"Anne!" The girl jerked to attention at the call, casting around wildly. "Anne!" She calmed herself quickly, taking a deep breath. She was alone in the garden, and the voice had come from within the house. Just another boring day reading ... napping....

"Coming, sister," she called back, climbing to her feet and checking her skirts to make sure no grass or leaves remained. Her eldest sister did get upset if she ever got them stained. Another quick check to make sure that her sword remained where she'd hidden it -- inside the hem of her skirt, beneath her petticoats. Kate would be furious if she found Anne still carrying the thing.

She smoothed her hands over her skirts again in case they'd become rumpled, and headed for the doorway.

"Nancy!"

She rolled her eyes at that. Being the youngest of the three should have made her the most troublesome, if tradition had any weight, but in practice it was Nancy who caused the most problems. And also got away with the most. If Nancy got stains on her skirts.... But of course, that never actually happened. Still, if it had, she'd be scolded, and then the problem would melt away with a few well-timed giggles and girlish blushes.

Anne managed to school her expression by the time she strode through the doorway. The parlor was dimly lit, not nearly as pleasant as the garden had been. Kate was standing inside the room with her back turned -- her dress immaculate as always, though her posture was curiously stern.

"Kate?" Anne asked her eldest sister. "Is something the matter?"

"Sit down," Kate said, turning around and gesturing to a seat. Nodding dutifully, Anne did as she was instructed. Anne and Nancy never had a mistress to teach them, but as Nancy said (beyond Kate's hearing, of course), they'd never felt themselves suffering that lack. Nancy came down the hall, expression drowsy and disinterested as always.

"What is it?" the middle sister asked, barely even raising a hand to cover a yawn. "I was napping."

"It's important, I assure you," Kate said in crisp tones. "Take a seat. Both of you should listen to this."

"Bother," Nancy groused, sitting near Anne and adjusting her skirts.

Anne shifted her own seat slightly, making sure that her blade wouldn't be noticed by Kate. That would start another unpleasant argument, and there just wasn't any winning against Kate. Or Nancy, come to think of it.

Life was so seldom fair.

"As you know," Kate began, once both were seated, though she herself remained standing, "I've received a gentleman caller recently."

"Oh, do tell," Nancy said in a bored tone. "That half-wit doctor, who becomes somehow even less when he sees you?"

Anne tried to mask her apprehension behind a curious smile. Doctor Oswold Thuford had caught Anne's eye some time ago ... but Anne somehow doubted he even noticed her at all. Certainly he'd been the family doctor for a long while, but it seemed that Anne was always just a child to him. Still, this was the first she'd heard that he was actively pursuing Kate.

Kate smiled at Nancy warmly, who winced in response. "Ah, sorry, I mean that witty doctor," she corrected herself. Kate's niceness could extend to the point of cruelty -- and would -- if Nancy pushed too hard. "Er. Yes. I do know."

"I know now," Anne couldn't help but add.

Kate's eyes flickered from Nancy to Anne, and then her gaze softened. Sadly, she said, "Oh, stains on your dress again. Playing in the lawn. Can't you at least take a blanket out with you?"

"Then the grass won't get as much sun," Anne defended herself weakly. "I just ... really like spending time in the garden."

"It doesn't matter," Kate said abruptly, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. "There is an issue here, and there are also several points to be made. You must have noticed that Father is not present."

"I wasn't complaining," Nancy said with a smirk.

"Nancy!"

"I noticed, Kate. What's the point, already? It's just us girls here, we can stop all this beating around the bush. Are you getting married?"

"Father made an agreement some time ago," Kate said, shaking her head. "Of course, that meant the eldest of us would be married to the son of a longtime friend of his. He didn't see fit to bring this up until after poor Doctor Thuford had proposed."

Anne blinked quickly. Doctor Thuford wasn't going to marry Kate? Kate was going to marry someone else? Maybe it really was a blessing!

"So Father decided that if I wouldn't marry who he directed, I would no longer be a part of his family."

Nancy and Anne both sucked in breaths at that. Their father was not a strong-willed man; from him to even say such a thing, well, that meant that this was no idle threat.

"And so, for the time being, I am not your sister."

Anne gaped, staring at Nancy, who gawked back.

"Close your mouths," Kate snapped. "And listen; I only have this one last chance to speak to you so earnestly."

"Y...you," Nancy began nervously.

"But..." Anne tried weakly.

"That's not listening!" Kate took a moment to calm herself. "Now. The way of it is that I will be wed to Doctor Thuford despite Father's wishes. He can take that engagement and do with it what he will -- which is pass it on to one of you."

"I'm engaged?" Nancy said, blinking suddenly. "Well. He's wealthy, then, whoever it is I am to marry?"

"I doubt it," Kate grumbled. "Some old plan of Father's to unite the Academy with the headmaster of another school.... As I'm sure you remember, schools don't generate terribly much wealth."

"I'm to be a pauper," Nancy realized, looking ill. "Well, my dearest sister, you can take me in, can't you? You and your adoring husband would be most happily able to accommodate--"

"I think not," Kate cut Nancy off. "And, anyway, I doubt you will marry him. Father's upset over my choice. I am certain that if Anne asks, even though she's the youngest, she'll be wed to him instead."

Anne found her hands taken up in Nancy's. "Oh, congratulations, my dearest sister! I hope that you find happiness with your new groom!"

Blanching, the youngest girl shook her head swiftly. "N...no," she protested. "Wait! This is too soon! And if you both deny him, why would I marry him?" She felt tears forming in her eyes and tried to blink them away quickly. "Why am I left with no choice?"

"You can choose to reject him," Kate said in a quiet tone. "But mark my words, sister Anne.... You're lovely enough, and you're decently mannered. But you carry a sword beneath your skirts-- Oh, I know, you think I don't, but I do-- You practice fighting in the garden until you've ruined almost every dress you own, we've no dowry but the Academy and this house, which I know you'd hate to part with.... Anne, this is reason. This is compassion, even.

