The Summer of You (32 page)

Jane ducked back inside, closed the window, and pulled closed the curtains, as the carriage rocked wildly on its springs.

“What happened?” Victoria asked, breathless.

“Victoria, get on the floor with me,” Jane ordered, and was readily obeyed. “One of the drivers was shot—he fell off the carriage . . . I think we’re under attack!”

Another shot rang out, followed by another, and another. Jane ducked her head, crouched on the floor of the carriage, her arm around Victoria, covering the younger girl’s body with her own. They rocked and swayed for some moments, not knowing what was going on outside, their imaginations running wild.

Suddenly another shot sounded, this one closer. And just as suddenly, they screeched and jolted to a halt, one side of the carriage falling with a thud.

Victoria squealed in shock, shaking. “What was that?”

“Shhh!” Jane replied, furiously whispering. “Don’t say a word. I think we broke a wheel, or an axle. We’re stuck here.”

Victoria stilled under her, as Jane listened intently. She heard the horses whinny and snort. She heard the driver’s muffled voice, his words indecipherable but his tone scared and placating. Then they heard another shot. And the driver’s voice was silenced.

And then there was nothing but the footsteps outside, and the sound of Jane’s and Victoria’s breathing.

“Lady Jane!” the rough male voice called out from the outside. His tone mocking, singsong. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Jane was frozen in fear. He knew it was her. She had no men to guard her, no weapon. If she came out, would he kill her? What to do? What would Byrne do?

“Don’t make me come in. Not enough room for us both in there,” the man said, a voice that Jane recognized but could not place. Then she heard the clink of metal snapping into place, the gun reloaded now.

“Victoria,” Jane whispered. “No matter what, do not leave this carriage. Whoever it is doesn’t know you’re here. Do not make a sound, all right?”

“You can’t go!” Victoria mouthed.

“I must.”

Victoria saw the determination on her friend’s face and nodded once, curled into a ball on the floor, and practically disappeared within the cloak.

Jane reached for the latch of the carriage door, turned it slowly. Then, with as much dignity as she could, she exited the carriage.

And stared down the barrel of a gun into a manically smiling, half-masked face.

One she knew.

“Jim?” Jane asked, before she could stop herself.

“You know it’s me, then?” Big Jim asked. “No matter. You would’ve learned soon enough. Hallo, my lady,” he sneered. “You’re lookin’ fine this evening.”

He took a long, leisurely perusal of her form.

“Very fine, indeed.”

“WHAT do you want, Jim?” Jane asked, as calm as she could manage, her hands coming up. Suddenly, everything came into sharp focus. The rough metal of his pistol. The large, shaggy black horse that danced impatiently a few steps away from Big Jim. She knew that every move she made, every word she said, had to be just right. “Money, jewels?”

“That’ll do for a start,” he replied, his black eyes hard.

Big Jim the blacksmith—he’d been a resident of Reston since before Jane was born, apprenticing under the old blacksmith, then taking over the shop. She’d known him her whole life. Taken their horses to him, run past his smithy as a child.

But now, it was as if she was seeing his true self for the first time.

He wore a disguise, of course. Nondescript, dark clothes, the mask with holes for the eyes, but Jane knew his voice, his stance, his oversized, roughly muscled body. He was the highwayman; she knew it now like she knew her own face. And he didn’t seem particularly at ease. In fact, he seemed a bit mad with power.

She had to be very, very careful.

“Well, my jewel box is in my trunk, up there,” Jane replied, cautiously pointing to the back of the carriage, where all of her luggage was piled high and strapped down.

Jim glanced to where she indicated and then leveled the gun back at her head. “Unfortunately, m’friends aren’t with me today, so you’re gonna have to assist me, aren’t you?”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move. She just waited.

“Climb up there and untie the trunks,” he commanded.

Jane walked slowly but steadily to the back of the carriage, and after one heart-stopping misstep, managed to gain a hold and climb up to where large leather straps belted and secured two trunks, two suitcases, and a heavy satchel onto the back of the carriage.

It suddenly occurred to Jane that he was being very reckless. He had gotten down off his horse. What kind of highwayman got down off his horse?

And he had killed two men.

The highwayman had never killed anyone before.

Jane slowly, steadily reached up and took hold of the first strap. It was attached tightly, and she grunted with the effort to unbelt it.

“Now, Lady Jane, don’t dawdle,” Big Jim admonished. “We can’t linger here too long. People might come by.”

For the first time, Jane looked about her, understood where they were. Big Jim had forced the carriage off the main road during his pursuit, into a field, down a bit of a hill. It was removed enough from the road that the average passing carriage might not see them, but the sound of gunfire carried, so someone might have been alerted to the situation. Someone might be looking for them.

Please let someone be looking for them.

Suddenly Jane couldn’t catch her breath. She took big gulps of air, but none filled her lungs. Her hands started to shake. The driver sat slumped in his seat, his arms falling at unnatural angles. And where was Freddy? Where had he fallen? Was he still alive, up by the road?

