Chapter Thirteen
Victoria woke up as Maggie. This was the first time she had awakened in a bed that was not her own. She had mixed feelings about this. The first was the joy she felt at hearing Jack’s rumbling snores beside her in the darkness. That was probably what woke her. The other was the concern that she was now trapped in a previous century.
She wasn’t complaining. No. She shook her head. Not complaining. But the twinge of the loss of the freedom she had been enjoying felt like a painful pinch. If she called Jasper would he come? Could she go back for a shower and a latte and return for the sex? Was it all or nothing?
She slid from the bed and more sticky fluids trickled down the inside of her thigh, reminding her of last night’s tumble. She unlatched a shutter and pushed it out. No clock. She looked to the east and saw the lighter glow over the tops of the trees and knew it was time to get up. Day started early here. It ended early, too, though, she reminded herself. She stirred the embers of the fire and looked in the basket for the last loaf of bread. She did not know what Maggie had been feeding him for breakfast. She hoped thick slices of toast and fresh butter would be enough. Her heart sank. She knew it was not. That muscle had to be fed and he had a long day of work ahead of him. No office cubicle and thirty minute commute for him. This man worked hard. Twelve hours six days a week. He needed more than a slice of toast.
She sighed and peeked in every crock, looking for a clue. The sharp trill of a rooster made her jump, but Jack’s snore told her the sound had not even registered. Eggs. She got up and slipped her dress over her head. It was chilly outside, though it was summer. She paused long enough to tie her shoes on her feet and grabbed a basket. This was not like running down to the all night market. The air was crisp and had that new day freshness to it. The birds were not awake yet, except that rooster, and the silence was as refreshing as the air. No traffic rumble or lawnmowers or leaf blowers to mar the morning. She pushed open the barn doors and looked for chickens. Good call. They were lined up in the straw, ladies on their nests and they only blinked at her with round bird eyes when she snaked her hand under each warm bird butt for the smooth egg that lay under each hen.
“Thank you, ladies” she said to them.
They trilled softly at her. She wondered if he fed them, or if she was supposed to. She took the basket back to the cottage and set it on the table. Another snore from the bed. He would be up soon. She wondered if she normally woke him and if he relied on her to get him up. She chewed her lip. This was a big day. Better do it.
She padded over to the bed and leaned over him. His cock was standing, tenting the blanket over his hips. She lifted the edge of the cloth to see it in the dim light. Very nice. She never had the angle to look at it for more than a few seconds when it was engaged in entering her. She remembered the evening when she and Torgal watched this cock deflower Maggs. Was it her? Victoria? It was. She had slid into Maggie’s body that night. She was Maggie. A different body, but it was still her. Mine. She reached out and grasped the cock gently.
He jumped and covered her hand with his own for a moment before he was fully awake, then he laughed.
“Did you not get enough last night?” he asked.
“I was about to ask the same thing,” she nodded toward their two hands around his erection.
“Never.” He took her arms and pulled her on top of him, rolled her over deftly and inserted the cock inside her so fast she was still blinking. “It is always ready for you, Maggs.”
He closed his eyes and pumped. She was too surprised to respond. It felt good, like a massage feels good. Having him so close felt better, and seeing his love for her in his eyes was best of all. He came with many little spurts this time, rather than big gushes and quickly dismounted, bending over the bed with a little grimace. “Not a good idea to do that before I’ve pissed.” His face twisted in mock agony, and he limped out the door, naked.
Victoria laughed. While he was gone she explored the fireplace looking for a way to cook those eggs. She found a cast iron pan and the crock of butter. He was getting them fried today whether he liked it or not. She opened all the shutters to let the morning sun illuminate her workspace and put the pan on the coal bed and sliced the bread. She saw Jack striding from the outhouse back to the cottage door and turned as he entered. He dressed quickly, jerking the laces of his breeches and then pulling on his heavy boots. She spread butter on the bread and turned the eggs.
Minutes later he returned with a bucket of fresh milk and three eggs she had missed. She set his breakfast in front of him on a wooden trencher and he picked up a two-pronged fork.
Fork. This must be at least the seventeenth century, she told herself. She had not the courage to ask him the date. He would think she had gone soft in the head. He shoveled the eggs into his mouth quickly and each slice of bread disappeared in three bites. She refrained from telling him to slow down, but wondered if he ever suffered from indigestion.
His plate was clean. He glanced up at her before looking around the table. “No porridge this morning?”
Ah. She forgot the porridge. He had already eaten the equivalent of three breakfasts. Six eggs and half a loaf of bread. She blushed. “Tomorrow, I promise.” She tilted her head at him, “I had an interruption this morning,” she used that as an excuse and it worked.
“Ah, yes, my love. Maggie. Your little cunny is enough breakfast for me.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed the bench back. He didn’t bother to put on a tunic, but went out the front door with thumps of his boots on the flagstone.
