Chapter 46

Josselin’s blade whistled through the air. She loved Drew’s sword. ’Twas beautiful, and it had perfect balance and weight. After she settled this dispute with Syme, she’d ask Drew who had made it for his father.

Her confidence was high, and her spirits soared, fueled by Drew’s love and trust and respect. And now she was eager to show him just how deserving she was of that respect.

She kicked her skirts out of the way and faced Syme with narrowed eyes. No matter how much she wanted to impress Drew, she didn’t dare let him distract her. This battle would take all her concentration.

She whipped her blade twice through the air, testing its performance, while Syme waited with a smug smile on his face, a smile she intended to wipe off in another moment.

She wasn’t going to kill him. After all, they both worked in the service of Queen Mary. He was only doing what he thought was in the queen’s best interests. She just meant to teach him a lesson, proving to him that she was no timid mouse, that she knew what she was doing, and that she was not to be trifled with. All she had to do was drag him from his lofty pedestal long enough to talk some sense into him. Once Syme realized that she was Mary’s loyal servant, that Drew was not a dangerous enemy, that she’d not been compromised, she was sure they would all shake hands and walk away in peace.

So, with a lightness she hadn’t felt in days, Jossy flexed her knees and prepared to engage the spy.

He thrust swiftly forward, and she deflected the blade.

He grinned and nodded his appreciation, then slashed downward in a savage arc that would have chopped off her head if she hadn’t dodged aside.

’Twas immediately obvious that, despite the lighthearted twinkle in his eyes, he was taking this duel seriously.

So could she.

She replied with a low slash that grazed his shin just enough to scar one of his black leather boots, which dimmed his smile considerably.

He attempted another killing blow, but he was too slow, and she sneaked in a matching slice for his other boot.

Now the grin disappeared from his face, and she could see by the flare of his nostrils that he was displeased.

He jabbed forward, and she let him come, pulling his sword arm further forward with her free hand, using his own momentum against him. He stumbled forward past her, and she swatted him on the arse with the flat of her blade.

His face flushed red with fury, and his gray eyes looked like smoke from a fire raging inside. He lifted his sword high, looming over her, and charged.

She ducked under his arm and came up behind him, this time thwacking him on the back of his head.

He roared and turned on her with murder in his eyes. Josselin wasn’t afraid. She’d dealt with men of temper before, and Angus had shown her how to use an opponent’s anger against him.

If he barreled forward, she need only deflect that motion from herself to send him careening into the bushes.

Predictably, he did barrel forward, and she sidled away, intending to shove him past. But her foot slipped on a patch of mud, and she didn’t move out of the way fast enough. The edge of his blade caught her shoulder, slicing through cloth and flesh.

She didn’t feel the cut at first. But from the corner of her eye, she saw Drew’s arms come out of their fold before he could stop himself, and she knew ’twas bad. Quickly, before the pain could register, she regained her wits and her balance and came at Syme with a series of aggressive slashes.

She managed to back him against a tree before the pain surged in her shoulder. It stung like the devil, and she sucked a sharp breath through her teeth. Blood was surely dripping down her arm, but she didn’t want to look at it.

She winced, and Syme used that instant of vulnerability to attack, slicing low as if to cut her legs out from under her.

Josselin leaped up and dove over his blade, rolling forward to come up beside him. But before she could strike, he jabbed her viciously with his elbow, which she caught in the ribs. She grunted and stumbled backward, and he brought his blade straight up, earning her a nick at the point of her chin.

She scrambled back and braced herself for another attack. He came at her with blow after blow, which she easily anticipated and was able to counter. But though his strikes were predictable, they had a heavy, ruthless quality that was quickly taking a toll on her stamina.

She was lighter, quicker, more agile. But he was determined, tireless, and brutal. More than once she suffered bruises from his pummeling elbows, and he didn’t hesitate to deliver rough kicks to her legs at every opportunity. She could only skip out of his way so often before her strength began to flag.

Though she’d enjoyed the challenge of battling him, ’twas clear to her that she needed to look for a way to finish the fight before his violent blows broke one of her arms or legs or ribs.

