“What’s the plan for tonight?” Leavenworth shrugged out of his sack coat, opened the wardrobe.
“I thought you were occupied right now,” Peter said. He wanted to keep this simple, not pull anyone else in.
“I am. I’m dressing for dinner.” Leavenworth tossed his cutaway jacket on the bed and reached back into the wardrobe. “And don’t tell me to stay with your wife. Did you see the mastiffs downstairs? The ladies are safe at this inn.” He dropped his pistol case next to his dinner outfit. “I’m coming with you.”
Peter sighed and gave in. “Jackdaw is staying about a mile west, little place off the main road. He lodged near us two nights ago, and again before that. I guess he really does hold a grudge.”
Leavenworth grunted and pulled his shirt over his head.
Peter was already dressed for dinner, and he dropped his eyes. He didn’t like his own jealousy, his friend’s smooth skin and round muscle.
Peter slid the cotton swab out of the barrel and put it away. “If Jackdaw keeps following us, he’ll know where to find Celia.He’ll find my sisters. It’s time to end this once and for all.” He looked up to find Leavenworth chuckling. “No, not with the poppers. I’m going to talk with him.”
“You’re a good one for talking”—Leavenworth slid into a clean shirt—“but I’ll come along nevertheless.”
“Very well.” Peter had just remembered he wasn’t supposed to go out alone. “For Celia’s sake.”
*
Six of themstrode down the country road that night, for Leavenworth had collected their outriders and both valets as well. The coachman was proud to stay back with the mastiffs and the women. All of them had served, of course, and they were jesting and laughing as they walked out together. A joy in it, the anticipation of a well-justified fight. It wasn’t even raining.
They knew they were watched, caught a glimpse of the bo-peep sprinting down the road Peter had marked. Proved someone was there and waiting. Marsh, on point, grinned and led them confidently around the corner. Leavenworth, rear guard, paused as though he were adjusting his shoe, checking their surroundings one more time.
This was not a night that Peter could think with his fists and feet. He had to return to Celia in the same number of pieces and containing the same quantity of blood. Besides, he was going to fight with his words this time, like Francis had told him to do. He listened to his men’s banter, smiled here and there, ascertained that any of them would have been out on this road tonight whether or not he was there to lead them. They adored Celia, and would have risked life and limb and any quantity of blood if they thought their mistress might be in distress. That included Leavenworth. Peter had known that Celia sprinkled friendshipand reaped loyalty, but he hadn’t known that she worked quite this quickly.
All this, and she had married him. Him!
“Be awake. On ahead.” Marsh splayed his fingers, and they all paused. They could see now, another group of shadows in the distance. Low laughter. Someone called a warning.
If Peter had come on his own, he wouldn’t have gotten a conversation. Jackdaw was fixing for a brawl.
His group only paused a moment. Hands checking coat pockets, the click of safeties being released. Slid their knives out of boots and coat sleeves, back into place, blades glinting in the moonlight. Leavenworth wore a gentleman’s small-sword; the hilt was decorative but the blade was not.
Peter carried no visible arms, and his head and hands were bare.
When Peter started forward again, the men fell into formation behind him. He was pleased with them, the way they filled the road, their feet drumming together.
Even more pleased when he saw the group waiting for them. Abram coves, not soldiers; big but no finesse. Someone kicked dirt on a small fire. The chink of bottles. A dark silhouette rose from where he was sitting on a barrel to watch them approach, and Peter recognized the movement as Jackdaw’s.
The parties slowed as they grew close, but the big man in the center kept walking so Peter did too. Idiot, wore a cloak and a deep hat, as though subterfuge were any part of this game. The men clumped around Jackdaw like spilled jam.
“Fancy meeting you here.” Peter halted, perhaps two yards away.
“Me? Why, I’m just taking my annual rustication. Wanted to see the sights in…Scotland.” Jackdaw’s laughter boomed out from under the hat.
“I think you’d be better off taking a different route toScotland,” Peter said. “One that doesn’t have my wife on it.”
“I think I don’t care about your wife.”
“I think you’d better not even notice my wife.”
One of the cloaked shadows was moving back and forth. A musket barrel glinted.
“That’s right.” Peter gazed into the dark, where the man’s eyes would be. “You go ahead and fire your shot.” It was likely to go wide, the way the man was waving it. Then Jackdaw’s man would have an empty chamber.
“No one’s shooting.” That was another of the bully-boys. “We’re fist to fist tonight.”
The bully boy to the far left took “fist to fist” as a command and launched forward.
