Perfect Knave

by Kress, Alyssa

  Abruptly, he closed the book. Moll thought his face looked red as he pushed back his stool and stood. "Uh, actually, it is a diary."

  "A diary." Moll looked past him toward the book on the table.

  "Actually," he said, "I was just writing about you."

  Moll's head came up.

  With a peculiar half smile, Gawain crossed his arms over his chest. "I was writing about how you held off the crowd trying to hang Lucy, how you held off the whole town by yourself." Gawain looked down at the toe of his boot. "You were right. Action was what was needed."

  Moll shook her head vigorously. "No, no. That's what I came up here to say. You were right. If you had not stayed here, trusting in the Lord, there would have been no one to meet Emile, to point him toward the gallows."

  Gawain kept staring at his toe.

  Moll's hands found her apron. The air in the room felt heavy, hard to breathe, even though the apology was over.

  Gawain pursed his lips. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "a little of each is required. A little of what you are and a little what I am."

  Moll's hands twisted in her apron. The air felt heavier still.

  "Perhaps." Gawain moved his toe from one angle to another. "Perhaps we make a good team."

  Moll immediately bristled. "Perhaps," she admitted. It was useless to deny. The air was thick with their desire. "But what of my little ones?"

  "Your little ones?" Gawain looked up. In his face was that integrity she dreaded. "They will be our children, as joined to me in the flesh as any that come after."

  Moll felt her eyes go warm. "Do you really mean that?"

  For answer, Gawain pushed off the table.

  Moll gasped at the feel of his arms around her. They were strong—she had felt strong arms before. But she had never felt a promise before and the power of real love.

  "We will be married soon," Gawain said. There was a groan in his voice as one of his hands slid down to caress Moll's hip. "Tomorrow."

  To Moll's consternation, she felt a completely genuine thrill of carnal desire. Such hadn't happened to her in years. "Tonight," she urged, surprised at herself.

  Gawain chuckled. His lips brushed the top of her hair before he set her away. "If we are not careful, we will anticipate our wedding vows right here and now."

  It occurred to Moll to suggest just that. Then she got worried. "You can procure a license this fast?"

  Gawain shrugged. "Master Simple can work all sorts of wonders."

  Moll's brows rose. "Master Simple is preoccupied with another task at the moment."

  Gawain's gaze drifted toward the window. "Perhaps I could ease Latham's mind on that account."

  Moll's eyes narrowed. "You know where Emile is? All this ado, and you have not said?"

  Gawain sighed and turned toward his newly-affianced. "Tell me. Would it do Lucy any good to have Emile hauled home by Latham's guard?"

  Moll had to admit the truth of that. She gave a brisk nod. "What Emile needs is encouragement."

  Gawain's jaw tightened. "What Emile needs is a kick in the breeches."

  "Encouragement," Moll repeated. She tugged on Gawain's sleeve. "The wedding can wait a day. Give him a chance before you set Latham's dogs on him."

