him sigh. “Yes. You are right about that. And you have not for many centuries, yes. You are right,” he agreed again sadly, “but he is here, he has come to you in this time and he is trying to save you, Victoria. He is trying to save you from yourself but you will not let him.”
She rolled to one and realized she was now in her bed. Mr. Magnus had her hand and was patting it. She tried to squeeze it to let him know she was listening, but her muscles refused to obey any direct orders from her brain. It was foggy and warm and soft fluffy blankets and litters of mewling kittens surrounded her. She smiled. This is nice.
It wasn’t nice. Lord Brigayne’s men dropped her unceremoniously off in front of the cottage. Jack saw their horses as they trotted around the bend in the road and left his forge. His eyes were angry and sad and his mouth was in a firm line that told her he did not want to talk about it. Then he saw her bloody skirts.
She had guessed right. His face darkened and without a word to her he turned and strode to the barn. Victoria was watching now. Maggie cried for him to stop, but she did not go after him. Instead she limped into the cottage and closed the door. The barn doors opened and the big cart horse leaped out wearing only a bridle and Jack on his back. Victoria followed him. She was like a ghost flying through the air over his left shoulder. She tried to reach out and touch him but could not.
She followed as he galloped to the manor house. She was there when he leaped from the horse, and when he dropped the reins as he landed and let the animal run down the road. That is when she realized he knew he would not be going back to the forge or to Maggie. Victoria wondered if she were watching events as they happened or if this was like a memory play-back. He took the steps three at a time and drew a sword from his belt. Victoria knew this blade was another he had made for another man, a marquis who lived in the next county. The first two servants who tried to stop him from entering the house were slain with a heavy backhanded blow from that sword. The next one tried closing a door on him. He was knocked down. The next held a chair as one would fend off a wild animal. And Jack was wild. She saw it in his eyes. She saw it in the way his hair stood on end and the way he waved the sword. He was breathing through his teeth with a loud hissing sound and his jaw muscles bulged. The chair was splintered and the servant fled as Jack made his way to the second floor up the grand staircase.
Lord Brigayne met him, sword drawn on the mezzanine. He held the scabbard in his left hand like a shield. He fell into a practiced en gard and the smirk on his face told her that he had no fear of the blacksmith.
“You made this fine sword, John. You did not expect you would have to battle it.”
Jack waved the sword in his hand as one would swing an ax or a scythe. He had no training in swordplay.
“I’m sorry about Maggie, John. Truly. I did not mean to harm her.”
Jack did not answer but his face purpled with rage and he charged. Victoria put a ghostly hand to her throat. The battle was one sided at first. Lord Brigayne easily dodged the attack and slapped Jack on the back with the flat of his blade as the bigger man sped past. He was playing.
Jack was not. He turned at the end of the walkway and raised the sword. Lord Brigayne raised his and they stepped together. The two blades clashed with the ringing sound of beautifully worked steel. Brigayne stepped neatly to and fro, avoiding Jack’s murderous sweeps easily. He would touch Jack here and there with the tip, ripping his tunic and breeches with little laughing snorts. Jack bled from many minor cuts and did not seem to be winning this fight. Victoria was puzzled. He was supposed to be winning. Brigayne kept Jack moving backward which Victoria knew from watching the Olympics was very disadvantageous. Had this been a sporting event