“You cannot fight. You are too weak.”
His nostrils flared.
“Any other time, I would not say that,” she insisted.
“Then don’t say it now.” He pulled away as the sounds of branches cracking in the garden carried through the open doors. Grunts and cursing followed as a fight broke out on the other side of the hedge. Caillen moved to place her body in between Simon and the door, desperate to stop him from putting himself in the middle of the fray.
“Caillen,” he warned before he picked her up and set her aside. He displayed more vigor than she thought him capable.
Suddenly, a young boy’s head emerged from the hedge as if he were being shot out of a cannon, branches snapping and pulling at his cap and clothing. Sir Williamson’s large form followed as he held the youth three feet off the ground by the scruff of his collar. The boy swung and cursed ineffectually.
“Ow! Blasted giant, let go!”
Sir Williamson’s jacket was torn, and his perfectly combed hair held leaves and debris tangled in its midst. His gait sported a visible limp and his face was a mask of irritation as the boy’s fists swung in the air. Sir Williamson shook the boy as if he were a vermin-infested jacket, but the boy just continued to swing and kick at his captor.
“Oh, no,” Caillen said.
Ailsa gasped at the same time as recognition set in.
“Robbi!” They yelled as one.
Robbi twisted suddenly and bit Sir Williamson’s wrist, her mouth barely able to widen far enough to get more than just skin.
“Sir Williamson—” Simon started.
It was Ailsa who put an end to the scene as she reared back and delivered the solid punch papa had taught them as young girls. The punch landed considerably lower than the spymaster’s stomach.
Sir Williamson dropped Robbi and doubled over, groaning as he wrapped an arm around his groin and went down on one knee. Simon flinched as if Ailsa had struck him.
“What in the hell…have you been teaching these girls?” Sir Williamson choked out.
“I believe their talents are strictly their own,” Simon said.
“Don’t you ever put your hands on my sister like that again.” Ailsa stood protectively in front of their youngest sister.
“I can handle the likes of him,” Robbi insisted.
“He’sa girl?” Sir Williamson said, clearly surprised.
“Of course he’s a girl. Can’t you see anything out of those cold eyes of yours?” Ailsa asked.
“No one knew I was a girl until you ruined my cover,” Robbi complained.
“She’s not wrong,” Simon said.
“Cor! Did ye see ‘er left hook?” The three children stood in the doorway, Lillie, in front.
“How do you know what a left hook is?” Sébastien asked.
“What is a left hook?” Millie looked between Lillie and Sébastien.
Ailsa turned on Robbi. “I didn’t ruin anything. You blew your own cover by breaking the flowerpot.”
“I could have gotten away,” Robbi pouted.
Simon looked at the children in the doorway. “You three had better run off to the nursery before I start throwing a few left hooks.”
“He’s right-handed and punches like a girl,” Sébastien whispered none too softly.
