid! I may as well kill you now and spare your family the misery! May crows peck out your eyes while you still draw breath! I’ll make it so you can never get married.”
She felt strong arms wrap under her armpits and drag her away from the boy, who was now only half-conscious. She felt half-conscious herself, unaware of the crowd that had gathered to watch the young Lord be disgraced. She struggled a bit, before realizing her captor was shaking slightly, and she turned her head up to look at Kyne, laughing even as he tried to hold her still. Taking one look at his face, she burst into tears.
Kyne’s laughter stopped abruptly, and he let go of her arms to give her a hug, instead, patting her atop the head awkwardly. “I did it.” She sniffed. “Just like you told me. I made the worst swear I could, and then I made him bleed.”
“That you did.” Kyne said, with a hint of still sardonic amusement mixed in with the pride and worry. “And you did it beautifully.”
“Of course I did.” She sobbed. “I do everything beautifully.”
“If you say so.” She dug a fist into his stomach, but without much real force behind it.
“He is never, ever going to touch me again.” She continued muttering in the same tone of voice, face buried in his chest, still sobbing away.
“Oh, I doubt he’s ever going to touch any woman again.” Kyne drawled, and Sara somehow found herself laughing and crying at the same time, unable to utter another word, as her brother dragged her off to get cleaned up.