Olivia slid her foot backward, putting a few more inches between herself and the knife-wielding boy. Her gloved fingers curled around the cross at her throat and she tugged it free, breaking the chain before tossing it in Edward's direction. Her dark gaze remained fixed on him as she pursed her lips slightly.

"If I had a purse, don't you think you'd see it?" she bit back at the boy. Nonetheless, she reached into the folds of her skirt and withdrew a few coins. Like the necklace, she simply tossed it at him. It wasn't all she had on her, but perhaps it was enough. To be honest, the idea of having her face knicked up was appalling. She'd been left at the altar with a perfectly fine face. The mere idea of a marred visage sent a shudder through her body.

And then Olivia began to cry. It wasn't a dainty cry of a woman overcome with fear, but rather that heart-wrenching cry of a woman in mourning.