TRIG SH / SI — Chapter 3 & onwards have injury & healing scenes based on my knowledge of SH / SI.
Not a warrior in the world, with such a steel edge so solidly sunk in flesh, would expect to escape ... except and unless for being mad as a midday bat — and she is. Shortly after her yelling stops and well before he's recovered his reeling senses; he finds himself pressed back against the panelwork of the coach, with her swordpoint pressing hard against his heart. The unreality of the instant before unreels before his mind's eye: the girl swinging her body savagely to the side and smashing the sword inside her into the side of the coach; so that it snaps in two. And to, it's too much for his mind to grasp: the agony on her face; the about-face of their fortunes, as she seizes the initiative again ... as well as the hilt-end of his sword. Snapped free, it's free to be flung at his head; hard enough to hammer out his wits.
It's why he wasn't able to evade his capture; even if his captor is on her last legs: the cruel sword clipping his chest has a cat-whisker wisp of a shake in it ... which wends it's way along her weapon-arm and winnows into her trunk; winding through her hard-breathing body and weakening it. Her limbs are berouged and scarlet threads trace a tapestry through her tunic-top. Through that top, enough can be seen to be sure that he's been bested by no man.
Disgusted and disappointed, Stendahl abandons all diplomacy; not that it matters anyhow. The maid looks about as merciful as any mercenary. However, he will have his say:
« What be you waiting for? Shove it in! Show everyone how special you are; you and your monkey tricks. One-handed! Happen you think that be so fancy fine? Tis a jester's game! Happen be you don't deserve to win! You … »
« No. »
« What! »
« No! Really I don't. Frills in a fight make as much sense as feathers on a fish. »
« Lord Devereux! Them's his words! Where be you heard them? »
« Trained under him. »
« What! You can't have! You be a … You be … different. »
« Yes! Me and all the beardless boys in the armies. »
« Happen be you're not a soldier no more! Be you even a Devereux man? He'd be that sorry-sad, to find one of his own turned gallowsbait. How be you clove the tollblade road? »
« I didn't ... I haven't ... I don't ... I'm not but I am — Deep Breath & Pause — I'm no tollblade ... call me a soldier. This is my campaign against Sir John; he's the one I rob. »
« Ah! ... ... ... ... ... ... ... Where do I enlist? »
« That would be right here! You'll need a sword; so take mine. Now it's an army of two. Myself, DeeDee, and you. So! Who are you? »
« Stendahl, Cap'n; happen be you was foolish to give over your weapon! »
She shrugs; grimaces; gestures at the sword stuck in her.
« Could it make things much worse? If you were tricking me. »
« Happen not, Cap'n. Best be we get you fixed. »