"I'm sorry to be so cruel about it, but the truth of the matter is, if you do not take this man, who is obligated to honor and satisfy you ... I do not think you will ever be wed. And then you won't have the chance of a tolerant father who allows you to play-fight in the gardens while claiming you're reading or napping."

Anne flinched, pulling her hands to her chest, away from Nancy.

"You won't have the home that mother raised us in," Kate continued. "You won't have any of those things!"

"W...what about you?" Anne asked, her voice cracking. "If.... If Father sends Nancy and I away for refusing...." She trailed off helplessly.

"I'd agree to take you in," Kate said in a sorry tone. "But you'd stay with the good doctor's mother. And she has no tolerance for shameless flirting," she said, eying Nancy, "or any of the things you enjoy," she continued, turning her gaze back to Anne. "I am sorry, I truly am. But if you wish to find happiness, I believe this is your truest path for it."

"And what about me?" Nancy asked, frowning. "It's not for me to say, normally, but here ... those are cruel words indeed from a loving sister. What barbs do you send my way?"

"I have little to offer you," Kate said in a dry tone. "You've ... charms ... enough," she said with a vague gesture at Nancy's chest. "I'm certain you'll find yourself a husband wealthy enough to please you."

Stung, Nancy worked her jaw a few times, then crossed her arms over her chest. "Cruel words indeed," she said, finding her voice. "It is just as well you said you were no longer my sister. I find that suits me quite well, just now. Come, Anne -- away from the future Lady Thuford. We should speak to Father about this man we've been affianced to."

"Y...yes," Anne managed, rising at Nancy's urging, her voice cracking. She tried not to look at Kate as she was led down the hall. Tried not to notice the tears in her eldest sister's eyes.

Tried to believe that Kate wasn't right.

In the end, Nancy hadn't put up any argument at all when Anne asked their father if she could be engaged to the young man none of them had ever met. Their father was so ecstatic that she wouldn't protest, he agreed immediately. And that left Anne plenty of time to be nervous about her fiancé.

His name was Roan Shaftoe, son of Gerald Shaftoe. As her father had explained it to her, Gerald and her father had learned the arts of war touring Europe for years together, and eventually earned a consignment from the crown to found a school.

Unfortunately, the school had to be shared between the two of them. So when Gerald Shaftoe had a son, and Samuel Tomlin had three daughters, they'd agreed their children would be wed. But when Roan was still very young, Gerald had taken him to Europe to learn the arts of war as he had, so that when he returned to the Academy he could continue the tradition.

According to the letter that had been posted only a few days ago, Gerald and Roan were to be taking the next ship over from the Americas -- they were in a place called Boston, which Anne vaguely knew as being in the colonies ... but hadn't really spent any time to learn more about. Even if he had traveled the world, as she'd always dreamed, he was still from London, just like her.

Wasn't he?

A knock sounded at the door, shattering Anne's carefully cultivated calm. She felt nervous, panicky -- almost as though she were going to be married. Which she was, she realized; but this wasn't a wedding, it was merely an introduction. "The door," she said, needlessly. Both her father and Nancy were in the room with her. Her father was thumbing through an old, torn book, and Nancy was minding her embroidery.

"Oh!" Nancy exclaimed with a bright grin. "Let's go meet him, shall we?"

"Of course," Samuel said, already well on his way down the hall. "Shaftoe!" he cried out, flinging the doors at the end of the hall open, before an eerie silence fell.

Nancy and Anne exchanged a glance and rushed out to see what was the matter.

The problem was a bit more complex than either had envisioned. The young man at the door was dirty from travel, wearing a leather vest over a thick cotton shirt, and some sturdy looking chaps. For a moment, Anne thought he was some wayward Spaniard, wandered across the ocean from his herd. But Spaniards didn't have red hair, like he did. The heavy black wooden pole he carried in one hand did lend to the image, but the saber and pistol on his belt took away from it somewhat. And the majority of Spaniards were taller than Anne, not shorter as this boy was.

Still, that wasn't the problem -- exactly.

The problem was the gargantuan bear just behind the redheaded boy. A grizzly, if Anne recalled her papers correctly. She might not remember the names of the cities in the colonies, but dangerous beasts were always of fascinating and romantic interest. It simply sat on its haunches behind the redheaded boy, watching expectantly.

"I'm terribly sorry about this," the boy said, looking over his shoulder nervously, presumably at the bear.

The streets had filled with curious onlookers keeping a wary eye on the beast and its apparent tamer.

"Roan?" Samuel asked, finding his voice first. "That is ... you're Roan Shaftoe?"

"Yeah," the red haired boy agreed, turning from the glower he was shooting at his ursine companion. "That's me. Sir. Sorry. Um. I am. Terribly sorry about this."

"No matter!" Samuel said happily, clapping one hand on Roan's back. "That thing's tame, right?"

"I don't know about that," Roan said skeptically, glancing back at the bear. "Harmless, sure. But tame? Never."

"Er." Samuel frowned, looking at the beast. "Well, we don't have any horses here right now, so I suppose the stables will have to do."

Roan smirked widely. "Good plan," he agreed. "Show me where, and I'll gladly lock the beast up." The bear reared up indignantly, and Roan's pole flashed -- one second it was in hand at his side, the next it was right before the beast's nose. "No lip out of you," he warned.

"Bears don't have lips," Anne found herself saying.

Roan glanced at her, then nodded. "I think there's an awful lot to explain here, though," he warned.

Anne nodded back, saying nothing, and led the way. Samuel hesitated a moment, then shook his head and turned to Nancy abruptly. "Let's see about putting some tea on for our guest, hmm?" he asked her.

As they passed beyond earshot, Anne heard Nancy ask, "Don't you wonder where your friend, Gerald, is?"

"Not to worry, not to worry! Roan is here, and I'm sure things will be fine at that!"

