The Highwayman's Mistress (10 page)

 
She fled the room and in the corridor bumped
into Richard. “Stop him, stop Francois from harming Hugh.”

 
“I doubt that to be anywhere near possible.
The damn young fool taunted Francois, I heard him, and what was Francois to do.
Turn his back, and be branded a coward?”

 
They hurried onward, Richard rushing ahead.
He bounced down the staircase and fair sped along the passage leading to the
door that opened onto the gardens. She followed heart in mouth at a run, glad
no swords could be heard clashing as yet. Perhaps Francois had seen the error
of what he was about to do. But no, for as soon as she reached the door, there
he was sword aloft in salute to Hugh, a second rapier by his side.

 
Richard halted her progress arm
outstretched. “Don’t distract Francois,” he said, a mere whisper, “it could be
the end of him.”

 
“Why two swords, when Hugh has only one?”
she asked, a terrible sick feeling deep inside.

 
“Francois will offer Hugh the other rapier.”

 
“Why for, when he has a weapon already?”

 
“Hugh’s sword is as ancient. It’s rusty, and
less wieldy than Francois weapon.”

 
Richard was right in his supposition
Francois would offer the second rapier to Hugh.”

 
“You wish to kill me in a fair duel?”

 
“I shall, that you can be sure of,” said
Hugh, stepping forward, sword held clumsy at best.

 
“I think not,” said Francois, ignoring
Hugh’s advance and not a backward step taken. “We duel fair, swords matched in
weight, or not at all.”

 
Her heart lurched, sense of hope against
hope washing over her. Was this Francois’ way of letting Hugh back down with
honour? Would Hugh agree to no duel? Her hopes were instantly dashed, for
Francois threw the second rapier into the air causing it to somersault
mid-flight. It landed with its point embedded in the turf no more than a foot
in front of Hugh.

 
Blood drained from Hugh’s face, his plight
now real. He knew himself to be facing a master of swordsmanship. He
momentarily faltered and stepped back, then cast his own sword aside, rid
himself of coat and reached for the rapier.

 
Francois bowed, and Hugh advanced again.
This time Francois back-stepped, a parry to left, a parry to right, each time
warding off thrusts and wild slashes. She held her breath fearing the worst,
hand gripping Richard’s sleeve so tight she felt her knuckles would snap. He
cupped her hand, said, “Francois is toying with him, luring him into a false
sense of security.”

 
Hugh seemed to have the advantage, his body
mass powered him forward while Francois had no alternative but to keep backing
away. The lucky strike she dreaded happened so suddenly she failed to see it
occur, and Francois was almost against the house wall. Her stomach lurched, as
blood poured from a gash on Francois left shoulder.

 
Hugh’s laughter rang out in cruel mockery,
and Richard chuckled said, “That damn rose caught Francois a passing jab, and
mark my words he’s about to put the fear of God into Hugh.”

 
She hoped not, at the same time she wanted
Francois safe from harm, too. “Can you not intervene, make them see sense? This
is madness, utter madness.”

 
Her words fell on deaf ears and about to
push past Richard to at least try and get the two men to stop their stupid
duel, Angelica appeared at her elbow. “Do not fear, Francois will not kill that
idiot, but he will frighten him in to never, never call another man to a duel.”

 
She wished that possible. “How can you be so
sure?”

 
“I know my brother.”

 
She did indeed, for Francois made a parry to
the left as Hugh thrust with force toward his heart and missed. Before he knew it
Francois had countered and sliced Hugh’s shirt from left wrist to shoulder and
not a drop of blood drawn. Forced to turnabout, he seemed stunned as Francois
backed up toying, teasing, and beckoned him to follow. Face reddened, shirt
soiled with sweat, Hugh seemed to lumber forward rather than as agile as when
the duel had begun. Yet Francois, lean muscled, taller by at least three
inches, his movements as agile as a cat, seeming no less tired than before.

 
A commotion in the hallway erupted, voices
loud drifted along the passageway and her heart leapt to mouth. She could hear
her mother and Hugh’s father, and before she could gather her senses in
readiness to receive her mother, the two of them came sweeping toward her.

 
Her mother looked utter distraught. “Where
is Hugh?”

