Chapter Twelve
Annalise circled toher right, and Caroline did likewise. They advanced with caution until they were close enough to begin. Caroline opened her mouth to say something, likely another taunt, but Annalise shook her head in warning: Time for talk had passed.
As Alexander had taught her during those days they had known when he called upon her daily to share what was rightfully his—rightfully theirs, and to reestablish a connection, Annalise’s sword flashed in the weak sunlight streaking across the room as Caroline’s came up, just in time to block Annalise’s assault. In the silence, the clash of metal reverberated through the space. It hung in the air, to be followed closely by a second, but weaker clang, when Caroline attempted a counter move, which Annalise blocked easily.
For the next minute or so, she and Caroline exchanged blow after blow, neither of them earning the upper hand. A shove. Weapons locked. Breathing hard on each other. As if by silent consent, they stepped back together to assess their next moves.
Still on alert, Annalise studied the young woman who had been her most loyal companion for fifteen years. “How long have you known Lord Marksman was my brother, and he was alive in England?”she hissed. “How long have you denied me my family?”
Caroline lifted her chin in a haughty gesture. “I was your family. I loved you when no one else would even offer you pity. Where was your brother then?”
“Fighting to become Marksman so he might have enough money to conduct a proper search for me and my mother,” Annalise countered. “Keeping our father alive until the earldom could pass from father to son.”
“Is that what he told you? You really are a foolish girl!” This argument was accented by another round of thrusts and feints and parries, but no ground was won on either side.
Instead of a response, Annalise began to repeat Alexander’s lessons aloud. “Did you know,Cousin, there are four maneuvers of which every swordsman should be aware?” Caroline frowned, causing Annalise to smile with pleasure. “Most importantly, timing is only on the side of one of the contenders.” Caroline made a feint, which Annalise easily deflected. With a second smile, she continued her recitation. “One may make a move, with ease, to block one’s opponent.” She dipped her sword and brought it up quickly. Annalise nodded to Caroline’s arm. “Naturally, if you are too close at the time, you could be hit.”
Caroline’s eyes widened in surprise, but Annalise held no sympathy. “First blood. How divine. However, we both know you will not die from a trickle of blood. At the Battle of Crécy, during the Hundred Years War, it is reported one knight sustained a hundred such wounds, yet still survived. Most assuredly, if I wished you to die quickly, I would aim for your lungs or your cold heart.” She flicked her sword in the general direction of Caroline’s chest.
“It is your heart which is cold,” Caroline barked.
Despite despising Caroline’s treachery, Annalise made herself concentrate on the fight. As if Caroline’s words had not found a target, she said, “So, if I tap the end of your sword, like this—”She described her movement. “How shall you respond, Caroline?” Annalise tapped Caroline’s sword a second time.
As Annalise had hoped, Caroline acted predictably by swinging her sword around to deflect Annalise’s. As her brother had taught her, Annalise dropped her sword under Caroline’s arc and attacked from the other side, leaving Caroline’s blade where it could not reach Annalise’s fast enough. Annalise landed another nick and a gentle stab in Caroline’s side. Just as quickly as her rapier made contact, she stepped out of the way. She had learned this maneuver the hard way at Alexander’s hands. Even if a person possesses excellent timing and adjusts his, or her, distance, the attack will fail if one’s opponent displays quick reflexes, and Caroline was most assuredly adept with a sword.
For a few seconds, it appeared Annalise had earned the upper hand, but Caroline pulled herself together and attacked again, using her height, her weight, and her experience in real fights upon Moreau’s ship to counter Annalise’s best efforts. This time, Caroline approached with both determination and a ploy to maneuver Annalise into a corner, a move Caroline had used often when she and Annalise had practiced together.
Yet, Annalise refused to cooperate this time. She circled instead. They circled. Round and round. Testing each other. “You know I cannot permit your escape,” she challenged.
“As if you could prevent it,” Caroline snarled.
“You are short of wind,” Annalise observed. “Too many minuets and not enough country reels. You have not tended to your practice of late, while I have enjoyed, on several occasions, demolishing the wooden form we often employed.”
Once more, angered by Annalise’s words, a new bout began. Annalise made good use of her feet, almost as if she played a children’s game of chase. She kept out of range of Caroline’s sword, shifting directions often and forcing Caroline to follow as well as to workharder rather than smarter. Unfortunately, she foolishly repeated a movement, and Caroline took advantage of the error, driving Annalise backwards and causing her to stumble as the heel of her half boots caught the hem of her dress. Yet, even so, she managed to catch Caroline’s hand—the one holding the rapier—pushing Caroline away.
As both recovered, a flurry of swishes filled the air, and Caroline cried out as Annalise drove her towards a corner. Where Annalise had managed not to fall, Caroline had succumbed to the swiftness of Annalise’s attack, stumbling and falling hard on her backside.
Annalise should have moved to finish the fight, but Caroline still held her sword and appeared prepared to fight her way up from the floor. Therefore, Annalise stepped back. “It is done, Caroline. Put your sword away.”
“Shall you permit me to walk away? To return to France?” Caroline asked. “To again claim your loyalty?”
“Lady Annalise might,” a familiar voice announced. “However, I do not possess her kind heart.”
Annalise looked to the open door to observe Beaufort and Lionel watching her fight with Caroline. She squealed, “Beaufort!” before rushing into his open arms. “She told me she shot Alexander. It cannot be so.”
“She did,” his lordship said with his customary calmness, “but Miss Moreau is as poor a shot as she is a swordsman.”
Lionel moved around them, a gun pointed at Caroline, as she struggled to her feet. “Drop the sword, miss,” he ordered.
Annalise warned, “Do not trust her, Lionel. She is likely carrying a pistol in her pocket.” To Caroline, Annalise said, “For your information and to make myself perfectly clear, I would not have permitted you to leave, Caroline. You meant to bring harm to England—to my home—to my family. One of us would have died if we continued. It would not have been my wish to kill you, but I would have done so, nevertheless.”
“It is you who practices disloyalty,” Caroline countered. “You betrayed my father and me.” She raised her sword as if she meant to fight Lionel.
He cocked his gun. “Trust me, you’ll not be the first woman I’ve shot. I be born in the rookeries where women are as mean as men.”
Caroline paused briefly in obvious contemplation before setting the sword on a nearby windowsill. “Now what?” she asked. As predicted, she also reached into a pocket in the side of her gown to remove a gun. She set it beside the sword.
“You will be arraigned before a magistrate and then taken to one of several prisons being employed by the British government in this matter,” Beaufort provided.
