The Christmas Stranger
by Luvvycat
- Part Three -
They all froze in tableau as a figure emerged from the alley…
No shiny, polished storybook hero was he… in fact, Will thought the man, who appeared as though he had just come out at the losing end of a barroom brawl, looked considerably more disreputable than the miscreant who currently had hold of Elizabeth. Certainly, more dirty: his long loose hair was a stringy, matted tangle, his clothing filthy as though he had been sleeping in a pigsty, his face smeared with dirt and what looked like dried blood, and one eye, ringed in dark, bruised flesh, was practically swollen shut. Definitely more drunk: he swayed on his bucket-booted feet, free arm swinging to one side to maintain balance, the jewels of his rings winking saucily in the moonlight. Nevertheless, his sword was held in a steady hand, unwaveringly poised at the level of the would-be thief's chest…
The thief in question jerked Elizabeth in front of him, wrapping an arm around her waist possessively, knife held against her throat, effectively using her as a shield between himself and the swordsman. "Get off, mate! I was 'ere first, so the spoils be mine!" He leered. "But, just to show ye I can be generous, ye can have whatever's left, after I get done with 'er!"
Will saw Elizabeth react: her eyes widened in fear, even as they sparked with impotent anger. The man from the alley spared Will a lightning-quick glance—eyes black and sharp like a bird's in the grimy, battered face, despite his drunken mien—before he started, with mincing, cross-over steps, circling around the man with the knife, peppering him with a steady stream of verbal nonsense.
"C'mon, mate … it's Christmas Eve. Is this any way to celebrate the season of our good Lord's birth? Assailing children, robbing a sweet young girl of her swag?" He clucked his tongue, chidingly. "For shame! This ought to be a night for Peace on Earth, Good Will toward men! Decking halls, filling wassail bowls, throwin' on the Yule Log and fa-la-la-ing…" As he moved, Elizabeth's attacker gradually pivoted around to keep the swordsman in his wary sight, lowering his knife from the relatively unthreatening girl in his arms to wield it instead at what he perceived to be the more immediate danger, turning his back to Will …
When the swordsman again flicked him a keen gaze, Will suddenly perceived what the game was… and his own role in it.
While the assailant was kept distracted with chatter, Will got silently to his feet, waiting for the opportune moment, then launched himself at Elizabeth's abductor, taking him by surprise as his fingers, with a strength fuelled by adrenaline and fear for her safety, closed like a vice around his forearm, effectively immobilising his knife-hand.
Almost simultaneously, the swordsman moved in, quick as a cat, his aim dropping from chest-level, to drive the point of his sword through both the wide brocaded skirt of Elizabeth's gown and the cape behind it, directly into the man's thigh.
The man howled in pain as blood blossomed through the fabric of his trousers, loosening his grip on Elizabeth …
Who promptly drove the heel of her shoe back into his knee, followed shortly by a sharp elbow to the solar-plexus.
As a coupe de grace, Will scooped up one of the errant bottles from Elizabeth's tumbled basket and, swinging it in a wide arc, broke it over the knife-wielder's head…
Who dropped to the ground like a stone, unconscious...
Will, breathing hard, looked up, eyes frantically searching for Elizabeth. As soon as their eyes met, she ran forward and flung herself into his arms, hugging him fiercely around the neck.
"Are you all right?" he panted, as his heart pounded against hers.
He felt her head nod affirmatively against his shoulder. "Yes. Perfectly! Not a scratch." She hugged him even more tightly, whispering against his neck, "Oh, Will! That was so brave of you! You saved my life!"
For a moment, it was worth the attack, and his own unfortunate wounding, if it meant getting to hold her like this, pressed to his chest, warm and safe in his arms.
After a moment of blissful unawareness, a slight coughing noise caught their notice. They turned as one to face the man who had come to their aid.
"Well, if you whelps are none the worse for wear, I'll just haul anchor now, and be on me way …" Wiping his bloodied sword on the seat of the unconscious man's trousers before sheathing it (after, in his drunken state, three failed attempts to find the scabbard), he touched the brim of his leather tricorne and turned on his heel to go.
Elizabeth flicked a beseeching look up at Will, then, significantly, down to where the overturned hamper and spilled basket lay on the ground.
"Wait!" they cried in unison. The stranger froze, wobbling unsteadily, then slowly turned back around.
"It was our noble intent, when we set out this night, to gift some needy person with a Christmas feast," Elizabeth said. "We would be honoured, brave sir, in repayment of your kindness to us, if you would allow us to bestow our gift upon you."
The man tilted his head back, looking down his recently-bloodied nose at them, the eye not already blackened and swollen shut narrowing as he regarded them. "Quite a snap judgement to make about a man, without really knowin' 'im, ain't it? What makes you think I'm in need, eh?" he said, rather defensively, Will thought.
Will gave a small snort of disbelieving laughter, his eyes sweeping the figure before him from head to toe. "Well … just look at you! You're drunk, you're filthy, you've obviously been in a fight…"
"Well, besides that, of course…"
Will would have gone on, but Elizabeth's hand upon his arm stilled him.
"No offence, sir," she said. "But if you're hungry, and think you would benefit from some decent food, good wine, and pleasant company, we would be pleased to offer you such." And she smiled at him, eyes wide and ingenuous, face sweet as any angel's. Will knew the look well, knowing from personal experience the power it held, and what it could do.
The flinty eyes softened as they shifted from Will to Elizabeth. "Wine, eh?" he said. His lip twitched in what might have been a mild sneer. "Rum's usually me poison of choice…"
She bent and picked up the basket, collecting the stray bottles and returning them to their woven nest. She stood and stepped forward. "I'm afraid wine is all we have. We did have one bottle of fine brandy, but it has, unfortunately, been sacrificed to a greater good." She looked pointedly down at her attacker, lying face-down in the road, surrounded by shards of broken glass that glittered like diamonds in the moonlight.
The man pouted, and said in a mournful tone, "Pity…"
Her gaze met his, unflinchingly, as she held the basket out to him. "You might as well take it, for we've no intention of drinking it." She inclined her head toward Will, including him in her "we". "It will only go to waste, otherwise…"
"Well," the man wavered, both in resolve and literally. "When you put it that way, darlin'. Can't waste good wine, now, can we?" He approached, and paused a moment before reaching out and relieving her of the basket. He smiled crookedly, and Will could see a black gap where there once had been a tooth. He wondered if he had lost it in the recent altercation that had given him his bruised eye.
With a small bow to his benefactress, the man turned without a word, and started staggering in the direction of the nearest tavern, leaving Elizabeth and Will to stare at his retreating back until he stopped and spun on his heel. "Well? Are you two comin', or not?" He flicked his fingers imperiously from Will, to the hamper in the road, then turned and started walking away.
Will scrambled to collect the hamper and, exchanging a look with Elizabeth that was tantamount to a shrug, they followed the strange, swaying figure down the street…
A/N - Remember to give the gift of feedback this holiday season by leaving a Review! It's on every fan author's wish list! :-)