made him even more unpredictable.
Unlike a play, where the script made it clear how all would end. Had Rob gone too far this time?
She turned to face Rob, who seemed most unconcerned by the whole scene. Probably he, too, was ale-shot, but he gave no indication of it. His blue eyes shone like a summer sky, his grin was merry and mocking, as if imminent disembowelment was greatly amusing.
Unlike his opponent, Rob was lean and lithe, with an actor’s powerful grace. His unlaced white shirt revealed a smooth, muscled expanse of bare chest—and a wide smear of blood. He held a rapier, lightly twirling the hilt in his hands as the weak sunlight flashed on its blade and on the gold rings adorning his ink-stained fingers.
Anna knew that he was a skilled fighter. Everyone knew that in Southwark. She had seen it too many times, both on stage and in the streets. The man’s mocking tongue and quick temper were irresistible temptations to brawlers. But somehow this time felt different. There was a tense charge to the air, a feeling of time standing still before crashing down on them.
‘Mistress Barrett!’ Rob said, giving her an elaborate bow. ‘I see you have come to witness our revels.’
‘What seems to be the trouble this time?’ she asked, glancing carefully between Rob and the enraged bear-man.
‘He’s a boar-pig of a cheat!’ the bear-man roared. ‘He owes me money for the lightskirt.’
The woman’s sobs grew louder. ‘‘Tweren’t like that. I told you! Some men aren’t brutes like you. I weren’t working then …’
‘Aye,’ Rob said cheerfully. ‘Some of us know how to be a gentleman and woo a lady properly.’
Gentleman? Anna pursed her lips to keep from laughing. Robert Alden was many things—witty, clever, and damnably handsome. Gentlemanly wasn’t one of them.
This was just another quarrel—over payment to a Winchester goose. Yet somehow she still sensed there was more to it. Something else was happening underneath this common, everyday disagreement.
She opened her mouth to argue, turning back to Rob, but just then that strange tension snapped and chaos broke free in the quiet morning. With an echoing shout, the bear-man lunged at Rob, all flailing arms and flashing blades, faster than she could have imagined possible.
His men, half-hidden in the shadows, tumbled after him, shouting, and everything threatened to hurtle over into a full-blown battle. Anna pressed herself back against the wall.
But she had underestimated Rob. Debauched he might look, yet the long night had lost him none of his actor’s grace. Swift as the tiger in the Queen’s menagerie, he sidestepped his attacker, reaching out to grab his arm. Using the man’s bulk against him, Rob flipped him to the ground. A brittle snap rang through the air, causing the bear-man’s minions to freeze in place as he howled in agony.
Rob gestured to them with his blade. ‘Who is next, then?’ he called.
Predictably, no one took that offer. They scooped up their fallen leader and ran away, the sobbing whore reluctantly following them. The sudden explosion of violence receded as fast as it had come.
‘I hope you are content now,’ Anna murmured.
Rob leaned his palm against the wall near her head, laughing. ‘I am, rather. They ran like the gutter rats they are. Didn’t you find it amusing, Mistress Barrett?’
‘No, I did not. I think …’ Then she saw it. The smear of blood on his bared chest was a thicker, brighter red, staining his rumpled shirt. ‘You’re hurt!’
She reached out to touch him, but he drew away with a hiss. ‘‘Tis a scratch,’ he said.
‘A scratch can lead to the churchyard if it’s not seen to,’ she protested. ‘I am the daughter of Tom Alwick, remember? I’m certainly no stranger to wounds. Please, let me see.’
He glanced past her at the gawping actors, reluctant to lose their excitement so fast. ‘Not here,’ he muttered.
‘What? Do you fear having your modesty offended? Fine, we can go to the tiring-house.’
‘I will happily shed my garments for you, Mistress Barrett. You need only ask …’ Suddenly Rob swayed, his bronzed face ashen.
Anna caught him against her, her arm around his lean waist, as alarm shot through her. Robert Alden was never pale. Something troubling indeed must have happened in the night.
‘Rob, what is it?’ she gasped.
‘No one must know,’ he said roughly, his breath stirring the curls at her temple as he leaned against her.
Know what? ‘I will not let them,’ she whispered. ‘Come inside with me now, and all will be well.’
If only she could believe that herself.
Chapter Two
Anna led Rob through the twisting maze of corridors behind the stage of the White Heron. It was eerily silent there, with Rob’s breath echoing off the rough wooden walls. The smell of dust, face paint and blood was thick in her throat, and Rob’s body was too warm as he leaned on her shoulder—as if he had a fever.
Despite her efforts not to worry, Anna couldn’t help it. All her life, with her father and her husband, and now with her father again, she had lived among men of hot and unpredictable tempers. Fights and feuds, duels, even sudden and violent death, were things all too commonplace in the streets of Southwark and Bankside. She had learned the hard lessons of dealing with such men.
But Rob Alden—despite his own quick temper, he had always seemed above such things, able to win a brawl with a quick flick of his sword and a careless laugh. He was known and feared in this world. Men said his smile hid a lethal heart, and they avoided him when they could. Anna had seen this time and again, and puzzled over it. Rob walked through life as if enchanted. Unlike her own existence.
Had the enchantment worn away?
She pushed away that cold, clammy fear and led him into the deserted tiring-house behind the stage. Chests full of costumes and properties were stacked along the walls, and a false cannon gleamed in a dark corner. Anna pushed aside a pile of blunted rapiers and made Rob sit down on a scarred old clothes chest.
He slowly lowered himself to the makeshift seat, watching her warily. There was no hint of his carefree laughter, his constant sunny flirtation. He looked older, harder, the sharp, sculpted angles of his handsome face cast in shadows. How had she never noticed that coldness before?
It made her even more cautious of him—of the threat his good looks posed to her and her hard-won peace.
‘What happened?’ she said. She turned away from the steady, piercing glow of his eyes and dug out her basket from a cupboard. She always kept bandages and salves nearby for these all-too-frequent moments. There were always injuries in the theatre.
‘You saw for yourself,’ Rob said. His voice was as hard as his expression, with no hint of the light humour he usually used to cloak his true self.
Whatever Rob Alden’s true self might
