Fire and Ice

by Hart, Catherine

  “Kat!” he barked, making her jump. “How did your gown get torn?”

  “We’ll discuss it later, if you don’t mind. I’m too tired to argue with you about it,” she grumbled sleepily.

  Striding to her side of the bed, hangover forgotten, he yanked the covers back. “We’ll discuss it now, Kat!” His eyes widened as he observed the bruises showing clearly on her arms. He scanned further and saw that her wrists were bruised also. As she rolled to look up at him, he saw the slight reddening around her delicate mouth, and drew in a sharp breath at the ugly bluish marks on her breasts. She followed his gaze, wincing as he touched her tender breast.

  “What went on last night? Who is responsible for this?” he demanded angrily.

  Brushing his hand aside, she commented dryly, “I could ask the same of you, Reed. What happened to you last night, and with whom?”

  “Don’t sidestep the issue, Kat. It was Pierre, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?” he roared as she didn’t reply.

  She flinched, but wouldn’t answer, opting to glare at him defiantly.

  “How far did it go?” he groaned out through clenched teeth, then exploded as she remained silent. “Did he rape you, damn it? Or maybe after some persuasion you gave in freely!”

  “No!” she screamed, unable to believe she’d heard correctly.

  “Did you enjoy it, Kat? Did he satisfy you as well as I?” he persisted with a sneer. Holding her chin firmly, he glared at her, his eyes as cold as blue diamonds.

  Tears of hurt and anger coursed down her face onto his fingers. “Nothing happened, Reed!” she shouted at him.

  “Are you sure?” he snarled. “I know how easily you can be won over; how willing you can become! I can even imagine you encouraging him.” His hand moved to circle her slim throat.

  “Reed, I swear to you, nothing happened!” she croaked. She looked him square in the eye and added, “No thanks to you! You were too pleasantly occupied with Rosita to notice anything else.”

  His hand tightened on her throat. She held his gaze with her own, and forced herself to relax in his grip. “Go ahead, Reed. Kill me,” she gasped. “The Kat-Ann will still be yours, and you’ll be free of me. Frankly, I don’t care anymore.”

  After what seemed a lifetime, he released her, his big hand shaking. “It’s not my intention to be free of you, Kat. I told you before, what I own I keep, but I’ll share you with no one.”

  Joe arrived with Mae, preventing further discussion. When they had lugged the tub away, Kathleen left the bed, pulling on a light robe. She searched through her armoire, selecting an aqua gown and slippers, the first ones her hands found. Her eyes lit on the hilt of her rapier, and for a brief moment she considered using it on Reed. She grabbed a handful of pins and her hairbrush, and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Reed asked gruffly.

  “Where you aren’t, you loathsome Yankee!” she answered in a trembling voice. She slammed the door and made her way to the guest room, slamming that door also.

  Reed bathed, shaved, and dressed in fresh clothes. He regretted the harsh words he’d said to Kathleen, but still his anger held, and he wondered if she had told the truth. He knew she would not have given in to Pierre willingly,

  but perhaps she was ashamed or afraid to admit he had violated her. When he was ready to leave the room, Reed walked down the hall to the guest room. He tried the door, finding it locked. He pounded on it with his fist.

  “Kat, unlock this door!”

  “Go away!”

  “If you don’t let me in, I’ll break the door down. Now!”

  “Leave me alone! I don’t want anything to do with you! ”

  Turning his shoulder to the door, he heaved. Under his weight the door gave easily, breaking the lock.

  Kathleen sat in a chair, staring out the window.

  “I want to talk to you,” he said evenly.

  Wearily she turned to face him, eyes puffed from crying. “All right, talk,” she sighed resignedly.

  “Tell me exactly what happened last night,” he instructed, pulling up a chair to face her.

  “Ask Pierre,” she said stubbornly.

  “I’m asking you, Kat. Now quit hedging.”

  “All right!” she screamed. “He grabbed me from behind and pulled me into the trees. His hand was across my mouth, and I couldn’t scream. He pushed his hand into my bodice, tearing my gown. He was so involved in groping at my breasts that I struggled free. Just to insure he wouldn’t be bothering me further, I kicked him in the groin.”