She could feel Big Jim’s eyes boring into her. She could do this, she told herself. She just had to breathe. She would give him the jewelry, and he’d ride away.

Then she felt the warm metal of the gun barrel slide up her ankle. And suddenly, Jane knew he didn’t just want the jewelry.

“You grew up right pretty, Lady Jane. Would’ve never known it when you was a girl.”

Even as her stomach turned, Jane’s mind found its anger. And its focus.

She had gotten one strap unbelted. She moved to the next.

He followed her.

“You was always scraped up, completely wild,” he said, and she could feel the gun barrel move up her leg, to her knees, her heavy gown lifting with it. “No more scrapes,” he leered. “But you still got that wildness—don’tcha?”

She unbelted the second strap, let it fall loose. Her hands went to the heavy satchel on top.

“You went wild for that Mr. Worth, after all,” he said, as his hand replaced the barrel on her limb.

One chance.

She heaved with all her might, and swung the satchel around, catching Big Jim across the face, knocking his half mask off. His head snapped back, and he stumbled, the gun flying to the ground, lost in the tall grass.

Jane jumped down off the carriage and ran.

If she got to his shaggy black mount, she could gain the advantage. He couldn’t take the carriage, not with its broken axle. He’d be forced to lose time by unhitching one of the horses. Then, once he followed her, Jane prayed, Victoria would be free to make her escape.

Her plan had to work—she just had to reach the horse.

She didn’t make it five steps before Big Jim tackled her to the ground.

Jane fought, scratched, kicked. But it was no use. He was so much stronger. So much larger—he held her still with as little effort as a lady would hold her fan.

“Do you know what I’ve learned, these past months?” Jim growled at her, his teeth near enough to her ear that she could feel his warm, spit-flecked breath as it spewed its venom. “I learned that if I want something, I can take it, Lady Jane.”

Keep fighting, Jane. Just keep fighting and do not ever stop. If you stop, he will win, and he cannot win. Just keep fighting.

But she wasn’t strong enough.

He slammed her back by the shoulders, rocking her head against the hard earth. The already dark world became darker. The edges of life fell away, as her head fell to the side.

The last thing she saw was horse hooves, galloping toward them.

When Byrne had seen the body of the footman, he knew he was too late. Scanning wildly, he found the tracks of the carriage as it ran off the road, making decisive, parallel lines in the tall grass, and he followed.

Blind rage took hold of his body when he saw them. He no longer felt worry or pain or fear. He kept the horse going at full speed and launched himself off the saddle, knocking all his weight against the solid mass of Big Jim, forcing him off of the unconscious form of Jane.

They rolled, landed, Big Jim using his size to advantage and pinning Byrne to the ground. He managed a solid hit to the side, but his meaty hands were too slow to knock Byrne across the face. He ducked and weaved as Jim thundered and plodded. Byrne was more precise, more lethal in his focused red haze. He managed a direct hit to the kidneys. Big Jim reared back in pain, allowing Byrne to squirm out from under him and gain his feet.

Unfortunately, it allowed Big Jim to gain his feet, too.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you, Worth?” Big Jim slurred, as he spat a streak of blood onto the ground. “I’m gonna string you up by your entrails, and then finish with your lady over there—let you watch.”

“If she dies, you die,” Byrne growled, desperate to turn around and see if Jane was all right, alive, breathing. But he couldn’t turn his back on Big Jim, not for a second.

“Then,” Big Jim continued with a little laugh, as if Byrne had never spoken, “I’m gonna tell the town that I come upon you trying to thieve Lady Jane’s carriage. You killed her men, and were trying to take what you wanted. Including her.”

Byrne felt every muscle in his body tense in anticipation. Every cell, every hair was awake, aware, and controlled. And his voice—his voice became like ice.

“That’s very elaborate,” he said calmly, almost conversationally. “And here I was just going to fucking kill you.”

The black gleam in Big Jim’s eye faltered ever so slightly at Byrne’s tone.

“It has been some time since I’ve killed anyone with my bare hands,” he continued. “Generally I prefer blades, knives, pistols—that sort of thing. Even my cane works well as a blunt instrument. But”—he grinned, baring his teeth like a panther hunting his prey—“there is something to be said for variety.”

Byrne lunged.

Fists met bone in blinding fury, and both crunched under the impact. Big Jim had power, but Byrne had skill. Jim met Byrne hit for hit, bloodying his eye, but Byrne managed to pin Big Jim against an outcropping of rock, managed to get his hands around the larger man’s throat. Big Jim struggled and choked, his arms flailing out. Just when Byrne thought he had him down, Big Jim scored a lucky hit—his meaty fist connected directly with Byrne’s wounded thigh.

