"
"A formidable northern warrior maid, with weapons of curls, bright eyes, silk, and pistols. And skillful with all of them."
"Bey - "
"Did Brand tell you she nearly killed him? And, of course, she ran me and my men off with her own small army."
Idle chat as a defensive weapon, wielded like a rapier so Bryght couldn't quite see how to say what he needed to say.
"A countess in her own right," his brother was saying as they began to descend the stairs to the spacious hall. "She holds considerable power, and intends to keep it."
Aha! "Not everyone likes power," Bryght interjected firmly. "Bey, I don't want Francis burdened with being your heir."
It was as if an icy mist lowered around them. "Then assure him, when he is old enough, that I will do my best to outlive him."
"I wish you would marry, Bey."
"Even for you, Bryght, no."
"There's no other insanity in your mother's family. Perhaps it was a disease, a freak!"
"Everything has to start somewhere. I prefer not to take the risk."
"Do my concerns carry no weight at all?"
They'd reached the base of the stairs and Rothgar turned to him. "I embrace all my family's concerns. One solution would be to give me the child to raise as my heir." Bryght had not found words to respond to that when Rothgar carried on, "The other is for me to die soon. Then you would be marquess and Francis could grow up secure in his future role. Shall I let the assassins do their work?"
Plague take him for a heartless devil. Beneath love and friendship this always lingered - a rivalry and opposition that came from their roles, their natures, and their history.
Though Bryght feared it was pointless, he persisted. "You could marry. Take the risk."
Rothgar's brows rose. "Risk-tainted generations merely to spare you some concern, and your son some uncertainty? I think not. Raise Francis to accept whatever burdens fall on his shoulders. It is the only way. For coddle him as you will, those burdens will fall. That, at least, I have learned."
He turned and accepted cloak and hat from a hovering footman then walked out of the tall double doors to enter his painted and gilded sedan chair for the short journey to St. James's Palace. For once, he ignored the petitioners hovering in hope of a moment of the great marquess's time, for a scrap of his power and influence directed to their cause.
The liveried chairmen picked up the poles and set off, armed footmen walking at either side.
The Marquess of Rothgar was once more on stage.
Bryght turned away, shaken by anger and sheer nervous tension. There were times when he'd like to skewer his brother himself if only he were able.
Harrogate, Yorkshire
"Blast your eyes!" The Countess of Arradale stepped back from the tip of the foil that would have threatened her heart if the point hadn't been buttoned, and she hadn't been wearing a padded chest protector.
Her fencing master pulled the shield from his craggy face. "You don't practice enough, my lady."
Diana pulled off her own face mask, passing it to her hovering maid. "How can I, Carr, when you won't come to Arradale to practice with me?" Clara hung up the mask and hurried back to untie the laces holding the chest guard in place.
William Carr shrugged out of his own protective equipment. "You know I adore you, my lady, but I will not let you eat me whole."
Diana cast a look at the handsome Irishman, with his dark curly hair and twinkling blue eyes. She had thought once or twice of letting him flirt with her, but she knew by instinct that he was too dangerous to be a plaything. He, like most men, would love to possess her, her power and wealth, to turn her into a mere wife.
"At least you won't find my shooting inferior," she said as she went to a mirror and tidied her chestnut hair.
"It won't bring such a fine blush to your cheek either, alas."
"Will it not? It will make my heart beat faster."
"That's power, my lady," he said with a lazy smile. "It's a devil you are for power, and yes, it makes you a beautiful woman. But dangerous. Very dangerous."
She cast him a quelling look, though he always knew the right thing to say. Dangerous. She liked the thought of being dangerous.
The glass told her he spoke the truth about her looks; exertion flushed her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle. A shame it was all