Breathless and sweating, Josselin retreated to the edge of the clearing to allow herself a moment of respite. She flipped the hilt over in her grasp and pushed her damp hair away from her face with her forearm. Then she prepared to engage him again.

This time she drew him in, enticing him to continue his measured strikes by exaggerating their impact upon her, while carefully evading his blade. She gasped and winced as his slices came closer and closer, lulling him into overconfidence. Then, when he swung with lethal force toward her torso, she suddenly dove for the ground, rolling sideways at his feet.

Like a cluster of skittles upended by a barreling ball, he tripped over her and fell heavily, losing his weapon and lolling onto his back. When she came up again on her feet, she was able to whip her blade around, placing it at his throat.

With a cocky grin, she stared down at him, squirming there at the point of her sword. Now she had him. Now she could make him understand.

“Kill me then,” he ground out, his eyes no longer dancing, but full of cold hatred. “Kill me. But know this. I’m not the only one after ye. Ye’re not long for this world, lass.”

She frowned. “Quit with your threats. I don’t mean to kill ye. We’re kin, ye and me. We both serve Scotland and the queen. But I want ye to understand how ’tis with me, with us,” she said, gesturing toward Drew, “and if I have to do it with a blade at your throat, so be it.” She took a deep breath. “Ye’re right. Drew MacAdam is no Highlander. He’s an Englishman. But he’s no spy. He has no interest in royal intrigue. He only came to Scotland for the golf.”

Syme may have been listening, but ’twas hard to tell. His eyes smoldered like live coals, ready to ignite at any moment.

“My identity hasn’t been compromised,” she assured him, “and I’ve revealed no secrets. ’Tis true I forged the name on your missive, but ’twas only to protect an innocent. I changed nothin’ else, and if ye’ve seen the letter, ye know that. I’d never do anythin’ to endanger Mary.”

She let up slightly on the pressure against his throat. Syme was a reasonable man. Surely he’d realize it had all been a misunderstanding. There was no need to risk pricking a fellow servant of the queen.

“Here’s what I propose,” she told him. “Ye’ll tell Philipe ye were mistaken about my disappearance. As far as identifying Ambrose Scott as a possible agent,” she said with a smirk, “I’m sure the queen will be pleased to know her disguise was able to fool—”

Without warning, Syme slapped her blade away. Before she could gasp in surprise, he rose up, grabbed her by the front of her bodice, and tossed her aside like a sack of laundry.

“Jossy!” Drew cried.

The breath was knocked from her, yet she managed to gasp out, “Stay back, Drew!”

She scrambled back to her feet at the same time as Syme.

“He’s mine,” she told Drew, pinning Syme with her gaze.

She might be swordless, but her fathers had taught her to fight with her fists and feet as well. She still had plenty of weapons in her arsenal to battle the brute. The last thing she needed was Drew coming between them.

Still, she silently cursed herself for her misjudgment. She’d let down her guard for an instant, and Syme had seized the upper hand. Apparently, he wasn’t ready to listen to reason.

Syme circled her like a predator, his gray eyes now as flat and dull as clay.

He lunged forward, and she skipped back out of his reach. He lunged again, and she spun, coming around with a high kick that caught him in the side of the head.

He staggered but didn’t fall, then charged forward with fists clenched.

She ducked two punches, but a third caught her in the ribs, and she bent forward, wheezing in pain.

“Jossy!” Drew yelled.

“Nae!” she protested.

Syme towered above her, his laughing face now a mask of grim satisfaction. While she cradled her bruised ribs with her arm, he laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles.

Will had taught her to use a strong man’s strength against him. When Syme swung for her chin, she pushed his forearm aside, knocking him off-balance. There was no time to reply, but she at least gained freedom as he stumbled past.

He turned on her again, growling like a raging bear. She flexed her knees and put up her fists, ready for him.

This time when he approached, she gave him a kick to his midsection followed by a punch to his chin.

Temporarily slowed, he wasn’t stopped. With both hands, he seized her by the throat and began to squeeze.

“Jossy!”

Josselin brought her fists up between his arms, splitting them apart, simultaneously kicking him hard in the ballocks.

