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The Only Rules That Matter: Legacy (Corsair and Madam Mim)

Anne Marie cursed softly under her breath. "We will return tomorrow then," she sighed. "Perhaps I will be able to get more out of him, such as his motives and how to break the curse."

"Blood," Jackie shrugged.

Anne Marie blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You break the curse with blood," she said as though it were obvious. She looked to Alice. "You said it was a stone chest full of gold coins right?" Upon confirmation she nodded as though she had expected it. "Imma have ta really rethink all these Captain Jack Sparrow stories," she muttered, shaking her head and slouching. She spat, then sniffed, then looked at the others. "If the stories my daddy told me are true, and I'm gonna hafta assume they are, y'gotta break the curse with blood. Everyone what took a coin's gotta put his blood over at least one'a the coins and put 'em all back in the chest."

"But there must be a hundred workers on that ranch," Anne Marie said. "And surely not all of them will want to give up immorality, Faustian as it is."

Jackie spat again into the dust. "Yup."

"Merde. So we will them?"

She shrugged. "Or the next best thing. I'm more concerned about gettin' all that blood into Beckett's bedroom without him noticing."

Anne Marie sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "And you are certain it has to be blood?"

Jackie nodded. "Done by blood, by blood undone. That's what the story goes."
 
“Well, shit.” Sam leaned back, staring down at the ranch and thinking hard. “Wait. Ah got me a question ‘bout this mess. Them cowboys, they’s dead. Right?”

“That’s what you told me,” Alice answered. “Ain’t seen it myself, but your brother seems ta think so.”

“Yeah, right.” Sam scratched her scalp, thinking furiously. “An’ Ah done shot a few, an’ bashed one half ta death wit’ a silver nugget, an’ Ah don’ remember seein’ no blood comin’ outta any o’ them.”

“Uhm...”. Alice thought about that for a moment, looking from Anne Marie to Jackie, then back to Sam. “Then how th’ hell...”

“Damned if Ah know,” Sam replied, slumping back against the rock. “Yer family stories got any answers, Tsidiiligai?”
 
"Nonsense." Anne Marie waved her hand dismissively. "For the human body to function, to move, blood must flow. No flow, no movement. Besides," she added, "I have shot a few myself. They do not seem to bleed as much as a normal living human, but they do bleed." She looked to Jackie, who nodded.

"Ol' Captain Jack himself took one to get the edge in a fight with the evil pirate king. Sliced his hand open and dropped it in the chest, then shot him," she confirmed. "Ever one o' the pirate king's crew had taken one, and ever one o' 'em put 'em back with a bit of blood."

"Bartleby can talk to the hands who he knows wish to be released from the curse," Anne Marie said, "and bring them coins. The question is, what to do about the others? They do not stay down long enough to get blood from them without risking ourselves."

Jackie shrugged. "We could lure them into a barn er somethin'," she suggested. "Tie em all up, slice their palm or arm or somethin' all at once, then book it into the big house?"

"It's as sound a plan as any," Anne Marie sighed, then looked at Sam and Alice. "Unless you can think of some easier way?"

"What about Beckett?" Jackie asked. "He knows what's goin' on. Doubt he's gonna let us get anywhere near him to get blood on a coin."

"Leave that to me," Anne Marie reassured them after some moments of thought.
 
“A better way?” Sam thought about it. “Nah, cain’t think o’ one. Mebbe Bart kin get ‘em in, or...”. She laughed. “Hell, they’re lookin’ fer a Ranger an’ his Indian sidekick, right? Worse comes ta’ worse, we start ridin’ round an get ‘em ta chase us.”

“That might be an easier way, actulaay,” Alice suggested.

Sam stared at her in disbelief. “Y’fine him loco, gal? Ah said worse comes ta’ worse, not...”

“That’s a working ranch, right?” Alice pointed out. “Lotsa folk riding the range and herding cattle, right. Do, go do your Masked Ranger shtick and pick off individual groups. Get their blood on something, and hang on to it until we’re ready.”

“That’s...” Sam scratched her scalp. “Plum loco. But it might work at that. Sure as hell better than letting a hundred or so dead men chase me around.”

"What about Beckett?" Jackie asked. "He knows what's goin' on. Doubt he's gonna let us get anywhere near him to get blood on a coin."

"Leave that to me," Anne Marie reassured them after some moments of thought.

Alice laughed. “An’ we could use the masked rider to our advantage, there.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh, woe. It’s so dangerous out there with that bandit prowling around. May we stay here, where on big strong men can keep us poor defenseless women safe?” She flashed a triumphant grin. “Gives us an excuse to hang around, right. And Beckett might not look twice st the help, but I’ll bet you could twist him round your finger just by drawing a deep breath, Doc.”
 
"Oh I imagine it would take even less than that," Anne Marie said with a smile. "Do you think you could begin plundering the ranch this afternoon? Now?"

Jackie shrugged. "Don't see why not."

"Then hit me." She looked so eager that Jackie quirked an eyebrow and wondered about her sanity. Anne Marie gestured to her face and turned her cheek toward her. "Do I need to start hurling epithets to make you angry? I am much less delicate than I look, and I can take a punch better than many men. Now hit me."

With a glance at Sam, Jackie shrugged and pulled her fist back.

~*~

There was a frantic pounding at the door. It was nearly sunset, and the household staff hadn't been made aware of any visitors after the French socialite had left. It came as a shock to the butler, therefore, when it was the very same woman at the door now.

"Mademoiselle...!" he gasped.

"Please!" The lady was in tears. "We...we were not even halfway home when they waylaid us." Crying hurt the bruises on Anne Marie's face, but it wasn't anything she hadn't endured before. "That... That bandit and his horrible red Indian!"

The elderly black man stood aside and ushered the women in. The servant's dress had been torn at the shoulder, her lip split, and her hair mussed. The lady was in equally bad shape, but several jewels had also been torn off of her dress. The butler led them back to the library and bid them wait there.

Anne Marie composed herself easily while they were alone, and used a small compact mirror to smudge her makeup and muss her hair more dramatically while they waited. When Beckett entered the waterworks turned back on and she threw herself onto him. Quite the accomplishment considering she had six inches on him in her stockings.

"Monsieur Beckett!" she cried, sobbing into his shoulder. "We had barely left your land! Please, please say you'll shelter us for the evening? I'm... I'm hardly the sort of woman who needs an escort everywhere," she sniffled dramatically, "but it is too dangerous for two women to travel alone, and too near to dark."

