Sword of Justice (White Knight Series) by Jude Chapman

a dog barked.
    A whoosh and a suck changed the dynamics. The pirate grunted and did a hopping dance. An arrow stuck out from his hind quarters. Trying to grab hold of the shaft, he pivoted gracefully but to no useful purpose. The Devil’s own released Drake, and the three started yelling all at once. The pirate screamed for the Devil’s guardians to draw out the arrow, but the way they were pulling and tugging wasn’t sitting well with the pirate. The shank cracked. The yelling stopped. Feet scrambled. Two horses rode off at a gallop. A third followed well behind.
    Drake was staring at a pile of horse dung while his feet and arms shifted in a pathetic attempt to get up. The dung inched ever closer to his nose. He felt something wet on his ear. A yellow-furred cur was licking him, whining and barking.
    One of the goons returned. Feet tiptoed into the livery and stopped short of Drake’s blinking eyes. The goon’s delicate feet were bare though well-manicured. The toenails were painted vivid scarlet. Lavender drifting in the goon’s wake informed Drake the bastard was not everything his coarse appearance told. A gentle hand levered Drake into a sitting position. Washed in blood-red hues, the livery spun at a fast clip. A murderous goon did not lurk on the other side of the crimson blur but a brunette with a handsome face and a worried smile.
    Aveline Darcy helped him to his feet. Offering a steadying arm around his waist, she urged him along with melodious words of encouragement, the lavender acting like a narcotic. He hadn’t noticed before, but she was nearly as tall as Drake yet owned a natural gracefulness not unlike a skilled swordsman. It had to do with the set of her shoulders, the transit of her limbs, and the carriage of her posture.
    The dog led the way, guiding them out of the livery, into the street, and toward the alehouse, its long snout smiling cheerfully back. Blood droplets splashed along the path. Aveline was kind enough to wait for Drake to be sick.
    “Can I swoon?” Drake asked her.
    “Not yet.”
    Her stabilizing influence kept him on track. Not wanting to make a fool of himself by falling flat on his face before an attractive woman who granted favors a half night a throw, he ascertained each step was secure before taking the next. Concentrating on the swirl of her sorrel-dyed skirt, which nicely set off the pale ivory of her slender feet, gave him enough incentive to keep going.
    The blind man tapped his way around the corner of Staple Gardens and High Street.
    “You have a wicked way with bow and arrow,” Drake said to Aveline. “Where did you receive your training?” She regarded him strangely. He didn’t press for an answer but concluded the blind man couldn’t have been his savior. Even the dog was a more likely candidate.
    After shooing away the two brawny lads of last night, intent as before on protecting their older sister with fists if necessary, she led Drake upstairs. “My brothers, Arlo and Jehannes,” she explained.
    “Do you always walk around barefoot?”
    “Only after bathing.”
    “Oh, lady!”
    In one of the infamous upper chambers, she sat him down on a featherbed and began to undress him.
    “This might not be the best time for you to have your way with me.”
    She frowned. After stripping him to braiel and breeches, a man’s modesty not in the least inhibiting her, she took note of the green and yellow bruises fading like last year’s rosebuds and the new bruises blooming afresh. She also noticed the birthmark on his hipbone. It had the look of splashed wine, one of the few distinguishing marks separating Drake from his brother. Her head cocked curiously. Then one side of her mouth quirked.
    A rush of comprehension enlightened Drake. Not only did Aveline Darcy have intimate knowledge of his brother’s anatomy, but she and Stephen must have had intimate relations. No doubt she invited him into her bedchamber for one or more of her half-night sessions. No doubt she