Lina took Sylvia to her home. Smith accompanied them, worried for Sylvia's safety. The Sun had settled down behind the mountains, and the torches and the lamps were the saviours in the almost moonless night.
Smith watched as Lina treated Sylvia's wounds. He was not only worried but also angry at Finn and his mother. They had no right to torment a woman like that. Sylvia was an orphan and the responsibility of Broughton. Watching her suffer like that for no reason agitated him.
"Is it hurting too much?" Lina asked, carefully touching Sylvia's hand as if it were made up of glass.
Sylvia shook her head with a sad smile on her face. "I am used to worse wounds, Lina. I was Lord Favian Goldings' slave, remember?"
The mention of Favian and what he did with Sylvia left a bitter taste in Smith's mouth. It only fueled his distress. He felt like finding Finn and beating him to a pulp till his face would be unrecognisable.