~*~

A few hours earlier, Jackie was still massaging her knuckles as they rode down the hill toward the ranch. It was suicide, but a cleverer suicide than she'd thought of. It wasn't like they had other options.

"Let's get one thing straight, kemosabe." She'd been stewing over something Sam had said. "I ain't your damn sidekick. We got us some talkin ta do iffin that's how you think of me."
 
“Tsidiiligai,” Sam laughed, “y’ain’t mah sidekick any more’n Ah’m a real Ranger.” She gestured towards the ranch. “But it’ll help confuse the issue. They’ll be lookin’ fer two fellahs. So if’n we gotta go ta ground, they won’t be suspectin’ an innocent farmer’s daughter an’ her Injun friend, right?”

She laughed again. “Course, Ah don’ reckon Ah’ll pass fer no innocent farmer’s daughter. ‘Specially if’n they catch y’gettin’ out yer special little friend.”

Humor sparkles in her eyes, but then her expression turned serious. “But you listen here, Tsidiiligai. Y’ain’t no damn sidekick, an’ y’ain’t no maid, not servant, nor any such foolishness.” Reaching out she caught Jackie’s hand - a nut-brown hand as hard and calluses from work as her own. “Yer mah best friend, an’ mah lover, an’ - if’m Ah am pregnant - th’ woman who’s gonna help me raise mah baby. An’ Ah ain’t never gonna ferget that, or treat y’like anythin’ but th’ woman who’s had mah back through every damn fool thing Ah’ve done since we met.”

Leaning in, she kissed Jackie. “An’ who’s gonna have mah back through all th’ other damn fool things Ah’m probably gonna do fer h’ rest o’ mah life. Ah hope, anyway.”

-*-

“Bitch didn’t have ta hit me so damn hard,” Alice grumbled through the damp cloth she held against her mouth. Sam had docked her good, splitting it and turning her face into a mask of blood. Which had helped sell the story she knew, although not as well as Doc’s ‘fainting white woman’ routine. Which had been the whole point, really. But goddamn if her mouth didn’t still hurt.

Beckett has bought it all, though. He’d set them up with a comfortable room, and assured they that he would guarantee their safety. Although he’d been all eyes for the weeping Doc LaMonte and her strategically ripped dress. Which had also been the point, but it still burned her britches that the damn Limey hadn’t even looked at her.

Still, the room was comfortable. Even if the stuck up son of a bitch probably assumed she’d be sleeping her mistress’ floor, or some shit like that. So, with a hiss, she pulled the cloth away and eyed it critically. Then, carefully, she touched her lip. No fresh blood stained her fingers. “Looks like I’ve stopped bleeding.”

There was a rap at the door. “Pardon me, Madame Giry,” called the voice of the butler. “If you feel up to it, Master Beckett invites you to join him at dinner.” A hesitation. “Your maid may attend as well.”

In response, Alice flipped off the door.
 
"Tush, Alice," Anne Marie said with a dismissive wave. She had washed her face and was busy reapplying her makeup and reassembling her hair into something altogether more presentable. "An important part of being a woman of the world is learning how to take a punch without complaint. Some do not have the opportunity to choose to do so, as you have." She glanced at her in the mirror before returning her attention to her lipstick. "And don't look at me so bitterly; Monsieur Beckett might be a man of the old guard, but I can assure you that many of the hands and servants who have seen you certainly are not. I dare say you could have your pick. Beckett does not seem to be much your type anyway; far too plain, and rather too middle-aged." Algernon could be considered middle-aged, she supposed. Why, he and Beckett must have been around the same age. It might make this evening more tolerable, but the comparison still made her homesick.

"Looks like I've stopped bleeding," Alice said, eyeing the cloth critically.

"Bon. Perhaps we can also ask for ice to help with the swelling." Anne Marie looked at Alice in the mirror as she put the finishing touches on her hair, delicately pinning a few strays back into place. "And I can cover the marks up if you would like. I am not sure I have anything that would match your skin tone, but I could find a way. I am very skilled at that sort of thing, you know."

There was a rap at the door. "Pardon me, Madame Giry," called the voice of the butler. "If you feel up to it, Master Beckett invites you to join him at dinner." A hesitation. "Your maid may attend as well."

Anne Marie stifled a giggle at Alice's reaction and composed herself before answering. "That is very kind of him," she called back. "You may inform him that I shall be down momentarily, though I believe dear Alice would be more comfortable taking her supper in the kitchens." She pressed a finger to her lips and fixed Alice with a look which plainly communicated that she had her reasons.

"Very good, Madame," came the butler's voice, followed by his retreating footsteps.

"I am sorry to exclude you from dinner," Anne Marie said once he'd gone. She sounded genuinely apologetic. "But I'm afraid that servants dining with their employers is most unusual, even in America and moreso in Europe. We do not want to arouse his suspicions. Besides, taking your meal in the kitchens may afford you more opportunity to snoop around and casually question the help, and afford me an opportunity to get closer to Beckett." She smiled and crossed to the small case she had left in the car and asked to be brought in. "Now...do I get his blood by turning conversation back to the sea and forcing him to cough it up," she asked, "or do I get it by introducing him to the legend of Senora Zorro after dinner?" With a grin she produced the domino mask and whip she had rescued from her home when Beckett's men had raided it.

~*~

Jackie scoffed at the idea of Sam being an innocent anything. But then Sam got serious and assured her that she didn't see her as a sidekick or a servant or as anything less than her. What was strange was that she believed her. That was a different sort of experience. All her life Jackie had run into whites who said they didn't see her as different or lesser, but their actions had said differently. Hell, she was pretty sure even Doc LaMonte saw her as less than, though she got the feeling Doc saw everyone as her inferior. She squeezed Sam's calloused hand and smiled despite herself. She had been determined to be cussed at her, but it hadn't worked.

"Well, s'long as you don't git me in too deep with undead cowboys and stuck up Frogs after this," she said, "I guess I'll have yer back. S'long as you got mine too."