Anne breathed out a sigh, and hung her head. "I'm sorry about that," she said quietly. "Father may be blind, and Nancy may not care, but I won't have you be troubled more than you have to."

"What do you have to be sorry about?" Roan asked, herding the bear towards the stables with his pole. "I'm sorry for causing trouble -- bringing a bear in, and all."

"I mean," Anne said, opening the stable doors and pitching her voice low, so none of the onlookers could hear, "about you being a girl. This must be awkward for you."

Roan stiffened, shooting the beast at her side a dark glare. It snuffled, offered a gesture almost like a shrug, and then ambled in and curled up on the pile of hay that had sat there longer than Anne could remember. "Yeah," Roan sighed, looking down at her chest, mostly concealed thanks to the thick, but loose shirt, and the sturdy leather vest that was a size or two larger than she really needed. "You don't know the half of it."

"Um.... Does your bear have a name?"

"Gerald," Roan replied, smirking.

Anne shook her head. "After your father?"

"Something like that."

"Hmm." Anne stared for a moment, then crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you really Roan? I won't tell on you if you're not ... but we received a letter saying he would be coming."

"I'm really Roan," the redhead said. "Um.... So, there is something that I can explain more simply once I have some hot water."

"...and that's how it happened," Gerald concluded, arms crossed over his chest.

Roan, a girl again (now looking like an Irish waif once she'd taken off her vest and re-belted her shirt as a short gown), shot her father a dark glare. "Look, old man," she hissed, "if you didn't enrage those American Indians, this never would have happened!"

"It didn't kill us, and look at what we've learned!"

"Anyway," Samuel said, recovering, "that's not so bad. Roan, this is my daughter Anne, and she's agreed to be your fiancée."

Roan blinked, looking at Anne. "We're both girls," she protested. "Doesn't that strike you as being just a bit ... well ... queer?"

"It's nothing hot water doesn't fix!" Samuel said. "I'm certain everything will work out just fine."

Anne felt mired in a pit of misery. "Come with me, Roan," she said, putting a hand out. "Let's go in the garden and talk, shall we?"

"Ooh," Nancy cooed. "Young lovers alone without a chaperon?"

"Please," Anne snarled, shooting her older sister a venomous glare. "We're both girls, aren't we? We don't have need of a chaperon."

"She makes a sound point," Samuel agreed. "Anyway, let's schedule the wedding for ... oh ... how does three months from now sound, Anne? Roan?"

"I.... But..." Roan sputtered.

"Roan and I will discuss it," she replied stiffly.

"But," Roan tried to protest again, as Anne dragged her through the halls. Behind her, she distantly caught Gerald suggesting that he and Samuel drink to celebrate their reunion. Despite Roan's inarticulate complaints she didn't say a word until she reached her garden. The whole house's garden, really, but Anne spent more time there than anyone else. The sun would set soon, but it wasn't full dark yet.

"Now, look here," Anne said, wheeling to face Roan and releasing her hand. "I want one thing to be perfectly clear once we're married."

"Once?" Roan grumbled. "Shouldn't that be an 'if'?"

"Do you think anyone else will want to marry you with that curse?" Anne asked skeptically. "Come, now. But, I'm reasonable. I'll keep quiet about it in public, I won't torment you, and in return, I expect that you'll let me continue as I have."

"I.... You...." Roan rubbed her face with her hands. "Continue as you have? How so-- No! Don't tell me. There's another man," she said in disgust. "You want me as a cuckold? Well, I won't have it! I may turn into a girl, but I am no woman to accept such a thing!"

"Hardly!" Anne said quickly, shaking her head. Still, she couldn't afford to reveal how undesirable she was as a bride -- thanks to Kate's warning -- until Roan had agreed to give her the freedoms she wanted ... no, needed to survive.

Roan crossed her arms over her chest. "Well? What, then?"

Gesturing to the garden, really just a lawn with a smattering of flowers around the edges, Anne explained patiently, "When I was younger, before my father decided that it wasn't ladylike, he trained me to use a sword. I still practice, and being wed to you will not change that." She shot the redhead a challenging stare.

"Fair," Roan agreed with a shrug. "Is that all?"

"Is...." Anne coughed quietly. "And I have no great love of society. So don't expect to parade me around."

"I see," Roan said, bored. "That's fine with me."

"And finally," Anne said, narrowing her eyes, "you will be absolutely discreet with your mistresses."

"That's-- Wait, what?" Roan shook her head furiously. "I don't have a mistress!"

"Well, I expect you will, and I expect you to be subtle about it! I won't have you embarrassing us!" There, Anne decided. That should ensure he didn't make her give up what she valued most. And, if he did decide she wasn't that interesting, at least he could still honor the marriage.

Roan stared at her, then rubbed her forehead. "You're a strange girl," she said. "But, fine. If that makes you happy. Anyway, you say your father taught you swordsmanship?"

"Oh, yes," Anne said, smirking. "He has, and I've practiced every day."

"Good," Roan said, rubbing the back of her neck. "The old man's rusty. I could use someone to practice with."

Anne felt her face color with confusion. "What?"

"Well, you say you're good," Roan said, drawing one of her sabers and sighting along the edge against the sky, checking it for nicks or dents. She tossed the pole she had been lugging around to the middle of the lawn. "And if you're going to make demands of me once we're wed, I think it's fair I make some of my own."

"Ah.... Now, wait just one moment," Anne began.

But Roan was not listening, slinging her sword over one shoulder. "So, the first thing is, as long as we're engaged -- or wed -- you won't call yourself a swords-woman if you don't practice against an actual partner. Ready?"

"I...." Anger and admiration warred within Anne. Eventually, eagerness to test her skills won out. Roan did have a point; just practicing was empty. Putting it to use, on the other hand.... "Very good! We'll need practice swords, and--"

"No, we won't," Roan said cheerfully. "Have at you!"

