Chapter Two

Vic gave up trying to gain control of the body he found himself residing in. Initially, he had screamed, fought against the movements and strained to find even an ounce of control. The moment the body looked into the mirror was the moment he stopped fighting. Later, he would realize it was shock that shut him down. When it happened, he had stopped screaming and stared into the large brown eyes of the most beautiful face he had ever seen. When her full mouth opened and she said “weird” he felt shock and awe at the vividness of the moment, the hot moisture in the air, the feeling of it against his skin, the vibration of the vocal cords as he spoke. Everything felt so real and yet, he was only a visitor here. In the first few moments the screams in his head had been panicked and defining. The shower of hot water and overwhelming mint of the ointment pushed into his mouth had calmed and focused him somewhat. He still felt trapped in a human box, but he could now contemplate his bizarre situation with a slight degree of rationale.
What is your last lucid moment? He asked, trying to speak but only managing to think the statement. Before he could reflect on the thought he was moving down a long hallway with many doors on each side. There was a decidedly feminine bounce to his step that he found extremely irritating. How did women manage to walk this way and not have a colossal headache consistently, he wondered in disgust. He turned and was startled by a loud shrill noise, akin to a bell ringing, as a panel opened into a small closet. He stepped into the opening, turned and pressed his index finger onto a glowing orb with a number etched onto its middle. Abrupt movement pulled him from his state of musing into utter fear, as the ground began to move under him. He stood casually tapping his right toe against the ground, as he screamed and tore at the sides of his invisible cage. The tapping stilled, his hand shot out, braced against the panel, just as all movement stopped.

“Vic! Vic! Wake up!” the pounding on the door was loud and couldn’t be ignored. He groaned and tried to roll over. Instead he sat up and he heard himself say, “Stop banging on my door you freak!”
Freak? Why was his voice so womanly? And what was a freak?
The voice came from behind the door.
“Come on! We have, like, 25 minutes before breakfast is over. Get up! Get up! Get up!”
He looked at the white walls surrounding him, the heavy drapes, the dark wooden furniture and realized with a start that he was no longer in his bedchamber. That realization was quickly followed by dismay, then a form of terror, as he spoke again from his mouth, but without his will. “Okay. I’m coming! I’ll jump in the shower and be down in ten.”
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Victorie jumped from her bed, her feet hit the floor hard, and she sighed with relief at finding herself in her very own hotel room, wrapped in her very own body, in control of her very own voice. “I’m me! She said loudly and listened in awe to the sound of her silly feminine cadence. “ Me me me, me me, me me! She danced around her small room and spun in a wide circle. Her long blonde hair flew in her face and she laughed happily.
Catching sight of the clock she said “Shit!” Realizing that she was going to miss breakfast, she headed for the bathroom and her toothbrush.
As she began the process of pulling off her clothes and putting toothpaste on her toothbrush, she thought about her dream. The decision was easily made that it had been just that, a dream brought on by her accidental punch to the face. She had obviously been knocked unconscious and was experiencing temporary memory loss. The shower came on hot, the steam accumulating quickly. The mint of her toothpaste filled her mouth and nose, waking her senses and allowing for much clearer thought. Her brain needed to assimilate the recent dream with current reality. What happened after the punch? How had she ended up in bed? Why wasn’t she in the hospital? After all she had been hit hard enough to lose a day. Hadn’t she?
Victorie spat a mouthful of toothpaste onto the floor of the shower and watched as the water washed down the drain. Her face tipped up allowing the wonderful liquid to cascade down her face, into and out of her mouth and down her chin and then continue its descent, warming and washing as it went. Thoughts of the moment when she began her mystery blackout accosted her: being held by Billy securely, just as planned, then looking up to see Steve walking toward her maliciously as expected, the roaring of the crowd, then his fist pulling back.
She turned the water off and stepped from the shower. The steam had covered the mirror obscuring her view. She leaned forward and swiped her hand like a knife across the moisture. Her image appeared in the glass. No evidence of bruising showed on her jaw. She could still feel the cracking blow as Steve’s fist collided with her face. Yet no evidence remained. Fingers traced along the jaw line. “Weird.” Victorie smiled widely into her chocolate brown eyes, enjoying the sound of her own voice. She sauntered out of the bathroom and slipped into a pair of jeans, a powder blue top and a pair of flip-flops of the same shade. She grabbed her room key, dropped it into her purse and left the room, her stomach growling in anticipation of the feast to come.