She didn't address the topic of the baby again, but instead clicked her tongue and heeled Paint to a trot. She was going to help Sam; she wanted to, and she had said that she would and she meant it. But that didn't mean that she was ready to be a momma. Ma had always said nobody's ready for that, but Jackie didn't even like kids. Then again, Ma had always told her it's different when it's your own, too. Sam was probably just late and they were panicking over nothing. Even so, thinking about having a baby made her queasy. Well, queasier. She hadn't mentioned it since it was probably just all this living off hard tack and jerky, but she'd been queasy and exhausted on and off for nearly two weeks. Just getting sick, that was all.

"Come quiet-like and we won't hafta hurt you." Jackie leveled her pistol at one of the hands who had been assigned to watch the perimeter. "We don't wanna hurt anyone now."
 
The ranch hands laughed at Jackie’s demand, eying Sam contemptuously and her with disquieting interest. One of them spat. “Got us a different idea,” one drawled, ignoring Jackie and focusing on Sam. “You leave right now, an’ leave yer squaw here, an’ we’ll let y’go.”

“Yah,” a second hand laughed. “We’ll let her go too. Once we get bored of her.”

Sam regarded them for a moment, watching the lines of sluggish red-gold light ooze through them. She wasn’t entirely sure what her warpaint was showing her, but it made the walking dead men stand out distinctly from the living. And all of them were dead. Her lip curled, and then her gun was in her hand. “En eh yah ho,” she replied as she pulled the trigger.

-*-

Alice considered the question for a moment. “Well,” she replied, “I really like the whip and mask. I mean, I’d call you Senora Zorro all night...”. An impish grin flirted across her face and vanished quickly as she turned serious once more. “But I reckon you ain’t planning on going there with him, so that might be tipping your hand?”

She examined the cloth again, to make sure her lip really had stopped bleeding. Satisfied that it had, She rinsed it in a basin of water. “So, probably try to get him to cough up blood by talking about the sea. You can always mask up later and let La Zorrita beat the blood out of him if it don’t work, right?”

Putting the cloth down, she examined her face in the mirror. “Meanwhile, I can go play damsel in distress with n the kitchen with the rest of the help.” Turning her face, she purses her lips and winced. “Yer right that I should ask around. Maybe I can get a little clumsy, and get some blood that way while I’m at it?”

-*-

Sam kicked a hand in the head, watching the man’s head rock violently backwards. She wasn’t sure if he felt it or not. They were all down with silver bullets in them, and they hadn’t yet recovered enough to start moving again. “Don’t y’threaten mah gal like that,” she snapped, kicking him again. “‘Specially when she’s got th’ drop on yeh.”

They’d been careful to collect blood out of the line of sight of the three hands, trying not to let on what they were doing. Now Jackie was packing the samples away. Stretching, Sam watched her close her saddle bag. “Y’d think they’d take a woman seriously when she’s pointin’ a gawddamn gun at ‘em. But no. Did God fergit ta give’em brains when He gave ‘em dicks?”
 
"And who says that is not precisely what I meant?" Anne Marie demanded, coiling the whip again and setting it with the mask. She stepped closer to Alice. "Lesson One, Alice: a woman has many tools available to her to make her way in the world of men. Sex is the easiest and most valuable of these tools." She looked down at the shorter woman and gently caressed her cheek before tucking a bit of hair behind her ear for her. She tucked one finger under Alice's chin and gently tilted her face upwards to look at her. "For instance," she murmured, leaning her face a little closer, "while you've been busy staring at my breasts, I slipped my knife between your ribs thirty seconds ago."

The knife wasn't between her ribs, of course. Alice had never personally offended her, nor had anyone paid for her to be killed. She was absolutely no one of consequence. But the tip of Anne Marie's knife was pressed gently against the cloth covering the space between her third and fourth rib.

"Call me Senora Zorro all you'd like," she said, her voice still soft, "I find I often am able to catch more flies with honey than with vinegar." She smiled and left a crimson kiss on Alice's cheek before pulling away and tucking her knife back into the folds of her skirt. "Men are so often preoccupied with sex that even when they know they are in danger, arousal paralyzes them. The threat of death is infinitely outweighed by even the slightest chance that their cock might be wet when they go."

She turned suddenly and adjusted her breasts in her dress to look fuller then checked her makeup one more time. "I do hope he is a decent employer who feeds his staff the same meals he himself indulges in." She looked over her shoulder at Alice and smiled. "Bon chance." With that she strode briskly out.

"Please forgive my tardiness," Madame LaMonte said as she sat at the table with Beckett. He sat at the head of the long table and so she, naturally, presumed to sit at his right hand. "I wanted to ensure that you were not forced to look at those hideous atrocities those brutes saw fit to leave on my face." She smiled. She had left a faint trace of the cut along the outside of one eye. She would have been able to cover it with makeup of course, but she thought it made her look slightly more rugged; a not-unattractive reminder of why she was here with him.

"I trust I find you in better health than when I left this afternoon?" she asked politely, taking a spoonful of soup.

~*~

"Now ya know why I ain't got any use for em," Jackie said, packing away the little cloths with blood samples from each of them. It had felt good to pull the trigger, to watch their faces burst open, but it was disappointing that they weren't going to stay down. "Gettin' pretty fuckin' tired'a all the rape threats," she groused, mostly to herself. "Y'don't see women goin round talkin bout such vileness. Not even outlaw women. We just..."

But what women just did, Jackie never got to say. Her stomach churned and heaved and she only had time to stagger a few paces away from Paint before emptying her stomach into the dry grass. It was several long minutes before she was done. With a noise of disgust and exhaustion, she spat and wiped her mouth.

"Ain't never had a problem with blood afore," she mumbled, walking on wobbly knees back to Paint and rinsing out her mouth. "Musta caught somethin' back in that mine." She drank again, swishing the water around her mouth and spitting, this time on the tied-up hands. "So where next? Let's get this done with so's we can go home and you can nurse me back to health for once."
 
The sound of Jackie retching made Sam look up, and then scramble over quickly. “You all right?” she asked, offering her a canteen. “What’s wrong?”

“Ain't never had a problem with blood afore," she mumbled, walking on wobbly knees back to Paint and rinsing out her mouth. "Musta caught somethin' back in that mine."

“Maybe. Reckon it could be th’ killin’,” Sam replied, nodding at the dead men. “Even if’n it’s temporary, that’s a damn sight mire’m jes’ blood. Ain’t no shame in gettin’ sick ‘bout killin’ someone.” She wrapped her arms around Jackie’s waist, holding her. “Sometimes, it worries me that it don’t bother me more, y’know?”