Anne barely managed to shove one hand into her skirt's pocket-slit and draw her blade in time. It was a rapier, a thin weapon, and only just able to deflect the blade whistling towards her neck. She gibbered, backpedaling as Roan flicked an attack towards her thigh. Once her blade was out, she deflected this one with more confidence. But she'd severed something drawing her weapon. She danced backwards as Roan tried some tentative overhead slashes, leaving the fallen hoop skirt behind. Her face began to color as, with each handful of steps backwards, she realized another layer of her skirts were falling away.

Roan paused, looking down at the collection of cloth scattered across the lawn. "Y...you brute!" Anne accused shakily. "What was the meaning of that?"

"Well, I knew you were carrying a sword," Roan said with a shrug, blushing brightly as she tore her gaze from Anne's lost clothing and sheathed her sword.

"I've half a mind to run you through for that," Anne growled. Still, going back inside to redress was out of the question. Then, Nancy or her father would see, and that would be ... awkward. "For shame, Roan!"

The redhead's face matched her hair. "I didn't think you were going to be tearing clothes off," she mumbled.

"I wasn't!" Anne growled, gathering her things up. Roan was studiously still looking away. "Don't turn around." Oh, well, she thought morosely. She'd agreed to marry the savage, after all.

"W...why don't you wait a bit?" Roan asked. "You've still got your dress on, right?"

Anne snapped, "Of course I do! I'm not lewd!"

"Y...yes. Of course. But if it's just the two of us, won't you be able to move more easily without all those other skirts? Before I noticed why, I thought you were ... well ... getting much better."

Anne stared at the skirts, petticoats, and other pieces of clothing she'd collected so far. Then she looked down at the single layer of cloth currently covering her underclothes. She sighed heavily. "Well, fine. But until we're married, I won't have you practicing with me in your own form, you beast. And don't stare!"

Roan winced, but said, "Very well, then. Again, Anne?"

Tossing the clothing over the shrub she judged least likely to deposit sap over everything, she said, "If you please, Roan."

Roan turned slowly, then smiled. "Your form is good."

"You've a dirty mind," Anne replied.

"I meant with the sword," Roan grumbled, rubbing her forehead. "Okay. Look. Rapier, right? Profile towards your opponent, one hand behind you for balance. I have to go through you to get to it, so one-on-one it's not a liability."

Anne blinked. "Are you trying to teach me?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "It's one thing to practice together, and I'll even do it in this indecent state, but come, now. Must you condescend?"

"Have you traveled the world refining your skill?" Roan asked.

"Enough!" Anne rushed Roan, guessing the redhead would be able to dodge the first thrust, but planning a quick riposte to smack the flat of her blade on Roan's backside. That would teach her! Only, it didn't work that way. Instead, she found her sword flying from her hand, her fingers stinging. She blinked, realizing that she and Roan were nose-to-nose, and something was pressing into the bottom of her chin.

"This is somewhat awkward for me to say," Roan said, still blushing faintly, "but I have to admit -- as bewildering as you are, I think it would be easy to take a fancy to you. But I won't have it!

"You're skilled, for a child. I've wandered the continents -- all of them. I've learned Afrik fighting arts. I've gone to the Far East, where they teach ways of fighting with bare hands that shame the best fighters our country knows. I've been to the Americas, and learned how the savages throw spears, and fire arrows.

"I've studied under the best gunmen in the New World, and I think that I am, in fact qualified to teach you how to fight. Even if that means thinking beyond your sword. If you want the right to fight me as an equal, then you shall earn it."

Anne blinked, as the pressure beneath her chin was drawn away, and she saw what it was -- the handle of Roan's pistol. Not the barrel of the weapon, as Roan was just making a point, but even so--

She worked her mouth a few times, trying to find words, and finally gave up, going after her sword. Then, no longer caring if Roan was watching or not, she sheathed it, and hiked up her dress, laboriously climbing into the clothing that she'd previously lost. Once everything was back in place, she turned back to Roan, who had politely turned away while she dressed, hands clasped behind her back.

"You are a brute," Anne muttered.

Roan turned back to look at her, frowning.

"But I suppose," she added, unable to keep a small smile from her face, "you're not a terrible brute, as these things go."

"I wasn't going to hurt you," Roan said quietly. "I just wanted to make a point."

"You've done that." Anne paused, looking down. "I suppose a lesser man wouldn't consent to a wife who played at fighting--"

"And neither will I," Roan said quickly. "Fight, or don't, but don't make a mockery of my life."

Anne felt tears welling up in her eyes. "I don't mean to make it a mockery," she said quietly. "I've done my best -- and it wasn't enough."

"It.... Everyone must begin somewhere. And you're in good condition; you just lack proper instruction. I.... I'd like to see you become everything you want, Anne. Your conditions ... those things we have to agree to if we're to be wed...."

"Look at you," Anne laughed, wiping at her tears. "You're trying to propose!"

"Are you making fun of me?" Roan asked miserably. "I'm trying to be.... Oh, never mind."

"No, no," Anne said, laughing again. Kate was right. "I'm sorry. Yes -- it will be difficult, but I'd love to learn with you. We'll simply tell father it's ... er ... getting to know one-another. And there will be no need for a chaperon if you're a girl, so both of our goals can be realized. Isn't that so?"

"I'd like that," Roan said quietly, offering a tremulous smile.

"I think I would, too," Anne said, smiling back.

Roan pushed Anne terribly in their first few fights, feeling out her limitations and advising her on improvement. She couldn't help but admit that when it came to combat, Roan was indeed the most skilled person she'd met. Anne had every confidence that Roan could disarm Samuel without too much effort, and likely without the embarrassing necessity of wounding his future father-in-law.

He'd been right about her practicing without the too-many skirts, too. She worried that if she ever did have to fight, she'd need to do it indecently ... but the joy of being able to keep practicing soothed away most of that concern.