Chapter One

Vic felt a presence. Odd, since he was alone and there were no covert hiding places in the long hallway. His jaw hurt from the punch he had taken earlier. His hand rubbed across his swollen chin. He was surprised to feel stubble peppering his face.
“It’s not like I have to look comely anytime soon. No wedding in my future” he said, listening to his voice bounce off the stone walls. He needed more tapestries. That would cut down on the echo, he thought.
Who are you?!?! The female voice was so loud he stopped abruptly and spun in a wide ark, his arms out in a protective gesture. He stood, listening.
“Hello?” he called, “Show yourself!” he demanded to the empty hallway. Again he listened to the eerie echo. A large window under the archway closest to him reflected his image. He stood, staring at his visage, arms spread, eyes wide, pulse jumping in the muscle over his jaw line. He looked terrified. Quickly, he dropped his arms, stood up straight and pulled at the hem of his tabard. He turned from the window and swiftly walked towards his bedchamber, frustrated by the possibility that he might be losing it under the pressure. No bride, no lands, I will be a pauper and now I will be in an asylum.
Vic entered the chamber feeling saddened by the day’s events. He lit the candles scattered about, pulled his clothing from his overheated body and fell onto his bed. Once there he could no longer ignore the voice he had heard earlier. What had it said? Who are you? It was curious that it had been a female voice. The question had been obvious. He’d been asking himself the same one all day. The same question he had just heard screamed in his head.
“Who… are… you…?” he said the words slowly, feeling the solid nature of them. Why not, who am I? “Odd.” He said and draped a forearm across his eyes.

To her utter and complete amazement, the blow fell hard and true as shockwaves of pain radiated across her tender jaw. Her head flew to the side as the arms holding her tightened their grip. Dazed, yet somehow still conscious, she gazed through the dark strands of hair that fell over her eyes. That’s not right, her muddled mind tried to tell her. A curtain of almost black hair, far shorter than her own blond locks, whipped away as she looked up into the bright angry eyes of her attacker. “A fair fight was never your strong suit Gregory. Why start now?” The voice that said the words was coming from her; she could feel the strong vibrato as the air left her lungs. But the voice was not hers. It was strong, deep and masculine.

Victorie whipped her right hand over her head, the sword moved as an extension of her tightly muscled arm. Her opponent staggered back and blocked her blow as he did the next three before kicking her with the flat of his leather boot. She grunted loudly as she accepted the blow, barely feeling the solid thwack against her midsection. Not for the first time, she thanked the universe for her leather armor and smiled gleefully as she fell onto the ground, rolled over on her back and came up just in time to block a solid blow above her head. On one knee, she leaned sharply to the right, grabbed his blade with her hilt and pushed. Her movement sent him staggering to the side, giving her the second she needed to gain her footing.
A loud female scream from behind notified her of impending doom just as she was lifted from her feet and her sword was wrenched from her hand. She kicked and screamed trying to show the appropriate amount of outrage. Screams and applause along with chants of indignation filled the air. She was placed on her feet, but held tightly with both hands firmly behind her back. She was facing her opponent now as he walked slowly toward her. All fairness was gone from the fight and he took his time approaching. The yells and chanting got louder as a smirk slid into place on his thin lips. He stopped in front of her, grabbed her by the chin and with all of the malice of a true villain, punched her squarely in the jaw.

Prologue

Victorie smoothed her hands down the coarse material of her ankle length skirt. The material swayed against her bare legs and brushed the top of her black leather boots. The small chain mail glove on her left hand clinked against the belt buckle as she tucked in her cotton blouse. The material was rather flimsy compared to her usual combat gear, but today was different, more presentation, less acrobatics.
“Vic, hurry up!” a voice called from the hall.
She grinned and yelled back , “ I’m coming, keep your shorts on!” As she raced to finish her pre show preparation her heart beat faster from the adrenaline being released into her bloodstream. This was the part she liked least about performing. The nervous energy frustrated her and made her forgetful. A forgetful moment could be a very dangerous thing in her business. Victorie stopped moving and listened to her heart pounding. She listened, felt, and thought about the day.
“This day will end well, and when it does, I will smile.” Her voice held a slight tremble as it always did when she said these words aloud. She turned toward the door, took a deep breath, wrapped her right hand around the hilt of her broadsword and walked from the room.


Victor Standish, Vic to any who cared to acknowledge his disdain for his namesake, couldn’t believe his bad luck. This castle and its lands had been in his family for ten generations and now it was slipping through his fingers. His idiot grandfather had put a provision in the will stating that the eldest sons only regain the family wealth after securing a strong wife. Upon nullification of those circumstances the family wealth would revert to the cousins on his mothers side of the family, the Madison’s. A family divided was the least of his problems. He had let the time get away from him and now his father was on his death bed, his sister had married and moved away, and he was all that was left of a once thriving dynasty. He knew he should feel some shame for his current situation. He didn’t. Anger was the only emotion that wrapped around him at the moment.
Vic had always hated his grandfather. It was one of the reasons that he had put off his impending nuptials, anything to irritate the old man. A step that seemed ludicrous now with the old man long dead and his father near death. His pride had never served him well, a trait ironically identical to his grandfather’s most notable attribute. A candle flickered on its stone base by his bedside. The shadows danced around the room. A crack of thunder shook the air. It was barely mid-day, yet clouds had caused the light to hide. “This is preposterous!” his deep voice boomed inside the large chamber echoing off the walls. He decided in that moment, he would do it; there really was no other choice. He would ride to Castle Hail and ask for Mary Hail’s hand. “ Argh!” he groaned thinking about what it would mean. He stopped all movement and listened to his heart as it pounded in his chest. “This day all will be well. At its end, I will smile.” His strong voice sounded as it always did when he said these words aloud, unsure but hopeful. He moved with purpose toward the door, at the last moment reached out with his left hand, and wrenched his broadsword from the wall.