The Black Lotus (Night Flower)

by Claire Warner

  With a shaky hand, he wiped the sweat from his eyes and returned to the guard position. Both fighters drew deep shuddering breaths of crisp morning air, tired from their exertions. Marcus scanned his opponent, looking at the solid frame for signs of weakness as the other man moved. He barely managed to parry the heavy blow, retreating back as Montjoy pressed the advantage, landing heavy punishing hits that jolted his arm with each parry.

  Montjoy favours his left side.

  Lestrade’s words echoed through Marcus’ head as he dove from another heavy hit. He was tiring fast, his arm unable to withstand the heavy strikes. Sensing victory, Montjoy lunged forward, aiming for Marcus’ head. Desperation lent him a speed that he did not think possible, he parried once more and riposted; aiming for Montjoy’s left side. The other man was slow to react. Marcus’s blade sliced into Montjoy’s upper chest and blood seeped onto the white of his shirt. As Marcus pulled the blade free, Montjoy sank to the ground. On the other side of the circle, Justin bowed his head in respect, turned and began to leave.

  “I have satisfaction sir.” Marcus called as he sank to the ground, exhausted. From the other side of the clearing, Montjoy struggled upright, fury in each line of his face. His seconds moved close and he pushed them back, regaining hold of his sword.

  “We’re not done De Vire!” Marcus stood, ignoring the tiredness that flowed through his body. With a breath of crisp air, he faced Montjoy, holding his sword arm steady as he watched his opponent dragging himself upward. “I’m not through with you yet boy.” Montjoy was moving slower, the bright blood seeping across his shirt evidence of a severe wound.

  “On the contrary, Montjoy, I’d say you need a surgeon.” He watched as Montjoy finally pulled himself to his feet and began to walk forward. “Don’t be a fool,” He uttered, readying himself for the attack to come. “I don’t want to have to kill you. You’ve lost, now go home and heal yourself up,”

  “Curse you!” With a yell, Montjoy rushed forward, attacking wildly, angrily. Marcus parried furiously, Montjoy’s blows were beating him backwards. He knew that Montjoy now aimed to kill and he fought back, mindful of his life. From the sides he could see the others moving, but Montjoy kept on attacking, blinded by rage. Marcus felt the blade sing by his ear and he swore. In desperation he riposted clumsily. He managed to strike Montjoy, skewering the man’s other shoulder with a ragged cut, yet the awkward manoeuvre sent him off balance. With a shout of triumph Montjoy kicked out. His foot connected with Marcus’ upper leg. Marcus, already off balance, could not keep upright and he fell.

  “Marcus!” He heard James shout as he hit the ground heavily, knocking the wind out of him as his sword flew from his fingers and landed a few feet away. He looked up to see Montjoy headed for him, blade held high. Montjoy brought up the blade and thrust it down, aiming for Marcus’ heart. Marcus flinched, closing his eyes, expecting the blow. Yet it did not come, there was the sound of flesh hitting flesh. He opened his eyes and stared upward. James had reached Montjoy and had pulled him to the ground. He watched as his father reached downwards and wrestled the blade from Montjoy’s fingers. As a group, they dragged the older man off. Blood poured from the wounds in Montjoy’s shoulders and the older man yelped in pain as the crowd about him pulled him away.

  ”Another time De Vire,” Montjoy yelled, his voice losing strength as his life’s blood flowed from him.

  “Give it up,” Marcus picked up his sword as he drew himself upright. Ignoring the tiredness in his limbs, he levelled the point of the blade at Montjoy’s throat. “One more move from you sir and I swear you die.”

  “Do you think you can kill me boy?” Montjoy’s voice was harsh yet growing weaker as the adrenaline that sustained him began to drop. “I nearly had you,”

  “You’re broke the rules for this combat,” James called out, coming close to the pair and placing a placating hand on Marcus’ shoulder. “You have no honour sir and you’re not welcome in society. Get yourself to a surgeon and then leave London.”

  Montjoy made to move upwards, but his injuries finally seemed to catch up with him and he sank back to the ground in a faint.

  “Get him out of here,” Marcus backed up, watching as his father directed several others to Montjoy’s side before returning to his son.

  “Good fight my boy,” Edward called as he reached his son’s side. “Mayhap he’ll learn something from this,” He glanced over as Montjoy’s friends loaded him into a carriage. “Though I doubt it,”

  “Well it’s no longer a concern of mine,” Marcus replied, drawing a tired arm across his face. “As long as he leaves the country, I have no further interest in that snake.”

  “Come on,” Edward tugged at Marcus’ arm and drew him away. Exhausted and coated in sweat and dust, Marcus allowed his father to lead him away from the park and back to his carriage.

