42
Elizabeth swung her sword against one soldier’s blade, then another. She felt her muscles resist as each new strike reverberated up her arm.
If four against one had been difficult, eight against one was impossible. Even for her.
Time to draft a new contingency plan.
Jacob was readying the next round of attack animals, and Stephen was preparing to launch a formidable sequence of machines—but Elizabeth was done playing games. She was ready to fight the battle she’d been waiting for, and settle the matter once and for all.
Reddington thought Elizabeth Wynchester wasn’t good enough to join an army? That a woman could never be his match? He was about to find out just how wrong he was.
“Reddington!” she shouted. “Are you truly such a coward?”
Through the blur of swords before her, she saw him puff up with bluster and outrage. “What did you call His Grace?”
“A coward! Whilst you watch in safety, you send your entire army to attack one girl,” Elizabeth shouted loud enough for all the soldiers to hear. Loud enough to reach the spectators in the back. “And you call yourself a hero?”
The soldiers she was fighting hesitated at this new characterization. It was momentary, but all she needed was an opening.
One after another, their swords littered the ground. Fresh red scratches opened across their chests and shoulders.
Reddington turned toward his remaining army in search of more men.
“Must we drag this out until you’re the last man standing?” she yelled. “Or can we settle the battle now, like gentlemen?”
He scoffed. “You’re no gentleman.”
And neither was Reddington. “Like generals, then.”
He would soon find out Elizabeth wasn’t one of those, either. She was a berserker. Second to no man.
The crowd cheered for him to take her on.
“Very well.” Reddington strutted forward, a prima donna swanning in the footlights. When he finished swaggering up to her as dramatically as possible, Reddington gave a mocking bow.
“To first blood,” Elizabeth reminded him, and wielded her sword.
To the last drop would have suited her better, but she would take what she could get. At least it was finally one-on-one, instead of one versus eight.
Reddington did not acknowledge her words, other than to raise his sword and swagger.
Elizabeth was exhausted and her opponent well rested… and the best swordsman of any other in his troops. This would not be easy. She would have preferred to face Reddington when she was still at eighty percent, not fifty.
“En garde!” Reddington yelled.
All he cared about was showmanship. These soldiers would follow their arrogant leader to the ends of the earth, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Plus there was the audience to consider. The townsfolk had purchased tickets expecting a good show. Reddington intended to give it to them.
So did Elizabeth. They wanted a head on a pike? With pleasure. But it would not be hers.
She gave Reddington her best cobra smile.
With brisk strokes, she met him thrust for thrust, parry for parry. To her chagrin, she realized his pompousen gardehadn’t been all for show after all. In the split second she’d spent curling her lip at his histrionics instead of attacking, she had lethimtake the lead. Elizabeth was now on defense, rather than offense, reacting to his moves instead of launching counter-strikes of her own.
She felt the sting on the back of her hand before she saw the blood.
“Damnit,” she spat in frustration.
