Lucas shoved the barrel farther up, dislodging the guard’s Adam’s apple. The man measured his intent and backed into the house. A horrendous scream curdled Lucas’ blood. He swung with his left arm, and with a teeth-jarring crack, the guard toppled.
Lucas raced up the stairs and rammed his full body weight against the door, the wood fracturing from its hinges and smashing against the wall. Seeing Johnson’s fist poised above Rachel’s lovely face, breath hot as fire burned from Lucas’ lungs.
Johnson glared at Lucas, his mouth twisted in surprise and rage. “Where the hell did you come from?” He pulled his saber from its sheathe and held it at Rachel’s throat. A trickle of blood ran from the sword point where it jabbed into her soft flesh.
Lucas placed his boot on top of the stool, resting his hand upon his knee He laughed and watched Johnson with a gambler’s impassiveness, the cold, steady eye, the carefully controlled voice, but with deadly meaning.
His blood burned fire in his veins. He held himself under tight control until his rage cooled. To see Johnson pierced at the end of his sword would give him singular gratification. This was no man, but a rabid animal that dared to touch his wife. “Will you give me the pleasure, or will the world know you as a coward?”
“I will definitely give you pleasure. I would not think of disappointing you.” The stillness lay palpable, incongruent with the violence that festered within the room. Lucas pulled out his sword. “You will learn, Johnson, to leave what is mine alone.”
Johnson’s glower shifted from Lucas to Rachel. “I’ll take care of you after dispatch your lover.”
“Despite your air-tight secrecy to leave New York and other northern cities in ashes, your plans have turned into a sieve,” Lucas taunted then breathed a sigh of relief when Johnson lifted his sword from her neck. There would be hell to pay.
Calm, Johnson moved toward him, an air of madness about him. In the broad room, Lucas made two quick jabs with the point of his sword to provoke the man. Johnson laid back to attack, giving Rachel time to roll across the bed and dart behind him.
Johnson lunged, hoping to catch Lucas off guard. “You are a traitor. A swine. A proper threat would be to stuff your teeth down your throat.”
Lucas kicked the stool into Johnson’s shins. “Try it anytime,” Lucas mocked.
Johnson charged into direct attack. His cut and thrust rose brutal and severe, but Lucas dropped into a casual position and deflected each blow. For too long he’d been away from battle, but the bloodlust returned in rapid force. He cut and thrust and now started to weave the sword into a vicious dance of attacks, reaching deep and long on the inside, drawing blood from Johnson’s abdomen.
Johnson was no less skilled. His enemy was resolute and clever, but as their swords clashed over and over, Lucas sensed the weakness in Johnson’s arm. Lucas drove on with a quick series of thrusts, the fine steel of both blades clanging together then sliding to the hilt.
Time halted as Lucas stood nose to nose with Johnson, the swords crossed over their heads as every muscle labored. To pull out his gun and end the fight had appeal but then every Copperhead would hear the shot and be fierce to set upon them.
Sweat beaded at Johnson’s brow. The victory Johnson predicted for himself would not be easy for Lucas was battle conditioned. By brute strength, Lucas shoved him off.
Johnson growled, rushed at Lucas. In rebuttal, Lucas’ sword flashed fire as he answered Johnson’s tireless thrusts. He slashed his enemy’s shoulder, and another caught above his knee. Blood stained through Johnson’s pants and shirt. No room for error.
By some miracle, a slight breach emerged in Johnson’s jacket. Lucas lunged. Johnson fell back in surprise. The fine steel of Lucas’ blade pinned through his adversary’s black heart. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He advanced toward Lucas, stumbled then dropped his sword. He managed to hold his balance, clutching the sword piercing his chest. The coppery scent of his blood infused the air, and his eyes glazed as they stared at Rachel.
“I loved you, but you betrayed me.”
Lucas stepped back, withdrawing his sword. Johnson pitched forward, falling to the floor in a loud thud.
“He was a sick monster,” Rachel shuddered. “I’m glad you killed him. Now he can harm no more defenseless women.”
“I want to put as much distance between the rebels and us as possible.” Lucas wiped the blood free from his sword on Johnson’s jacket.
Rachel cried out and his head snapped up. Lieutenant Bowman held a gun to Rachel’s head. Another Rebel appeared. Lucas raised a brow. “Congressman Martin.” He nodded to the notable Washington politician.
“I see you’ve been busy, killing my half-brother,” said Bowman. “But it has gained me an additional prize. I can get rid of you finally, Colonel Rourke.”
“The game’s up,” Lucas smiled. “Your schemes are wasted.”
“Whatever are you prattling about?” said Bowman.
“As we speak, Federal detectives are arresting your men in New York, Chicago and Baltimore.”
“Impossible. How did you know?” Bowman shoved Rachel farther into the room, keeping his gun trained on her, the realization dawning. “Of course, courtesy of our dear Saint.”
“Of course,” Lucas answered casually. “Federal Detectives have known about these treasonous acts for some time now. They have been shadowing your men for twenty-four hours a day from the moment they entered the cities.”
“My God! It can’t be true,” cried Congressman Martin. “We are to be exposed. You know what this means?”
“Shut up,” said Bowman. “He’s bluffing. Our sentries would have warned us long ago of any approaching Union soldiers.”
