Chapter 15
Darcy’s blood froze in his veins. Whatever scheme Alex devised boded ill for him. They always did.
Plopping her hands on her hips, raising her chin and her voice, Alex said, “I challenge ye to a sword fight. First to draw blood—”
He cast her a look.
She raised her fingers, pinching them. “Just a little nick, a bit of pink—”
Darcy stopped her there. “No blood.” He would insist on some degree of propriety while she did not hesitate to put his life in peril. The irony was not lost on him.
She pouted. “That’s no fun.”
“I will not fight a woman.”
“I’ve been fightin’ men me whole life. I’m just as capable than ye.”
“I do not doubt you are more capable than I am.”
“Then why won’t ye fight? I’m not goin’ to kill ye.
” She motioned to Elizabeth, who still stood between them.
“Not with her here. Although ye’re blasted stubborn enough to tempt me.
Ye know, I ought to have me men string ye up by yer thumbs—see how bullheaded ye be then.
” She looked behind her, shouting, “Jaffa, get—”
“The first to disarm the other,” Elizabeth raised her hands, pushing Darcy away, her fingers splaying over his chest. Her touch sent a jolt through him that was capable of convincing him of anything.
Such fine bones and narrow fingers, and yet, so powerful.
One touch, and he was under her spell. Their eyes met, and Darcy mourned when she moved her hand.
Looking pointedly away from him, Elizabeth addressed Alex. “The first to deprive the other of their weapon, you understand? There will be no cutting off of limbs or stringing up by thumbs.”
“I know what disarmin’ means,” Alex grumbled. “So blasted honorable. Must run in yer blood…”
Her sentence trailed off, and Darcy knew she was thinking about her Nick—the man for whom she had mistaken him. Darcy was curious to learn more about Nick. Perhaps they were related somehow.
With a blink, her eyes focused and sharpened.
“If I win, Elizabeth stays, and ye stop schemin’ yer escape.
If ye win, I’ll have me two best oarsmen see her safely to shore with enough blunt to send a message to her family and pay for a room at a decent inn until they can fetch her.
Ye’ll stay for the remainder of the time we shook on. I need lady lessons.”
Darcy considered. He had seen Alex’s skill with a knife. She would be a formidable opponent. It would be dangerous for him to underestimate her, but he was not without skill. He had trained with the masters—had bested many of them.
Therein, however, lay her advantage. He was accustomed to level floors and spacious arenas in clubs that enforced certain rules.
He needed to even out his deficiency. “Proper fencing rules. No kicking, hitting, or attacks outside the boundaries accepted by any fencing club. I take it you are familiar—”
She twisted her mouth. “Of course I know the rules. I’m not a complete savage, ye know.” She fiddled with the top of the shiv hidden in her boot. “Very well, I accept. Let the game begin.”
Elizabeth stumbled forward. “Mr. Darcy, you do not have to do this! I know what I said, but what about your freedom?” Darcy and Jaffa reached out to steady her.
Darcy softened his harsh focus, trying to reassure her with a smile that felt pinched. “I have to try. I know how much you prize your freedom.” His smile relaxed, feeling more genuine.
“But I do not want it at the price of yours.”
Her tender words caressed Darcy. She cared for him, perhaps not as much as he loved her, but it was more than he had dared to hope for.
Alex stepped toward the door, ruining the touching moment, but Darcy blocked her path. Holding out his palm, he said, “Your knives, please.”
With a huff, she removed the knife from her boot, the other strapped to her side, and another one Darcy had not noticed in her hair. These, she handed, with a pointed look at Darcy, to Jaffa.
Jaffa nodded, doing his best not to smile.
She breezed past him, and Darcy followed past the aftercastle and down the stairs to the main deck where Jaffa handed her two sabers.
Elizabeth gripped the railing on the deck above them, her emotions playing out in her eyes. She was worried about him. Darcy supposed she would be distressed for any man in his position, but he gloried in her concern all the same.
A glint at his side alerted him just in time. A saber flew through the air at his face. He caught it, his heart galloping in his chest and hammering in his ears. That had been too close. He could not afford any distraction.
Alex laughed and urged on her crew’s bawdy cheers. Coins clinked and bets were cast.
Darcy balanced the saber in his hand, testing its weight and fit. Sailors scrambled to the edges of the deck or up the rigging, eager to see the action up close and shouting taunts from the lines above Darcy’s head.
The crowded deck was nothing like the fencing salons he knew.
