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“Father?” she prompted, and still he said not a word. She nudged him once, twice, cold fingers of dread raking over her. She took his arm and gave it a firm squeeze, and finally he responded, shaking his head like someone roused from a very deep sleep. She repeated the question slowly and clearly.
“Whatever pleases you,” he said. “Excuse me, there is something I must… my apologies.” His face was a sickly green as he turned and rushed away. Every instinct screamed for her to follow him but that risked drawing further attention.
A few more of the regular fencers had drifted in and were selecting weapons. She used them as an excuse to leave Nathan and McCrae to their prideful battle while she fetched some kit for the new arrivals before slipping from the room. The two fools could kill each other for all she cared as her only thoughts were for her father’s welfare. She went in search of her father and found him sprawled across his bed with his boots still on, his forehead clammy and his right hand twitching. Dread squeezed at her heart.
After propping him with pillows in case the convulsions grew stronger, she closed the door and left him to attend to her many duties. Surely her father would see reason now. This situation was untenable. He could not run the academy like this. They needed more help as soon as possible, though she had to be careful how she approached the matter. The last time Father tried to bring in a successor, part of the plan was to marry her off.
She did another sweep of the academy, checking on the fencers’ needs, equipment, ale, cloths, and complaints, smiling at everyone and ignoring the occasional gaze that lingered on her figure for too long. Nathan and McCrae were still going at it, a lather of sweat and venom.
With a sigh she approached the newly sworn enemies. “Why don’t you take a break, then switch to rapiers while my father is indisposed?” Fortunately they both agreed, and while McCrae disappeared in the direction of the privy, she was able to have a hurried conversation with Nathan.
“How is your father?”
“Not good. Tis the shoulder pain. He tries to hide how much it hurts. He is lying down to rest and should recover in due course.”
“What is McCrae’s problem? He fights like he has a thistle stuck up his arse.”
“He is Scottish. What can you expect?” Lucinda handed Nathan a rapier.
“Civility?”
“Hardly likely, from what I know of the man.”
“You know him?”
“Not really. Our paths have occasionally crossed. His uncle has great influence I am told. So I must be pleasant to the rude nephew and pander to his whims.”
“That must be a task.”
Lucinda nodded vehemently. As if he somehow knew he was under discussion, the very subject of their complaints suddenly appeared.
“Can I be of assistance?” McCrae said, “while your father is indisposed.”
“Since you wish to switch to rapiers, I am selecting the best one to suit your needs.” She lifted a weapon off the rack and briefly examined it. “This should suit you. Blunt, and a little on the thick side.” She smiled sweetly and handed it to him, daring him to contradict her assessment.
“I recall you have a certain affinity with a rapier,” he said, a gleam of mischief, or was it menace, in his eyes? She shot Nathan a warning glance, begging him not to pursue her sword skills as a topic of conversation. To her dismay Nathan leapt to her defense.
“Lucinda has better command of a rapier than most Master swordsmen.” Too late she ground her heel firmly into his toe.
“Indeed!” McCrae said. “Why ever would a woman need command of a rapier? Sounds dangerous to me, especially when she struggles to control her own passions.” She still had her heel on Nathan’s foot but that did not curb the desire to kick McCrae in his silk-stockinged shins.
“How can it be dangerous for a woman to learn how to defend herself?” she bit back.
“It upsets the natural order of things. Surely it is a man’s role to protect the women he is responsible for?”
“And yet some women find it necessary to protect themselves from men.” She tried not to seethe, she really did, but his condescending superiority had pushed her to the limits of her tolerance. And that twinkle in his eye was far from charming. It was provocation.
“If a woman tries to fight a man,” he continued, “the man being bigger and stronger will always win.”
“I can cite evidence to the contrary,” she said.
“Really?”
“Quite recently I witnessed a woman force a man to the ground.”
“Perhaps he let her win?” She nearly choked on her own indignation while McCrae surveyed her with the smuggest of smiles. “A woman with a sword is a dangerous notion. Women should stick to their broomsticks and leave the swords to men.” McCrae gave her a little bow and strode off with the rapier, beckoning Nathan to follow him to the piste.
Nathan, meanwhile, was doing a terrible job of holding back a snort of laughter when he looked at the reaction on her face. The traitor. He was supposed to be on her side. How she would love to teach them both a lesson with the point of her rapier. She would prove McCrae wrong. She swore to God she would. One day he would eat his words.
