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one who'd never been defeated, who had thought himself invulnerable, and in a way still did. "Singing be damned. Lady Chastity Ware was a whore, and still is - "

He died, his heart pierced, before more filth could spew forth.

Chapter 2

Rothgar pulled his sword free and the doctor came forward, in no great hurry, to confirm the end. None of Curry's stunned friends seemed inclined to gather around the corpse and mourn, and suddenly, like a flock of birds released from cages, chatter rose all around.

Rothgar looked around at his audience. "Gentlemen," he said, instantly gaining silence and attention, "as you heard, Sir Andrew Curry tried to bring a lady's name into this, thereby offending not just my family's honor, but that of our gracious monarch and his wife. The king and queen have accepted Lady Raymore at Court as a woman of virtue. Their wisdom and judgment is not to be questioned."

After a startled moment, mutters of support swelled, scattered with calls of "Aye!" "God save the king!" and "Devil take him who thought it!" Curry's cronies shared panicked glances and slipped hastily away.

As men gathered around Rothgar to congratulate, and to relive the fight, Bryght saw that no one remained to arrange for removal of the body. He took the Malloren footman over to the doctor and put matters in hand. With luck Dr. Gibson or one of his colleagues needed a cadaver to mangle. By the time he'd dealt with that, Fettler was assisting his brother back into his coat.

"Were you as pressed there as you looked?" Bryght asked.

Rothgar took a deep swallow from a flask. It was doubtless the pure water he had brought in daily from a spring on the chalk downs. "He was good. But he never dug beneath the surface."

They climbed into the coach, the valet sitting opposite, and it moved off to take them back to Malloren House.

"Are any of the wounds serious?"

"Mere scratches."

"I don't suppose he thought to poison his sword."

Rothgar's lips twitched. "Don't be theatrical."

"It's just the sort of thing scum like that would do - "

But his brother had leaned his head back and closed his eyes, so Bryght cut off more words. Even Rothgar must feel some effect of peril, exertion, and dealing out death. Bryght considered his own nervous reaction and knew he had lost all taste for this sort of thing. He wondered if his brother was feeling the same way.

When they arrived at Malloren House, he couldn't stop himself following Rothgar up and into his handsome suite of rooms. He knew common sense and a host of excellent servants would take care of him, but he had to follow. Rothgar raised his brows, but didn't throw him out as he stripped off his ruined shirt. There were, in truth, only small cuts and scratches. The worst was the slash across the shoulder, and that wasn't deep.

Bryght began to get his brain back. "So," he said, "do you think that was one rash man, or a plot?"

Stripped down to drawers, his brother was washing. "If it was a plot, I assume they will try again. It will be informative to see how."

"Again? Plague take it, you can't just wait for the next attack."

"How do you suggest I prevent it? Nor would I wish to. I prefer to have any murderous enemy flushed out of cover and dealt with." Rothgar toweled dry and issued crisp commands about bandages and clothes. "You take an interest in mathematics. One point tells us nothing. Three should pin down the source."

"Next time it might be poison, or a pistol in the dark."

His brother sat so his barber could dress the wound on his shoulder. "I do my best to guard against such things."

"Even so - "

"Heaven save me from newly hatched family men!" Rothgar turned sharply toward him. "It can be the only explanation for all this fussing. Nothing is particularly changed, Bryght. Except you."

The barber patiently shifted to work from the new angle.

To hell with it, Bryght thought. He'd have the discussion he'd been seeking. "My circumstances have changed," he said, passing the ruby signet back to his brother. "Having found domestic comfort, I quake at the prospect of having to take up your responsibilities."

"I will do my best to spare you that fate until you are far too old to care."

"Can you spare Francis, too?"

He was referring to his son. For a telling pause, Rothgar concentrated on sliding the ring back onto his right hand, then on flexing