Falcon in the Dive

Chapter 25 of "A Sword for Wellington", Book Three of The Môrdreigiau Chronicles

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The story began in A Grail for Eidothea and continued with A River Trembles. Now the Chosen Court seeks another Arthurian treasure. New here? Save this post and have a binge read. You deserve it.

The masquerade ball continued. Lady Meredith and Gerald Pendyr dance together. We learned that they had a summer romance and that Lady Meredith is a widow.

Jasper again offers his assistance to Gwenddydd. She then danced with the Duke Himself. Sir Hugh got very jealous. Unable to sleep, Gwenddydd sat out on the hotel’s roof. Sir Hugh found her there and they shared sensual kisses until Lady Meredith called out for her.

Intelligence had nothing new to report—except an aide had been beaten on his way back to headquarters. He’d escaped. All concerned put it down to disgruntled Belgians. Not everyone was pleased to see Wellington and the English in the city.

“His attacker,” Gwen spoke up for the first time. She stood with Hugh and the bandaged aide in a chamber reserved for Wellington’s staff. “What did he look like?”

“Thin, dark and French.”

Hugh tried to ignore her sudden interest and the way her hand reached for the sword case leaning against the table. “Where was this?”

An examination of a map of Brussels revealed the location partway between the Hotel Bellevue and the Parc.

Hugh circled two city blocks on the map. “We start searching there.” He turned to the intelligence officer. “Grant, I want every man you can spare.”

“There are not that many.” The officer sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Hugh glanced at Gwen. “I suppose you want to start now.”

She nodded, with a small smile of hope that made his heart flip. “Let me send a message to Mr. Tregallas. He has asked to help in the endeavour and we do seem to be a little short-handed for this search. I’ll ask him to meet us there.”

“Tregallas? You know he is in league with that Miss Pendyr.”

She nodded. “They know they need to wait.”

Hugh peered at her. How did she know this? What other secrets did she keep from him? Full of doubts, he dispatched a messenger to Mr. Tregallas’ residence.

Hugh and Gwen walked to the nearest edge of the area to be searched. Glancing her way, he resolved to let her speak first.

She said nothing. He discovered he enjoyed a woman by his side who didn’t chatter nonsense. She walked with strong determination, all femininity subsumed by her need to find the assassin. Her broad strides pulled her skirt hem tight with every step.

They entered the Parc de Bruxelles, cutting across it to reach their destination. She sighed and he glanced at her, the millionth such sneaking glance. This time she caught him.

He blurted the first thing that came to mind, anything to forestall a question from her. “Are you a priestess like your friend?”

She huffed a laugh. “Priestess? I have no talent for that line of work. Belief and faith are nothing compared to the talents a priestess possesses. All I brought to the circle were strong arms, a strong back, and a practical mind.” Her mouth twisted. “None of which are any good in this time.”

Mr. Tregallas waited for them outside the tavern. Miss Pendyr, Llyr and a young woman accompanied him. Gwenddydd surveyed them with sudden misgivings. They did need help.

Sir Hugh sent her a look. He must have caught a hint of her doubt. “I need two of you in the alleyway behind this building in case our quarry leaves that way.”

Miss Pendyr looked up at the tavern. “You think he’s in there?”

“Or his accomplices. It is a likely starting point but not the only one.” He pointed down the street. “Llyr, is it? If you could continue down that way and report anyone suspicious.” He relayed the description.

Llyr rubbed at the braids in his hair, loosening the queue at the nape of his neck. “That could be anyone.”

Sir Hugh shrugged. “Do your best. And be careful. This man is dangerous.”

Llyr bared his teeth.

“Take Ondine,” Miss Pendyr murmured. “I will assist Mr. Tregallas.”

They entered ’The Wondrous Cross’ tavern, Hugh going first. While white-washed on the outside, soot and smoke darkened the interior. It reeked of working men packed into a small space, the stale stench of sweat just beating out that of bodily waste.

He led her to a table in the corner with a clear view of both the front entrance and the door to the kitchens, the only two exits.

A slatternly woman came over. Sir Hugh ordered drinks in low-voiced French. At one point, he put his arm around Gwenddydd’s shoulders and leered down her cleavage, past her magical necklace. She managed a weak smile.

“Are we hunting for the assassin or do you mean to bed me here?” she growled at him and he looked taken aback.

“Yes, except we are not making a particularly good show of it.” He leaned forwards, his arm drawing her closer.

“I’m really not in the mood,” she muttered.

“Pretend.”

She didn’t have to pretend too hard. His mouth melted against hers: a kiss that soothed and possessed. She wagered he didn’t pretend too much either. She didn’t even mind when he palmed her breast, caressing her through the thin material.

Their drinks arrived, a flagon of wine and two pewter goblets. She pulled away, aware her heavy breathing drew in more of the noxious air than she liked. Hugh poured and they both gulped down the first glass. It did little to quench her thirst for him.

Their little display had attracted attention. Sir Hugh moved towards her to kiss her again, but froze. “Someone tall and thin just got up and left,” he got out between his teeth, his lips unmoving.

“Is it him?” she whispered back.

“No, but he looked like he was in a hurry.” He grinned. She saw the thrill of the chase in his eyes. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

They headed towards the front entry. Two bristling men stepped into their path, arms folding.

“Excusez moi,” Hugh attempted.

Neither ruffian moved.

Gwenddydd sighed. She would not fail again. She raised her foot while trying to appear frightened. The knife slid from the scabbard into her hand, and then into the fellow’s belly before her.

“Tend to him,” she snarled at the second man, her opposition falling like a felled tree, “before I do the same to you.” Her bloodied knife pricked his side in warning.

