‘Pah!’ scoffed Melusine. ‘I have told you, a whip it is nothing. The nuns, they were very good with a whip. You do not make me afraid like this.’
The dagger was in her hand. Gerald lost his head.
‘Then mayhap this will persuade you!’
With a scrape of steel, he drew his sword from its scabbard. Melusine cast one swift glance at it, and her eyes, flashing magnificently, came back to his face. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat.
‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control.
Melusine’s eyes blazed into his. Then her fingers moved. Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. The sharp point of the sword at the girl’s throat bit sideways. A thin line of red appeared in the white neck.
Chapter Seven
‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. He jumped back, wrenching the sword away. It fell with a clatter to the floor.
He heard Melusine cry out, but his attention was all for the nick he had made in her neck. Diving towards it, he tried to press against the rivulet that was seeping from it, hampered mightily by Melusine’s fingers, which were grasping at his other hand.
‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. ‘I must get a handkerchief.’
‘But you are bleeding like a pig,’ came the frantic response.
Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. Lord above, had they wounded each other? But Melusine’s need was paramount with Gerald and he tried to shake off her clinging fingers.
‘Will you let be?’
Instead she grasped his hand tighter. ‘Laisse-moi!’
Impatience swamped him. ‘You’re only making things worse, you little idiot.’
‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. ‘Who has begun this but you?’
Gerald barely heard her. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. ‘Give me that!’
He took his finger away from her neck and made a grab at the handkerchief.
‘No!’ Melusine snapped as he tugged at the thing. ‘Leave it, imbecile.’
‘Damn you, I should have beaten you,’ Gerald swore, holding fast to his corner of the little square of linen. ‘Only you made me lose my temper, and—’
‘I made you do so? Pah!’
Gerald at last succeeded in ripping the handkerchief from her grasp, and swiftly held it to her neck, oblivious to her now bloodied fingers clawing at his hand.
‘What in God’s name is going on?’
Glancing swiftly towards the doorway, Gerald saw his friend’s disbelieving face and burst out, speaking over the top of Melusine as she made another grab for the little square of linen.
‘This idiotic female—’
‘This imbecile has made me—’
‘—made me lose my temper, and I—’
‘—cut him with my dagger, and he is—’
‘—damn near slit her throat!’
‘—bleeding like a pig!’
‘Whoa, whoa!’ stormed the captain, starting forward.
Next instant, Gerald felt his wrist seized in an iron grip. It was wrenched away from Melusine’s clutching hands.
‘Gad, what a mess!’
Gerald pulled free, and Melusine broke back, staring at him. Her neck was smeared with red and remorse flooded him.
‘Oh, my God, Melusine, what have I done?’
Melusine shook her head. ‘No. It is what I have done.’
‘Don’t start arguing again, for God’s sake,’ snapped Roding irritably, dragging out his own large pocket-handkerchief. ‘If ever I met such a pair of lunatics!’
‘Give me that, Hilary,’ Gerald said at once, ignoring his remark and reaching out for the handkerchief. ‘She’s still bleeding.’
His friend held it out of the way. ‘So are you.’
‘But—’