The only problem, really, was that Roan didn't seem to know much of anything at all beyond traveling and fighting. Oh, he could recount any number of battles he'd seen -- or been in -- and name any number of masters of the arts he'd met and trained with. Certainly he had strong skills in mathematics where they related to military actions, and he knew geography quite well from his travels.

But he had only the merest glimmerings of social graces, beyond his struggling to maintain the veneer of politesse that he had tried to assemble. Exclusively for her, she began to realize. The poor boy simply had no real grasp, and she wondered how silly her request that he not parade her around the social circuit seemed, in retrospect.

So she had taken it upon herself to train him in social nicety, while she was recovering from their training bouts. It also made an exceedingly handsome cover for their time in the garden. Nancy wouldn't probably care either way, but Samuel would undoubtedly be embarrassed. Anne didn't know Gerald well enough to guess at his reaction, but judged that it wouldn't be favorable, given that Roan hadn't suggested she confide in the man.

"Tell me," she said, seated comfortably on a blanket in the garden, looking at the currently female Roan as she finished the last of her chicken, "for all your journeying, did you make many friends?"

"Not that I remember," the redhead admitted, wiping her fingers on a napkin.

At just that moment, a call came from within the house. "Roan!" Nancy cried. "Roan! You have a visitor."

"Who could that be?" she asked, puzzled. Shrugging, the redhead rose, marching towards the door. Curious, Anne followed.

Nancy waited just inside, her expression an amused smirk. "A friend of yours," she said, by way of explanation, gesturing to the hall leading to the front door.

Roan shrugged again and went down the hall. Anne continued following, when Roan swung the door open.

The sight greeting her was a young girl of probably Anne and Roan's age, dressed much as Roan was. Chaps, leather vest, solid boots. In addition, this new girl had some sort of simplified cravat, a wide-brimmed hat, a coil of rope at one hip, not one but two pistols, and a pair of iron hatchets hanging just below, marked with eagle feathers bound to them.

"Howdy!" she said brightly, her smile menacing, her eyes hard. "Roan! I toldja I'd find ya!"

"Ch--Ch--Chantille!" Roan gasped, backing away reflexively. "L...look, you've got this all wrong, I--"

But before Anne or Roan could react, Chantille had whipped the rope from her waist and flung it over Roan's head, binding the girl's hands to her sides. "Boy howdy, you was one tough son-of-a-gun to track down!"

"Excuse me," Anne began, putting herself protectively between Roan and the girl, placing hands on hips. "What do you think you're doing with my fiancé?"

"Fiancé?" Chantille asked, squinting. "I don't know what yer talkin' 'bout. This here's Roan, and we's gettin' married! I even learned to talk English real good from some friendly fellers down by the Rio Grande. Ain't that wunnerful, sweetie?"

Roan gawked, eyes widening. "I.... I.... I don't know what she's talking about!" she screeched in a panic. "I swear!"

"Oh, it's okay," Chantille said loudly, slowly hauling Roan towards her with the rope. Samuel and Gerald poked their heads into the hall to see what the commotion was about. "See, I learnt that Roan here's not a real girl, so I don't have to kill ya! Roan's really a boy, that's what grandmama says, so we'll get married instead!"

"But, but, but," Roan protested brokenly, as Anne realized the redhead was being dragged past her.

"Roan!" Gerald cried. "How could you?"

"Roan!" Samuel cried, eyes watering. "You shame your fiancée!"

"Roan!" Anne cried, tears springing to her eyes. "I thought I told you to be discreet!"

Nancy snickered behind the back of her hand, shaking her head.

"Why me?" Roan whimpered.

"Perhaps," a tiny, aged figure said, detaching itself from the dust of the street, "I can shed some light on the subject."

"Alrighty, Grandmama!" Chantille cheered, finally hauling Roan into hugging distance, and latching onto the redhead.

"...and so, by the laws of the tribe," the wizened woman explained, "Chantille must slay the girl who defeated her. But because the spirits have shown us that Roan is truly a man, Chantille must instead marry him." Her English was quite good -- much better than Chantille's rough attempts at the same. Though, Anne suspected, a part of that may have just been that she didn't like the way the rough-and-tumble dark-haired beauty had latched onto Roan's arm, trying to apparently suffocate the boy. With her upper torso. Chantille's 'charms' were at least on par with Nancy's, if not more ... dangerous.

"That's all well and good," Anne said hotly, fixing the woman a steady glare. "But Roan is engaged to me. And he has been, since we were both young!"

Chantille blinked, looking at Roan, male again, but dazed, slack-jawed, and then Anne, who if she was any more furious, would come aflame. "You marry him already?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"No! I mean, I will soon!"

"But he is, at the moment, unwed," the old woman pointed out.

"Gah," Roan protested.

"Why don't you simply let him marry both of you?"

"That's not possible!" Anne complained. "The church won't allow a man to be wed to more than one woman!"

"Then only have one wedding at your church," the old woman said with a shrug, sipping her tea. "Hm. Dreadful stuff, this. My great granddaughter could make better."

"You're welcome," Nancy supplied graciously. "With Kate gone, I do my best. Anne is more abysmal in the kitchen than I am. Well, Roan, it seems that your best bet in this instance is to take Chantille up for marriage."

"What?" Roan snapped. "She chased me halfway across the Americas, trying to kill me!"

"Oops," Chantille giggled, pulling Roan close once again, making his eyes go unfocused.

"Nancy!" Anne gasped, stung. "How could you?"

"It seems very obvious to me," Nancy said with a shrug. "By our laws, Chantille and Roan won't ever be wed -- she'll be a mistress. And what better cover for a mistress than a cook? Heaven above knows that you'll need one with your skill, and it's not like anyone else here has the money for it."

"Ah," the old woman murmured, nodding. "That makes sense."

"Wait just a moment!" Roan protested. "That's not-"

"Very well," Anne allowed. "But he has to be married to me first."

"Umm...."

