“Well now,” the man with the knife said, stepping forward. “It seems we’ve come upon a pair of gen’lemen, Billy. They must have a bit o’ gold on them, don’t ye think?”
As Nicol moved in front of Lindsay to meet him, the man growled, “We’ll be havin’ yer purses, gents.”
“I think not,” Nicol replied calmly.
The man gave a nasty smile. “If ye don’t want to make ma gully’s acquaintance”—here he ran his thumb almost lovingly over the blade of his knife—“ye’ll hand them over.”
Lindsay, who was now leaning against the damp wall of the alleyway behind Nicol, gave a laugh at the man’s dramatics, making Nicol shoot him a warning look.
“Sorry,” Lindsay said, adopting a suitably contrite expression. “But that was a ridiculous speech.”
And that, apparently, was all the provocation the man needed to attack. With a snarl of outrage, he leapt forward, slicing into the air with his knife. Nicol did not retreat, though he feinted to avoid the blade and began slowly circling, fists raised and keen gaze searching for an opening.
The second man—boy really—hung back, weighing his club in his hands, and sought out Lindsay’s gaze, his expression ugly and threatening.
Amused by this attempt at intimidation, Lindsay met his eyes, letting him see the beast that hid inside his elegant, foppish form. His wolf was already close to the surface and eager for blood, and when Lindsay eased his control by a notch, the fierce animal rush of the beast as it strained to be let loose was like a powerful wave, surging up inside him. Briefly, his vision flickered grey, and the scents of the nighttime alleyway intensified.
The boy froze in terror at whatever he saw on Lindsay’s face, and then the sharp stink of urine was in the air as he pissed himself. The club dropped from his hands to the filthy ground, and with a squawk he turned and fled, abandoning his companion to fight alone.
Lindsay pressed back his wolf with effort.
“Where are ye goin’, ye fuckin’—” the other man yelled after him, distracted into a brief glance over his shoulder. Nicol, seeing his chance, lunged at the man and they grappled briefly till Nicol overpowered him and the knife clattered to the ground between them.
Nicol kicked the weapon towards Lindsay. “Pick that up,” he grunted, and Lindsay did so, tucking the wickedly sharp blade away. He watched, admiringly, as Nicol landed several blows on their assailant. Nicol was not an elegant fighter—probably he was not trained—but he was effective. The last blow he struck connected squarely with his opponent’s face, making a sickening crunching noise and sending the man to his knees where he writhed in the muck, hands cupped over his nose.
Nicol stepped back then, chest heaving, expression grim.
“Well,” Lindsay said. “I must admit, I’m glad you came with me now, Mr. Nicol. You were quite right about cutpurses.”
Nicol turned to him, glaring. “You should have taken a sedan chair, like I said.” He pointed at the lapel of his coat which was now torn and hanging. “Look at me. I’ll have to have this mended,” He sounded so aggrieved, Lindsay had to bite his lip against a smile.
“You are rather dishevelled,” Lindsay admitted, strolling towards him. “And you’re looking quite sore too.” Nicol’s left cheekbone was swollen and beginning to redden from some glancing blow he’d received during the scuffle. Lindsay lifted his hand and brushed his thumb over the sore area, only for Nicol to jerk his head back in something that might have been anger or shock. The air between them was thick, making Lindsay’s cock thicken in his breeches, and his breath grow unsteady.
A scrabbling noise made them both turn back to their assailant. He’d got to his feet and was even now running away, down the close.
Nicol exhaled angrily. “I wanted to find a watchman so I could have his arse hauled to the Tolbooth.”
Lindsay shrugged, unconcerned. “We’d have been trudging around for ages looking for one. At least this way I can take you to my rooms and get you cleaned up right away. My manservant can mend your coat and I have some remarkably good French brandy I’m sure you’ll enjoy while you wait. Come on.”
For a moment, Nicol looked as though he was going to argue, but in the end he merely sighed and nodded. “All right,” he said. “Some brandy wouldn’t go amiss, I must admit.”
