A sword. A bloody sword. Alex felt like laughing. So this is what it had come to—a duel to the death. His death, for certain. He felt like laughing. He never thought he’d regret the time he’d spent with Lizzy Snell, the daughter of a local tavern owner and one of his first lovers, but for the first time he wished he’d been more interested in his fencing lessons and less interested in Lizzy’s charms. From the way De´charne´ held his weapon, the man was well practiced.
Alex stepped away from Camille’s discarded pistol, and De´charne´ lowered his own as Lucia dislodged the sword from the wall. She was shaking badly, and Alex tensed when she almost dropped it, but dutifully she held on and handed the weapon to him—Guinevere to his Lancelot. Their eyes met briefly, and he tried to smile at her but was afraid it came out as a grimace. She pressed her lips together as she sometimes did when she was trying to hide her worry. De´charne´ raised his sword and assumed his opening position—hand behind him, one leg thrust back, the other forward and bent at the knee.
Alex took his time, hefting his weapon from one hand to the next. The sword was heavy and fat, like something a medieval knight would own. His own experience in swordplay was limited to the foil and e´pe´e. This sword was much heavier, required more strength to wield. His eyes darted once again to Camille’s fallen pistol. Bloody hell. He didn’t have time for De´charne´’s games right now. If De´charne´ was here, how much longer before his men or the French army would follow? Were they outside even now?
De´charne´ moved impatiently, and Alex had to raise his sword. Then, without warning, the skeleton lunged. His attack was rapid and wild, but it had enough strength behind it so that Alex felt the reverberations of the fierce contact between the two blades. The clash of metal on metal ricocheted off the bare walls.
Alex took a step back as De´charne´ veered to the left. Once again, the gaunt man attacked ferociously, but Alex was ready this time, raising the heavy weapon and meeting De´charne´’s sword thrust forcefully. He hadn’t had the chance to remove his greatcoat, and the black material swung around him in a wide arc, hampering his movements. Still De´charne´ retreated, sidestepping a chair, and coming dangerously close to Lucia, who skirted away, closer to the window.
Alex’s eyes flicked to hers for an instant, and De´charne´ took advantage of his lapse to strike again. This time Alex’s reaction was too slow and De´charne´’s sharp sword cut through layers of clothing and into the skin of his biceps.
“Alex!” Lucia cried, but he held up a hand to ward her off.
“Touche´!” De´charne´ shrieked triumphantly.
Anger rising at the sudden sting of pain, Alex positioned himself to attack. Behind De´charne´, he saw Lucia scoot around the chair and toward the couch. Camille’s pistol was still lying beside her lifeless body, and he wondered if the risk of snatching it was worthwhile. De´charne´ had tucked his own pistol into his pocket and could retrieve it and fire in seconds.
The only encouragement was that none of De´charne´’s men had arrived. If De´charne´ had come alone, Lucia might still have a chance at escape. Alex lunged at De´charne´, bringing his weapon down brutally. The swords crashed, and the two men were nearly face to face, each testing the strength of the other.
“You are better than I thought you would be, Selbourne,” De´charne´ commented breathlessly.
“Are you regretting your choice of weapons?”
Alex growled between clenched teeth. De´charne´ was stronger than he looked.
“No.” De´charne´ let out a loud yell as he exerted more force and pushed Alex back a step. The heavy greatcoat was still an encumbrance, and it took Alex a moment to regain his balance and ready his sword. De´charne´ was coming for him, swinging high, so Alex ducked low, skirting around the man, and slicing his thigh as he did so.
De´charne´ screamed in pain, whipped around, and brought his sword down viciously. Alex rolled away just in time, the look of pure animalistic hatred on De´charne´’s face searing its image into his brain. Alex was farther away from the pistol, but he fought harder, hoping to wear De´charne´ down. De´charne´ stumbled—he was breathing heavily—and Alex glanced quickly at Lucia. She’d backed into the couch, and her trembling hands were pressed tightly against her lips.
This time when De´charne´ attacked, Alex met him halfway. Their swords smashed together, the echo deafening. Noting De´charne´’s suddenly vulnerable abdomen, Alex swung his weapon lower, but De´charne´ evaded him again.
“Where are your men, De´charne´?” Alex panted. “Have you lost them?”
“No,” De´charne´ grunted, veins standing out under his translucent skin. “They await my command.” Alex lunged again, and De´charne´ parried. The men sized each other up, moving in a circle around each other. Alex was now facing Lucia. He did not take his eyes from De´charne´, but from his position he saw her reach up and soundlessly remove the shield from the wall.
Alex attacked again, pushing De´charne´ back toward Lucia.
“Why not bring them here and end all of this quickly?” Alex huffed. “You’re taking a risk in fighting me.”
De´charne´ smiled mirthlessly. “This is between you and me, Selbourne.”
That was exactly what Alex had hoped. De´charne´ truly was a fool.
Then De´charne´ brought his sword up, taking Alex off-guard. Alex jumped back, but not before the weapon’s point scraped against his chest, leaving a line red with blood showing through the new gap in his waistcoat.
Alex heard Lucia cry out as he stumbled, but he quickly regained his footing and met De´charne´ thrust for thrust in the next attack.
His arm was warm and wet with blood, and the stinging sensation worsened with each movement. He ignored the throb of pain as he drove De´charne´ to retreat farther.
Behind De´charne´, Lucia was holding the heavy metal shield aloft, and Alex gave her a nod just as De´charne´ twisted to see behind him. With a squeal, she brought the shield down on De´charne´, hitting him on the top of the head with all her strength. De´charne´ crumpled, dropping his weapon with a clatter.
Weak with relief and pain, Alex almost dropped his own sword.
“Alex, you’re hurt!” Lucia cried, jumping over De´charne´ and running to him. He caught her, propelling her away from De´charne´, who was still conscious and writhing on the floor, clutching his bloody head.
She was attempting to tend to the wound on his arm, but he pulled her tightly against him, needing to feel her solid and safe in his arms. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch,” he murmured.
She peered up at him, then clutched him tightly back. “Oh, God, Alex.” She began to shake.