"Okay!" Chantille agreed with a bright smile. "You're gettin' married real quick-like, though, right?"

Anne felt herself blushing. "Roan, we must have a long discussion on the nature of discretion, I think."

Roan blinked, furrowing his brow. "Don't I get a say in this?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Anyway, Chantille," Anne said, turning to look at the girl speculatively, "we really must see about getting you more proper clothes. It won't do to have you looking less than your best, given your status as Roan's mistress."

"But...."

"New clothes?" Chantille mused. "Sure, it might be fun to dress up all London-like!"

Kindness, Anne realized, retreating frantically from Chantille's attack, was paid in kind. The girl was only pressing her harder than Roan did because of the clothes that Anne had chosen for her; the kind of dress that a cook or scullery maid might wear. The fact that she was advancing with both hatchets and a mad grin told her that she was going to have to be kinder to Roan's 'mistress' in the future.

"I'm sorry!" she gasped, taking another step backwards, frantically trying to parry every attack with her rapier; the problem was that the other girl had gotten inside her defenses, and now Anne couldn't get away, and Roan was going to watch her while giggling as an American savage chopped her into little pieces for being stingy and giving her only the most plain dresses. "I'll get you a nicer dress!" she wailed, as her retreat began to wander into one of the flower-beds.

Roan's laugher ratcheted up another notch. "Why aren't you helping me?" Anne demanded, finally backing into the wall, shooting a teary gaze at the redhead.

Her laughter finally trailed off, as Chantille stuck one hatchet into her waistband, pinning Anne's sword against the wall with the other. "Help you with what?" she asked, puzzled. "Chantille isn't going to hurt you."

"'Course not," the American said, snorting. "Anne, you're one silly gal ... but you gotta fight with more than your sword to be a real fighter!"

"Y...you're not upset about the dress?" she asked weakly, as Chantille put her other hatchet away and walked back towards Roan, stretching her arms over her head.

"'Course I ain't! That dress is all kinds of purty, and I ain't never had one so nice. I'm just tryin' to help ya back. After all, ain't we both gonna be married to the same guy?" She looked back over her shoulder and smirked. "What kinda sister-wives would we be if we didn't work together, huh?"

Anne blinked several times, then sank to her knees with a sigh. "Roan," she said ruefully, "why did you have to make my life ever so much more complicated?"

Roan squinted and scratched his nose thoughtfully. "Probably because it seemed like the best way to help you get your training up to speed."

Hanging her head, Anne sighed. "Well, what does that mean, then?" she asked, picking herself up from the ground, brushing the dirt from her skirt. "Learning an entirely new way to fight?"

Chantille and Roan exchanged a glance, then nodded at her.

"Oh, dear," Anne groaned.

London was the world's greatest adventure, in the mind of a young girl who had left her tribe to journey halfway across the world. Well, mostly left her tribe; her great grandmother had followed, after all. Still!

These strange people with their strange ways and silly names.... She never got tired of the dresses that Anne and Nancy insisted that 'ladies' wear. And they'd given her some, too! And Nancy wasn't any use in a fight, but Anne was fun to play with, and quick to learn.

Of course, the most important thing was that this was where Roan was. So all things considered, she was having a pretty good time.

Take the moment, for instance; Anne, Roan, Nancy, and herself were shopping. This meant that Anne and Nancy walked slightly ahead, the elder sister explaining the importance of each potential purchase, and all considerations to take into account about it. It seemed that Anne's elder sister was training her in some obscure London-people art.

Either way, it left Roan trailing behind with a look of eternal dismay, and all of the bags. Which made sense; obviously he was training his strength up while Anne learned her new art.

"Having fun, Chantille?" he asked, glancing at her with a rueful smile.

Of course, he was pronouncing her name wrong. It should have been said like, 'Mountain of Coral', but the way he said it wrong was pretty cute. "You betcha," she returned, grinning. "Say, Roan, I gotta ask you a question."

"Yes?"

"You ever get challenges from other fighters 'round here?" she mused. "Or you gotta go somewhere else for that?"

"Well," Roan began, before a thunderous roar rattled all of the pedestrians on the street. The crowd quickly pressed to the sides of the street, revealing the source of the cry.

The hulking form of a handsome young man towered, wearing a heavy steel chain shirt and a rich green cloak. He had to stand at least six feet tall, in her estimation. "Roan Shaftoe!" he bellowed, face reddening with fury. He was burly, built like a bison that happened to have fashionably long hair.

Roan stared, blinking, and nearly dropped the packages that the girls had handed him. "Do I know you?" he asked, cocking his head to one side. Anne and Nancy quickly moved out of the way to avoid being run down by the charging brute.

The dark-haired youth dropped his jaw in outrage, before gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, stalking forward with a murderous glare. "You claim not to remember Carolus Rupert Huber?" the man growled. "We duel! Heinrich! Hand me my zweihander."

"Of course," a wheezing, raspy voice answered, Chantille only just then noticing the man's companion. He was shorter, stooped and weary-looking, with dark sunken circles beneath his eyes. He wore a poorer quality version of his master's chain shirt and cloak, but more noticeable than that was the huge pack the shorter young man carried. He reached into it and pulled out a sword as long as Rupert was tall.

"Um," Roan managed, blinking. "Do I know you, either?"

"Doubtful, Sir," the servant wheezed. "Heinrich Garnerius, servant of Rupert Huber, at your service." The stooped boy bent himself even lower, managing a bow.

Wincing sympathetically, burdened with the girl's packages, Roan managed to return the awkward bow. "So," he said, furrowing his brow and turning his attention back to Rupert, hefting the parcels, "can this wait until I finish taking these back?"

Rupert's rage vanished instantly. "Of course," he said reasonably, lowering the great two-handed blade. "A gentleman would not interfere with ladies going about their business."

Nancy blinked slowly, then raised her chin and narrowed her eyes, studying the larger boy thoughtfully. "Huber?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Your family invested in the colonies to the New World?"

