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“Bentwood claims I’ll live,” she says.
I nod.
“Yes, you’re no fainting miss, I’ll grant you that, but it will need tending. My Jenny will take care of you after we’ve finished here.” I turn away, trying to see despite the dark night. “Ah!” Dark splotches mar the otherwise pristine deck. “Is this your blood?”
She shakes her head.
“Didn’t thinks so. You would be fainting if you’d lost this much.” I scrunch down to inspect. “Most definitely, a rather startling amount.” I’m murmuring to myself again, something that helps me remember. “Over here,” I call to one of the crew. “We need a lantern here.” A young lad hurries over, but I don’t wait, dipping my finger in the spillage, and take a whiff. “Metallic.” I nod again. “No doubt, blood.”
Lady Bentwood pulls my hand to her nose and smells.
“Fascinating! It does smell of metal.”
I’m impressed. So far, all I’ve witnessed of the woman is an immature attempt to alienate a husband she clearly adores. Obviously, there is more to her. She takes a knife wound in stride without the least dent to her curiosity. She’s got gumption.
“Stop there,” I direct a lantern bearer, “don’t come closer. Just hand the light to her” — I gesture towards Lady Bentwood — “and have someone fetch my lady’s maid, Jenny. Tell her I need my kit. She will know precisely what you mean.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
The boy bobs, pushes the lantern handle into Lady Bentwood’s grip, and runs off.
Smoothing my hand along the railing, I feel a fresh cut in the wood.
“What do you think this is from?” Lady Bentwood asks, but I barely hear her, murmuring to myself instead.
“A knife or sword?” something dug into the wood of the railing. “Multiple strikes…” I shake my head. “A long sword rammed straight through the body and pulled out again would cut the railing twice. Shifting the body in the process.”
I’m thinking out loud, which is a bad habit. A quick glance tells me Lady Bentwood is up to snuff.
Even more, she is commenting.
“Multiple, failed attempts?” She studies the railing. “But it all happened so fast.”
“Powerful thrusts.” I am still considering. “A very strong man…”
“With a very sharp blade.”
A man’s voice.
The hair rises on the back of my neck. Something in that foreign, melodic tone teases me, tangible as a breeze, gentle yet powerful. Disconcerting. I do not like to be nudged off balance. Especially not during an investigation.
Sangfroid employed, I look over my shoulder, eyebrow raised, and have to look down. Though not tall, he is amazingly fit and sculpted for a man with the whitest of hair. I know he is well toned because I can see his bare chest beneath an open vest, with no sign of fastenings and no shirt. A quick glance down reveals trousers billowing like a skirt, but for the tightly hemmed ankles. An exceptionally foreign foreigner with mischief in his eyes.
Why is that?
“You remind me of… I’m not sure what…” I shake the irrelevance from my thoughts. He reminds me of nothing I know. “A rather sharp blade. I see you have at least two on your person.”
His eyes twinkle as he bows.
“Indeed I do.”
“How did I miss those?” Lady Bentwood’s query reminds me that we are not alone.
His person is distracting enough that anyone could be excused from missing the obvious, such as weapons. Hidden in plain sight, but they are there. Sword hilts rise behind each shoulder, their scabbard straps crisscrossing his chest. Even his person is like a blade — sharp cheekbones and fathomless dark eyes with a hint of slant.
Focusing once again, I ask, “Did you kill this fellow?”
Lady Bentwood gasps and grips my arm, but the man is not offended. He merely shrugs, his eyes now shadowed. Did he move, or did the lantern?