  "I'll give him a kick in the breeches."

  ~~~

  Emile tossed a twig into the whirlpool. He watched with satisfaction as the swirling water licked at the object, then sucked it in with a snap. He threw in another twig.

  A crackle in the undergrowth had him spinning and on his feet. On two occasions the day before, soldiers of some sort had come tramping past his position.

  This one did not march past.

  Emile relaxed, however, when he saw whose face appeared above the gorse bushes. "Oh," he said and turned away. "What do you want?"

  "Just curious." Gawain pushed through the brambles into Emile's little clearing above the whirlpool.

  Emile dropped to a seat on a hummock. He picked up another twig.

  "I am curious," Gawain elaborated, "what you are still doing here."

  Emile threw his latest twig into the whirlpool. "What do you care?"

  "Nothing at all, for myself. But I made a promise to a woman to find out."

  Emile's eyes narrowed as Gawain stiffly seated himself on the grass. "Lucy?"

  "Nay. Lucy wants you to be free." Gawain waved a hand. "Free as the breeze."

  Emile turned. He tossed another twig into the whirlpool.

  "But you are not free, are you?"

  Emile's movement checked on his latest toss. He lifted a shoulder. He could not himself explain the compulsion that kept him from vacating the area. He could not go back to Lucy. He was a disaster to her, a positive danger. Just as he had been to Crockett. The evil of his many sins had woven into his very flesh.

  And yet, he could not completely desert her.

  "You cannot stay, and you cannot leave." In vain, Gawain attempted to make his gangly form look comfortable on the ground. "I am curious, Emile, why you came back to town in the first place."

  Emile stopped on the point of tossing a twig, then drew back his arm and threw it harder. "It was a stupid idea."

  "A stupid idea." Stiff, with one arm wrapped around a knee, Gawain nodded. "Was it stupid, then, to save Lucy's life?"

  Emile wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Do not start."

  "Hm?"

  Emile turned to grin at the man. "Trying to make me out to be a hero. I'm no hero, I'm a deserting rat."

  Gawain's gray eyes were uncomfortably penetrating. "All right, then. If you prefer, then tell me why you left."

  Emile picked up another twig. He rolled it between his fingers. "She was better off without me."

  "Oh?"

  Emile's nerves stretched, irritated by Gawain's incredulous tone. "Yes, 'oh.' It was my brilliant idea to leave my clothes folded above the whirlpool. Nobody made me do that."

  Gawain made a considering face. "If you were going to leave at all, it was not a bad idea."

  "In sooth? It only got Lucy indicted for murder!"

  "How were you to know?"

  Emile slammed his little twig into the ground. "Don't you understand? Can't you see? Everything I do turns to manure. Every decision I make is wrong. The more I care about a person, the more mistaken are the decisions I make until, eventually, they are in danger of their very lives!"

  The way Gawain was now staring at Emile pleased him. Apparently, he'd finally gotten through. But then Gawain said something very stupid. "You think you put Lucy in danger of her life?"

  Emile gasped. "Of course I did. I was the one who made it look like I had died. I was the one who made Orville desperate. If not for me, Lucy would never have been in danger at all."

  It appeared Gawain had nothing to say. He just stared at Emile, his mouth ajar.

  "The only safe thing, the only right thing, is for me to leave Lucy alone," Emile continued. "I do...care for her, and I have no wish to harm her any more with my—my person."

  Gawain wiped a hand over his mouth. "I see. So you are out here, away from Lucy, for her own benefit."

  Emile nodded. The other man finally understood.

  Gawain made a soft, choking sound. "Well," he declared, "if that is not the most selfish piece of arrogance I have ever heard!"

  Emile knew he could not have heard that right.

  But then Gawain, with no small difficulty, rose from his seat on the ground. "Though I suppose," the steward smirked, "I should not be surprised. You have always showed yourself one passing giant jackanapes."

  "Hello?" Emile hastened to his feet and blocked the other man's path. "You think I am arrogant?"

  "Indeed." Gawain looked down on him, faintly amused. "Utterly above it all."

  Emile opened and closed his mouth several times.

  Gawain spoke before Emile could manage to reply. "You believe that your puny efforts on the world's stage turn the whole device around."

  Emile was almost too shocked to reply�
��but he managed. "I do not!"

  "Oh, aye, but you do." Gawain nodded. "In fact, you believe in sooth you are a magician. Clothes laid by a stream become a noose around Lucy's neck. Why, by your own reckoning, you are nearly God."

  Pressing his lips tight, Emile glared at the steward. "You are twisting what I said."

  "Am I?" A scornful smile touched Gawain's mouth. "Am I wrong that you think you ought to be able to prophesy the future—and also to affect it?"

  "That is not— That is to say—" Emile stammered, frustrated that he could not think how to refute Gawain's preposterous assertion. Finally, he simply blurted, "I am worthless!"

  "Ah." Gawain looked surprised. "So that's the true crux of the matter, is it?" Losing some of his scorn, he set a hand on Emile's shoulder. "Don't you see?" He smiled gently. "That is not for you to decide."

  Emile stared at the other man. Feeling unaccountably angry, he shook Gawain's hand away.

  Gawain stepped back, sighing. "Your worth on this earth was decided when God put you here, Emile. Aye, you will make mistakes. You are but a man. But will you undertake the task of living with your own imperfection? Will you own the courage to act your best, no matter what obstacles line your path? That is the decision, Emile, the decision of a humble man."

  Emile could not move. Gawain's words were like hot darts pinning him in place. To believe he had worth—that was humility? And to refuse such belief, a species of arrogance? He was supposed to live with his imperfection?

  Nobody could live with the imperfection that was Emile.

  But even as he had the thought, he had to wonder if it was not, in itself, a sign of the arrogance of which Gawain spoke. Did Emile consider himself the king of knaves? The most worthless of all worthless rogues?

  There did live a scandalous sort of pride in such a thought, he had to admit. The idea also served to ease responsibility from his shoulders, did it not? If he were so very worthless, then nobody, least all himself, could have any expectations of him.

  "Decide, Emile." Gawain smiled faintly. "What are you to be?" He turned and then disappeared into the gorse bushes.

  For a long time Emile stood there. Behind him he could hear the whirlpool, hissing and steaming with a completely indifferent power. He stared into the gorse bushes.

  Decide, the man said. Ridiculous. But a strange and new sort of fear moved through Emile's gut.

  Was he a coward to believe himself worthless?

  Never had he considered such an idea. Was thinking low of himself a convenient way to avoid the inevitable challenges of life?

  The longer he stood there, the more difficult it became to answer the question. He'd thought that by staying away from her he was protecting Lucy. But what if it wasn't actually Lucy he was trying to protect?