  Chapter 7:

  Melissa spent a wretched morning waiting for news. In her agitation she had ruined not one but two samplers and her mother had insisted that she take a walk to cure herself of restlessness. A spell in the garden had helped somewhat yet she did not fully relax until she heard the front door open just before twelve. Determined not to seem overly anxious, she arranged her hands carefully over her sewing and waited. The clock on the mantle ticked slowly, marking out the time as she chewed her bottom lip nervously. From the hallway came the sound of people talking in low whisper and a fist clenched about her heart. Visions of Marcus being carried injured, pale and bleeding through the house assailed her vision and she gasped in sudden fear. Forgetting her desire to appear calm and collected, she pushed herself from her chair in a rush of movement and headed for the door. Her fingers reached for the door handle as the heavy wooden portal yawned wide. Melissa stopped moving and stared. The figure in the doorway was hidden in shade and a terrible foreboding tugged at her pounding heart. As she struggled to form words, the figure stepped forward and was bathed in the early morning sunlight.

  “Marcus,” Her voice cracked slightly with relief as she took in the form of her rakish older brother. “Marcus,” With a cry of relieved happiness she threw herself into his arms and hugged him.

  “You’re alright. Thank heaven.” Marcus staggered a bit as his sister threw herself upon him, yet he quickly recovered and returned the hug, a tired smile on his face.

  “Did you doubt it?” His deep voice was drained of energy yet she could hear triumph in his voice. “It seems you were worried little sister,” His hands settled onto her shoulders and he smiled down at the top of her head. “I’m glad you’re happy to see me well but, I would like my ribs back now.” A soft laugh finished his sentence and flushing with embarrassment; Melissa released him and stepped back.

  “So you won?” It wasn’t a serious question; she could tell that he had won. There wasn’t a single scratch on him. Somewhere within her, she felt great pride at her brother’s accomplishment, it was just a shame that this feeling failed to eclipse her worry.

  “Oh yes I pinked him well,” Marcus replied as he sat down on the brocade couch with a sigh. “Your honour is defended little sister.”

  “You didn’t have to..” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could have retracted them. Marcus was tired and he had less tolerance for argumentative behaviour.

  “Oh yes I did. I can’t have men feeling that it’s acceptable to raise a hand against you.” With his left hand, he reached down and picked up the china shepherdess that lay on the small end table. He lightly ran his fingers over its smooth surface, his usual way of calming himself and peered at her severely.

  “Would you rather have me well but marked as a cad who cares naught for you?”

  She heard the admonishment in his voice. She had not fully thought of what it meant had he not reacted to Montjoy. He would be shamed for not coming forward on her behalf. Even though she didn’t want him to be hurt, she realised with a burst of shame that he was right. If he had not come to her aid, others would claim that her honour meant
nothing, that her own family would not defend it. Despite the fact that she had slapped Montjoy in her own defence, that would mean nothing to others. “No, I wouldn’t have them say that,” She answered in a small voice. “I just didn’t want him to…”

  “What? You thought he could win?” There was a surprised edge to Marcus’ voice. “You doubted my skill?”

  Melissa couldn’t answer that, she didn’t doubt him. She knew that Marcus was skilled with the blade, but she couldn’t answer for Montjoy and sometimes skill was not enough. She didn’t know how to explain that her honour was not as important as his life. In her heart of hearts she knew that Montjoy would have tried to kill her brother as a punishment for his interference. It was a loss she would not have been prepared to make, simply because she had slapped an overly amorous fool.

  “Well did you?” Her brother was leaning forward now, all traces of tiredness gone from his face as he searched her features, waiting for her to answer. “Well?” He placed the shepherdess back down on the table and Melissa knew that she would have to answer. Her brother was quite easy going, yet he had his pride.

  “I knew your skill but he could have been better…” Marcus snorted in disgust. “No he could have been.” Her voice rose as she warmed to her subject, Marcus was clearly not seeing the full picture, he was clearly too overconfident in his skills and that was deadly. “If you got killed I… I don’t know what I’d do. It was my fault you went into it.”

  “Little sister, listen to me.” Marcus leant forward and clasped her hands in his, the palms were calloused and she could almost feel the ridges where the hilt of his sword had rubbed. “You were not at fault and Montjoy needed this lesson. He will steer clear of you in future and not just because I skewered him so well that he needed a surgeon. You cannot let people treat you poorly and while you are unable to call a miscreant out, I can,” His green eyes fixed on her and he spoke with utter sincerity.

  “I will not fight without reason and he gave me a reason. He would have struck you before the entire court. I could not let him get away with that. Besides, if I had not acted, Father would have done..” Melissa’s head snapped up and she looked at Marcus in horror, her father’s duelling days were long over, he would have surely lost at Montjoy’s hands.