  Her voice rose as she spoke, and she trembled at the memory of Pierre’s hands upon her. “Then, when I would have run to you for help and comfort, I found you in Rosita’s capable arms! Now are you satisfied?” she spat.

  “Not until I settle a score with Pierre,” he swore.

  “Why? Because he attempted to have his way with your wife while you were likewise involved with another woman?” she jeered. “I’d say I have more to settle with Rosita since you spent the night with her!”

  “I got drunk and passed out at Jean’s. They bedded me down there,” he admitted sheepishly. “Alone,” he said.

  “I’ll bet!” she said hotly.

  “Ask Jean.”

  “He’s your friend, Reed. I’m sure you two have cooked up some fantastic lies. By the way, what do you intend to do about Pierre?”

  “We’ll duel, of course,” Reed stated calmly.

  “How good are you, or should I ask, ‘how good is he’?” she queried.

  “He’s good, but Jean is better and so am I. Were you hoping to play the merry widow?” he asked snidely.

  “No, Reed.” Kathleen turned serious leaf-green eyes on him. “Of all the things I’ve wished on you, I would not want to see you dead or seriously injured,” she told him sincerely.

  “Thank you for that much, Kat.”

  “You can’t kill him either, you know.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he is Jean’s and Alex’s brother, and they could not remain your friends after you’d killed Pierre.”

  “So! Dominique even tells you his most guarded secrets! Maybe I should keep a closer eye on that sly dog, too.”

  “We have become very close friends, nothing more. We respect each other. He treats me like his sister and I like him very much. You will not harm him, Reed,” she warned.

  Reed leaned close, tangling his fingers in her silky hair. “Are you sure you do not feel more strongly about him?”

  “I do not love him, except perhaps as one would a brother.”

  Reed nodded, satisfied. “I’ll talk to Jean today. If Pierre agrees, we will fight until first blood is drawn, and I will be satisfied with that, since you say you have come to no great harm.”

  “My word is good, Reed. Better than yours, I’d wager. You must believe me. I would want his head on a platter and his body feeding the fish regardless of Jean or Dominique if it were otherwise.”

  Reed watched her face closely, then sighed in relief. “I believe you.”

  Chapter 7

  THE duel was set for dawn. Kathleen had lain awake throughout the endless night, alternately hating Reed and praying for his safety. True, he was a scoundrel of the first degree, and she swore vengeance on his head, but she loved him. Any revenge would be at her hands, and she could not bear the thought of him wounded, maimed, or dead.

  She’d tossed and turned, finally choosing to sit in a chair so Reed could get some rest. He had refrained from touching her, speaking only when necessity demanded it, both of them still angry and upset. His voice came to her now out of the dark.

  “Why can’t you sleep, Kat?”

  “I’m worried for your safety,” she replied softly. “You should be resting.”

  “I’ve never been good at resting before a duel at dawn,” he chuckled dryly.

  “You should try. You’ll be dead for lack of sleep in the morning.”

  “Good heavens, you certainly have a way with words, woman!
Never say ‘dead’ to a man just before he enters combat!”

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered meekly. “Are you sure you can beat him?”

  “Nothing is ever a certainty, kitten, but the odds are in my favor. Pierre has grown slovenly lately, not so quick on his feet.”

  They were silent for a time, but she knew he wasn’t sleeping.

  “Kat?”

  “Yes?”

  “If anything should go wrong, will you go to my mother in Savannah?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jean will take you, and Dominique will protect you from Pierre.”

  “Reed?”

  “Yes?”

  “Please be quiet,” she whispered softly through her tears.

  Finally the hour had arrived. The contest was to take place on the beach below Jean’s gardens. The morning sun had not yet burned off the mist, and the breeze from the Gulf was cool. Kathleen had insisted on attending the match, snatching down her rapier from its place in the armoire.

  “What are you going to do with the rapier, Kat?” he asked hesitantly.

  “I shall kill Pierre with it if he does not stop when first blood is drawn. I do not trust him.”

  “Don’t be silly. Jean will mediate the duel and see that the rules are followed. Put that thing back before you hurt yourself.”