It was cramped, close quarters. Not only would Darcy have to focus on Alex, but he would have to pay attention to his surroundings lest he hurt a sailor or stumble over a rope.
There was a hatch in the middle of the deck.
The main mast provided another obstacle.
Boons and ropes…. He continued taking note of the details while he waited for Alex to signal the start of their fight.
She signaled with a charge.
Darcy warded off her blows, studying her over the next several minutes, letting her tire.
Fencing was a skill which required as much thought as it did strength and endurance.
She was skilled—of that there was no doubt.
She held her weapon confidently and delivered her blows soundly.
But it did not take long for Darcy to see his advantage.
Alex fought as he had imagined she might—as he had hoped she would—all fury and bluster.
If he could make her angry or frustrate her, he could make his move.
She feigned left, trying to provoke a reaction.
Darcy smiled at himself. He could do this all day. His strength had always been in keeping his head when under pressure. He did not react.
The crew shouted and roared when her bluff was exposed as the empty threat it was.
Nostrils flared, Alex twirled, lunged, and thrust with greater force. Sweat poured down Darcy’s face and back as he parried, bided his time, and waited for her frustration to reach its peak.
Her breath came in quick heaves and her cheeks were red from exertion, but she was strong. She advanced.
Darcy retreated, seeing his opportunity the closer he got to the mainmast. When one more step would have pinned him against the unforgiving surface, he pivoted around the mast to the other side, shuffling his feet as quickly as they could move.
He heard her frustrated screech.
Now! Darcy attacked, advancing relentlessly, thrust and lunge, again and again. Metal clanging against metal; blades flying; sweat stinging his eyes.
Her parries got sloppy, and Darcy surged forward, knowing that her wrists were weakening. He almost had her against the foresail, and she knew it. Her eyes widened.
Still, he continued, thrust-parry-block-lunge-thrust-thrust. He had her now. One more blow, and her saber would fly from her hands. He raised his arm, putting all of his weight in the movement because he would not fail Elizabeth now.
Alex dodged down to the deck, one hand gripping a rope. Before Darcy could change his stance, she whipped it around his feet and pulled.
He toppled to the deck like a felled tree, the breath knocked out of him, his saber still in his hand.
Elizabeth shouted, but he could not hear her over the louder crew.
Vision filled with blue sky, ropes, and sails, Alex’s shadow fell over him, and he felt the sole of her boot, then her weight on his wrist.
He gripped the saber harder.
She stepped down harder, twisting her foot.
Darcy’s bones shifted and cracked, his fingers had gone numb, but he did not loosen his grip.
Alex reached down and pried the saber from his hands with her fingernails, holding the weapon up triumphantly.
Darcy rolled to his side, trying to catch his breath and recover the feeling in his arm.
Elizabeth now stood at his head. “You did not win. You did not play by the rules.”
Alex laughed. “Me ship, me rules.”
“You gave your word.”
“I lied.”
“You cheated.”
“What’d ye expect, lovey? Can a tiger change its stripes? I am what I am—a wily pirate.”
Darcy pressed his eyes closed, feeling foolish. You could not hold a scorpion in your hand and expect it not to sting you. What had he been thinking, making a deal with Alex? He rose to his feet, but he felt low.
Alex turned to her crew, waving her arms in victory.
“We have a new crew member. Miss Elizabeth is a lady, and I expect ye miserable lot to treat her with respect and yer best manners.” She pointed the tips of her sabers at them.
“If any of ye make any unwanted advances on our lady guest, ye’ll answer to me, to Jaffa, and to Mr. Darcy, who’s proved himself today, d’ye not agree? ”
Cotton and Bauer cheered his name. Da Silva, Beckett, and Boone clapped, nodding in deference. Even Jean-Christophe applauded.
Alex twirled to face Darcy, lowering her voice. “That was a good fight, Darcy. Ye’re not The Blade, but ye should be proud of yer performance.”
Darcy was not flattered.
“If yer lady had any doubts about ye before, ye can bet she doesn’t now. Ye can thank me later.”
A sick feeling clenched Darcy’s stomach. Once again, Alex had manipulated him for her own purpose. He searched the crowd, finding Elizabeth standing with Jaffa. “I failed,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Ah, but now ye’re somethin’ ye weren’t before,” said Alex.
Darcy glared at her with open disdain.
She continued, looking entirely too satisfied with herself. “Ye’re her hero. I may not know how to make Nick love me, but I know how a woman thinks. And I’ve made ye irresistible.”