Forever His (36 page)

She put the hat on and faced him with an ecstatic grin. “See? Fits perfectly. My name is Celine Fontaine, buster, and I’m from 1993!”

He didn’t smile. He was still standing near the door, unmoving, looking at her with that dazed expression. Like someone who had just been run over by a car.

“Gaston?” Celine’s smile faded. She hadn’t realized, until that very second, what finding her purse really meant. She would be all right. She would be going home.

But she would also be leaving Gaston.

And he wasn’t saying a word. No emotion. No regrets about her leaving, or the way he had doubted her for so long. Nothing.

“Gaston ... you do believe me, don’t you?”

“I believe you,” he said quietly, still looking at her in a way someone might look at a three-eyed, green alien that had just landed in a flying saucer. “I ... examined the contents of the strange pouch before I brought it to you. There is no other explanation but that you ... are from the future.”

His voice was hollow, almost wooden. She had never heard him talk that way before. She left her purse where it was and moved toward him. “Are you all right?”

“We have to leave here,” he said abruptly, walking away before she could reach him. “I will ... take you back to my chateau. That is what you wish, is it not? That is the only way you can return ... home?”

“Yes.” She stopped in the middle of the chamber, still wearing her Cubs hat. “Yes, everything I told you was true. I’ve got a bullet fragment in my back. I have to have surgery to remove it, so I’ve got to return to my time. The next eclipse is in just a few weeks. And it’ll work this time. I’m going to be all right. I ... I can go home.” The confusing mix of relief and regret and sadness she felt left her shaking.

“Then we shall leave at once.” He stopped before the hearth, looking down at the crackling flames. “But I must warn you that the journey will be dangerous. Tourelle will be searching for us—and I do not wish to take my men with us. I would leave them here, to protect Avril.”

“Yes,” she agreed dazedly. “Yes, of course. I’m sure we’ll be fine on our own. I’m ...” She spun around and looked at the small pile of things she had dumped on the bed. One was a new travel guidebook,
Chateaux of the Artois Region
, that she had picked up while shopping with her sister, Jackie, a few days before New Year’s Eve. “In fact, we might not have to wonder. I might be able to tell you right now what happens.”

He shot her an annoyed glance. “If you know what will happen in the future between me and Tourelle, why did you not tell me before?”

She grabbed the brightly colored paperback. “Because I didn’t have my purse. And
I
don’t know what’s going to happen—but this might.” She flipped to the page that described her family’s chateau. “Here it is. Manoir La Fontaine ... it probably mentions you in here somewhere. Maybe it’ll talk about what happened with you and Tourelle.”

She scanned the small print, weighing whether it was wise to tell someone of his own future. Especially someone as headstrong and reckless as Gaston. But she could not bear to see him worry needlessly, not if she could reassure him that everything was going to be okay.

“Here you are,” she said, reading. “It mentions that you were one of the original owners of the chateau ... and that you were married, and it says here that—” Her voice choked. “Uh-oh.” Her fingers gripped the book as she read it again. “Oh, no. Oh, my God,
what have we done?
”

“W
hat do you mean?” Gaston demanded, walking over to her from the hearth. “What is it we have done?”

Celine didn’t look up at him. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the book, from the painful words spelled out in inescapable black and white.

“What does it say?” Gaston asked impatiently, looking  over her shoulder. “Has it aught to do with Tourelle? Tell me the truth of it—even if it is the worst.”

“No, it’s ... it’s not the worst at all. There isn’t anything here about Tourelle.” Celine flipped to the index in the back of the guidebook, her heart beating strangely. “He apparently wasn’t important enough to merit a mention ... his name isn’t even listed.”

“Then what does it say about me?”

Celine didn’t want to tell him. She wished she had never thought of looking in the damned book. The black ink dots swam dizzily before her eyes, but she couldn’t lie about what they said. “It ... it isn’t so much what it says about you. It’s what it says about your ... family.” Her voice shaking, she read the section aloud. ‘Seldom did the chroniclers of the medieval period record the names of—’ ”

“The ‘medieval period’?”