  “No,” she insisted adamantly.

  The men faced each other in the wet sand. Both had discarded their shirts, the better to judge who scored a cut first. Kathleen proudly noted that while rolls of fat hung over Pierre’s belt, Reed’s stomach was flat and hard; his chest and arms muscular and fit.

  Jean announced the rules and both men agreed to adhere to them. The two adversaries saluted one another, then with a touch of rapiers and a shout of en garde, the duel was on. Kathleen held her breath as Pierre lunged for Reed’s broad chest. Reed parried the blow with ease and followed through with a counterattack toward Pierre’s midriff. Pierre thrust again, and this time Reed sidestepped and thrust at Pierre’s sword arm, missing it by a hair’s breadth, to Pierre’s relief. The men circled each other warily, alternately thrusting and parrying, lunging and recovering; each trying to judge the other’s skill; each watching for an opening to present itself. Their rapiers flashed in the morning sun as they continued to fight.

  Kathleen’s experienced eye told her that Pierre was wanting more than just to wound, and as she glanced at Jean’s worried face, she could tell he knew it, too. The only sound was the clash of steel on steel, no one willing to distract either opponent. Pierre was tiring, sweat glistening on his face and chest. Reed was breathing easily, his hairy chest only slightly damp.

  “Reed is almost toying with him,” Kathleen thought. She watched as they clashed swords again and again, each seeking to wound the other. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as Pierre landed a lucky stroke, his sword glancing off Reed’s belt buckle. Reed counterparried, but Pierre recovered too quickly. Pierre thrust again, and Reed leaped aside with the grace of a cat. A flash of steel, and Reed’s blade slashed across Pierre’s left cheek, creating a deep gash from just below his eye to his chin.

  Jean jumped in immediately, declaring Reed the victor, as he pressed a handkerchief to Pierre’s face. He congratulated Reed on his skill, smiled kindly at a very pale Kathleen, and returned to say a few words to Dominique on the edge of the crowd.

  Reed walked toward Kathleen, his back to Pierre. Pierre bent, seemingly to pick up his shirt, and suddenly lunged toward Reed’s retreating back, rapier extended. Faster than the eye could see it, Kathleen swung her rapier up, stepped forward, and brought the tip of it to Pierre’s throat. A gasp went through the crowd as all eyes turned toward them.

  “One more step and you are a dead man, Pierre,” Kathleen snarled through her teeth.

  Pierre gaped at her in amazement.

  “Enough, Kathleen. Step aside and let me deal with this back-stabbing coward,” Reed ordered.

  “Stay out of this, Reed,” she snapped, her eyes never leaving Pierre’s. “He’s mine, now!”

  Pierre, feeling confident of her inabilities, brought his rapier up quickly, trying to jab for her left breast. She jumped neatly aside, her green eyes flashing, meeting him with a lightning parry. With one swift slice, she opened his sword arm to the bone from shoulder to elbow. He bellowed in pain, his rapier falling from his hand; his arm dangling.

  A murmur of astonishment issued from those watching. A look of disbelief was carved on Reed’s face. Kathleen backed away from Pierre, slowly lowering her blade. “Touché,” she said softly, then fled along the beach away from the curious stares of the onlookers.

  “My God, I’ve really done it now,” she thought. “I’ve tipped my hand and thrown away my trump card. Now Reed knows I can handle this rapier.” She looked at the bloody weapon in her hand. “How do I bluff my way out of this?”

  She didn’t have long to wonder, for Reed came loping up behind her. “Kat, stop a minute.” He reached out, clutching her shoulders, and spun her about. “I think you owe me an explanation,” he panted.

  “About what?” she asked innocently.

  “Start with where you learned to fence,” he suggested dryly.

  “I used to watch my father,” she said. “He was very good.”

  “I suppose donkeys fly, too. No, Kat, you couldn’t have learned to be so quick and light on your feet just from watching,” he countered wryly.

  “I admit I practiced with him at times, but my agility probably comes from my ballet and dance lessons at school,” she told him a half-truth, not willing to tell him an outright lie. “Call it beginner’s luck.”

  “In a pig’s eye.”