Jackie drank again, swishing the water around her mouth and spitting, this time on the tied-up hands. "So where next? Let's get this done with so's we can go home and you can nurse me back to health for once."

Sam grinned, then looked past Jackie. The paint on her eyes itched but it let her see the saddled Rangers, gesturing out into the prairie. “Ah’ll take real good care o’ you,” she laughed. “Jes’ don’ make me haul yer carcass back on Silver ta do it, y’hear?” The Rangers gestured impatiently, reading their horses. “But it looks like th’ next bunch o’ ‘em are that way. Saddle up!”

-*-

“My dear Madam Giry,” Beckett replied, standing up as she entered. “There is nothing to forgive - I am entirely at your disposal. And I assure you that my men are hunting the outlaws that inflicted such outraged upon you and your servant.”

He waited until she took her seat before sitting himself, trying not to stare at her as he did. She was from southern France, he thought, with an infusion of Spanish blood that added a dusky hint of mystery to her charms. And her bodice displayed some of those charms amply, reminding him uncomfortably of just how long it had been since a lady had visited the ranch.

"I trust I find you in better health than when I left this afternoon?" she asked.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied, tasting his own soup. “I contracted a touch of malaria in my time in the is...”. He winced as the word islands brought back memories of the sea and his blood rebelled ever so slightly. “In Central America,” he corrected himself, forcing himself to remember jungles and Spanish forts instead. “It... it flares up, from time to time. I must apologize for my rudeness, though. I’ll or not, my behavior was boorish.”

-*-

Alice swaggered into the kitchen, letting her hips sway in a way calculated to attract attention. It wasn’t hard to stay in the right frame of mind to do it - the memory of Doc’s lips on her cheek and even of the knife flat against her ribs sent a warm curl of desire through her. Probably too much to hope she’d be interested, though.

The hands in the kitchen sure were, though. There were a half-dozen of them, anglos and Mexicans and one black man, all eying her with naked interest. It was both exciting and unnerving, and she found herself suddenly glad she had her revolver tucked in her bag and her four-shot holdout in her sleeve. “Evening, gentlemen,” she smiled, contriving to arch her back a little as she paused in the doorway. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all, ma’am,” the black man answered, standing up. Probably liked to think of himself as a gentleman, she decided as he glared at the others. Hesitantly and grumbling, they stood as well.

“Thank you kindly,” she smiled, taking a seat. “What’s for dinner?”
 
The black man, whose name was Duncan, pulled out a chair for the pretty black maid who had accompanied the rich lady. It had been so very long, he reflected, since he'd been with a woman. Beckett didn't allow such distractions, and this damnable curse never allowed him a moment's peace; the women who wandered onto to ranch and were taken were usually passed around the cowboys first. By the time they got to the kitchens they were already half-dead and unconscious, and Duncan had never managed to make one last more than one or two rounds. She usually died of exhaustion, if he got her at all.

The maid wasn't exhausted, though. She was pretty and fresh and untouched, except those bandits who had beat her up. But he didn't mind a few bruises. She wouldn't be anyone's sloppy seconds, either; he could convince her to come back to his room, and when she wanted to leave he would lock the door and swallow the key. Certainly he could get off with a woman, but the curse meant he would never know peace for it. He would just lie there, horny and painfully hard, until he'd had her again. And again. And again. Duncan wondered how many times he could cum, how long until he killed her. How long until her body was too cold to be passable. She looked like she could last a long time. It had been nearly a year since a girl had wandered onto the ranch and lasted long enough to make it down to the kitchens. It'd be nice that the maid would actually be conscious for a while.

"Thank you kindly,” the maid smiled, taking the seat he'd offered. “What’s for dinner?”

"Stew, ma'am," he answered, sitting next to her and smiling charmingly. "I'm afraid we don't get none of the fancy stuff we gotta cook. Still, it's hot and it'll fill yer belly." He stood and grabbed a bowl, ladling stew from the enormous pot on the table and setting it down before her. The other men eyed him resentfully and he knew they'd had the same idea.

"So what brings a pretty girl like you down here with us bums?" he asked, smiling again and ignoring the others.

~*~

"Not to worry, Monsieur," Anne Marie answered, waving a hand dismissively. "My dearest late Monsieur Giry died of malaria in Panama, God rest his soul. Toward the end he said some of the most beastly things to me, things he never would have said in his right mind. I can hardly say your behavior was any worse." She smiled and took another bite. "We shall put that behind us, non? It never happened. We start anew." She put a hand lightly on his forearm and smiled. "Perhaps we may start anew with your calling me Antoinette, non?"

Anne Marie paused a beat, then returned to her soup. It really was quite good. "Where in Central America were you?" she asked conversationally. "I know I ought to have an aversion to it myself, having lost Monsieur Giry there, but I fear I cannot stay away. My mother's family, the Spanish Barons of Polop, have land in Mexico. I spent every summer there as a child and have exceedingly fond memories of the place. It is the land of my mother's people." She smiled and shrugged. "My grandfather even defeated El Zorro once and for all."

She put down her spoon and shook her head. "But I speak too much of myself. What about you, Monsieur Beckett? What of your travels in Central America?"

~*~

Jackie shook her head. "T'ain't the killin," she insisted. "They deserved it. I'm just gettin' sick, that's all." She swished again and spat, this time on the ranch hands. "So where next? Let's get this done with so's we can go home and you can nurse me back to health for once."

She smiled when Sam promised to take care of her then glanced off at something nearby. Jackie followed her gaze, but couldn't see anything. Damned Rangers, probably. She swung herself up into the saddle, stomach still churning, and followed the dead men's directions.

The sun was very nearly set by the time they had tracked down and collected blood from all of the hands. The only thing left was to get the house servants, but that was what Doc and Alice were there for. The pair sat on their horses, watching the ranch.

"Think they've done it yet?" Jackie asked. "What if we missed the signal?" If they had she blamed herself. She'd puked twice more, not always in the presence of blood or death, and slowed them down. She just wanted to get this over with so she could get back home, have Ma take a look at her, and just sleep for a million years. Being on the road like this had her constantly exhausted.
 
