Читать книгу Once Dishonored - Mary Jo Putney - Страница 11

CHAPTER 5

Lucas arrived to escort Kendra to dinner a few minutes early so she had less time to wonder whether he’d changed his mind. She headed down the stairs when the housekeeper, Mrs. Brown, said that her guest had arrived. Lucas was in the drawing room gazing at a circle of dirks mounted on the wall.

Since he hadn’t noticed her entrance, she took the opportunity to study him. He was every inch the London gentleman, well dressed, reserved, difficult to read. She tried to visualize him with tonsured blond hair, wearing the loose brown robe of a Franciscan. She had trouble imagining that, yet years of living a religious life must explain the deep calm she sensed in him. Like her, he was dishonored and he felt that stain, but he accepted that this was his life now. She must emulate him.

“Good evening, Lucas,” she said.

He turned and she saw that her peaceful friar was holding a long, wicked-looking dirk similar to those in the wheel of weapons mounted on the wall behind him. “Making comparisons?” she asked with amusement. “To find if your dirk is longer?”

He laughed. “My cousin Suzanne said much the same thing. Men aren’t always obsessed with size, you know. I was studying the differences. The Highland dirks are more varied in style, as one would expect, and the hilts tend to be flatter.”

He offered his weapon hilt first. “This is a Royal Navy dirk, which is a badge of office for naval officers. It’s also a very effective weapon for close fighting, such as when you board an enemy ship or they board you.”

The dirk was sleek and deadly, as long as her forearm, with a finely honed blade and an ivory hilt. “Is this the dirk you carried during your years in the navy?”

“No, that was lost when I was captured by the French. This one belonged to my father. He captained a frigate and died in action.”

She handed the dirk back to him. “Was that why you entered the navy yourself?”

He nodded. “It seemed a worthy occupation. After his death this dirk was returned with the rest of his belongings. My mother gave it to me with stern warnings to keep it sheathed and be very careful because the blade was so sharp.” He regarded the weapon, his gaze distant. “She died not long after and I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle. For months I carried the sheathed dirk all the time. I slept with it every night until my aunt Duval, Simon’s mother, persuaded me to put it away.”

“Why didn’t you carry it when you became an officer yourself?”

“My father’s dirk was too precious to risk. I left it in a chest of small treasures at Simon’s house when I went off to war.” He slid the blade into the sheath at his waist and his coat fell over it. “Time we were off. It’s a cold night, but there’s a bright moon and it’s not far to Duval House.”

“A good night for walking.” As they stepped out on the street, she said, “I wasn’t entirely sure you’d come. I still have trouble believing that a virtual stranger is willing to help a scandalous woman.”

He offered his arm. “I have to do something to keep myself busy. I don’t like gambling or drinking or prize fights, and I don’t know many people in London, so doing something useful is appealing.”

She took his arm and they turned onto the street. A scattering of houses had outside lamps, but the full moon provided better light and cast dramatic shadows from iron railings and the occasional tree. No one else was on the street and the night was pleasantly peaceful. Kendra drew a deep breath, enjoying the night and the company. It had been a long time since she’d known simple peace. Lucas was a very relaxing man.

As they turned the next corner toward his cousins’ house, he said, “Kendra is an unusual name. Scottish?”

“Possibly. It’s a family name on my mother’s side. The vicar once told me that there was disagreement about whether the name is Anglo-Saxon, Welsh, or Scottish,” she explained. “It’s actually my middle name. I was christened Mary Kendra Douglas.”

“You didn’t feel like a Mary?” he said with a smile in his voice.

“By the time I could walk, it was decided that I was not well behaved enough to be a Mary, so I’ve been Kendra ever since,” she said with a laugh. How long had it been since she’d laughed?

A cloud drifted across the moon, darkening the street. “I wonder how long it will be until gas lighting is available throughout the city,” Lucas remarked.

“Quite a while, I imagine. Just think of all the pipes that will have to be laid.” Luckily in this neighborhood there were occasional streetlights and the pavement was kept fairly clean, but wise walkers still needed to be careful.

At the corner ahead, a pair of evergreen trees cast darker shadows across the pavement. She saw something moving in the shadows. A dog, perhaps?

An instant later, the peace was shattered as two figures, no, three, swaggered from the shadows, their figures dark and menacing. Kendra froze as the tallest man barked, “Give us whatever ya got and no one’ll get hurt!”

“No,” Lucas said mildly as he stepped between Kendra and the men. “We don’t want trouble, so I suggest you move along.”

“Can’t say I didn’t warn ya!” the leader said with a coarse laugh as he lunged forward with a cudgel and swung it at Lucas’s head.

Except Lucas wasn’t there. Kendra saw a dark object go flying—his hat?—as he swiftly dodged the cudgel. In the same smooth movement, he whipped his dirk from its sheath and slashed down his attacker’s hand, wrist, and side. The man bellowed as the cudgel dropped from his damaged hand and blood sprayed blackly from his wound.

His movements almost too swift to comprehend, Lucas spun to his right and slammed the hilt of his dirk into the temple of the second man. The man gasped with pain and stumbled backward.

The third man yanked out a dagger and lunged at Lucas. There was a swift exchange of thrusts and shrieking metal as Lucas’s weapon blocked his opponent’s shorter blade. The violence ended when a stab from his dirk disabled the other man and the knife dropped to the street with a clatter.

Kendra barely had time to register the danger before the altercation was over and their assailants had fled into the night, leaving only dark splotches of blood on the street. Voice shaky, she said, “Are you all right?”

Lucas stared at the blood, seeming almost as startled by his successful defense against the thieves as Kendra was. “I’m fine. What about you?”

“Shaken, but well enough.” She drew a deep breath, steadying her nerves. “Do all Franciscan friars fight as well as you?”

“As I said, I was never a true friar.” He produced a handkerchief and wiped blood from the blade of his dirk before sheathing the weapon and retrieving his fallen hat. After donning it, he offered her his arm. “It’s interesting how the old sailor skills are there when needed.”

“Quick thinking being one of those skills.” She took his arm since her knees were unsteady. “When those men attacked, I was as paralyzed as a rabbit. By the time my mind started working again, you’d dispatched all three of the villains.”

“Reacting quickly to danger is developed by practice. Be grateful you haven’t needed to attain that particular skill,” he said dryly. “Fortunately, Duval House is just around the corner. I’ve had enough fresh air for the moment.”

As they resumed walking, she said, “We escaped unscathed, so I guess this little incident qualifies as interesting rather than disastrous.”

“Any fight one can walk away from is a good fight.”

After a dozen silent steps, she said quietly, “You’ve lived several very different lives, haven’t you?”

Another dozen steps before he replied, “Yes, and I need to get those different parts of my past into harmony with each other. The naval officer and the Franciscan are opposites. The prisoner of war . . .” He shook his head and said no more.

She thought about his words. Her ally was a most interestingly complicated man. That must be why he was so accepting of her.

And thank heaven for that! She needed as many allies as she could find.