Stephen swung open the rotating door to the entryway. “We exit through here. I’ll show you where to step.”
“I remember which stones.” She scanned the floor for stray marbles, then strode through the antechamber.
“Densmooo—”
Elizabeth opened the front door. Sunlight streamed into the castle, and she stood blinking for a moment before her eyes found their focus on the source of all the yelling.
Next to Reddington was a man approximately the size of a full-grown oak, with arms and legs each as wide as tree trunks. He stood twenty yards before her, a heavy sword in his enormous, cabbage-size hand.
“Get back in here,” hissed Stephen.
Elizabeth stepped out into the sunlight. “I am Elizabeth Wynchester, first in command of the Earl of Densmore’s ad hoc army, here to defend Castle Harbrook. And you are?”
“They call me Crump,” said the giant. “Reddington appointed me to win this fight.”
Motion rustled in the trees. The rest of the army lurked in the forest, watching.
Reddington smirked. “His Grace hopes your earl is standing by with deed in hand.”
“Tell him I’m not Densmore,” Stephen murmured into the back of Elizabeth’s neck as he came up behind her.
She held up a finger to Crump, then turned around to whisper to Stephen. “When the cat’s away, the mice will storm the castle in full force. We can’t tell them who you are until we find the will, and can prove Reddington doesn’t own this land.”
She turned back around. Too quickly. Her hip gave a twinge that almost made her stumble. She gritted her teeth and smiled her coldest smile at Crump.
“Very well, good sir. Prepare to die.”
He laughed. “You won’t get near me, girl. The ‘fight’ will be over in seconds.”
“No one dies,” Stephen said loudly. “The duel is to the disarming. Understood?”
Elizabeth curtseyed obediently.
“‘Disarming’ doesn’t mean ‘cut off his arm,’” Stephen reminded her.
She waved this away. Words were open to interpretation.
Reddington glared at them both. “Make haste. I want my castle.”
“You agreed to negotiate about that,” she reminded him. “After I win this duel, we cease all interaction until we reconvene a week from today to discuss the matter calmly and reach an amicable solution.”
Elizabeth hadn’t the least faith in Reddington’s ability to be calm or amicable, much less that he possessed any willingness to accept her refusal to hand over the castle. What she really wanted was a full week’s reprieve from external distractions. With luck, she could follow the clues and find the hidden will long before Reddington returned with his lawyer—or an army.
“Ifyou win,” he corrected with a smirk. “Which you won’t. Let the duel begin!”
Crump hefted his huge sword. “Ready to lose, little girl?”
Elizabeth lifted her own blade, swinging it in figure eights, faster and faster, then tossing it from hand to hand with a swirl to the side or over her head in between.
Reddington took several steps back.
Elizabeth grinned. Was she showing off? Absolutely. Intimidation was often the first step toward victory. That was why Reddington had appointed Crump. And it was why Castle Harbrook had Elizabeth.
Crump’s eyes watched her flashing sword first with annoyance, then with awe, then with an unmistakable flicker of hesitation.
Perfect.
“Ready when you are,” she called out, without slowing her blade.