  ~~~

  Lucy folded her hands on the scarred surface of the table. She smiled. "This is all so very unnecessary, father."

  Seated on a chest, Latham lounged back. The storeroom that served Lucy as exchequer was so small that her father could use the wall behind him as a back to his seat. "What is unnecessary?" he asked, as if he did not know perfectly well.

  "You must stop this unreasonable search for my husband." Lucy squeezed her hands together, although she was not upset. Being upset would imply she still mourned Emile's departure. "It was wrong of you," Lucy went on, relaxing her hands. "Wrong from the very beginning, to force Emile into the marriage, to make conditions."

  Latham shrugged. "He would not have stayed with you a week had I not."

  Lucy blinked several times rapidly. Then she worked the smile back onto her face. She was calm; she was complacent and resigned about this. She only had to make her father see. "Yes, you got him to stay with me for more than a week. But you could not force him to love me."

  "No?" Latham looked surprised. "Did he not love you?"

  Lucy's serene smile nearly faltered. "Do not be ridiculous." She gave a light laugh. "Love cannot be forced. Why, it cannot be controlled in any way whatsoever."

  At this Latham's gaze turned suddenly shrewd. "In no way whatsoever? Then—" He pointed. "You must still love him."

  This was, indeed, a hit, but Lucy only smiled. She smiled and smiled. "Yes, I still love him—and that is why I beg you to stop looking for him because Emile does not want to be found." Lucy leaned forward. "He does not love me. At least not the way I love him. Nothing is going to make him happy but his freedom, a life without the burden of responsibilities. So, please father, please, let Emile seek his own happiness."

  Latham looked stunned. He just stared at her. Lucy was hoping she was finally getting through when his normal shrewd expression returned. He bent forward. "I wonder," Latham said. "I wonder if you can live up to your own brave words. I wonder if you can truly let Emile seek his own happiness—" His head tilted. "Wherever it may lie."

  Lucy folded her hands tightly together on the tabletop. It had taken her a long time to reach the point; she had fought many demons. But she was calm now, resigned and...happy, even. Yes, she was happy if Emile was happy. "Aye," she told her father. "I can."

  Latham leaned back. He was smiling. "Good," he told Lucy. "Because he is standing behind you right now."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Lucy froze. She simply froze, saintly smile and all. Emile was standing behind her? Her smile dropped, and she whirled.

  It was true. Emile stood centered in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He was glowering.

  In an instant, Lucy lost every shred of her hard-won calm. All her turmoil came rushing back: the pain of his departure, the terrible hurt and longing.

  With her heart stomping in her chest, Lucy spun back toward her father. "I told you not to force him!"

