Chapter 49
Forty-Nine
Sorcha
Istood at the basin in the women’s water closet, blood flowing from three open cuts on my face. Two of my cats lounged on the counter. The others had disappeared moments before, off to fetch Neal and Ansel for backup.
Lady Guinevere Marchmont lay sprawled in the corner, conscious but stunned, dabbing a cut on her own lip with a handkerchief.
She’d burst in moments before—screaming something about the failure of morality in Elven youth—then struck me hard across the face with her pearl-encrusted handbag.
And, to Guinevere’s shock and horror, I’d hit her back.
Closed fist, steady wrist, feet planted.
Just like Neal taught me back on the Rio Grande.
Guinevere hit the ground hard and had refused to get up since.
“You struck me,” Guinevere shrieked.
“You hit me first,” I said bluntly. “You used a weapon.”
“But you used your fists,” Guinevere exclaimed, “like a . . . like a man!”
“I’m from the mountains, Lady Marchmont,” I replied blithely. “My striking you like a man should be the least of your concerns.”
“You common whore!” Guinevere snapped. “You steal my husband. You cheat! And then you hit me!”
“I didn’t take your husband,” I replied, “and I’m not being unfaithful. And, Lady Guinevere? Need I remind you? I had just been ill. I was washing my hands. You came in. Started shouting. And then struck me with your handbag. I hardly think I’m the aggressive party here.”
“But you kissed him!” Guinevere shrieked.
I was about to reply when the door slammed open, letting in three of the ship’s cats followed closely by Neal and Ansel.
“What happened here?” Ansel asked.
“She’s sleeping with other men,” Guinevere replied, clambering to her feet and pressing herself dramatically to Ansel’s chest.
He just glared.
“We may have lied to you earlier,” Ansel said, pushing Guinevere back to arm’s length.
“You’re bleeding,” Neal said softly, stepping around them, immediately pressing a handkerchief to the wounds on my face.
“She hit me!” Guinevere’s tone grew somehow even more shrill.
“You two go,” Ansel instructed. “I’ll deal with her.”
“But she struck me!” Guinevere shrieked. “I have to tell the captain. The steward. Someone!”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Ansel’s voice dropped a register.