“What does it matter?” Dirk retorted. “Corpses need no names.”
The young blood’s grin hardened. “But they have them, and their kin take unkindly to those who slew them.”
Dirk shrugged. “So you have a large number of corpses, all with the same name. Is that an improvement?”
The young blood snarled and pushed Dirk away, leaping back himself to draw his rapier. Dirk’s steel flickered out to guard only a second behind. The other young bucks started to move in, but someone nearby cleared his throat very loudly. All four of the playboys looked up—and suddenly became less willing to play, because it was Gar who stood nearby, hand on the hilt of a sword longer than any of theirs, towering over them all by almost two feet and a hundred pounds of muscle. He was only watching the proceedings with interest, but the backup group took the hint and backed off.
“The landlord won’t like spilled blood in his innyard,” Gar said. “Be quick about it, will you?”
“We’ll see whose blood is spilled!” the young gentleman snapped, but with more volume than emotion. He leaped forward, thrusting.
Dirk parried, then whirled his sword in a figure eight as the young blood advanced. He thrust, and Dirk’s sword rang down, striking the rapier so hard it spun away into the dirt. Its owner cried out, shaking his hand in pain. While he was distracted, Dirk stepped up and twisted the dagger out of his left hand. The young blood stared at him, suddenly realizing how completely he was at Dirk’s mercy. His face went white.
Dirk sheathed his sword and took the injured hand. “Here, let me see.” The young blood tried to pull away, then shouted more with alarm than pain as Dirk’s left hand closed tight on his forearm. Dirk’s right probed the other’s sword hand gently. The man winced and ground his teeth. Dirk dropped the hand and stepped back. “Nothing broken—but I didn’t think there was. Probably a sprain, though. You should wind a bandage tightly around it and let it rest for a day. Some brandy would help—inside you. Not too much, though.”
The young blood blinked, surprised that his late opponent should care.
“Here, take him home,” Dirk said to the backup group, then turned to Ciare, who was watching from the safe haven of Coll’s arm. “Androv says you have work to do setting up for tomorrow’s show.”
“Yes! Of course. Thank you.” Ciare gave him a glance of gratitude, then went past him toward the stage, Coll following.
Dirk watched them go, saying to Gar, “That fast enough for you?”
“Yes, quite,” Gar answered. “Lacking a bit in finesse, mind you, but certainly effective.”
Dirk shrugged. “You didn’t say to make it pretty.”
Coll was inside the tiring house only a minute, then came out to see Dirk and Gar coming toward him, while behind them, the young gentry were escorting their friend out of the innyard with awed glances back over their shoulders. Coll knew just how they felt. He stepped aside for Dirk and Gar, deciding they were his masters indeed.
They came through the tiring-house curtains and found Ciare standing, hands on hips, looking about her. “I thought you said Androv wanted me here! ”
“He didn’t,” Dirk said. “I do,” Coll told her.
She darted into his arms, head on his chest “Oh, you darling fool, I was so afraid you would strike that lordling and have a dozen soldiers fall on you!” She looked up at Dirk. “Thank you, thank you, Master Dirk, for saving him for me!”
“Anything to oblige a lady,” Dirk said gallantly, “which you are, by your behavior if not by your birth.”
Ciare gave him a dazzling smile, which became slow and languorous as she turned back to Coll.
“I believe it was you that Master Androv wanted,” Gar told Dirk.
The smaller man replied, “Did he? Guess I don’t hear so well these days. Well, let’s not keep him waiting.” He led Gar out of the tiring house without a backward glance.
“My employers are understanding,” Coll said to break the sudden silence.
“Understanding what you meant by saying that you want me, you mean?” Ciare turned her head a little away, regarding him through her lashes. “Well, then, you have me. What do you wish to do with me?”
For answer, Coll lowered his head and kissed her. He meant it to be short and respectful, but Ciare’s hand pressed down on the back of his neck, and the tip of her tongue danced over his lips, galvanizing him, so the kiss became far longer than he had intended. When it was done, he had to cling to her for a few minutes before his head stopped swimming.
Ciare laughed softly and pushed herself a little away from him. “What else do you wish to do with me?”
“Many things.” For a moment, Coll’s mind spun with possibilities—but they frankly frightened him, so he answered her smile with one of his own. “But not necessarily here. Those young swaggerers have left the innyard now, so there’s no need to stay hidden. Let’s step inside. I think the rest of the company is sitting down to supper, at the landlord’s expense.”
“Will you take me in on your arm?” Ciare demanded. For answer, Coll proffered his arm. She slipped her hand inside his elbow and went with him, laughing.
Coll sat beside her throughout dinner, and noticed that Ciare never said a word about the young men who had accosted her, or Dirk’s way of dealing with them, but she was even more attentive to Coll than usual. Dicea gazed at them, fuming, for a while, then turned her attentions to Gar. He chatted with her gravely and with courtesy, managing to work her into the conversation with three of the other actresses who had made a point of sitting near him. As the servers were bringing out the pudding, Coll realized that it had been some time since Gar himself had spoken more than a few words; somehow he had managed to coax all four women into a discussion about the frustrations and pains of dealing with men. Gar still listened impassively, but Coll had to turn away, his ears burning, and listen somewhere else.
The next morning, Gar asked Androv, “Do the young men in the audience always pester the actresses?”
“Always,” Androv confirmed, “though Magda and Drue don’t seem to think of it as pestering, if the young bucks are handsome enough. For the others, though, we must be watchful. They’ve become expert at discouraging young men gently, but some refuse to be discouraged, and have to be diverted by other means.”
So after that day’s performance, Coll made sure he was by Ciare’s side right after the ending, and Dirk was right beside him, so the young bloods were clustering around a trio, not a woman alone. Nonetheless, a young knight swaggered up to elbow Coll, crying, “One side, fellow! Don’t keep the sugarplums all to yourself! ”
“The actress’s time is taken,” Coll told him.
“Oh, is it indeed!” Today’s young blood dropped a hand to his sword hilt. “And what if I should like to take some of it?”
But Coll stood like a boulder, and Dirk turned to face the young buck, hand on his own hilt—but two others sidled up to Ciare. “Oh!” she gasped, as a hand touched her bottom, and “Sir!” more angrily, as the other man touched her breast.
Dirk swung about, eyes flashing, sword half-drawn, and steel whickered as the man behind him drew, too.
“No!” Ciare cried in distress. “Please, no! I will—”
“You won’t!” Coll shouted.
“Let go!” the young blood behind him raged. Everyone turned to look, Dirk with only a quick glimpse that showed the swaggerer with his sword half drawn, frozen by a huge hand which had closed on his, holding the sword where it was.
“Gently, gently, now, sir!” Gar soothed. “What kind of gentleman would force his attentions on a woman who didn’t want them?”
“Want them! Of course she wants them! Why else would she parade her charms before the public that way?”