  Latham raised a shoulder. "I did not."

  While glaring at her father, Lucy felt Emile step into the room behind her. It was a heavy step, full of purpose.

  "Freedom," he muttered. "No responsibilities." Sparing her a brief, withering glance as he strode past, he turned to her father.

  "Yes?" Latham asked.

  Emile lifted his chin. "I want her dowry."

  Dead silence greeted this incredible remark. Lucy closed her eyes and then opened them again, wide. Even Latham appeared thrown by this burst of insolence. But Emile only stood there, looking adamant.

  Lucy felt heat rise to her forehead. This could not be why he was here. It was too absurd. "Well, you cannot ask for that," she snapped at Emile, rising from her stool. "You did not stay in the marriage for a year. That was the condition, do you not remember?"

  Emile slanted her a narrow-eyed regard. Then his hand snaked out. Lucy felt her arm gripped, felt her body jerked against him. Her lips parted in surprise and were immediately covered by his own. It was a hot kiss, hungry, and quick. He released her so abruptly she nearly stumbled.

  "I left," Emile spoke slowly and clearly, "at the point of a knife...this long." He held his palms facing each other at a shoulder's width apart. Then he tilted his head toward Latham. "That shouldn't count, getting hauled off against my will. I want her dowry."

  Brows raised, Latham opened his mouth.

  Meanwhile, Lucy wiped her lips with the back of one hand. Her knees were trembling, but she was not about to fall melting at anyone's feet.

  "A knife?" she broke in, before her father could say a word. "Why would anyone take you at knifepoint?"

  Emile heaved an impatient sigh. "You remember those cutthroats, the ones who chased me into your bathtub all that time ago?"

  "Uh." Lucy threw an embarrassed glance in her father's direction. "Yes, I remember them."

  "They caught up with me."

  Lucy's gaze flew back to Emile.

  His impatience dimmed, and he smiled faintly. "With a knife. That's why I left you, Lucy. Because they wanted to slit my throat."

  Lucy stared at him. "They wanted to... Oh." She'd never considered such a possibility. In her mind, he'd left of his own free will. In fact, he'd been determined to flee.
>
  "So what about that dowry?" Brisk, Emile turned back to Latham.

  "But—" Lucy stepped forward. "But you were gone all that time." His story could not be true. He had itched for freedom.

  Emile rolled his shoulders. "Stone was very angry with me. He wanted revenge. I spent those seven weeks shoveling manure from his stables. So you see—" Emile turned his attention to Latham. "I deserve her dowry."

  Lucy just stared. It was too overwhelming. Emile, taken against his will? Emile, not deserting her? But—she had always known he was going to leave, to seek his freedom. He had only fulfilled her every reasonable expectation. Hadn't he?

  "Fine." Latham raised a finger. "You were forced to leave on that particular occasion. But what about after Lucy nearly hung? You left then, too."

  Indeed! Lucy congratulated her father on keeping his wits about him. Emile had certainly left her then, too. He had even told her it was because he wanted to be free.

  Briefly, Emile closed his eyes. "That was...wrong. You see, I love her, and I thought I was protecting her."

  Very slowly, Lucy drew air into her lungs. He loved her? But she shoved that idea aside for the moment. "Protecting me? Protecting me from what?"

  Emile turned to look at her with pain in his eyes. "I thought I was protecting you from myself. From all the stupid mistakes I make, the—the general worthlessness that puts the people I love in mortal danger."

  Lucy's gaze fixed on him. Did he actually believe such a ridiculous sentiment?

  But her father only nodded as if this made perfect sense. "Very well. You have explained your actions of the past, but what about the future?" He squinted one eye at the younger man. "How do I know you are going to remain with Lucy in the future?"

  Emile straightened. "A good question. But to be honest, it is not I, but your daughter, who is the one to answer it."

  Lucy's head jerked up. "Me?"

  As he looked back at her, Emile's gaze grew even more sober. "There is no question in my mind, Lucy. I know I where I wish to be. The decision is yours. Whether or not you want me."

  Lucy's jaw dropped. Whether or not she wanted him? But that was not the way the question went. It was the other way around.