Fury kept him from responding to the pain, and he continued to advance.

She drove the sole of her foot into his knee, and he twisted but didn’t fall.

She stamped her heel upon his other foot, and he grunted but didn’t stop.

He managed to bend his arm around her waist, trapping her against him, and clamped her tightly, crushing her battered ribs.

She drove her elbow up hard into his throat. With an agonized cough, he released her, then staggered off, nursing his collapsed windpipe.

Exhausted, Josselin hunched forward, bracing her hands on her knees, preparing for the next onslaught.

She didn’t notice that Syme had recovered his dagger, and she didn’t see the flash of silver until ’twas almost too late.

“Look out!” Drew barked as Syme lunged forward with his blade.

She dove sideways, rolling atop and reclaiming her own discarded blade, then coming to her feet, sword in hand.

Syme’s underhanded attack was like a sudden awakening slap. Josselin realized he didn’t want to listen to her, to negotiate, to hear the truth. He wasn’t just a spy. He was an assassin. He meant to kill her. What had before seemed a contest of skill was now a fight to the death. And ’twould not end until one of them lay bleeding on the ground.

She clenched her jaw and prepared to engage him in earnest.

In effect they were now evenly matched. Josselin’s longer blade equalized Syme’s superior reach. What Josselin lacked in strength, she made up for in dexterity. And while his attacks were more powerful and lethal, he fought like an assassin, accustomed to slaughtering helpless victims, not opponents who could defend themselves.

Thus, the battle continued at length as Syme hacked away at her and she dodged and nicked him, neither of them able to do much damage.

Eventually, Syme made a fatal mistake. While Josselin kept him busy, blocking her slashes, he forgot about her agile feet. She pumped her left leg forward and kicked hard at his wrist. The dagger sailed from his grasp.

This was her moment. He was at her mercy. She had to kill him now.

She drew back her sword, preparing to plunge the blade into his heart.

Suddenly, the world seemed to slow impossibly around her, and everything came into sharp focus. She saw her own hand, grimy with soil and sweat, gripping the swept hilt of Drew’s sword. Her gaze followed the long, bright blade as it shivered in the dying light of day. She saw Syme’s black doublet with its ebony buttons, smudged with mud, and the seams that perfectly tailored it to his frame.

Her eyes drifted upward as if weighted by lead. His pulse beat sluggishly in his neck, and she could see every bit of black stubble on his chin. His lips were parted, and they trembled as he sucked in a long breath. His nostrils flared, and she watched a drop of sweat roll slowly down his brow.

She looked him in the eyes, and there she saw the spark of human life, the spark she intended to extinguish.

’Twas then the impact of what she was about to do dealt her a crushing blow. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. The breath caught in her throat. And her arm began to tremble. While the world moved on in its strange lethargy, Josselin stood paralyzed.

She heard Drew call her name, but the sound was muffled, as if he were underwater. Slowly, she turned her head toward him. Drew was scowling, lumbering toward her as if he were moving through honey.

Josselin didn’t know exactly what happened next as she was yanked abruptly back into real time, but all hell broke loose.

It had nearly killed Drew to watch Jossy battle the assassin and not to intervene, and he had the white knuckles to prove it. But now his moment had come.

While Jossy faltered with her sword, unable to make the killing thrust, Drew saw Syme’s left hand steal down his thigh to extract a slim rondel secreted in the top of his boot.

Drew warned Jossy, but she seemed dazed as she turned curious eyes toward him.

As he’d planned, Drew whipped out her dagger and flipped it in his hand, gripping the blade between his fingers. He hurled the dagger forward, aiming for the assassin’s chest.

And missed.

Drew cursed as the blade sank into the flesh of the man’s dagger arm, slowing but not slaying him. Now what?

Syme’s discarded sword lay on the ground between Drew and the combatants. If he could claim it in time…

He hurtled forward. With not an instant to spare, he slipped the toe of his boot under the hilt of the dropped sword and flipped it up into his hand.

As the desperate assassin drew back his injured arm, preparing to thrust the deadly blade between Jossy’s ribs, Drew charged forward, pushing Jossy aside, and plunged the sword into the man’s black heart.