Alice wasn’t blind to the looks he was getting, appraising looks like hungry dogs sizing up a piece of meat. She’d have to play this carefully, and be ready to run like hell if necessary. “I thank you kindly,” she smiled, stirring the stew with her spoon. It actually looked like it’d be decent, which made sense. Well-fed men worked harder.

"So what brings a pretty girl like you down here with us bums?" asked the big black man, leering what he probably thought was a smile and sitting possessively close.

“Oh, y’all know how it is,” she replied with forced casualness. “The help kin step an’ fetch, but us colored ain’t fit ta sit at th’ master’s table.”

“True,” snorted the bug man next to her, resting a possessive hand on her thigh. Her skin crawled at his touch. “But you’re sure enough welcome down here.”

She picked up her spoon, thinking hard. “Yep,” she smiled. “Sure is nice ta be somewhere where us colored folk are jes’ as good as any white man.” Eyes narrowed, and she pretended not to notice. Instead, she stretched a little and took care to show off doing it, before testing a hand on the dead man’s shoulders. “Better, even. Must be nice, getting ta boss these white boys round.”

All the white hands stared at her. “We don’t take no orders from no damn nigger,” one of them growled.

The big man next to her bristled at that, but Alice cut in before he could respond. “Y’don’t?” she said, all wide-eyed and surprised-sounding. Her attention turned to the man next to her, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Ah’m so sorry,” she continued, letting her fingers trail down her throat. “Yer jes’ so strong an’ commandin’. Ah he’s figured you as th’ boss.” Her fingers stroked lightly over her breastbone.

“He ain’t the boss,” snapped the same white man. “Jes’ another goddamn coon.”

-*-

She put a hand lightly on his forearm and smiled. "Perhaps we may start anew with your calling me Antoinette, non?"

“Then you must call me Cutler,” he replied, acutely aware of the warmth of her fingers through his sleeve. “And I grieve for your loss - Monseur Giry must have been a great man.”

She went on to speak of her family and her Mexican roots, ancestry mostlikely flavored with a strain of Aztec. No wonder she had been interested in his collection. She had, no doubt, sensed that she beheld her roots. And with her bearing, it was easy to imagine her as some ancient feather-bedecked Queen, presiding over the grim sacrifices of.... “My grandfather even defeated El Zorro once and for all."

“He did?” he replied, surprised. “Do you know, I always believed ‘the Fox’ to be a folk legend? A Robin Hood figure of sorts, no doubt inspired by wish fulfillment and vague memories of bandits. But you say he was real? Fascinating.”

She put down her spoon and shook her head. "But I speak too much of myself. What about you, Monsieur Beckett? What of your travels in Central America?"

“Please, Antoinette, call me Cutler.” He put his own spoon down. “Much of my time in Central America was spent defending the interests of the British crown and subjects - hunting pirates, ensuring ships were escorted safely...”. He felt the blood begin to tingle in his extremities, and moved to change the subject. “But I found myself with an interest in Aztec culture, after seeing some of their artifacts close up.”

He shifted, studying the graceful shape of Antoinette’s face as a distraction from the memories of dead pirates and ancient gold. “After I retired and founded this ranch, I had wealth and time enough for a few expeditions to study their ancient cities.”

-*-

“We ain’t missed nothin’,” Sam laughed as they arrived at the mine. From here, they’d still have a reasonable view of the ranch house. “Ah reckon Doc’ll raise a real fuss, if’n Alice don’ jes burn th’ place down.”

Swinging off Silver, she patted him on the nose and hung a feed bag on him. “Gotta leave th’ saddle fer a bit longer boy, jes’ in case.”

Leaving her steed to eat, she poured water into the makeshift trough in the mine and looked to see if Jackie needed help. “Why don’t Ah brew you up a pot o’ tea, see if that settles yer stomach. Then Ah kin make dinner.” A grin. “Y’want beans an’ bacon, or beans an’ dried beef?”
 
Jackie's stomach twisted and she had to suppress her gorge. "Neither," she said, "just the tea. Beans sound just... absolutely disgusting right now."

She knew that beggers couldn't be choosers, but the grease and texture of the food available to them turned her stomach despite being hungry. All at once Jackie had a sudden longing for rabbit and succotash, maybe with a nice big slice of grilled cactus. Her stomach twisted in hunger, but the smell of cooking beans put her off of food completely.

"I'll eat after we get all the gold back in the chest," she promised, curling up by the mouth of the cave to watch the ranch.

~*~

"Mais oui," Anne Marie insisted. "He was very real. My grandfather had his whip and mask mounted on his wall for years. But I speak too much of myself. What about you, Monsieur Beckett? What of your travels in Central America?"

She leaned forward, pretending to be fascinated while the servants cleared away the soup course and brought out the main dish. Anne Marie what sort of a name Cutler was, and whether he had chosen that name for himself or if his parents had really disliked him that much. She noticed the way he paled a little when he talked about pirates and escorting ships.

"I had no idea there were pirates still active in the Caribbean," she said breathlessly, watching the blood drain completely from his face. How interesting.

"But I found myself with an interest in Aztec culture, after seeing some of their artifacts close up." She allowed Beckett to change the subject. "After I retired and founded this ranch, I had wealth and time enough for a few expeditions to study their ancient cities.” He was beginning to regain some color in his cheeks.

"How very interesting!" Anne Marie started on her food. "And tell me, Cutler, what did you find? Was it everything you had imagined?"

~*~

Duncan's cock twitched at the way her fingers brushed against her throat and collarbone. He could imagine his own fingers sliding around that pretty little throat. His hand squeezed her thigh gently and moved toward the inside of her thigh.

"Well, y'see--"

"He ain’t the boss,” snapped Jesse Tucker. They'd never gotten along. “Jes’ another goddamn coon"

"Now you look here, Jesse," he said, standing and drawing himself up to his full height. "I done had just about enough of yer bullshit fer one day. How 'bout you hush up and let me talk t' the lady, huh?" He slowly flexed his biceps, wordlessly daring Jesse to come at him.
 
Part of Alice wanted to sigh with relief when Duncan stood up. His hand in her thigh had not been particularly welcome, handsome though he was. Not with the predatory leer he’d given her. The same predatory leer everyone else at the table wore, that reminded her she was in real danger.

Still, she needed those blood samples.

“Don’t worry,” she purred, resting her hand on Duncan’s hip. “I like talking to you.” She bit her lip and glanced around the table. “I like real men.”