  “Look, Reed, this is silly. I was infuriated at Pierre back there and reacted before I had time to think,” she told him truthfully. “Good grief! One lucky stroke and you think I’m ready for the world championship fencing tournament! I was mad, damn it, and Pierre was too tired to move quickly, and I was damned lucky! When I think what might have happened, I start to shake.”

  “Hmm,” he grunted noncommittally, still eyeing her dubiously.

  “Perhaps you had better teach me how to use this sword after all,” she suggested innocently, hoping he was falling for her ruse. “Papa always said there was nothing more useless than an inept amateur.”

  “All right,” he agreed. He stepped away from her, taking her stance. “Present your weapon,” he instructed her.

  “Now?” She stared at him, eyes widening.

  “It’s as good a time as any.”

  “But aren’t you tired?”

  “No. Now quit stalling. I want to see how good you really are.”

  “You’ll be surprised at how bad I can be,” she predicted hopefully.

  She copied his stance with studied formality, presenting her weapon stiffly.

  “Loosen up,” he told her.

  “Easy for you to say,” she grumbled back.

  They touched tips and he called out, “En garde. ” He thrust straight toward her midsection. She parried slowly.

  “Too slow,” he cautioned her, drawing back. “Try again.” He lunged forward, the tip of his rapier slicing a button from her bodice before she turned his blade away. She jabbed with deliberate clumsiness at his chest. He parried her attack and sliced her sleeve, neatly avoiding cutting her skin. She had to admire his skill.

  “Reed!” she shouted, feigning fright.

  “I won’t cut you, Kat. Keep trying.”

  She attacked again, this time barely nicking his chest. She gasped in pretended concern.

  “Better,” he encouraged, ignoring the slight cut. He thrust again and this time she jumped lightly out of his way. They continued in like manner for several minutes, Kathleen trying to show him that she was agile but unskilled at the art, clumsy enough to be convincing—she hoped.

  Finally she threw up her arms and sank to her knees, breathing heavily. “I’m worn out,” she pretended. “This thing is so heavy!” she huffed, letting the
rapier fall.

  Reed sat down beside her on the warm sand. “You’ll get used to the weight in time.” He lay back and studied her delicate profile. “You could be good with lessons, Kat. You seem to have a natural aptitude for the footwork and the rhythm. But,” he added, “you are definitely not ready for any duels, not even with beginners. You are much too slow. You are light on your feet, but awkward with your blade. You try to lunge from too far back, your recovery is hideous, and your parries carry no weight.”

  “Perhaps we’d better just forget the whole thing,” she suggested, trying to hold back a smile of delighted triumph. “I’d much rather let you protect me anyway.”

  “It would probably be best,” he agreed. “Still, I haven’t thanked you for saving my life. Thank you, kitten.”

  “You’re most welcome, sir,” she quipped. “Just don’t depend on me too often.”

  He shook his head in wonder. “I still can’t understand how you bested Pierre.”

  “I was just blind mad that he would attack you from behind,” she stated vehemently.

  “I never expected that, even from him. Anyway, he must have been caught off guard by the suddenness of your attack, I suppose.”

  “I’m sure that must be it,” she said, forcing back a grin.

  Immediately following the duel, Jean had sent to New Orleans for Charles de Beaumont, urging him to hurry. He arrived with Eleanore by midafternoon. Pierre already had a rising fever, his eyes glazed with pain. After the doctor had examined him, Eleanore informed Kathleen that it would take all of Charles’s knowledge and a lot of good fortune to save Pierre’s arm. Once the arm was sound, only time would tell how much use Pierre would have from it.

  The only remorse Kathleen felt was for Jean and Dominique. Pierre had gotten what he deserved, but they were suffering their brother’s pain with him. Kathleen talked briefly with Dominique toward evening. “Do you and Jean hate me now, Dom?”

  “Why would we, Kathleen? It was a dirty, sneaking trick Pierre pulled. None of us were close enough to stop him in time. Reed was fortunate you were so quick to react, or we would be attending a funeral. Jean and I cannot get over the way you disarmed Pierre so easily. You were magnificent! Where did you learn to fence so beautifully?”