“Jesus H Christ,” she breathed. “F*ck. Is this going to be my new life?” she asked aloud. So far so good. She could handle this. Hot showers and fancy restaurants faded in her memory to be replaced by this hot man and fancy sex. Good deal. She picked up his plate. Women’s liberation was centuries ahead of her, but she could put up with this. She sure could. Oh yes.
Jasper stood between her and the sideboard where the washing up was done. “Oh no, Victoria.”
She glared at him and raised the wooden plate like she would hit him with it. “Go away. I am enjoying myself.”
“Victoria, please. Listen to me. I am not trying to ruin things for you, but something terrible is going to happen today and you can’t be here.”
She lowered the plate to her side. She leaned onto the table when her knees failed her. It occurred to her that she had seen Marcus slain, and watched Torgal slowly bleed to death. She had not seen what happened to Jack. Cold fingers clutched at her spine and she sank onto the bench, letting the trencher clatter to the floor.
Jasper nodded. “You don’t have to be here when it happens. Come away with me now.” The little monkey demon extended his hand to her and the compassion in his monkey eyes was far from demonic. She blinked tears at him.
“Can’t I do something?” she whispered.
Jasper winced. “In a way you already have… or will, or did.” The verbal tenses didn’t seem to make much sense when discussing time travel. Jasper looked confused. “I don’t think you can change the past.”
She thought about this. She considered taking his hand. She would return to her bed, perhaps make an espresso and sit on her sofa to watch the morning news show. The anchor ladies with their impossible hair-dos would go on and on about the local animal shelter and the traffic on the expressway. She could get in her car and go shopping for shoes. She could call a friend and have a light lunch in a fashionable bistro.
Or she could watch Jack die. He had no scar on his neck. Not yet.
She burst into tears and put her head down on her arms on the table. She felt Jasper’s little monkey hand patting her back. If she left now she wouldn’t know. She would worry all day, thinking about it. Nothing would bring her joy ever again.
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “I have to stay. Even if…”
Jasper sighed. “I knew you would say that. I was told to force you.” The way he said it made it sound like he might not obey the command. She looked up and wiped her nose. Outside she heard the clank of hammer on metal. Jack had started his work.
“How can you force me? And who told you?”
“I can take you back against your will,” Jasper admitted, “and Jack told me. He told me. Marcus and Torgal too.”
She sat up, trying to make sense of this. “They want me back at the lake house?”
Jasper wrinkled his nose. “You are doing it wrong,” he said. “They need your help to do what they are trying to do, but you are not cooperating.”
“Spell it out, then,” she snapped. “I’m tired of hearing this from everyone. Am I just stupid?”
She was surprised to see tears glisten in Jasper’s eyes. “You are not stupid, Victoria,” he said gently. “You are stubborn, and determined. This is good. But it means you resist with the same intensity that you do the things you like doing.” Japer sighed. “You don’t want to do what Jack needs you to do.”
“What does he need me to do? Tell me and I will do it.”
“He needs you to go back to the lake house.”
“I won’t.”
Jasper covered his eyes with a little hand. “See?” he murmured, and she wondered if he was talking to her or to an unseen master.
She heard hoofbeats approaching. She gave Jasper a fierce warning look and he disappeared. She tied her apron on tighter, checked her shoes and smoothed her braid under a little white cap. She pushed open the door and marched out into the yard. No one was going to kill Jack without going through her first.
The hammer paused in mid-air as she approached. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
Of course something was wrong, and she was sorry it was so obvious on her face. “I hear horses on the road. I came out to tell you. I know you can’t hear anything over the sounds of the metal and the fire.”
He set the hammer down and stepped away from the bellows and the flames. They both heard the rhythmic beat through the trees. He nodded. “I need you to stay inside when they get here.” He looked at her and she saw he was deadly serious.
“Can I not greet them?” she resisted.
“No. They shall not see you.”
She pretended to pout, but that did not work. He looked exasperated. “Maggie, if they see you he will want you and I cannot say no.”
“Cannot say ‘no’?” She put her hands on her hips and was about to argue when she remembered she was not in America in the twenty-first century. What kind of f*cked up place and time was this where a man’s wife was not his own? She grit her teeth and the monkey’s warning made more sense to her.
She turned and stomped back into the cottage. She snapped all the shutters shut again and slammed the crockery on the sideboards. She leaned on the shelf that served as a counter top and seethed. Maybe not. Maybe I cannot live in such a time. Even for a man. This thought made her stomach turn. She wanted Jack. And Marcus and Torgal.
Hoof beats stopped in front of the cottage. She heard the jangle of the bits and saddle harness as the men dismounted. She heard their hearty greetings. Jack would have to come in to get the sword he had made for Lord Brigayne. She backed away into the corner. No one would see her.