 
Hugh’s father was equally worried.
“Diamonta, tell me my son is safe.”

 
“He foolishly called Francois to a duel.”
What else could she say? “They’re out there, now, fighting.”

 
“Dear God,” said his father, rushing
forward.

 
Richard stepped into his path. “Let Francois
teach him a lesson he won’t forget, and your son may live to old age. For he’s
a hot-headed young devil and foolish with it.”

 
He then stepped aside allowing Hugh’s father
to stand alongside, they and Angelica’s eyes centred on the duel. Strangely she
suddenly felt detached from it all, for Richard’s words had reassured her
neither Francois nor Hugh were destined to die, it was as though she and her
mother were in another place, another time, her mother’s face as she remembered
from childhood: her expression one of love.

 
“Thank God, you’re safe too,” said her
mother. “We feared we might be too late for Hugh, that Francois, like his
father, would . . .” Her mother paused mid-sentence, caught up Diamonta’s hand
and drew it to her bosom. “I’ve wronged you, my darling. Wronged Francois, and
all because I could not forget nor forgive Francois’ father for something that
happened a very long time ago. It is something I have every reason to be
ashamed of, for unlike you, I failed to win the heart of de Boviere and I
shamefully sought revenge.”

 
“I know, but you were young, and wounded by
betrayal at that time, whereas I am so lucky, oh so lucky. I have a man I adore
who loves me in like manner.”

 
“Can you ever see it in your heart to
forgive me, forgive my cruelness?”

 
She threw herself at her mother and hugged
tight. “I love you, nothing can change that, and I forgive you, as I forgive
Francois for thinking Hugh was my lover.”

 
“I love you too, my darling girl.”

 
A chuckle came from behind, and there stood
Francois both rapiers in hand. “Your friend, mere friend is disarmed and alive,
perhaps never to challenge such as I again.”

 
Her mother relinquished her hold and turned
to Francois. “I greatly dishonoured you, and cannot ask your forgiveness. But I
will ask that you take my daughter’s hand in marriage, that you will love her
and keep her safe.”

 
Francois bowed. “I accept your kind offer,
but we are as man and wife already.”

 
“I had not expected otherwise.” Her mother smiled,
a loving smile. “Do you think it possible a wedding could be arranged before I
return to England?”

 
“It shall be so, for I love her with all my
heart.” He chuckled again. “I fear I must apologise for indecent dress.”

 
Her mother smiled. “You are your father’s
son, no doubt about that, and in many ways. Now be off with you, the pair of
you. I can wait until you are both decent to receive me.”

 
Diamonta grabbed Francois hand and dragged
him away from her mother’s appraising eyes, and whispered, “You’ve won her
over. She’s smitten.”

 
“You are your mother’s daughter, in many
ways, and I smitten.” He laughed, hugged her to him, and kissed her head. “How
long do we have?”

 
“As long as we need.”

 
“Good.”

 
“One thing,” she said, as they entered the
hall. “Tell me. Why did you rent a house in Faringdon?”

 
“Am I the Oxfordshire Highwayman, is the
next question. Correct?”

 
“Yes, I suppose so. Though it matters not in
so much as I love you. I am though, of a curious nature.”

 
He chuckled, half dragging her up the
staircase in haste of their making the most of moments alone in the privacy of
their bedchamber. “I shall say this once, and then the matter is forgotten. The
house in Faringdon served my purpose for two months. From there I secured the
services of four mercenary soldiers and together we returned to Guernsey. I
needed armed men who were capable of carrying out a secret mission. From under
the noses of soldiers of the Republique we stole away the treasures of Saint
Mont Marche, the de Boviere jewels, and Angelica now has her dowry returned in
full. To which, I believe will come into your brother’s hands very shortly. For
they are, I think, to be wed.”

 
“Oh how delightful.” She laughed, her heart
tripping over itself. “Ha. He too will marry a
Frenchy
.”

 
“
Frenchy
?” Francois brows hooded his
dark eyes, and the memory of a highwayman kissing her fingers leapt to mind.
“You shall pay for that, Diamonta. Pay dearly.”

 
“I had thought I might.”

The End.

~~

 
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