Celine glanced at him. “The Middle Ages. The time between the Dark Ages and the Renaissance—your time. I’ll explain it to you later.” She started reading again. “ ‘Seldom did the chroniclers of the medieval period record the names of women, who were not seen to be as important as men when it came to the matter of making history—’ ”

“As indeed they are not.”

“Would you please stop interrupting?” she snapped. “ ‘Seldom ...’ Oh, to heck with it. I’ve read that three times already. Here’s the important part: ‘... and that is the case with the wife of Sir Gaston de Varennes. History has recorded her only as Lady R, but the couple provides one of the most interesting and little-known footnotes in this period in the Artois region. Not for their own accomplishments, but for that of their son, Soren, who saved the life of King Philippe VI, founder of the Valois dynasty, in a bold maneuver at the Battle of Cassel in 1328...’ ” She let the book slide from her trembling fingers. It fell onto the pile of her things on the bed. “That ... that’s all it says about you. It goes on to talk about how important the Valois dynasty was.”

When Gaston didn’t say anything, she looked at him.

He was standing there with a peculiar expression on his face. “I am going to have a son?” he murmured. He started to grin. “Not only a son ... but a
bold
son.”

“Don’t you get it?” Celine choked out. “You’re supposed to have that son with Lady R. Doesn’t that ring a bell? Lady
Rosalind
. You’re supposed to marry Lady Rosalind!”

Gaston’s smile faded and his dark eyes locked with hers. “But that is impossible. The King will never grant me an annulment, now that we have—”

“Exactly! That’s just it. We’ve changed history—I mean the future. I mean ...” She raised a hand to her forehead. “Oh, God, I don’t know
what
I mean anymore. But we’ve changed what was supposed to happen. If you can’t marry Lady Rosalind, your son will never be born. Which means King Philippe VI might
die
in that battle, and the Valois dynasty might never be founded, which will alter the entire course of history.” She sank down onto the bed, mortified by the impact of it. “Everything will change because of what we did last night.”

One small event, one night, one moment in each other’s arms that had seemed so
right
. Like it was meant to be. But that single fragment of time touched dozens of others.

No Valois dynasty. What else might change? The French explorers who had helped open up the New World? The fact that the French had lent the Americans a big hand during the Revolutionary War? France’s own Revolution a few years later? Different kings, a different dynasty ... a different future.

With a groan, she leaned over, propping her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands. “We’ve got to undo what we did. Before it’s too late. You’ve got to marry Rosalind.”

“Milady, lest you have any illusions on it,” Gaston said sarcastically, “allow me to inform you that it is not possible to undo what we did last night.”

“But maybe it will work out all right, anyway.” Celine spoke into her palms, utterly miserable. “I mean, I’ll be gone. Maybe you could just marry Rosalind after I disappear.”

“Nay, the Church will still consider us wed. It will not matter that you are missing. I will be unable to remarry anyone.”

“You’re kidding.” She lifted her head, blinking in disbelief. “Couldn’t you have me declared dead? Or just divorce me?”

“Are marriages so easily undone in your time?” he asked with a disapproving frown. “Nay, wife, here in what your chronicler called ‘the medieval period,’ we have laws. There is but one way to dissolve our marriage—by annulment. It must first be granted by the King, then confirmed by his good friend the Bishop of Paris. Without an annulment, it truly shall be till death do us part.”

Celine groaned again, hid her face, tried to think.

“In truth,” Gaston continued slowly, “the matter is worse yet than that. When you return to your time, I will no doubt be accused of causing your disappearance. Tourelle will claim that I killed you and disposed of the body. He will not have to go to the trouble of murdering me—the King will give him what he seeks. I will be forced to forfeit all I own.”

“No!” Celine shook her head and stood up, fists clenched. “I won’t let that happen. We can’t let any of this happen! We ... we’ll have to get an annulment before I leave.”

“But that is im—”

“There’s no evidence!” She gestured to the fireplace. “Who knows about what happened last night, other than the two of us? Unless you have been downstairs boasting to your men about—”

“Celine,” he said warningly.

