Burning Bright (Brambridge Novel 2) by Pearl Darling Page A

foot so that you can advance and retreat as well as swivel.” She took another step forward. Bill dropped his sword.
    “I am for you,” Harriet cried and with a yell, swung her sword at Bill. In surprise Bill jumped back, just missing the schoolroom wall and Harriet’s sword. Harriet crabbed backwards and then forwards again with her arm swinging.
    “Come on, Bill,” she said under her breath. “Your words.” Bill parried her swing with the middle of his sword.
    “What do you mean, words?”       Bill muttered, trying to move behind a bank of desks away from the onslaught of Harriet’s sword. “Mercy?”
    “No,” she panted. “Mercutio’s words.” She thrust the sword forwards as Bill bent his massive form at the middle to avoid the skewering thrust.
    “Err, come sir, your passado,” he said, panting.
    “Louder,” Harriet yelled.
    “I’m not saying it any louder,” Bill protested. “There are people watching.”
    “That’s the point.” Harriet skipped round the desks, but halted suddenly as her skirts became trapped.
    “Come, sir, your passado,” a voice hissed menacingly behind her. Harriet tugged at her skirts, whirling with her sword as she did so. James’ muscular chest confronted her, as he lightly balanced a wooden sword in his hand and one of his gleaming boots firmly planted itself on the hem of her skirt. Even in the light of the day, his figure held a dark allure. He had obviously picked up one of the spare props. James glanced over her shoulder and made a beckoning motion with his free arm. Harriet looked behind. Bill grinned at her, and lanced his sword over her shoulder to where James caught it.
    “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, Harriet?” James said softly.
    “My own size?” Harriet exclaimed with disbelief. “Get off my skirt.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry, get off my skirt, Lord Stanton.” She frowned and hesitated as pain passed fleetingly across James’ face. 
    He lifted both of the swords and pointed their tips at Harriet. He took a step back and released the hem of her dress. “In a swordfight it is always best to go in armed with two knives. It means you have twice as much cutting power.” He swung the swords in an arc inwards.
    In the same motion that Bill had made earlier, Harriet jumped backwards with a squawk. She hadn’t come across this in the romantic novels. Normally the hero vanquished the villain in fifteen sentences of one-armed combat.
    “What are you going to do now, Harriet? Kick me in the shins?” James raised his swords again.
    “You didn’t did you, Harry? Not again.” Bill exclaimed behind her. Harriet had regularly kicked both Bill and James in the shins when she was younger and they didn’t do what she wanted. But that had been when she was fourteen and —
    The nape of Harriet’s neck prickled with heat. James persisted in treating her like a child. She hadn’t been a child since he’d left her on that beach with the tide coming in and no route of escape except to follow the path into the mine. Six hours it had taken her to find her way out in the pitch black.
    “I’ve read what they said about you in the circulars,” Harriet said in a low voice. “They call you the Killer Lord. What did you do, James? How many did you kill?”
    James’ face blanched and he dropped the swords slightly. Without waiting for his response, Harriet reversed her grip on the handle of her sword and with a stabbing motion, pinioned him in the side. She nodded at Benjamin and straightened her back.
    “And that is how Tybalt kills Mercutio, when Mercutio doesn’t expect it, with a stab under Romeo’s arm.” Embarrassment flooded her and she refused to look at James. It had been a low blow.
    “And that is why I asked you to pick on someone your own size,” James murmured behind her.
    Harriet’s neck was still rather hot. The crowd at the back of the room had grown larger.
    “That’s Lord Stanton, that is.”
    “Miss