If he fell in the duel, Gabrielle would be at this man's mercy.
Fool that he had been to be so trapped!
But it was too late now, and there was murder sure enough in Denningham's half-veiled blue eyes.
A duel a l'outrance.
They did not speak after the swords had once crossed.
It was for a woman they fought, and each knew it, whatever the reason given.
A mad fight in a dying light, traitor shadows to baulk each thrust.
Yes, it would be more luck than skill which should proclaim the winner.
Not a flicker of an eyelid, not a smile to part stern lips. A cruel fight, with Death to guide the quick thrusts which each parried in turn.
To and fro, to and fro. As near the window as possible to gain the advantage of every glimmer of light.