He came in and gave her a warning glance before turning to the wooden chest under the bed. He knelt on the floor and pulled the chest out so he could lift the lid. Victoria saw him gently lift something long wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped the sword and discarded the cloth which fell to the flagstones. He tilted the sword against the light from the open door and sighted along its length.
Victoria knew the sword was finished, and that it was perfect. This inspection was more a ritual than anything else. She knew it was his way of saying goodbye to his artwork. She puffed up with pride. He was the best smith for miles around. A hundred miles. With the completion of this sword he would be considered a Master, though he had not finished his seven years as journeyman yet. He got to his feet and walked out the door without closing it. His hands were full. She crept along the wall until she reached the threshold and peeked out.
The men were gathered in a tight circle to look at the shining sword. Their horses stood patiently by, their heads lowered, chewing on their bits and whipping their tails against the flies. Jack stood straight and proud, the muscles of his chest and shoulders bore witness to the strength that had gone into the hammering of this fine sword.
Lord Brigayne was pleased. He weighed the sword in his hand and felt for the balance. He lifted it and sighted along its length as Jack had done. He smiled broadly and said something she couldn’t hear. The other men laughed low and one of them thumped Jack on his shoulder with a gloved hand. They knew what they had. The best smith for miles around. One of the men handed Jack a heavy purse. Victoria’s eyes widened. She blinked. A few more swords and they could own a Mercedes, she smiled to herself. Here that probably meant another cow or two. Maybe a fine dress. The pleasures of life were simple here. Enough food and drink, a warm fire in winter, perhaps a paid servant to do the heavy work. She rubbed her hands together. She could feel yesterday’s work in her muscles and joints already.
The sword was sheathed and fastened to Lord Brigayne’s belt and the men mounted their bored horses. As they swung up, one of them saw her in the doorway. She had carelessly moved into sight as she watched them.
“Oh ho,” he said and they all turned. She ducked back into the house and leaned against the door frame. She could hear them outside. “I see you finally got married, John,” one of them said.
The men laughed licentiously and she twitched. “Let us see little Maggie, John.”
She cringed against the wall, knowing he would be furious. This is exactly what he had warned her would happen. She listened for his boots and there he was, darkening the doorway. His eyes were angry and the set of his mouth told her she had better not speak.
She told him how miserably sorry she was with her eyes and let him grab her by her upper arm and steer her toward the visitors.
She stumbled up to them and kept her eyes on her feet. Jack still had his hand on her.
“Let’s see her pretty eyes, John. Big eyes the color of violets.”
Jack shook her arm a little and she raised her eyes to look at their landlord. He was average height and about thirty five years old. His body was still strong from riding and hunting, though he had begun to broaden a bit in the belly from too much rich food. His eyes and hair were a soft brown and he wore elaborate velvets and polished leather. Lord Brigayne raised his eyebrows. “Remarkable. Such a deep blue with that coal black hair. Good job, man, good job.” He nodded to Jack, then waved his riding crop. His horse moved away obediently. His men followed him. When they were a polite distance away so they would not raise too much dust, the horses broke into canters and soon they disappeared around the bend of the road.
“Oh God, Maggie. What have you done?” He sounded desolate. She had planned to fuss at him for being a brute, but those imagined words never materialized. He dropped his arm.
Instead she apologized. “I’m sorry. I wanted to see you give him the sword.”
“And now he has seen you.”
“This is a bad thing?” She wondered aloud.
He looked at her sharply. “What do you mean by that? You have lived in this county your whole life. You know what this means.”
Maggie probably did but Victoria was lost. It was possible that Lord Brigayne might want to f*ck her, but even a lord of a manor would not dishonor such a man as Jack, his smith and an important townsman. Or would he? She tried to call up some of Maggie’s memories.
“You are not safe now until he has taken you. One of his men will come when I am gone and drag you to the manor. A few days later another servant will return you to me. He is not gentle. You will be bruised and sore. You may never like it again. Don’t tell me the girls and the women never told you these stories. Why are you playing me, Maggie?”
Victoria opened her mouth and inhaled deeply. These stories were now coming back to her through Maggie’s memories. Many stories. For years, ever since he got his cock to stand for the first time, Lord Brigayne had plagued the village women with his lust. His father, the previous lord, had only stepped in when Brigayne had started to eye the vicar’s wife.
She nodded. Now she understood. Why hadn’t Jasper just told her? She would have crawled under the bed and stayed there. She made a face. “I’m sorry.”
Jack sighed. “Well. It was bound to happen sometime. You are famous for your beauty, Maggs. It was just a matter of time. I had hoped to have you swell with my child before he saw you. He has the sense to leave a woman full of babe alone.” He pulled her to him and kissed her. “Perhaps he will be delayed by business and you will have a huge belly before he comes back.” She felt him harden under his breeches as he said this. He pressed it against her belly for emphasis. “I will plant the child now.” He looked over his shoulder at the dust settling on the road, then put his hand on her arm again and steered her back into the cottage.