"Ah, yes," he agreed, nodding, offering a boyish grin. "I'm impressed that you would know this; we do not much speak of our investment in my family."

"I see," Nancy said slowly, as Rupert handed his sword back to Heinrich. "Well, if you're coming to cause grievous bodily injury to our house-guest, I suppose I can only kindly invite you in for tea after."

Rupert clapped his right hand to his chest, over his heart, the oversized sword dangling casually in his other hand. "It would be my great honor," he said, sweeping an elegant bow.

"Honorable fellow," Ranma said with a sigh. "Say, Rupert, I don't suppose I could get you to say why you're trying to kill me? Or how I know you?"

"You should well remember!" Rupert growled, falling into step besides Roan. "Do you remember the War of the Spanish Succession?"

"Yes," Roan said cautiously. "Why?"

"I was there!" the tall man roared.

"Why?" Nancy asked, baffled. "Aren't you German?"

"Bavarian, actually," Rupert said, shaking his head. "Regardless, our paths crossed in the war!"

Roan glanced at the man sidelong. "I think I would have remembered you."

"You led a charge at the battle of Milan that cut my forces off," Rupert said quietly. "Thanks to you, we had to retreat -- we never met, face to face. But I know it was you, and I've come to settle the score and restore my honor."

"Ah," Roan said quietly. "I think I've heard of you, as well. I lost a good friend that day, Rupert."

Rupert frowned. "A friend? That is nothing; you cost us a war."

"To the death, then?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Smashing."

"Well, things get interesting right quick 'round here," Chantille decided. "Guess I don't got no complaints."

"You aren't the least bit alarmed that this man is trying to kill Roan?" Anne hissed to the other girls.

"Well," Nancy said quietly, "if he kills Roan, you're out of your obligation, and if he lives, he's probably terribly wealthy, and fairly handsome. Not too bright, either, at a glance. Worst case scenario they both die, and then at least something interesting happened."

"Ah, shucks, Roan'll teach this feller his place right-quick, I reckon," Chantille added reassuringly. "I wouldn't worry 'bout it at all!"

"You're impossible!" Anne deplored.

Anne prayed fervently for Roan's victory. After dropping off the packages from their shopping, Rupert and Roan had walked to the square, where there would be more room, and Rupert formally challenged Roan once more. After quietly affirming that the duel was to be to the death, Roan accepted.

Rupert was a brute in the purest sense of the word, his massive zweihander swung with enough force that when he missed, cobblestones shattered beneath the impact. But Roan was much faster, dodging back far enough to avoid more than token nicks while whipping the heavy wooden pole around, clubbing Rupert several times for each of the Bavarian's shallow cuts. For all that, Rupert never seemed to tire or feel pain, until one of Roan's sudden staff-strikes gashed open one of Rupert's eyebrows, sending the tall German to one knee with a bellow of agony.

The Bavarian's desperate counterstrike slashed Roan's chest -- deeply this time, shedding an arc of hard crimson. Roan hissed, snapping his staff at Rupert's wrist, sending the sword clattering across the cobblestones to vibrate briefly at Anne's feet. One hand across his chest, Roan raised the heavy pole in his free hand. "You are bested," he said in the same quiet tone he had accepted the duel with.

Rupert's face contorted into a grimace, and for a moment, he tried to climb to his feet once more ... but his strength failed him. "So it seems," he growled. "So it seems."

Anne shivered uncomfortably, her joy at Roan's victory warring with the twisting in her stomach over what was to come next.

"My honor is satisfied; I see now how you bested us that day." Taking a deep breath, the Bavarian closed his eyes. "I have one small request, if I might, before you take my life."

Roan hesitated, starting to shake his head, then paused wearily. "What is it?" he asked, voice now very tired.

"Who was the friend you lost, that day?"

Slowly, Roan lowered the staff to his side, leaning on it for support, his eyes searching the Bavarian's face for something. "In Spain ... I was fighting at the side of my friend, Esteban Urrutia," the English boy said quietly, his voice hitching. "When the fighting was fiercest in Milan, we were separated in a desperate infantry charge. My friend ... when I found Esteban again ... was bleeding to death.

"I knew there wasn't much time; as there is in these battles, I was forced to an uncomfortable choice. Stay with my dying friend, and risk letting revenge slip from my grasp ... or follow, and find who landed that fated blow." Roan's breath hitched, slightly ragged. "The battle was moving towards us again. A wounded infantryman told me this story -- how a Bavarian noble had somehow gotten his regiment lost behind the city. When they finally returned to the battle, they fell on Esteban's forces from behind."

Roan nodded to Heinrich. "That noble's crest was two black boars rampant."

Rupert flinched, and lowered his head, eyes still closed. Anne swallowed, staring at the crest adorning Rupert's manservant wore. The sad-eyed young man stared at his master, biting his lower lip and shaking his head slowly.

"I made the wrong choice," Roan continued. "I pursued that fiend's forces ... your soldiers ... but I underestimated your ability to lose yourself in the city. Even though we won that day, you eluded me ... and I was not there for my friend's last moments. I could not have left my friend behind without saving something for his family, and that was Esteban's cross.

"That cross traveled with me across six continents, finally reuniting with the last living relation of my friend, Cardinal Rodriguez Urrutia. When I found him in his monastery in the Americas, and told him about the cross, and that I wished for nothing so much as to be able to return it to my friend...." He hesitated, then shook his head. "Cardinal Rodriguez gave me his blessing, and told me to keep the cross with me on my mission." Anne stared, her mind noting the nearby clang of steel upon stones, but unable to look away from her fiancé's eyes, and the raw emotion there.

Rupert's head hung lower. "Then justice was done," he said wearily. "God has indeed judged your vengeance rightful."

"Yes," Roan said wearily, raising the heavy pole again.

"No!" someone yelled from the surrounding crowd, leaping into the path and taking a crushing blow from Roan's staff. The blow that would have broken Rupert's neck instead smashed into a young man, slamming him to the cobblestones at the Rupert's side.

