Page 37 of The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady
She must have made some sound, called to him, something, for he turned in that moment. She saw the terrible recognition in his eyes, the anger, the pain.
“Are you satisfied?” he shouted, and for a moment she thought he was talking to her. But he moved past her as though she wasn’t there, wrenching the musket from the grasp of his brother with one swift movement and casting it aside. The musket slid with a clatter across the cobblestones, coming to rest against the horse trough. A stable boy huddled there leapt up as though the musket itself could bite him, and nearly fell in the water in his haste to get away.
“Satisfied?” Owen just barely ducked the first punch, and landed one of his own as the Duke went in for the next. What followed was a flurry of blows, the thud of flesh hitting flesh, muffled grunts and invectives, all while Alicia stood, pale and trembling, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight.
“Why?” She wailed the single word, but there was no one to answer her, for the courtyard had filled with servant and guest alike, who cheered their favorites with all the enthusiasm of the Irish, proving that the English were not so different after all, at least in some things.
But Alicia had seen fights before, and had a good idea of how to stop them, though it was said that sometimes a good drubbing was required to truly clear the air.
On the other hand, sometimes a fight was just plain foolishness.
So it was that Alicia threw herself into the fray. The Duke’s friend Tom moved to intercept her but she dodged aside in a flurry of skirts, reaching in where no one else dared to grab a sleeve, an arm, anything to get their attention. “Stop!” she screamed, but she was pushed aside, landing on the cobblestones with a jolt hard enough to make her teeth rattle in her head.
She came up against the water trough, and as she cast about to push off to get herself to her feet again, she saw what no one else had. The musket forgotten, lying there next to her. It was a fancy piece of weaponry with a single barrel, already spent.
Alicia took one look at the combatants rolling in the dirt, the rough men ranged about shouting on their favorites, and never felt so disgusted in her entire life. Were all men just boys waiting to scrap in the dirt over their toys?
Across the way, she saw Meghan watching her, wide-eyed, with a hand pressed to her mouth. Either she was sick or about to die laughing. Alicia gave her a long, steady look, made near impossible by the single eye that was swelling shut, courtesy of her father. With all the strength she could muster, she lifted the musket and checked it over. Sure enough, it had been fired, so she could not fire it again to distract the warring brothers. Desperate, she brought it down hard on a nearby pail. She struck it over and over again, the din exploding through the air, prompting even the Duke and his brother to slow in their assault of one another.
Horses screamed inside their stalls, kicking wildly in a clamor easily heard over the sudden silence. Every man on the estate had their eyes on her as Alicia dropped the musket to the cobbles and walked over to where the Duke stood, fist poised, about to land a punch somewhere in the vicinity of his brother’s nose. She grabbed the outstretched fist in one hand, and looked him dead in the eye.
“It might interest ye to know, that it wasnae yer brother who fired at you, ye great ninny!” she said, her brogue becoming thicker when furious. “I tell you true, he was in me own bed at the time.”
And with that she spun on her heel and made for the gate. It was as good a way to quit as any. She’d see herself out.
Chapter 28
It was a long walk home.
As the afternoon slipped away, Alicia’s steps slowed. She had little desire to go home, honestly. Her cheek still bore the handprint her father had placed there, and from the swelling of her eye she knew she had a beauty of a bruise forming that had the added effect of giving her a glorious headache.
That she was allowed to leave said more than a dozen speeches would have. They had not been so stunned that they couldn’t have brought her back. That meant the Lord of the Manor, the Duke himself, had obviously given orders regarding her person. For the time being she was safe enough, she supposed.
Such things could change, though. So she was wary of sounds on the road behind her, though none traveled past save a single rider, a boy who never spared her so much as a glance as he went past.
She was nearly back to the village when she realized what an unnatural stillness lay over the day. The road itself lay quiet and still. Where was the bustle of life within the town? There was a subdued air to the place, with nary a man, woman, or child upon the road. She was near to her own home when she saw the horse tied to the rail in front of the Moore house.
Here were the villagers. She saw them gathered in silence, as from the house there came a long drawn-out sobbing wail, followed by another.
It was Erin Moore who spotted her first, a lean rail of a woman with cheeks scoured by the wind that came over the fields. Erin worked the land along with her husband, Ian, the brother of Elias.
“You!” Erin planted herself in front of Alicia, hands upon her hips, eyes flashing fire. “That ye would dare be showin’ yer face here is an audacious thing, Alicia Price. Ye might as well ha’ killed him yerself.”
Alicia stumbled to a halt, eyeing the crowd uncertainly, people she had known her whole life, who turned from her now as though they could not bear to lay eyes upon her. Her own father stood at the gate, his hat in his hands, head bowed.
Alicia broke away from the crowd, going to him despite the repulsion that churned inside her, to be within his proximity. She had not forgotten the pain he had caused her, nor would she. But it seemed clear that nobody else would tell her what was going on. Her father might, if only to give himself the satisfaction of bringing her low in such a public forum. He could rarely resist that.
“Father, tell me. What happened?” she said, coming to stand near, keeping control over her temper. It would not serve her well here, if she wanted to understand why folks were looking at her so.
Her father’s gaze was unfriendly and cold. “You were there, were you not, when our Elias was killed by the British Lord?”
Killed? Alicia stumbled backwards, seeing in her mind’s eye what she had forgotten. Someone had been lying there upon the cobblestones. She’d barely spared them more than a glance, seeing those gathered around him, assuming someone had fallen. That it should have been Elias…dead…had not been something that had even occurred to her. Death had seemed so remote, so utterly impossible.
“No…” Alicia pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling the sob building in her chest, the tears that must not come, not here in the midst of eyes filled with hatred for her. “No, it canna be,” she said, knowing full well it had not been either Owen or the Duke himself that could have fired the musket. Neither of them had so much as touched it.
“Are ye sure you dinna do it yerself?” Erin asked, biting off each word angrily. “We all well know how ye felt about our Elias. Always too good for him, ye were.”
“I did not…!” Alicia exclaimed, whirling back to her father, grabbing at his lapel. “You know I did not!”