  “Indeed he would have,” Marcus had not missed the worried expression in her eyes. “So you see, I had to as you had no other champion.” He let go of her hands and sat back, relaxing into the chair.

  “There was no need to worry about me,”

  Melissa watched him for several moments, conflicting emotions warring within her. She knew that her brother spoke the truth. He had to act on her behalf and yet she did not wish to be responsible should he return home injured or dead. He was the favourite and if he died defending her honour, would it matter that form dictated he should? Would her parents blame her for his demise? It would be so much simpler if she had been born male, then she could take responsibility for her own actions. She would be able to fence, to ride out alone. In fact do everything that a high born lady was not allowed to do until she was safely wed and delivered of a son. The injustice rankled slightly. She raised her green eyes to her brother’s exhausted face and wondered. Yes he fought well this time, but what about the next?

  “You should teach me to fence,” Melissa said suddenly to the quiet room. She had not even been aware that she had been thinking of asking it. In the still recesses of her mind, it made a perverse sense. If she knew how to fence she could defend her own honour, she would also feel able to protect herself. As soon as the words left her lips, she knew that she wouldn’t be allowed to. It was not done for a woman to be seen with a sword.

  “What?” Marcus looked at his younger sister and laughed openly, glee spreading over his tired face in an instant. “You? Fence?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because its one thing to know how to handle a pistol. It’s quite another to stand there with a sword,” Her brother said with laughter still thrumming through his voice. “And father would kill me, I also don’t think it’s a good idea.” He finished with a more serious note.

  “I don’t see why,” Melissa answered, annoyed with his manner, after all he had taught her how to shoot. Why would he have difficulty in teaching her how to fence?

  “Because you are female and as such are destined for a very good marriage and a home in Suffolk or somewhere like it. I doubt your future husband wants a sword wielding firebrand,”

  “Oh fig for that,” Melissa replied with a definite note of sourness to her voice. “I want to learn how to fence. I already know how to sew a sampler with exquisite precision and it’s dull,”

  “So if I teach you to fence what next? Drinking and swearing like a trooper?” Marcus’ voice was losing its humour and a note of annoyance crept in.

  “No I just would like to be able to defend myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of all those missing women.” She explained, not liking the look of anger that was slowly filtering across her brother’s face. “The ones who were taken from their homes.” She continued, “I don’t ever want to end up like them,”

  “How the deuce do you know about them?” Her brother asked with shock. “I mean,” he modified his tone slightly and continued. “Who told you?”

  “Sarah,” Melissa answered wondering why Marcus seemed so angry at her request. He had always been an eager accomplice in her plans when they were younger.

  “And are you planning on eloping in the dead of night?”

  “Well no..”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about. All of those girls seemed to be leaving their houses on their own. They were not dragged kicking from their beds. There is no need for you to learn how to defend yourself. You are a lady or will be…”

  “But..”

  “No,” Marcus snapped back, he had definitely lost his sense of humour. “I don’t want to hear another thing about you learning to fence,” He pulled himself upright and took several long strides towards the door. As he reached it, he turned to face her.

  “Be thankful that I won’t mention this request to Father,” With a last glance over his shoulder Marcus left the room.

  Melissa pursed her lips with annoyance and sat back on the couch frowning. When they had been younger, Marcus had delighted in teaching her things that were considered less than appropriate for her sex. Now however he seemed as strict as Father when it came to behaviour. She picked up her sewing and thrust it back into the basket with a snarl of bad temper. It just wasn’t fair. She had never doubted that it was her duty to marry well, but it didn’t mean she wanted to be nothing but a swooning useless ornament like Mary Westbury.

  “Melissa are you alright?”

  Her mother entered the room and stared down at the spilled basket of embroidery silks. A crease marred her brow and she walked closer. “Have you and Marcus been arguing?” Melissa looked at her mother in astonishment.

  “How did you…?” She stuttered slightly, amazed as always at her mother’s almost omniscient powers of perception. Granted she could have been listening at the door, but she dismissed that thought immediately. Had her mother heard the argument, she wouldn’t be calmly asking her questions about it. Lydia looked at her daughter without replying and Melissa dropped her eyes to the floor.

  “I guess I upset him,” she answered, deciding that part of the truth would save her trouble. “I questioned whether he should have risked himself like that.”

  “Oh I see.” Lydia sat down beside her daughter. She lifted her hand and brushed a stray strand of hair back away from Melissa’s face. “Well you know how seriously he takes the job of keeping you safe.”

  “I know Mother but…” She shrugged her shoulders once and looked at those familiar blue eyes. “I don’t want him to get hurt because of me,”