“Y’hear that, Jesse?” Duncan laughed. “She’s knew here, and even she knows yer all talk!”

Taking a gamble, Alice rolled her shoulders back, pushing her breasts against her blouse. “Ah sure do like a man that can rise to the occasion,” she said, looking at Jesse.

-*-

“There are pirates, Antoinette,” Beckett said, choosing his words carefully, “wherever shipping must follow a basic route, and when there are ports to harbor them.”

The subject changed to Central America, thankfully, and she listened intently as he spoke of the ancient cities of the Aztecs. [BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]"And tell me, Cutler, what did you find? Was it everything you had imagined?"[/BGCOLOR]

“They were... magnificent,” he breathed. “Vast cities of stone built on the peaks of jungle-covered mountains, as large as any city to be found in Europe. Stepped pyramids rivaling anything built by the pharaohs, shrouded in mystery and wonder.” He sighed, remembering. “Much of their treasure was stripped by the Conquistadors, but even in ruins they speak to the glories of the ancient past.”

A thought flickered through his mind, a memory of ancient gold in a stone coffee. “And some of it remains still. Treasures consecrated to their ancient gods, protected by terrible curses.”
 
"It sounds wonderful," Anne Marie breathed, careful to look in awe at his descriptions. "I cannot imagine what it must be like to behold such wonders of the ancient world."

"And some of it remains still," Beckett said thoughtfully. "Treasures consecrated to their ancient gods, protected by terrible curses."

She laughed lightly. "My dear Cutler," she said, reaching out to lay her hand on his forearm. "Surely you don't believe in the curses the savages say their gods put on this or that, do you? It was simply a trick to keep the conquerors from taking what was their's by right." Anne Marie cringed inwardly at her own words, but he had to believe that she really meant it, that she put no store in curses--rumored or otherwise--or else her plans for getting his blood might arouse suspicion.

"I suppose it worked," she added thoughtfully. "If such treasures are still there after all these years, curses must have scared off the fools silly enough not to use their heads about the whole matter.

~*~

God but he wanted to just bend her over this table and fuck her raw. The girl's delicate hand on his hip made Duncan ache to do just that...but there was still Jesse to deal with. "Y'hear that Jesse?" he laughed. "She's new here, and even she knows yer all talk!"

"Ah sure do like a man that can rise to the occasion," Alice said, glancing around at Jesse and rolling her shoulders back. Her gamble worked and he smiled.

"Well then ma'am, y'ain't gonna find much t'like in ol' Duncan here," Jesse said, gesturing to the black hand. "He kin only git it up fer cows an' stable boys."

The kitchen broke out into uproarious laughter. Duncan laughed along...until he drew without warning and shot Jesse between the eyes. "Ain't no one gonna slander me like that," he snarled amid the click of gun hammers being drawn back and kitchen knives being pulled with a metallic hiss from their blocks. The showdown, it seemed, would be largely black against white. Duncan looked around, challenging anyone to come closer. "Well?" he prompted. "Which one o' you pussyfoots is gonna try?"

A gun went off and blood and brains spattered across Alice's dress.
 
She thought she’d be ready for the chaos that ensued. After all, she’d been in a few fist fights in her life. And she’d used her holdout to scare more than one man off. How hard could a gunfight be?

And then Duncan went down, his blood and brains spraying over her.

Despite her intentions, Alice heard herself scream as she tried to scramble back away from the falling corpse. The chair tangled her up and sent her crashing to the floor, which probably saved her life. The kitchen had dissolved into utter chaos, men shouting and screaming and stabbing and shooting. Blood was everywhere, and more of it got on her clothes as she scrambled beneath the table for shelter.

God, she thought, eyes wild as she spun her head to make sure nobody was aiming at her. God, what did I do? This had seemed so simple when Sam outlined the plan, but the reality was terrifying.

Suddenly there was silence. A silence as loud and shocking as the roar of the fight.

The table shifted and scraped, and suddenly she was staring up at Jesse. He was wild-eyed and blood-soaked, still gripping his nice. She stared up at him, and he leered back. “You an’ me,” he laughed, lashing out and grabbing a fistful of her hair. “We gonna have us some fun.”

-*-

“Do I believe in curses?” Beckett pondered the question, debating how to answer. He’d seen the powers of the Adversary in his long life, but there were some things that just should not be spoken aloud. “I... I find it is easy to dismiss such things as superstition in the comfort of one’s home, surrounded by the things of modern civilization. But, well...”

He took a sip of his wine. “It is much more difficult to dismiss these things whilst standing in the shadows of a ruined city as old as any to be found in Europe. Whilst confronted by the images of the Gods and devils that...”

A shot rang out, causing his head to whip around. More shots were fired and he sprang to his feet. “That was inside the house!” he exclaimed, gripping a revolver that hung in display on the wall. “Antoinette, for your safety, please stay close.” He thought, then frowned as he realized where the sounds were coming from. “It may be the bandits have returned.”

Cocking the pistol he stepped into the hall. There were no signs of intrusion, but he remained cautious as he made his way towards the kitchen. A feminine scream echoed, causing him to pick up his pace. Drawing a deep breath, he threw open the door.

-*-

Alice struggles, trying to find breath to scream for help. But Jesse had her pinned down, one hand gripping her throat, choking her with his weight. His free hand tore her dress open to the waist and crawled over her body. “Not bad fer a nigger,” he cackled.

Desperately she raked at his face, ripping bloody furrows in his skin. He just laughed and squeezed harder, making black spots dance before her eyes. “You kin enjoy this,” he breathed, fumbling with his jeans. “Or not. Ah don’ care.”

She shuddered as she felt his naked cock rubbing against her thigh, then desperately bucked and heaved in an effort to free herself. He responded by slapping her hard enough to make her ears ring. “Ah’d rather hear y’screamin’,” he laughed. “But you’ll stay warm fer a while if’n Ah cut yer throat.”

The door crashed open. “By God, man,” she heard a voice thunder. “Unhand her, or I will shoot you like a dog!”
 
Helpless female. Helpless female. Anne Marie had to remind herself of this as she followed Beckett down the hall, her own weapon still concealed in her skirt. All would be ruined if she gave things away now. Still, she didn't think it would be out of character to quicken her pace, forcing him to nearly jog if he were to stay in front, at the scream echoing down the hall.

