Page 36 of The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady
“I daresay neither will be of much service,” Jacob muttered, as men ran from the stables to sort out horses and carts, where previously they had been hanging back. Jacob suspected from the foul looks on many of the faces that there had been considerable wagering taking place on the outcome of the situation, with none taking odds that the Duke would have the matter resolved before them.
“I suspect we should have let them sort things out,” Jacob remarked as Tom rejoined him, shaking out his fist with a certain grim satisfaction.
“It would not have been half so much fun, Your Grace,” Tom said with a cheerful grin. He pointed at one particular figure who was bringing a load of manure out of the stable, muscles straining to move the heavily overloaded cart across the cobblestones. “Unless I miss my guess, yonder is your man.”
Elias Moore turned out to be a short stocky man in a leather apron, with a face screwed up from the effort of moving the barrow of manure. He did not seem a man accustomed to heavy work, having a visible paunch straining his leather apron. He moved with slow heavy movements, making no haste in his particular task even when the stable master called him to task for his lack of progress.
“An impressive specimen,” Tom said with a sly look at Jacob.
Jacob gave his friend a sour look and went to meet the man, seething with each step, wondering if it was those ham-sized fists that had dared to bruise Alicia’s face. The closer he got, the less he was thinking. So by the time their paths crossed, Jacob was quite beyond words, but with the image of a struck Alicia in his eyes he coldcocked the man, laying him out on the pavement.
“You chided me for the same thing,” Tom remarked laconically, as the stable master shouted angrily before he realized just to whom he was shouting, and absented himself posthaste with a sudden need to visit the privy.
Now it was Jacob who needed to shake out his hand, noting almost idly that his knuckles had lost some skin and that blood stained the sleeve of his shirt.
“’Tis also harder to get an answer from a man stretched out on the cobblestones like this,” Tom said, going to the water trough and fetching a bucket of water which he poured out over the hapless victim.
Elias Moore came up gasping and choking, fists bunching until he saw the Duke, at which point he tried to scramble to his feet and bolt, much in the manner of the stable master.
Tom brought him back in line with the simple act of tripping the man and then sitting down on him to prevent him from going anywhere.
“Are you Elias Moore?” Jacob asked, kneeling and taking a bunch of the man’s shirt in his fist, mostly because he wasn’t altogether sure how long Tom could hold him down, for the stable hand fought valiantly to get up. He wasn’t making much progress with it for Tom had the other man’s arm bent up behind his back, a position that looked incredibly painful to Jacob’s mind.
“What of it if I am?” the other man answered and spit at his feet.
Tom knew enough to know when to let go. He bounced to his feet in the same instant that Jacob dragged the man up with every intent of hitting him again, only he was knocked off his feet by an explosion.
Elias Moore stumbled backwards, dragging Jacob with him, a bright spot of blood growing quickly over his heart. They went down hard, Jacob sensing more than seeing Tom behind him, taking the defensive position automatically from long training.
“Your Grace!”
“I am well enough, Tom,” Jacob replied, staring grimly at the man sprawled beneath him. “I wish I could say the same for our friend.”
Chapter 27
It might have been funny if she hadn’t been sprawled in the middle of things. This was a farce worthy of the playwrights who put on cheap entertainment in the city. She had seen such a play once, and laughed with the rest at all the right places, never realizing just how awful it was to be one of the players in that particular drama, being mistaken for something else entirely.
As it was, the three of them looked at one another for a long moment, hearing the aftermath outside, the shouts from the courtyard below.
“What was it?” Meghan asked, seeming to forget that a moment ago she had been furious. Now she stared from lover to sometime friend, her face pale with fright.
“A shot.” Owen was already halfway out the door, hopping frantically to get his boots back on as he ran.
“A musket?” Alicia asked, trying to scramble up, but still caught in the blanket. Meghan darted forward, lending her a hand, which said a lot for enemies found together under dire circumstances. In moments, they had Alicia extricated and were flying down the hall, nearly falling on the stairs when they realized that Owen had stopped near an open window at the landing.
“A musket,” Owen said, lifting the weapon and showing it to them both. Together, they turned toward the window.
Meghan stepped forward to look. “Someone fired out the window?”
Owen and Alicia both reached forward to grab her back in the same instant. “Stay down. There might be return fire.”
“Nonsense!” Meghan protested, but Alicia could only think of one thing. A single shot fired, the shouts, the confusion below that they could clearly hear, the clatter of wagons, of horses…people seeking cover, she realized, and the Duke somewhere below.
Without a word she turned and ran. Her hands flew to her mouth to contain the scream that lodged there unvoiced.
Alicia’s feet flew down the stairs at a dizzying pace. She heard Owen coming behind her, but though she was small, she was decidedly faster. So it was that she made it through the kitchens and burst out into the courtyard ahead of him.
Jacob was standing over the body of a man.
