“But you will!”
“No.” Shane gazed over the man’s shoulder, his face impassive.
“Do you refuse to meet me, then?” The chevalier’s lip curled. “Are you a coward?”
Marguerite had to translate that last word. Shane’s expression did not change to any significant degree. “Sure,” he said.
“What kind of man are you?” blustered Lawrence.
“One who does not fight duels.”
“That is no kind of man.”
“All right.” Shane seemed unconcerned by this.
“Have you no care for your reputation?”
“Not…muchly? No.” He murmured a quick question to Marguerite, who supplied the word. “Not particularly.”
The chevalier was clearly taken aback by this. “You will fight me, sir!”
“Will I?” Shane finally looked back to the chevalier. “Do you fight to first blood here?”
“For a matter of courtesy, most certainly.” The man swept his arm toward the girl, who was trying to slink away. “Duels to the death are reserved for a matter of honor.”
Shane listened to Marguerite translate the details on that, then nodded. “First blood, then?”
“So I have said.”
Shane moved so quickly that Marguerite saw only a blur. The chevalier yelped and slapped his hand to the side of his head. Shane turned and carefully set a small object down on one of the little drinks tables scattered along the wall.
It was an earring. It was still snapped closed. Marguerite winced.
“You barbarian!” hissed the chevalier. Blood was leaking between his fingers, staining the fabric of his cuffs. The gathered crowd gasped excitedly.
“You will want to get that fix. Fixed? Fixed, yes,” said Shane. “Ears always bleed…muchly?”
And then he went back to staring over the man’s shoulder.
“I…you…” The man grabbed for his sword, which was peace bonded into the scabbard. “You dare!”
“Was that not what was meant?”
Marguerite decided it was time to intervene, before Shane ripped another earring off of the man’s head. “Sir Lawrence, I will thank you to stop badgering my bodyguard. This is clearly a misunderstanding.”
“A lady’s reputation is at stake!” the chevalier snarled, although this was deprived of some of its impact by the fall of lace across his face as he clutched his ear.
“The lady has left,” said Marguerite. She stepped forward. Shane made a small disapproving noise and started to move after her, but she waved him back, annoyed. “Sir Lawrence,” she said in an undertone, “no one can doubt that your heart was in the right place, but my bodyguard is more muscle than sense. He only barely speaks your language and had no idea what you were asking. He meant no insult to the lady.”
“Nevertheless—”
“It would be beneath you to meet such a man on the field of honor,” she said. “You spoke correctly when you said that he was a barbarian. He’s from the northwest. Far northwest.” She leaned in. “I found him wrestling ice-bears in the pit for spare change. He’s got certain talents, but no comprehension of civilized honor whatsoever.”
Sir Lawrence’s gaze flicked from Shane back to Marguerite. Between the earring and the hypothetical ice-bears, he seemed to deflate slightly. “I have no concern for my honor,” he said coldly, “but the lady’s.”
“I promise that I shall seek her out immediately and make amends for any insult that was given.
He did not understand that you were only seeking a dance partner for her.”
“Mmm.” Sir Lawrence, clearly aware of the watching crowd, took the out that Marguerite offered.
“I question your judgement bringing such a creature here, madam.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” said Marguerite, with a sigh. “Thank you for your mercy, Sir Lawrence.” She curtsied deeply to him, rather more deeply than was required for his relatively low rank. “I am grateful for your forbearance. As he will be, once I explain it to him.”
Sir Lawrence sniffed haughtily and let his hand drop from the sword hilt. “Very well. See that it does not happen again.” He turned and stalked away, like a disgruntled wading bird. The crowd began to disperse, clearly disappointed in the lack of further bloodshed.
“I caught something about bears,” said Shane. “Do I want to know?”
“Probably not.” Marguerite shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s get you out of here before you cause another diplomatic incident.”
They made their way toward the ballroom doors, pausing just long enough for Marguerite to get the name of the young lady who had been so dreadfully embarrassed. Unfortunately, word of the incident had clearly spread at lightning speed. Quizzing glasses were in favor this year, and so many people were peering through them that Marguerite felt as if she was moving through a sea of grotesquely magnified eyeballs.
Dammit, I don’t dare run away from this. I’ve got to nip this in the bud or my name will be all over the keep by midnight.
Hating the necessity, she slowed her steps, stopping to chat with acquaintances, and doing her best to present the image of a woman who was not in full retreat.
It was Davith who came to their rescue. He intercepted her on the way out, full of apparent good cheer, and insisted that he bring her a cup of wine. Even though her feet were in agony, she accepted, while Shane tried to make himself look smaller, with no great success.
“So Lawrence tried to pick a fight with your boy there?” murmured Davith in an undertone, passing her the wine.
“Yes, indeed,” she said quietly. “I’m hoping the fortress guard doesn’t come down on us for unlicensed brawling.”
Davith was too aware of the eyes on them to wince visibly, but she heard the indrawn breath.
“Well, I suppose we should fix that.”
“I’d like nothing better.”
“Simplicity itself.” He glanced at Shane and said, apologetically, “I’m sorry for what I’m about to say.”
Shane shrugged philosophically.
“Lawrence was how drunk?” Davith roared, at top volume, and burst out laughing. “You’re not serious!”
“Drunk as a lord,” Marguerite confirmed, not quite as loud, but still in a carrying voice. She could practically hear ears pricking up all around them. She giggled into her wine. “And dragging the most unfortunate girl about, and then…” She waved a hand at Shane, who stared straight ahead, looking stolid and unimpressed.
“God’s teeth, he thought she wanted to dance with your bodyguard? This oaf? ”
“I know!”
“I mean…” He slapped Shane on the back. “You’re not bad looking, my good man, but can you even dance?”
“I can do the Winter Dance,” said Shane, more slowly than usual, “if I have a goat.”
Oh, Lady of Grass… She had no idea what he was going to say next. Davith, however, had an unholy light in his eyes. “A live goat, or a dead goat?”
“Either works.”