She turned her back and paced away from him, not letting herself enjoy the fact that he was finally calling her by her real name. There wasn’t time. “Fine. So you haven’t told anyone. And I haven’t told anyone. No one knows but the two of us. We’ll just ... we’ll have to pretend that last night didn’t happen. Act as if nothing has changed between us. And get an annulment.”

“You mean to lie? To the King? To
everyone?
”

She spun around to face him. “I can live with one lie if it means saving the entire future!”

“And why would the King suddenly grant me an annulment?” Gaston leaned a brawny shoulder against one of the bedposts, folding his arms over his chest. “When he has so adamantly refused thus far?”

“He would believe
that
, wouldn’t he?” She pointed to her purse and the jumble of her belongings on the bed. “Once we prove that I’m not Christiane, and explain everything, he would have to let you get an annulment and marry Rosalind. Especially if it means saving a future king. One of his own heirs.”

Gaston tensed his jaw. “Aye,” he said with a slow nod. “He is at heart a reasonable man. I believe he would agree to it.”

Celine folded her arms over her chest, in imitation of him, trying to steady herself and her voice. “Then that’s what we’ll have to do.”

“The King is in Paris.” His gaze captured hers. “It will cost us five days at least to travel that far south of my chateau. Have you ... have we that long?”

“According to what Brynna said, the next eclipse is still six weeks away.”

“You are certain?”

“Believe me,” she said shakily, “I wouldn’t want to take a chance of missing it. I’ve been keeping track of the days.”

He kept staring at her. “We will still have Tourelle to think of. He will be searching for us. I had planned to take lesser-used roads to avoid him.”

“Then we’ll just have to ride as fast as we can. Day and night if necessary.”

“But that will place too great a strain on you.” A muscle flexed in his beard-darkened cheek. “And on this injury you have in your back.”

“It’s a risk I’ll have to take,” she insisted quietly, dropping her gaze, unwilling to let herself believe that what she saw in his eyes and heard in his voice was concern. “I can’t think just about myself. I can’t go home knowing I’ve mangled history. Who knows
what
my time might be like if everything changed because of what I ... because of what we did.”

“And you will leave me here to wed Lady Rosalind?”

Celine glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. She wasn’t sure what answer he expected. Or why he had even asked that question. She had to leave. And he couldn’t go with her to the twentieth century. She couldn’t believe the thought had even crossed his mind.

She considered blurting out the complete truth: that he was going to fall in love with Rosalind, so much so that one day he would carve her initial with his above every door in his castle. Gaston and his Lady R were going to have not only a bold son, but
love
. A legendary love. The kind of love people would still be talking about centuries later.

The kind of love Gaston did not and never would feel for her.

Fighting tears, unable to say any of it, she shrugged. “I don’t see that I have any choice. I’m sure you’ll be very—” Her voice broke, but she wrestled it back under control. “—happy married to Rosalind. You’ll forget me before you know it.”

That muscle in his cheek flexed again. “You can say that, after what happened in this bed last night?”

Celine felt her composure slipping. “Can we please not talk about that anymore?” she asked a bit too quickly. “In fact, I think it would be better if we just declare the entire subject off limits. And we should probably think about taking some escorts with us when we leave, in case it’s necessary ... t-to prove ... to have witnesses that we didn’t—”

“To verify our lie that we have not touched each other?”

Celine felt her cheeks burning. “Right.”

“Fear not, milady,” he said sardonically. “None will ever guess our secret. I will leave my men here to guard Avril, but Etienne can accompany us, and young Remy. They shall be escort enough.”

“Then we’re agreed,” she said lightly, crossing to the bed to put her things back in her purse. “We’ll do what we have to do.”

He stood watching her for a long moment, intent and silent, before he echoed softly, “We will do what we have to do.”

***

“Milady, Sir Gaston will have my head for this,” Etienne whispered plaintively, pacing the room. “And whatever else is left of me after he finishes beating me to a pulp.”

“Don’t worry, Etienne. I told you, he’ll understand after I explain it to him.”

Celine rubbed her arms, feeling a chill, though the room they had been shown into was quite warm, with a fire blazing on its huge hearth. The keep, larger than any she had yet seen, was everything Avril had said it would be.