Crispin grabbed hold of Jack’s shoulder. When the boy looked up, Crispin’s words dried up on his tongue. He shook his head instead and let the boy lead him, vowing to keep a sharp eye on Young Jack Tucker.
They came to the south corridor and Jack counted the doors. “I was told this one, Master.” Crispin recognized the place where minor nobility were housed. Certainly Lady Stancliff qualified. Crispin strode up to the door and lifted his fist to knock when Jack jumped up and grabbed his hand.
“What you think you’re doing? He could be in there!”
Crispin made an altogether unpleasant grin. “I’m counting on it.”
He rapped on the door and a servant answered, one who had encountered Crispin before and who also tried-unsuccessfully-to block Crispin’s entrance. Crispin shook his head at him while stiff-arming the door. “I wouldn’t,” he said.
He pushed the door open and strode in, Jack behind him. Vivienne stood in the middle of the room, her expression neutral, except for sparkling eyes.
“Again, Crispin. A most unexpected visit.”
“Is it? Somehow, sweet Vivienne, I do not think so. I think you enjoy this game. You said so yourself: you prefer the company of men. You fancy playing it innocent, as if you were the victim. First of your husband, then of D’Arcy, and then of St Albans. And finally, of course, of de Marcherne. It amuses me to wonder to whom you will play the victim from me.”
Her eyes didn’t sparkle as much, and her lip curled in a sneer. “So you think you know me, do you? Men have such pride. And it is so futile. What good is your pride, Crispin? Did it win you back your knighthood? Are your coin purses filled with gold?”
“My honor is my pride and I wear it freely under the sun. I need not hide it in secret rooms…or behind the curtains.”
Jack startled when the hangings were pushed aside by a sword blade and then de Marcherne stepped through. The boy moved in front of Crispin protectively, but Crispin gently pulled him back and stashed him behind him.
De Marcherne’s blade was aimed toward the floor as he stepped closer to Crispin. “My dear Vivienne,” he said, looking at Crispin instead of Lady Stancliff. “I do not think you are an adequate judge of a man’s pride or his honor. Best to keep to what you do know.” His eyes flicked toward her. “And that you do so well.”
Crispin backed toward the hearth. “What is your business with Lady Stancliff, de Marcherne? Aren’t you done in London?”
“A funny thing about my business, Crispin. That grail you gave me. A fake. One has to wonder where such fakery originated. With D’Arcy? No, he was much too stupid for such a trick. Edwin?” He slid his foot closer, inching his way forward. The sword slowly rose toward Crispin’s chest. “Again, no. He is not deceitful in this manner. He only wished he was. That, of course, leaves either you,” he said gesturing with the sword toward Vivienne, “or you.” The sword tip again aimed toward Crispin. “Now my dear Vivienne might conjure such an idea to stay in the game, for you are correct in your assessment of her. She is obsessed with danger. Aren’t you, love?”
She spat at de Marcherne. He only smiled in reply. “Did she treat you thus? Or is it only me who elicits such behavior?” He ticked his head. “I fear it may be me.”
Crispin stumbled over the hearth. The flames licked at his back.
“She left me once,” said de Marcherne. “But then she returned. She sought revenge of me. I knew the object she sought but I wanted her help in finding the one I was looking for. Now that she has her ring, she thinks she can be rid of me. But I am not easily cast aside. You just missed a very amusing scene in which she tried to stab me to death. I simply disarmed her. Imagine. Returning all this way to Westminster only to commit murder. Would you have arrested her then, Crispin? Or is the death of a Frenchmen not worth the Tracker’s time.”
“For your murder? I would have found the time.”
“Enough of this. I have been saddled with a fake grail and I wish to have the original. Which I think you still have, no?”
“Do you plan to cut me in two, de Marcherne? You’ll never find it that way.”
“Au contraire. You see, I perceive it in the outline of your coat. You should at least have given it to your servant to carry.”
Slight miscalculation. Crispin smiled weakly at Jack who stared at him and then ran that gaze down the bulge in Crispin’s cotehardie. De Marcherne’s eyes narrowed. With a sense of danger tingling his neck, Crispin looked around the room, picking out defensive strategy, weapons, shields.
Just as de Marcherne raised his sword, Crispin dove for the poker by the hearth and brought it up to block the blade. Steel clanged against iron. De Marcherne stepped back, momentarily stunned, but he soon recovered, frowned, and chopped down with the blade again. Crispin swung the poker upward and parried the blow, trying to knock the sword out of the man’s hand, but he would not yield it.
Crispin maneuvered his opponent away from the fire, holding the poker two-handed.
He heard a muffled scream and at the corner of his eye, he caught Jack struggling with Vivienne. She grabbed a large candlestick and Jack clutched her hands. Vaguely, Crispin wondered which one of them she intended to threaten with it. They wrestled, the taller Vivienne glaring wild-eyed at the boy. Jack hung desperately on to Vivienne’s wrists, trying to use his weight to pull it from her. When that failed to work, he swung his leg back and kicked her shin. Hard. The candlestick fell from her grasp and Jack stumbled back with a whoosh of air and hit the floor on his backside. Vivienne shrieked and fell on him with her bare hands. Jack let out a yell and scrabbled on the floor in an attempt to gain his feet but Vivienne grabbed an ankle and yanked him back. He kicked to free himself, and Vivienne, now sobbing in frustration released him. He stood unsteadily and pulled his small dagger. “You’ll have to behave yourself, m’lady. I don’t want to use this but I will.”
“You’re a foolish boy,” she sneered. She was inelegant regaining her feet, but once upright her comportment returned. “Can’t you see that evil man is going to hurt your master? I was only trying to stop him!”
“If that were so,” he panted, “then why were you aiming for Master Crispin?”
“Because I want to be the one who kills the bastard!”
De Marcherne laughed. He waved his sword at Vivienne. “You see, Crispin. No love lost. Worry not, Fair Vivienne. As soon as I have dispatched Master Guest, I will see that you suffer no more.” His smiled faded even as the blush drained from Vivienne’s face.
De Marcherne wasted no more time and swung at Crispin’s head. He ducked, slid to the right, and brought up the iron at an awkward angle, but it was still enough to block. Barely.
Not even winded, de Marcherne lowered his sword and grinned. His scar darkened. “One wonders what damage you could have done with a sword, Crispin. I regret I will never get the opportunity to see.”
“This bit of iron can do enough damage, I assure you.”
“Ah, but will you get the chance?”
De Marcherne’s casual poise masked his wariness. Without warning, he swung again. Crispin dodged it, but this time the tip of the blade nicked Crispin’s ear. He felt the sting but didn’t react except to search the floor. No ear. A good sign.
He swung the poker at de Marcherne’s feet and the nimble man leapt straight up out of harm’s way, but this time he was winded and he stepped back from Crispin a few feet to catch his breath.
Crispin wasn’t about to allow that.
He charged, a battle cry exploding from his lips. But de Marcherne was as seasoned as Crispin and he knew each battle trick as well. Perhaps even a few more. He parried the blow with a cry of his own and Crispin’s momentum sent him toward the floor, the one place he knew he did not want to be. Crispin tried to roll and recover, but Vivienne and Jack were in the way. Like kayles pins, they all tumbled against the wall together.