"Shoot, boss," Jesse said with a lazy smile, letting go of Alice's throat and straightening, though his thighs still pressed hers against the edge of the table. "We's just gettin' to know each other a lil better, that's all."

Anne Marie lowered the handkerchief from her lips--a nice touch, she thought--and began wading through the blood and bodies toward him. Pity; she had liked these shoes. "Unhand her, you beast!" She didn't use all of her strength to push him away before gathering Alice up to her, ignoring the blood on her own clothes.

"Cutler Beckett, I do believe I've quite lost my appetite," she said, tears in her eyes and voice quavering as she turned to him. "I do not know what sort of a household you run, but this brute has attempted to force himself onto my servant! My... My friend." She looked away briefly as though embarrassed to call a servant, and a Negro at that, her friend. Then she made a show of gathering herself together and drawing herself up to her full height.

"I demand satisfaction," she commanded. "Fifteen lashes, and I shall mete them out to ensure he bears the full consequence of his brutality." She glared at him over Alice's head. "Then this monstrous breech of hospitality shall be put behind us."
 
Beckett’s eyes narrowed in fury at what he saw before him. Not that he particularly cared about the appetites of his men - they were men, after all, and men had needs. But this violence had been perpetrated against the maid of his guest.

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Cutler Beckett, I do believe I've quite lost my appetite," Antoinette declared, the tears in her eyes in no way undermining the steel in her voice. “I do not know what sort of a household you run, but this brute has attempted to force himself onto my servant! My... My [/BGCOLOR]friend.[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]" [/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Antoinette,” he said, bowing low. “I pray you, accept my apologies. I never dreamed that your servant would be subjected to such... such outrage.” His gaze shifted to Alice. “Are you... harmed, my dear?”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“N-no,” Alice managed in a small, shaken voice. “Just, Just mah, mah pride. He...”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Ah didn’t do nuthin’ yet,” Jesse laughed. “Jes’ gettin-“[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“By God, sir!” Beckett roared, rounding on him. “I shall have you...”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“[/BGCOLOR][BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]"I demand satisfaction," Antoinette interrupted, the steel in her voice now bearing an edge. [/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Beckett blinked in surprise as the lazy smile melted from Jesse’ features. “But of course, Madame Giry,” he declared. “I shall...”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]"Fifteen lashes, and [/BGCOLOR]I [BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]shall mete them out to ensure he bears the full consequence of his brutality." She glared at him over Alice's head. "Then this monstrous breech of hospitality shall be put behind us."[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“It is kinder than the dog deserves,” Beckett stared, glaring daggers at Jesse, “but it shall be as you wish,”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]-*-[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Alice shuddered as she watched the preparations, unable to stop thinking about what had happened. About what had almost happened. Her pistol still weighted her purse, and her holdout still rested against her forearm, and she hadn’t touched either weapon. Everything had happened so fast. And now she wanted to hide. To run home, and be safe.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Jesse howled and strained, trying to pull free of the wagon wheel he’d been lashed to. He was saying something, but it sounded distant and foreign to her numb ears. She’d wanted an adventure, she thought. She hadn’t thought it would really be dangerous.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Beckett said something she didn’t really hear, describing his crimes no doubt. Then a driver tore the shirt away. The bloodstained shirt. Beckett approached, offering a short-handled whip to Anne Marie.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Whenever you wish to begin, Madame Giry.”[/BGCOLOR]
 
"You are alright, cherie, non?"

When Beckett had had the hand dragged out and gone with them to oversee preparations, he had left the women alone in the kitchen. Alice was looking a bit shell shocked, but Anne Marie was fairly certain this was normal for someone who was not often in danger. She cupped the girl's face and examined her for anything more than a bruise or a scratch. She seemed fine.

"Only shaken, oui?" She nodded to encourage Alice to agree. She hadn't been hurt, after all; no sense in losing their heads. "Bon. If we work quickly, we can gather blood samples before they stir and before we are missed."

With a combination of sample tubes and handkerchiefs the women gathered blood from the temporarily dead men. Stashing them in Anne Marie's purse and in the folds of their skirts, they stopped by their room to hide them away before continuing out the yard. The hand had been lashed to a wagon and was howling his protests and excuses.

"I do not profess to know much about how men treat women in America, Monsieur," Anne Marie raised her voice over his protests as she took the whip from Beckett, "but today is the day that you shall learn that where I come from, there are consequences for your actions." She stepped confidently within range of his bare, muscular back and looked down on him with no trace of mercy in her eyes, her mouth set in a grim line.

"You shall count the lashes. Out loud, and promptly," she instructed. "If you are not prompt, I shall begin again."

Drawing blood with a whip was not only a matter of strength, Algie had taught her, but also of dexterity. The tip could draw just as well as the rest of the whip. The question was simply how to get the blood from the whip to a sample tube without Beckett noticing. Perhaps if she were able to make the whip itself drip.

"Begin."

She swung hard and fast, drawing a dark streak of thick scarlet with every swing.
 
Jesse sniggered as the Mexican-looking bitch with the frog name lectured him, then remembered the rules and out in a show of fear. As if he fucking cared what she thought. He was dead, after all, and everything was numb. Everything but hunger and thirst, anyway, and the urges that still tormented him. Bitch wanted to beat him for trying to have a go at her pet nigger? Fine. He’d just return the favor. Be kind of fun, making that stuck-up cunt scream.

“Begin.”

He braced himself. Whipping would still hurt, even with the numbness. Not as badly, sure, but enough to factor into his revenge fantasies. He’d track her down, for this. Maybe bring his knife, make new-

An animal scream of agony erupted from his throat as the lash tore across his back. He convulsed, back arching, muscles straining against the things that bound him to the fence. Gasping, he tried to understand what had happened. Nothing hurt like that, anymore! Nothing!

“Two.”

He tended as Beckett spoke the word, then screamed again as the lash ripped his back. What was going on?

-*-

“Three.”

Beckett watched, impressed as Antoinette handled the whip. There was an air of nobility about her, he saw. An aristocratic bearing that he’d noticed but not registered before. Who was she, really? The daughter of some French noble, no doubt.

“Four.”

Jesse was putting in an authentic act of being in pain, he noticed. Like a man really being whipped. Perhaps that would convince Antoinette that Justice had been served?

“Five.”

A daughter of a French aristocrat. Perhaps... well. There was an age difference, of course. But perhaps she’d be amenable to courtship?
 
