What must he have thought when he’d found her hateful little note?
”I’m sorry,” she whispered again.
She didn’t know what else to do.
Then, with a terrifying, rusty grate of iron turnip in the lock, the door swung open. Dim light silhouette the whole pack of slavering murderers who’d captured her. Margo bit back a terrified cry and came to a low crouch.
They would doubtless kill her. She was too weak and too badly hurt to stop them. But she could at least put up a fight. Maybe, if she were really lucky, she’d manage to send one of them to hell a few minutes ahead of her.
Kit stepped through first, lantern held aloft Malcolm followed and hastily closed the door, then turned and found a shocking tableau. Kit had frozen in place, lantern still uplifted. Margo huddled in the corner, squinting against the lantern light She’d come to a defensive crouch …
She was naked, covered with bruises. Dried blood showed dark on her thighs . .
”Oh, my God,” Kit whispered.
Malcolm whipped off his cassock to wrap around her. Her eyes widened Then she burst into tears and hurled herself forward. Malcolm expected her to go for Kit She flew into his arms instead, staggering him off balance. She hugged him so tightly he had to fight for breath.
”Malcolm,” she was whispering raggedly, “oh, God, Malcolm …”
He wrapped the cassock gently around her shoulders. She dragged his head down and kissed him so desperately all he could do was dose his eyes and hold her. At length sanity returned.
”Your grandfather’s here, too,” he said quietly.