The Fierce Scotsman (The Notorious Nightingales #6)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“You’ve a scarf, I hope.”

The words drifted to him through the fog as Mungo made his way along Crabbett Close. That one of the residents was out here in such weather didn’t surprise him. They were a hardy, eccentric lot, for all that their average age was a great deal older than his.

“I’ve plenty of clothing to keep me warm. Get inside, Mr. Greedy!”

“We’re making a wee fire, Mungo, and cooking crumpets!”

Mungo shook his head.

“You’re welcome to join us.”

“Perhaps later,” he said, striding toward the entrance. He had somewhere to be and didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

This is the last time you’ll see her.

The air around him was thick with ropes of fog. It curled around his boots and body, making visibility difficult. Mungo moved in slow, measured steps, all his senses open as he listened for others around him.

The hour wasn’t late, still afternoon, but winter in London meant dark was closing in. He should have told his niece no when she’d said she wished to meet him one last time, but he’d wanted to see her again. A final moment with someone who carried his blood.

When he heard the scrape of shoe leather in front of them, he moved left so as not to collide with anyone. Mungo was a big man and could knock someone over with ease. He heard the murmur of voices, but if other pedestrians weren’t directly in front of him, he couldn’t see them through the fog.

The tea shop they were to meet in was located where the wealthy lived in London, so at least Fenella would be safe there. Plus, she always brought her maid.

Left. The words slipped into his head. Left now.

Mungo had always heard voices, he’d just never told anyone about them, and why would he, considering he was surrounded by clairvoyants? If he said a word, they’d want to pick it apart until they were satisfied with his answers.

Left, left. The voice in his head was louder now. Sometimes they gave instructions, which he rarely followed, but then he regretted it when he took a wrong turn. Left.

Cursing silently, he took three steps to the left and hit a wall. His shoulder took the impact, and he cursed louder this time.

Danger.

Normally he blocked them out, but this one was frantic. Feeling along the wall, his gloved fingers curved around the edge of the brick. Waving a hand, he found it was an opening.

Hurry.

“To where?” he muttered, walking through it. Another street, he thought. He started moving, his hands out before him.

“Unhand me!”

The shriek filled the air suddenly, feminine, and from his right.

“Where is that coming from?” someone called up ahead.

“Quiet!” Mungo barked, and silence settled around him until the woman who’d screamed spoke again.

“Unhand me, you cur. I will never yield to you!”

Mungo didn’t like to involve himself in things that didn’t concern him or his people, yet something had him veering in the direction of those words.

They were desperate, and if a woman was alone with a man who was hurting her, he could not walk by.

He was not that much of a bastard, no matter that people thought he was.

“I’ll have you, bitch. It’s my right, and seeing as this is your last day, it’s fitting it’ll be now!” The words were a deep vicious growl.

If Mungo had hackles—which several of those closest to him believed he did—they’d be rising now.

“You want this. To lie with a nobleman!”

Mungo followed the voice until he saw the arch of a black iron gate. It would lead to one of the elegant townhouses that had been looming above him in the shadows as he walked. The occasional hint of golden lamplight was the only bright thing in this foggy gloom.

Stepping through, he saw shapes ahead.

“Unhand me!” a woman’s voice cried.

“You can’t stop me. You’re nothing, and I have everything, so I own you.”

The slap was loud in the thick air. A man’s curse followed.

“I’m taking you here, bitch. Father told me to wait until it was time, but I’m teaching you a lesson now!”

“I’ll kill you before you do!”

It was 4:00 p.m., or near to it, and people were milling about somewhere in the fog, and a man was about to assault a woman. What kind of idiot thought he’d get away with that? Mungo was not the only person to have heard this, surely?

A noble one, Mungo thought. Some of them believed they could do anything, and if he was honest, often did. Plus, who was going to intervene?

He was disgusted that no one else had come to see what was going on.

Moving forward slowly, he saw two figures take shape. A man was bent over a woman, and she was fighting with everything she had, but he’d got her onto the ground.

“You’ll stop that now,” Mungo said in a voice that would have his household running for cover. “Or I will make you.”

The man straightened, releasing the woman as he staggered back in shock. Even through the fog, Mungo could now make out the weak bastard’s features, but he’d never seen him before. He’d not forget him now, though.

