Dare she ask the question burning in her mind? The punch must have loosened her tongue, for she said, "How did you get your scar?"
Silence greeted her question. After a few heartbeats, she said, "Um, if that is too personal—"
"It was a gift," Hunt said curtly. "From a friend."
"A friend?" Brow furrowing, she tipped her head to the side. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"I wouldn't expect you to."
When he failed to elaborate, she prodded, "Why would a friend hurt you?"
"Because it was better than the alternative," he said flatly. "Because people hurt one another. Friends, enemies, lovers,"—his eyes flickered, and a strange, answering twist emerged in her belly—"it's just a matter of degree."
"What a horrid, cynical notion," she said.
He shrugged. "'Tis reality. I'd wager you couldn't name one person you've loved who hasn't caused you pain."
She opened her mouth to snap back a reply... and realized in astonishment that she had none forthcoming. She'd never doubted her family's love for her and yet... An ache wriggled into her chest as she thought of Papa. Recalled the countless hours of her childhood spent waiting for him to come home. Longing for his attention, for more than the distracted pat on the head when she showed him her latest painting or poem. She'd so desperately wanted his approval, to beseen.
Perhaps to make up for Papa's absences, Mama had been wont to give the children extra attention. A little too much attention, as far as Percy was concerned. For as long as she could remember, she and her mother had been at odds over something—that something usually involving her wayward behavior. Percy knew that Mama meant to improve her hoydenish disposition; for some reason, however, the endless lectures only made her want to rebelmore. With a stab of remorse, Percy thought of the grief she must have caused her mother over the years; the disappointment that had driven Mama to another Continent.
"Can't do it, can you?" Hunt said with a smirk.
"No one's perfect," she said, swallowing. "What matters is that I know they love me, and I love them. We'd do anything for each other."
"As you say." Hunt sounded bored.
A sudden boom sounded overhead. Relieved for the interruption, she looked upward.
"Do you hear that? Sounds like the fireworks, doesn't it?" As a series of whistles and booms followed, both of them looked up into the thick awning of leaves. She squinted. "Over to the left, I think I saw a bit of a red spark—"
Her words ended in a squeak. In a disoriented flash, she registered his hand covering her mouth and his arm trapping her at the waist. He'd dragged her off the bench, holding her captive against his rigid form. Panic and disbelief collided. After all his promises, he meant to assault her?
She began to struggle with all her might, but his arms confined her like steel bands. His fierce whisper heated her ear. "Be still. There are men afoot. They move like footpads."
Her eyes widened.Footpads?
Before she could digest that piece of news, the dark figures emerged from nowhere. Three of them, large and menacing. Something glinted in their hands… She hadn't time to note anything else, for the next instant Hunt shoved her behind him. The force sent her sprawling into the brush.
"Run," he roared.
Shock froze her in place. She couldn't run... couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but watch as the three strangers circled Hunt like dogs a baited bear. One went in, blade raised. Hunt evaded the swipe of the knife and landed a blow to the cutthroat's jaw, knocking the man to the ground. In a swift movement, he reached into his boot, pulled out his own blade. Just in time, for the other two pounced upon him.
Hunt dodged their deadly attacks. He caught one of the brutes by the arm; there was a sickening crack like a twig being snapped, followed by a loud groan. But the last footpad took the opportunity to attack Hunt from behind.
"Behind you!" The words flew from Percy's lips.
Hunt pivoted in the nick of time. Barely. The blade missed his back but caught the edge of his domino. He cursed and launched himself at his assailant. They exchanged lethal swings of their knives. Hunt was quicker, fiercer; ducking the arc of his opponent's blade, he rammed his fist into the other's midsection, the force loosening the weapon from the man's grip.
Just as Hunt hauled his foe up by the scruff, Percy saw a sudden movement. One of the footpads—felled, she'd thought—grabbed Hunt from behind and collared him by the throat. Hunt gasped for air. His knife fell to the ground as his hands went to grapple with the choking hold.
"I got the bastard," the villain hissed to one of his partners. "Get yer blade an' finish 'im off."
Hunt struggled like a frenzied beast while the other brute rose, steel shining with sinister malice in his hand.Two against one—the bastards!Anger dissolved the last of Percy's panic, and, without another thought, she yanked off her slipper and rushed into the fray. She glimpsed the attacker's look of surprise the instant before she let loose the contents of her shoe. Gravel and sand sprayed him directly in the face.
"You bloody bitch!" he yelled, grabbing at his eyes.
Pulse pounding, she turned to Hunt; in the brief moment of distraction, he'd freed himself from his attacker's grip. He and his opponent crashed onto the ground, grappling. As she dashed over, Hunt gained the upper hand. His fist smashed into the other's face. The man groaned and lay limp.