"S-six."

The hand was doing an admirable job of counting, and Anne Marie was a little disappointed at that. She had expected to have to start over at least twice and have more of an opportunity to spill blood. Not that she was particularly blood thirsty, of course, but that she wanted only a better opportunity to make sure this one's blood was not missed.

"Seven." He choked on the number and she wasn't entirely certain whether it was an act. If it was, it was a very good one.

"Congratulations, you have been stout nearly halfway through," she says drily. "Unfortunately, you are still only halfway." She glanced at Beckett with a conspiratorial glimmer then swung again, faster and harder.

"Eight," the hand gasped.
 
Somewhere around the count of nine, Alice felt herself starting to relax. Not because of the whipping, mind. It was hard to watch, even if the man deserved it. But there was something calming about the rhythm, about the methodical crack of the whip. And about Doc’s presence. The woman seemed made out of steel. Hell, so did Jackie and Sam.

So, she could do it too. Right?

“Fourteen...” the hand cracked out.

“May Ah?” Alice asked as Anne Marie raised her arm. Both she and Mr. Beckett gave her a puzzled look, and she tried to look abashed. “It’s just, well... Ah’m the one he attacked. Seems only fair Ah stand up for myself. A little bit, anyway.”

Beckett shrugged, and Doc LaMonte nodded. Alice accepted the whip and stepped forward, twitching the handle experimentally. It’d been a while since she’d handled one, but maybe it would come back?

The hand twitched his head around hesitantly, clearly wondering what was happening. Despite the pain etched on his face, he managed a shaky dismissive smile when he saw her. “Fifteen,” he spat out, as if daring her.

Alice’s hand rose and fell. The hand’s head jerked as the lash tore across his face, bursting one eye. He screamed, long and loud, jerking against the wheel. “Oops,” she said, holding her free hand to her mouth. “Look at what Ah just did.”

Yep. Sure as Hell came back. Growing up around cattle cane in handy after all.
 
Anne Marie tilted her head slightly, then handed Alice the whip. "By all means."

The hand spat out the last number as the lash transferred hands. His smirk was defiant and dismissive enough that even Anne Marie wanted to punch it off of his face. But Alice stayed cool and waited for him to turn his face to her before taking his eye out. Perhaps Anne Marie had underestimated her before.

"Oops,” Alice said, holding her free hand to her mouth. “Look at what Ah just did.”

"Alice, you clumsy girl," she admonished in a flat monotone, a smirk curling her lip as she took the whip back. She wiped the leather down with a handkerchief, cleaning it up for Beckett before handing it back to him. "Your man will be wanting medical attention," she said calmly, stepping inappropriately close and keeping his gaze as she addressed her acting servant. "Alice, dear, why don't you go back to the kitchens? See whether the cook thought to make dessert before chaos broke out. Hm? Oh, and take this to be laundered while you're at it." She handed off the handkerchief nonchalantly without looking at her. With any luck she would be able to signal Sam and Jackie that they were all but ready. There was only one man left.

With a graceful motion and a charming smile she took Beckett's arm. "Shall we, Cutler?"
 
Alice took the handkerchief and managed a clumsy sort of curtsy. “Yes’m,” she said, ticking the bloody cloth away. “I’ll see to it.”

Her newfound confidence was tested as she walked by herself towards the house, skin crawling as the men watched her go. As the dead men watched her go. She dug her nails into her palm, forcing herself to walk with measured steps. Look strong. That was the secret. Don’t let them see fear.

Of course, it probably helped to be strong.

-*-

Beckett turned his attention from the servant girl to her mistress, taking her offered arm. “But if course,” he agreed. “That was a remarkable display, Antoinette. So many women today seem to fear dirtying their hands that... well, I should not linger on such things. Suffice it to say that your beauty is matched by your resolve.”

He chuckled lightly. “A pity that your servant lacks your skill, for all that she takes part in your spirit. Still, I suppose a ranch hand will not be unduly handicapped by an eyepatch.”

Walking in silence, he enjoyed the faint trace of a breezed that wafted over them. “Still, is there any other service I may perform for you? It would never be enough to make amends for the indignity that you suffered, but I am now and forever at your service.”
 
Anne Marie smiled and pulled her shoulders back a little when Beckett complimented her at her willingness to get her hands dirty, as though Algernon hadn't said pointed out the same thing a dozen times before. Of course, when he said it, it was more often a compliment on the cleverness of her kill. Would he approve, she wondered, of their ruse? Or would he think it trite and obvious?

Well in any case, Beckett didn't seem to think it was obvious, and that was what counted.

"I pride myself on the discipline of my staff," she said, holding her head high. "If it is not innate in them, then I shall instill it. Not that I am in the habit of hiring unruly help," she added a touch defensively. "But Monsieur Giry had very... specific tastes, and taught me well not to be afraid of a little blood." She glanced over at him and smirked suggestively, indicating that her late husband's specific tastes may not have been in the discipline of servants. In every lie, after all, is an element of truth.

He chuckled lightly. “A pity that your servant lacks your skill, for all that she takes part in your spirit. Still, I suppose a ranch hand will not be unduly handicapped by an eyepatch."

"Oh!" she covered her mouth, eyes wide. "Oh my dear Cutler I hadn't even thought of your loss! I do apologise. I shall compensate you whatever price you think fair for the loss of your man's efficiency." They walked together in comfortable silence for a while, a breeze drifting across the sunset and following them back to the house.

"Consider it forgotten," she assured him with a dismissive wave as they returned to the foyer. When she turned to face him again they were too close, with nearly no space between them. "I do not hold grudges," she murmured, gently moving a lock of hair from his face, "but in this one case perhaps I shall allow you to remain in my service, hm?" She smiled.

Anne Marie had kissed men shorter than herself before, naturally. She was tall for a woman. But Beckett was also short for a man, and she didn't want to embarrass him by making him stand on his toes to make the first move. Instead she bent her face to his, pressing a gentle but insistent kiss to his lips and cupping his cheek with one hand. After a few long moments she pulled back, looking horrified by her own actions.

"Monsieur I am so sorry!" she cried, taking half a step back and covering her mouth with both hands. "I...I don't know what came over me. You're just... You're so handsome and refined and you've been so very kind, that I..." She took a deep, shuddering breath and shook her head. "I ought to go."
 
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