“Leave,” the man demanded. “Or pay for your interference.”

“Up you get, lass, and come to my back,” Mungo said, moving to where she was now crouched, keeping his eyes on the man. He wasn’t big like Mungo, but short and solid, with thick brows and a sneer on his lips. “Up now,” he added as the woman seemed to curl in on herself. “He’ll not touch you again.”

Mungo placed his fingers under her elbow and helped her rise. She stumbled as she straightened, then fell into his body. He placed a hand on her back, reassuring her she was safe. Her cheek pressed into his chest briefly before she straightened.

“Thank you.” The words were whispered.

“Get away from her, you Scottish heathen!” the man roared. “She’s mine.”

“I’m the heathen, am I, when had I not stopped you, we all know what you would have done to her, you filthy Sassenach bastard. You’re a gutless coward to prey on a woman when your strength is twice hers. But then if it’s a noble you are, it’s not a surprise to me you have no morals.”

The woman pulled herself out of Mungo’s arms and turned to look at the man, who was advancing on them now. Mungo saw the knife he had clenched in his right hand. Before he could grab her, the woman had raised her leg, and kicked the hand, dislodging the blade.

“Bitch!”

“Well done, lass, but behind me now,” Mungo said, grabbing her hand. She pulled free to pick up a bag Mungo hadn’t noticed until then, and she swung it at the man, hitting him hard in the chest and sending him back a step.

Mungo wanted to applaud.

“You’re mine!” the man roared.

“I belong to no man,” the woman spat back.

“You and your father are revolting, vile men who prey on those they employ. I will not allow you to hurt me as you have others! I’d rather live on the street than under your roof,” the woman hissed.

“May the fleas of a thousand tavern dogs make their home in your trousers!”

Mungo snorted. Clearly the fear that had her leaning into him briefly was now gone. He admired her spirit. Plenty of the women in his family would have done the same as she had.

“Behind me now, lass.”

Mungo got a glimpse of a pale face, big dark eyes, and her long dark hair that hung in a braid over one shoulder, and then she was gone, safely out of the man’s reach, where she would stay.

“Don’t move until I tell you to,” Mungo added softly as the man braced himself to charge him.

“You’ve made an enemy of me and my father,” he said. “We’ll see you dead—both of you.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman said from behind Mungo. “You need to learn that you can’t just take what you want! This man saved me from a fate worse than death. It’s you that should be punished, not us,” she hissed.

“You’ll pay, and I have the power to see it done. I’ll find your name—”

“Mungo,” he snapped. “I’ll save you the bother of trying to find it. What’s yours?” The man stayed silent, and he snorted. “Not very brave are you?” he taunted.

“You’ll be sorry,” the man said.

He then ran at Mungo, but he was ready and punched him hard in the jaw, sending him backward. He felt the skin of his knuckles split, but he relished the bite of pain.

The man rose and swung. Mungo ducked and ploughed his fist into his stomach. He then jabbed with his right fist into his jaw again. He went down hard.

It wasn’t enough. He wanted to inflict more damage. But the hiccupping sob behind Mungo stopped him. She didn’t need to watch him beat a man senseless. Not when she was already in shock.

He bent to grab the man’s necktie. Hauling him up so their faces were mere inches apart, he said, “Never touch her, nor any other woman, with anything but respect again. Do you understand?”

The man cursed something foul. Mungo shook him, but he didn’t yield.

His fingers itched to punch him again, but instead he dropped him and was rewarded with the sound of his head hitting the ground hard.

Turning, he searched for the woman. He’d see her to safety.

She wasn’t there.

He then heard the sound of running feet, and the words “thank you” floated to him on the air. Turning back, he watched the man slink off into the foggy shadows.

“You’ll pay!” he slurred, and Mungo hoped that was because he’d knocked out a few teeth.

“If I see you again, you’ll come off worse!” Mungo answered, stepping back out onto the street.

There was no way he’d find the woman, so he had to hope she’d reach a safe place. He retrieved his handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around his knuckles and walked away.

He’d not be telling those he lived with about this. They’d fash about it for hours. They were safe in their homes, as they would always be if he had any say in the matter.