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He’d replied “Lancelot” instantly. As a security officer, even just pretending to be a knight chafed. The knights were a bunch of upright, holier-than-thou prigs as far as he was concerned. The fuckers carried swords. Honest-to-God swords. Fucking idiots.
Arthur, before taking over as the new admiral of England, had been Tristan Knight. The fact that the man’s given name was actually Arthur was just too rich. On the rare assignment, Lancelot’s and Tristan’s paths had crossed. Lancelot had considered Tristan a dandy, putting on airs, working to erase his accent in order to hide his upbringing on the wrong side of the tracks.
But now Arthur was his admiral, and no one could say Tristan/Arthur hadn’t put his life, and body, on the line for the territory. He’d won Lancelot’s—no, Charlie’s—respect.
Still, that wouldn’t stop him from needling the new admiral by choosing the name of the knight who’d fucked Arthur’s wife. Lorelei had snorted when he’d selected Lancelot as his fake moniker, muttering “sounds about right.”
“The lack of family makes this more difficult,” Hugo mused. “Parents or siblings would be the most likely people she’d hide with.”
“If anyone came asking me mum and siblings a bunch of questions about me, they’d stonewall the wanker. Hard.”
Hugo closed the folder. “You have a big family?”
Lancelot smiled and nodded. His family was a subject he could talk about all day. “Yeah. I have two brothers and a sister. I’m the oldest.”
“Are you a legacy?” Legacies to the Masters’ Admiralty were children born of members. Lancelot prided himself on the fact that he’d been admitted entrance based solely on his accomplishments rather than his bloodline.
He shook his head. “No. When we were growing up, me mum took in other people’s laundry—ironing and such—then she washed dishes in an Italian restaurant at night. The owner of the restaurant let her bring leftovers home for our dinners every night. If I never see another plate of spaghetti, it’ll be too soon.”
Hugo laughed. “What did your father do?”
Lancelot shrugged casually. “Got drunk with his mates in the pub.”
“Ah.”
Lancelot heard the tone in Hugo’s voice and quickly reassured him that talking about his father wasn’t a sore subject. “No worries, mate. I’m not carrying around a bunch of baggage about that. Me dad was a right wanker and a mean drunk. Liked to knock Mum around a bit after a few too many. I put an end to that.”
“How?” Hugo asked.
“When I turned thirteen, I stepped between them. My dad had never lifted a finger against me or my brothers or sister, so I gotta tell you, when he landed a punch, it was a surprise. The only one. I let loose. Broke the fooker’s wrist, bruised some ribs, blackened both eyes.”
Hugo whistled. “What did your mum say?”
Lancelot smiled. “Well, it’s like this. Nobody hurts one of her kids. Father or not. Mum’s got a big heart, and when she loves you, she’s all-in. But when she falls out of love, it’s over. She fell out of love with my dad that day.”
“It was not so ideal a childhood.”
Lancelot realized he’d drawn the picture all wrong. “No, no. It was alright, la. My dad wasn’t always a drunk. When he was sober, he was an incredible carpenter and one hell of a musician. I can remember nights when all of us would sit in the living room, bundled under blankets because there was no money for heat, and Dad would play all night while we sang, just to distract us. People are never all good or all bad. Except me mum, of course. She’s a saint to put up with Dad and mePre brothers and me.”
Hugo ran his hand over his jaw and Lancelot noticed the five o’clock shadow. Dr. Marchand wasn’t a bad-looking bloke. Lancelot guessed Hugo did pretty well with the ladies. He had a clean-cut sort of look with jet-black hair and blue eyes. Lancelot was glad his sister wasn’t here right now, or else she’d be drooling.
“What about you, Hugo? You a legacy?”
Hugo nodded. “I am. My family has been in the Masters’ Admiralty for as long as we can remember.”
“Are they teachers like you?”
Hugo snickered though the question seemed innocuous enough. “I actually do very little teaching anymore, more writing and research, which is why I was available to come on this trip. But, no. Let’s just say my parents don’t exactly brag about their son, the professor.”
“Why the hell not? If I had the word ‘doctor’ attached to the front of my name, me mum would have a neon sign in the front parlor window flashing 24/7 to let the neighbors and any random stranger who walked by know it.”
“I come from a very affluent family. My mere is an ambassador, Pere is a member of Parliament, elected to the National Assembly. My ‘oncle’ is a high-ranking judge.” Hugo finger-quoted that moniker, letting Lancelot know that uncle was the name used within his parents’ trinity. It wasn’t uncommon for trinities to refer to their third as aunts or uncles, in order to hide the truth of their association in a less open-minded society.
“Still not sure why they’re not proud. Sounds to me like you went into the family business. Doctor of political science and all.”
“I suppose I did. In a much less prestigious way.” Hugo’s fingers tapped against the file folder on his lap. He clearly wasn’t comfortable talking about his family. “Teaching and research are considered bourgeois by my parents. They’ve made it very clear they would have preferred I’d pursued politics as a career rather than a study.”
Lancelot had a dozen more questions about Hugo and his family, but he decided to let the other man off the hook. Especially when Hugo turned away, looking out the passenger window at the passing scenery. The two of them were going to be in close proximity for the next few days, and then they’d return to their homes, separated by the Channel. Knowing Hugo’s life story wasn’t pertinent to this op.
