Chapter One

Steel clashed against steel, the blades flashing like quicksilver fire in the afternoon sun.

But this time, there would be no errant sparks, no flare of flames. This time, the wolf-faced Italian would not goad an explosion of temper—

"Porca miseria!" Spinning with deceptive quickness, Il Lupino punctuated his curse with a flurry of lightning slashes that sent the opposing saber clattering to the courtyard cobbles. "Non, non, non—is all wrong!" he snarled. "You must slide to the left, then counter with a punta sopramano."

Damn.

"And your thrusts must be deeper and faster, Volpina. Like so . . ." The Italian's swordpoint cut through the air with a lethal whisper. Soft but deadly.

"Grazie." Volpina watched its sinuous dance.

"Like a man making love to a beautiful woman." Finishing with a flourish, he raised his weapon to the en garde position. "Now try it again—this time with more passion." A smile flashed, the crescent curve a mocking reflection of the hard-edged steel. He was being deliberately provocative. "Unless, of course, you are too tired to continue."

"Not bloody likely."

As intended, the challenge prickled, like daggers dancing on tender flesh. For an instant, anger blazed, sparked by wounded pride. But then, Volpina recalled the master's own words.

Fight fire with fire.

Snatching up the fallen saber, Volpina crossed swords for only an instant before lashing out with a furious lunge that drove Il Lupino back to the edge of the chalked circle.

The Italian parried the attack with ease, but as he set his stance and angled his blade to block the next blow, Volpina suddenly whirled around and drove a knee into his groin.

Woof. Il Lupino doubled over, then dropped to the ground with a leaden thud.

Silence descended over the courtyard, save for the twitching scrape of leather against stone.

"Bella! Bella!" After several moments, the Italian recovered enough of his breath to speak. "Magnifico, in fact."

Pushing the steel away from his throat, he uncurled his legs and managed to sit up.

Several of the onlookers winced in sympathy, while one or two bit back a titter of laughter.

"Machiavelli would be proud of you." A note of humor blunted the rasp of pain. "A lady should never fight fair."

"No hard feelings, Signor Da Rimini?" The dark-haired beauty known only as Siena set a gloved hand on her hip and shook the sweat from her brow. Fire still tingled through her tensed muscles, but its burn curled the corners of her mouth into a small smile. Finally, she had bested the wily wolf at his own game.

"On the contrary. It gives me great pleasure to see one of my pupils begin to master the art of war." For an instant his grin appeared to angle to a more serious tilt. "It seems you have been born with natural talent, Signorina Siena. My job is to hone it to a fine edge."

Siena stared down at her sword. Her real identity had long since been lost in the stews of St. Giles. But like all the students at Mrs. Merlin's Academy for Select Young Ladies, she had been given a new name on entering its world, one chosen at random from the ornate globe in the headmistress's office.

A new name for a new life. A new meaning for the savage skills learned in the primitive school of the slums. Once inside the ivied walls, she had been determined never to look back at the twisted alleyways of her past.

"Now, girls, pay close attention to my words and not my manly thighs." Her musings were cut short as Da Rimini resumed his cocky drawl. "Signorina Siena has just given us a perfect demonstration of why it is important to keep a cool head in the heat of battle. The point is, all of you will need to rely on wits and imagination, rather than size and strength, to prevail over an opponent. As you have witnessed, brains can be a more potent weapon than brawn."

Siena reached down and helped him to his feet.

"Fire and ice," he murmured. "Once again I commend you, signorina. Now that you are learning to fight with your head as well as your heart, you present a deadly challenge. God help the enemy."

A shiver ran down her spine, hot and yet cold. Was she ready to test her mettle in the real world?

In the distance a bell chimed the hour. "The lesson is over for today, girls," announced Da Rimini.

Siena stripped off her padded doublet and shook out the knot of curls coiled at her neck. Tall, slim-hipped, and lithe as a rapier, she could pass for a boy in her fencing gear. But the thin linen shirt, dampened from her exertions, revealed curves that were decided womanly.

Da Rimini gave an appreciative leer as he watched the raven tresses spill over her shoulders. "On the morrow I teach you how to execute the botta dritta, eh?"

"Assuming you have the ballocks to step back onto the field of battle," quipped the student known as Shannon. The class wit, she was always quick to unsheathe a sharp tongue. Sometimes too quick. Her penchant for challenging authority had recently provoked a disciplinary warning. A second might result in expulsion.

"Nonnie," cautioned Siena, hoping to keep her roommate out of trouble.

"Like my sword, my testicolos are made of steel, Signorina Shannon." The Italian waggled a brow, his slitted eyes still aimed at Siena. "Indeed, all my equipment is honed to a fighting edge. As the lovely Volpina would quickly discover if only she would accept my offer of more intimate instruction in the nuances of hand-to-hand combat."

Ignoring his lascivious looks, Siena handed her gear to a first-year student and gathered up her books. "Come, Shannon, we had better hurry and change, else we will be late for our next class."

Her friend, however, could not resist a parting retort. "Indeed, signor? I heard your equipment was in danger of growing dull with disuse." Exaggerating a flourish, she tossed Il Lupino a scrap of chamois. "But if it needs a bit of polishing, you will have to do it for yourself."

With his laughter ringing in their ears, the two of them cut across the fencing yard to the graveled garden path.

Copyright © 2007 by Andrea Pickens.