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budge, but she dropped the goblet so precious to her and it hit the floor, the sound reverberating loudly.
     
      Desmond immediately tightened his grip on her jaw, causing Abrielle to cry out in pain.
     
      “Quiet, you little fool,” he ordered, his tone harsh, his overbright eyes terrifying. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll lie there and…”
     
      His words were lost in a sudden swirl of plaid and a feral growl rent the air, and as quickly as she had been waylaid, Abrielle was freed. She had a fleeting impression of Desmond’s beady eyes widening in sheer terror as his big soft body was lifted straight up from hers and swung aside as effortlessly as if he were stuffed with feathers instead of lard. It was only then that she realized who it was doing the lifting and swinging, who it was who’d caused the awful terror in his eyes, and who was even now—judging from the sounds being emitted from a cowed de Marlé—causing even worse pain.
     
      Raven, his dark hair whirling about his shoulders, held Desmond up by the scruff of the neck with one hand while the other fist pummeled his face, actions that engendered in Abrielle feelings of both horror and blessed relief. For what seemed to the maiden an infinite amount of time, she remained unable to move, then she gathered herself enough to sit up and try to smooth her skirts, now bunched beneath her and leaving her thighs and a goodly bit of hip exposed. She managed to tug the fabric loose, but not quickly enough to escape Raven’s notice.
     
      His attention was snagged by her motion and he froze mid-pummel. As he slid his gaze from Desmond to her, the look of abject fury on his face gave way to something else, something equally dark and dangerous, but in a very different way. The sly Desmond took full advantage of his distraction and wrenched free, but Raven let him go in order to hand Abrielle an embroidered throw from a nearby chair, earning from her a murmured “Th-thank you.”
     
      Honor, both his and hers, decreed that he avert his gaze and turn away, and after a few moments more, he did so, allowing Abrielle to cover herself quickly and stand.
     
      He turned then, reaching out with one hand, tentatively, as if wanting to prop her up, or soothe her, or touch her, but she was left to wonder which as his hand dropped back to his side.
     
      “Are ye hurt, my lady?” Raven queried as Abrielle sought to cover her reddened breasts with the throw.
     
      The best answer Abrielle could manage was to shake her head in denial and then she, too, fled the hallway. Racing toward the chambers in which her mother was ensconced, she dared not pause for even an instant. In her absence, Raven noticed her goblet lying upon the floor near the chaise where Desmond had dragged her. Picking it up, he made his way to the landing above the stairs, where he waited for some moments, for doubtless the frightened maiden was even now telling her parents what had just taken place and he must give them at least a bit of time to collect themselves. After a decent interval, he rapped his lean knuckles lightly upon the portal.
     
      “Who is it?” Elspeth called out as she leaned near the door.
     
      “’Tis the Scotsman, Raven Seabern.”
     
      The door opened a meager degree, allowing the woman to meet his gaze. She offered him a trembling smile, grateful that he had been on hand to save her daughter from the horrible monster their entire family loathed. “I fear my daughter is unable to come to the door to thank you properly, and her father will be returning soon, but if you would kindly accept my undying gratitude, you surely have it. If not for you, I truly fear that evil man would have had his way with her.”
     
      “I found your daughter’s goblet after she left,” Raven murmured, holding the item where the woman could see it.
     
      Drawing back the portal, Elspeth felt no fear as she accepted the item from the Scotsman; indeed, she