Anne gawked; a young man, a Spaniard, had intercepted the strike. He was well dressed in a loose white tunic, and his long, straight dark hair highlighted his handsome face, currently distorted into a grimace as his hands clutched his chest, where the pole had struck. "Bastardo!" the Spaniard wheezed. "Roan!"

Roan dropped his pole and fell to one knee, eyes bulging. "Este...ban?" he managed, shakily pulling the chord from his neck.

"I kill you so bad for this!" Esteban choked out. "Uncle Rodriguez or no! Give me my mother's heirloom ring! The one that bore the cross!"

"Esteban," Roan said more firmly, holding the ring out to the boy on the ground. "Your uncle asked me to give this to you."

"Que?" the Spaniard growled managed, shaking his head, blinking at the ring. His own eyes widened and he suddenly blushed, pain seemingly forgotten as he stared at the ring. "Si! Yes!"

"Oh," Nancy said softly, before she began to snicker.

Esteban seized the ring and put it on his hand, studying it for a moment before smiling broadly. "Gracias, Roan! Gracias!"

"You're welcome, Esteban," Roan said with a wide grin. "It's so good to see you again -- how did you survive!?"

"Hah! Mi nombre es Estella."

Nancy turned away and began laughing more loudly.

The Spaniard shook his head. "Eh! Roan, I was not killed, I was just struck down! And I thought my cross stolen, and you fled with it!"

"What?" Roan asked, aghast, shaking his head. "No! No! I thought-- I wanted NOTHING so much as to give that to you!"

Nancy's laughter became a howl, tears filling her eyes. "Hahaha! It's too rich! Hahaha!"

Anne stared at her sister in consternation for a moment before turning to regard Chantille. But the American girl was eying the Spaniard with a flat-eyed stare. "Eh," the girl finally decided. "Roan's got good taste. I'm sure it'll work out."

"What?" Anne managed.

Nancy collapsed to her knees holding her sides. "You don't get it!" she shrieked. "Hahaaa! Haa!"

"Don't get--" Anne began, cutting off with a choking noise when she saw that the Spaniard had drawn Roan into an embrace, and Roan, stiff, eyes bulging, was sharing a deep, searching kiss with the young-- "Oh, damnation!" Anne growled, covering her eyes as she realized. "ROAN! THIS IS NOT DISCRETION!"

Rupert coughed quietly. "With due respect, Shaftoe," he said, his eyes open and filled with mirth, "may I yield to your mercy, instead?"

Roan managed a nod, once Esteban-- Estella-- broke off her kiss with the boy. "That.... That would be fine," he said shakily, eyes not quite focused.

"So," Anne said quietly, so as not to provoke another bout of hysterics from Nancy, who was currently tending Roans injuries, "you never realized that your childhood friend was a girl?"

"Que!?" Estella barked. "No!" Then she paused, considered, and frowned. "Well, okay. Very understandable; I dressed that way to join the fight when I was younger, and it's easier to travel alone, and.... Anyway! It doesn't matter. Roan proposed to me, and I accepted."

"Now that will be difficult," Anne groused. "The church isn't likely to approve of both of us marrying him."

"Well," Roan began, "I think--"

"Stop squirming," Nancy ordered.

"Hey, she from another tribe?" Chantille asked, nodding at Estella.

"Er...." Anne considered. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Well, just get married by different chiefs, then," Chantille said with a shrug. "That's our plan, right?"

"Wait a moment!" Roan protested. "That isn't what I--"

Dabbing the gash across Roan's chest with a clean cloth, Nancy warned, "I said stop squirming!"

"Actually," Anne said slowly, thoughtfully, "that COULD work.... Estella, does your family have an estate?"

"Of course!" the Spaniard said cheerfully. "It is fine land, left to me by my uncle before he left to the New World! We have sheep, and cattle, and good apricots. The villa has been in our family for generations."

"So, naturally, you have good ties with the church?"

"Si. Uncle Rodriguez went to the New World as a missionary. He is greatly missed by the villagers."

"Anne," Roan said plaintively, "I can't help but feel like I'm not being heard--"

"Oh, shut up," Nancy said cheerfully. "And hold still, this will sting."

"So ... they wouldn't really comment on you marrying a young Englishman and bringing a new cook into the house?" Anne asked.

Estella's smile faded slightly. "I am a cook," she said quietly. "But, no, they would not comment on new servants in the household ... there is one difficulty, embarrassing as it is." She coughed delicately, her cheeks coloring. "All the same, I like time away from the estate ... as ... well ... about dressing like a man...."

"So your villagers were always told you were actually your father's son?" Nancy deduced with a smirk, prodding at Roan's cleaned wound and preparing a needle and thread.

"Si."

"Right," Roan said, voice hitching awkwardly as Nancy began stitching. "So, maybe we should all calm down and consider--"

"Well, that makes things easier!" Anne said brightly. "Roan here has a ... condition ... that should work quite nicely for your village's people! And since I'm not keen on abandoning my own home entirely, how about the idea of summering here, and wintering in your estate?"

"Condition?"

"Well, maybe it would be easier to show--"

"If you only listen to one thing I say right now," Roan said sharply, "make it this: I do not wish to be transformed while Nancy is still stitching my chest up!"

"Oooh, that would be quite ugly," Nancy agreed, tugging the needle through and jabbing it in again.

"Hm. Suffice to say that Roan turns into a girl when splashed with cold water."

"Que!?"

"It's true, but it ain't all bad," Chantille added, her eyes intent on Nancy's needlework. "Hot water turns 'im back."

"Well, that sounds like a fine plan, then."

Roan merely groaned softly, obviously from the stitching he was enduring, Anne was sure.

Author's notes: Hmm, been sitting on this one for a few years. I think this is as far as it goes. I found it mildly amusing, and I hope you did too. :)