A thousand needles stabbing at his leg had Byrne crumpling over in pain. His hands loosened on Big Jim’s neck, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he pounded. He let what pain he had focus him. Once across Jim’s face. Once again. Pound after pound after pound. Big Jim’s face became nothing but a jumble of flesh. A jumble of flesh that, upon hearing the beating of horseshoes on the ground, began to laugh.

Byrne paused in his frenzy enough to look up. Up by the road was a group of five riders, coming from Reston, and scanning the countryside like mad. The great blond Midas and his rider Jason were easily recognized at the lead—and they had spotted the lifeless form of Jane on the ground and were riding hell-bent for leather toward her.

“You’re too late,” Big Jim laughed, his words garbled by the blood in his mouth. “They’ll never believe you.”

“They’ll believe me,” came the small, shaky, feminine voice from behind them.

Byrne let go of Big Jim’s face and turned fully.

Standing behind them, leveling an unsteady pistol at Big Jim, was Victoria Wilton.

Needless to say, the next few minutes were total chaos.

Jason, Charles, and Nevill arrived with Dr. Berridge and Sir Wilton, who had met up at the head of the main road—and upon discovering both parties were looking for someone, decided to join forces. They found their individual quarries—Victoria and Byrne Worth—together, one pointing a gun in the direction of the other, who had been beating the town blacksmith to a bloody pulp, while Jane lay unconscious several feet away, the driver of the carriage shot in his seat, and a footman dead up by the road.

It was Dr. Berridge who leaped into action.

“You two!” he snapped, pointing to Charles and Nevill, who jumped to attention, “go up and bring down the driver, see if he’s breathing.” Charles and Nevill moved with alarming speed for people used to lethargy. “My lord,” he addressed Jason, “your sister.”

Jason snapped out of his haze, came down off his horse, and followed Dr. Berridge to Jane, who was slowly coming round. Dr. Berridge gently but efficiently examined her head for any contusions, her body for any physical harm, and then nodded to Jason.

“Sit her up,” Dr. Berridge commanded, “slowly. Find some water, see if she can drink.”

With Jason yelling to Nevill to see if he could find some water in the carriage, Dr. Berridge ran over to where Byrne was frozen, hovering over the woozy form of Big Jim, where Victoria was explaining to her father just why she couldn’t release the gun from her unsteady hands.

“Big Jim did it!” she cried. “He came for Jane—he shot the men!” Her gun shook as she spoke.

“I know, sweetheart, you told us,” Sir Wilton was saying consolingly, “but that doesn’t mean you can shoot him.”

“It should!” Victoria cried. “He’s the highwayman.”

Sir Wilton’s eyes shot back and forth to where Dr. Berridge was now pulling Byrne off of Big Jim. He wasn’t proving too successful, Byrne being intent upon keeping Big Jim from running away, from hurting anyone. And Big Jim, who, at the sight of having his own discarded gun trained on him, went mad with rage, pain, and thwarted power and fought to get free of the now two men who restrained him.

“No! This is not how it happens! I get what I want!” he yelled, his voice carrying across the field. “I get what I want!”

“Not this time,” Dr. Berridge said, as he pulled out a rope (from where, it is unknown) and with Byrne worked the oversized man to the ground and bound his hands tightly behind him.

“Can you handle him?” Byrne asked the doctor, who nodded.

“Now that he’s on his face without hands. That’s a bad cut above your eye,” Dr. Berridge commented, but recognized too easily the man’s impatience, and with a tilt of his head, sent Byrne moving—limping heavily but moving as fast he could—for Jane.

“You see, Victoria?” her father was saying. “Big Jim cannot hurt anyone anymore. You’re just pointing a gun at Dr. Berridge.” Sir Wilton reached out and placed his hand gently over the barrel of the gun. “You don’t want to hurt the good doctor, do you?”

And in that moment, Victoria, for perhaps the first time in her life, truly looked at Dr. Berridge. He was kneeling over the man who had tried to harm her friend and kill Mr. Worth, this screaming wretch of a man, and Dr. Berridge was tending to his injuries, as he would any other injured person. Just not as gently, perhaps.

“Does this hurt here?” Dr. Berridge said, as he pressed hard on Jim’s shoulder, which seemed out of alignment. A scream was his answer. “Is that a no? Are you sure?” Dr. Berridge asked as he pressed again.

A small laugh fell from Victoria’s lips. Her hand fell down, the gun falling into her father’s possession. And Dr. Berridge’s gaze met hers.

Victoria realized then that her mother was correct. She would know when a man truly saw her. However, her mother had never mentioned what it would feel like when she saw him in return.

It took her breath away.

But this exchange went unnoticed by the rest of the party. Sir Wilton was simply glad to have the gun in his possession, not his frightened daughter’s; Charles and Nevill had worked the driver to the ground, and while Charles discerned if the man had survived being shot (sadly, he had not), Nevill ransacked the carriage looking for water (or possibly spirits) for Jane.