Falcon made a gobbling sound and sprang for him.
Weak with mirth, Glendenning pulled Falcon back. “Morris,willyou behave? No really, August, you’re supposed to be fightingRossiter.At all events, we must terminate this fiasco. You’re in no condition to—”
“Devil I’m not,” snarled Falcon, livid. “We’ll finish. Here and now! Unless Rossiter’s looking for the coward’s way out.”
All amusement faded. Breaking the sudden hush, Rossiter said coolly, “I’ll allow your man a moment to clean his hands, Perry.”
“Good of you,” said Cranford, frowning.
Falcon used his handkerchief to wipe the mud from his hands, then took up his sword, and the unconventional duel went on.
If Falcon had been dangerous before, he was deadly now, fighting with a grim savagery that left little doubt of his intent to take revenge for his humiliation. Rossiter occasionally managed to attack, but without fail his blade was parried and the answering thrusts taxed his skill to the utmost. His left shoulder throbbed fiercely, and his breath came hard from lungs that burned. Every movement of the sword seemed to tear at his bruised side, and his footwork was markedly less agile than at the start. Falcon’s sword was a brightly shining living thing that attacked with never-ending speed and vigour, darting at him from all angles. Rossiter fought on doggedly, but no one was more surprised than he when a desperate glizade sent the weapon spinning from his opponent’s hand.
A shout of excitement went up from the seconds, and the doctor, who had dropped his apple and gazed, riveted, at the ferocious fight, gave a whoop.
Nobody moved to pick up the weapon, and Falcon stood mute, staring in obvious amazement at his adversary.
Pantingly incapable of speech, Rossiter wiped his sweating sword hand on his breeches, and waited.
Through that startled moment came a shriek. “Gideon! Gideon!”
“Oh, myGod!” groaned Falcon.
Rossiter stared in disbelief. “Gwen…?”
“Stop! Stop at once!” Holding up the skirts of her riding habit, and leading her horse, Gwendolyn limped to them.
“I say,” muttered Morris, aghast. “This ain’t proper, Ross! Get her away!”
“The first sensible remark you were ever heard to utter,” said Falcon, walking over to reclaim his sword.
A flurry of draperies, a whiff of roses, and a very small boot stamped down on the weapon. “You muststop!” she panted. “Listen to me!”
“Here—get off,” growled Falcon, gripping the hilt and tugging tentatively.
“I will not! Oh, you horrid man,willyou desist?”
Much embarrassed, Rossiter panted, “I don’t know how—you discovered where we were, Gwen, but you really—must not interfere in a—”
Falcon, who had dropped to one knee, drew back. “She’s going to bend my sword,” he protested fumingly. “Get her off!”
In response, Gwendolyn dealt him a telling blow with her riding crop. “Wretched creature! Have done!”
He gave a yelp, and threw up one hand to protect his head while holding the grip of the sword with the other.
Titillated, seconds and surgeon retreated to a safe distance, while watching avidly.
Gwendolyn saw Rossiter advancing, stern-faced, and jumped up and down twice.
“Stop that at once!” cried Rossiter. “You’ll cut yourself!”
“Cut herself, my eye!” said Falcon bitterly. “Now look what she’s done!” He held up a sword that curved rather pathetically. “You’ve bent my Colichemarde, you silly chit!”
Morris wheezed. “Try it for a scythe, old boy.”
Ignoring the barely suppressed laughter, Falcon raged, “Itoldyou I wouldn’t kill your stupid clod of a brother!”
“You—what?” demanded Rossiter.