He backed away. Gwenddydd lifted her skirts and stepped over the body.

Sir Hugh followed. “You just killed a man,” he hissed. They hurried away from the tavern, in pursuit of their youthful target. She knew he wasn’t the assassin, but he was their only lead.

“He may live yet.” Her heart pounded with nauseating adrenalin. She had a mission to complete. The thug gave her no other choice.

They trailed the youth, keeping well behind him. Gwenddydd saw Llyr and Ondine. Calling out to them would tip off their target, who showed no sign that he knew he was being followed. She compressed her lips.

The young man entered a many-gabled building.

Sir Hugh pulled Gwenddydd back around a corner, momentarily out of sight.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, tugging her arm free.

“We do not know what we’re getting into. It could be a trap. We need help.”

“And what if it is his mother’s house?” she asked, eyebrow raised. “We need to find out—and we do not need assistance.” She flipped her knife in the air, catching it. “Coming?”

She crossed the street without waiting for him, hearing his footsteps follow. She didn’t blame him for his caution—although she had never asked, she guessed a reckless act had scarred him.

She opened the door, startling a plump, elderly woman sitting in the vestibule. Hastily, she concealed her bloodied knife in the folds of her gown, at last finding a use for the voluminous skirts.

“What do you want?” The old woman demanded.

Sir Hugh entered into a conversation with the woman. Her foot tapped. A narrow wooden stairwell circled above them. If the assassin hid in one of the floors above, he would see them coming. “Hurry,” she muttered under her breath, the tension coiling within.

“Third floor,” Hugh reported, eyeing the stairs with resignation.

Gwenddydd nodded. “Good. Bind and gag her. I don’t want them to get any warning we’re coming.”

“What?” He stared at her.

“Do you want me to do it?” She bared her teeth in a soundless snarl. The elderly woman gasped.

Hugh whipped his handkerchief out of his pocket and stuffed it into the woman’s mouth. With ruthless efficiency, he bundled her quivering figure into another room and returned.

Gwenddydd climbed the stairs, her knife at the ready. Hugh followed, his hand resting on his sword hilt.

Pausing on a landing, she noted he took the steps two at a time. “Your leg is going to hurt like hell tomorrow.”

He gave a sharp nod. “Better that than explaining to my aunt why I let you get yourself killed.”

She rolled her eyes, but slowed her pace. She wanted to fly up the stairs, find the assassin. She was so close, she almost tasted it.

They reached the third floor. Hugh drew his sword and nodded at the sole door off the landing. He pointed at himself and then the door.

He wanted to go first? She shook her head and before his gestures grew frantic, she strode across the narrow space and flung open the door.

The young man spoke with another dark-haired man. Gwenddydd’s heart thrilled. The assassin. They had found him.

Seeing them, the young man pushed back his chair, uttering a cry of alarm.

“You fool,” the assassin snarled. “You have led them to us.”

Gwenddydd stalked into the room, Hugh at her side. She held her knife, prepared to fight. “Surrender now.”

The man stood, grabbing his sword belt. He drew his sword from its sheath and tossed the belt aside. His accomplice also drew his sword, a short stubby thing made for close fighting, unlike the rapiers the assassin and Hugh brandished.

“Fool!” The man glared at the younger man. “She has a greater skill than you will ever possess.”

She took advantage of his momentary distraction and leapt forward, slashing her knife in a brief arc. It sliced open the back of his hand. His rapier cluttered to the ground. “Better than you.”

He stepped out of the range of her slashing knife. From the corner of her eye, she saw Hugh engage the other fellow. She hoped his slim blade would not break under the heavier sword.

She had no time to worry about him now.

A knife appeared in the assassin’s hand and the two of them circled each other. She searched for an opening, a weakness, her own knife flipping from hand to hand. She could use either hand without a disadvantage. That skill had been drummed into her since she’d been old enough to hold it without cutting herself.

She feinted toward him, but he stepped back, still circling her.

His blade flashed. She dodged, wheeling about.

Sword blades clashed behind her. She heard a pained grunt that she recognised as Hugh’s and an odd metallic snap.

Her focus flickered. The assassin’s knife hand jabbed, the knife point perilously close to her throat. She grabbed his wrist, holding him at bay and sliced with her knife.

He sucked in his stomach and grasped her knife-wrist. They struggled. Gwenddydd raced through the options: evenly matched in height and weight if not strength. However, the assassin had one disadvantage she did not.

She dipped into a slight crouch, then levered up, pushing him back despite his resistance. Her foot lashed out and connected with his groin.

The air went out of him in a whoosh. He released his hold, sinking to the ground. She scooped up his dropped knife and turned to see Hugh fighting for his life with nothing but a broken rapier.

Llyr arrived in the doorway at the same moment. He took in the scene, his hands curling into claws. He looked ready to tear into Hugh’s opponent bare-handed. He snarled.

The young man glanced at him, surprised.

Hugh’s teeth gleamed in a twisted sneer. He broke through the other’s defences, impaling him on his snapped sword before either Gwenddydd or Llyr came to his aid.

He glanced at the knife in her hand, ready to be thrown, and smiled tight, nodding his thanks.

The assassin stirred at her feet and she kicked him again where it hurt the most. He coiled into a ball.

“I’ll go hail a fiacre,” Hugh said, wincing, “untie the woman and pay her off. Can you and Llyr drag him downstairs?”

She grinned. “It would be my pleasure.”

Ok, I know that might have been painful for some of you to read… Thoughts about today’s instalment? Comments? Share below or join the Chat!

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