Forever His (50 page)

She was too tired to question what he meant about Agincourt, or why he was sitting in a chair.

“Does it hurt, Roussette?” he asked suddenly. “Are you in any pain from the surgery?”

The question cut through the clouds of confusion that clogged her thoughts. Everything came back in a flood. The bullet. The darkness. The pure white light that had beckoned to her. Then the other, glaring light ...

“No ...” It took her a moment to really assess how she felt. There was soreness, but not pain. More like uncomfortable muscle cramps than anything else. “I’m ... all right,” she said with surprise and relief. “Gaston, I ... had the strangest dream. There were ... doctors.”

“Nay, not a dream, Roussette.” He stood, still holding her hand as if reluctant to let go. “Do not move.”

“I’m not ... going anywhere.”

He released her hand for a second, long enough to go to the door and bellow into the hallway. “Ramsey! Arnaud! Thibault! She is awake!”

Before Celine knew what was happening, she was surrounded—by the same three men she had seen looming over her in the bright light.

Except that this time they were all grinning and clapping one another on the back, looking almost as tired as Gaston. And they weren’t wearing masks or aprons; they were dressed in simple medieval clothes.

“Well, my stubborn prize patient, how nice to see those pretty blue-gray eyes of yours again,” one of them said.

She recognized him as the Texan—though he wore a tunic and leggings and was speaking French this time.

“It was touch and go there for a while.” He lifted her hand. “But you’ve got more strength than any of us gave you credit for.”

“Except the Duc,” one of the others said, smiling at Gaston.

The Texan proceeded to check her pulse. “Nice and steady.” He nodded approvingly. “How do you feel? Do you know what year it is?”

“It’s ... 1300.”

“Excellent.” He bent down and gently lifted her eyelid with his thumb, peering closely at her. “I would ask you who the President is, but that doesn’t exactly apply in this situation, does it? How about identifying this man for me?” He gestured toward Gaston.

“Husband,” she said with a dreamy sigh that brought a round of masculine chuckles.

“Right again. Pupils are responsive. Speech seems reasonably clear.” He felt her forehead. “No fever.” He went to the foot of the bed, moved the covers aside, and brushed something—it felt like a small piece of wood—over the soles of her feet. “Can you feel that?”

“T-tickles,” she objected, wiggling her toes.

“Good.” He did it again. “Damn good.” Replacing the covers, he came back to her side, running a hand through his hair, grinning. “Nice to have you back, Mrs. Varennes. You’re not in a lot of pain, are you? The potion that Arnaud made up should take care of the worst of it, but it was a somewhat experimental synthesis. It’s hell working without a good centrifuge.”

She peered up at him, feeling more confused than ever, though her head had started to clear. “Who
are
you?”

Gaston moved in front of the man, reclaiming the seat next to her bed. “I fear this requires a long explanation, Roussette,” he said wearily, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

The other men pulled up chairs, and only then did she realize that there were several near the bed. Gaston hadn’t been the only one watching over her.

“Sorry there wasn’t time for introductions before, ma’am,” the Texan began. “My name is Dr. Carter Ramsey. From Dallas—”

“Dallas?”
she echoed incredulously, wondering if she was still dreaming.

“Dallas and Boston—Harvard Med School, class of 1982. My assistants here are what you might call ‘locals,’ though. Arnaud I believe you’ve met before.” He nodded toward the young man on his right. “And this is Thibault, one of my students from Agincourt.”

“You’re from 1982?” she repeated dazedly.

“Actually 1989,” Ramsey said. “But I suppose we should start at the beginning. You see, ma’am, your husband rather ingeniously took a few bits and pieces of what he knew about time-travel, and put them together into a theory—”

“That mayhap there were other people from the future who had come back in time,” Gaston explained. “And if, as Brynna’s father said in his writings, they were unable to return home, they would still be here. Trapped in this time.” He gazed down at her like he would never take his eyes from her again.

Celine felt dizzy trying to follow it all. “But ... how did you know ... where to find Dr. Ramsey?”

“In truth, milady, he came to me first,” Arnaud said. “When I treated his wounds after the joust, I cleansed them with wine to prevent infection. He noticed it at the time, but I evaded his questions. I had been sworn to secrecy. And I had no idea that
you
were from the future. Then four nights ago, the Duc came bursting into my chamber, demanding the truth.”

“Your husband believed that poor Arnaud was from the future,” Thibault supplied.

“And I had a most difficult time convincing him that I am not.” Arnaud slanted Gaston a wary glance.

“I apologize for breaking the door,” Gaston told him a bit sheepishly. “And for threatening you. And ... throwing you against the wall.”

“‘Twas understandable, milord.” Arnaud laughed. “When you were fighting to save the life of your lady.”

Gaston looked down at Celine again. “I rode to Tourelle’s chateau to find Arnaud, thinking I knew where he must have acquired such knowledge. But I was wrong. When I explained to him that you were from the future, and that you were dying ...” His voice choked out. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and opening them before he continued. “Once I told him of your injury, he broke his vow of secrecy and revealed where he had learned these methods—from a physician in Agincourt. A physician from 1989.”

“I’ve had to be very careful, as I’m sure you can appreciate, ma’am,” Ramsey took up the story again. “Just about everything I do could get me burned at the stake as a heretic—and I only learned that after making some very arrogant mistakes in the beginning.”

Looking at him, with his thick blond hair, green eyes, and broad shoulders, Celine found it easy to believe he might lean toward arrogance. But he seemed to be doing an excellent job of blending in. Dressed in those clothes, he appeared as medieval as every other man in the room. “But how ... how did you ... get here?”

“What’s a nice boy like me doing in a century like this?” He smiled ruefully. “I was on sabbatical in 1989, doing research at the Sorbonne in Paris. One night I was up late, pulling an all-nighter in the library, and I fell asleep over a journal article, while I was sitting at a table in front of a window. When I woke up ... I was still in the Sorbonne, and still in Paris, but it wasn’t 1989 anymore. It was 1296.”

He slumped a little lower in his chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “It took me a while to accept that, but once I did, I started to think of all the great things I could accomplish—all the people I could help. But the physicians in Paris just about ran me out of town on a rail. They weren’t exactly ready to embrace change. I was lucky to escape in one piece, and decided it might be smarter to keep a low profile. Agincourt is a nice little town, and for the past three years I’ve had a small, quiet practice there. I also pass along what I can to a few
very
carefully selected students.” He grinned at Thibault and Arnaud. “It’s frustrating having to be so secretive, but I manage to do some good here and there.”

“Can’t you ... get back?” she asked curiously.

“I’ve wondered that myself from the very beginning. But I’ve been having some interesting conversations with your husband and your friend Brynna, and I think my problem was that medical journal I fell asleep over. It came back in time with me, and like I said, I was a little arrogant at first. Thought I would single-handedly save the medieval world. I showed the magazine to the physicians’ guild, trying to get them to believe I was from 1989, and they confiscated it. I’ve never seen it again.” He shrugged. “According to Brynna, that means I’m stuck here for good.”

“Are there ... others?” Celine murmured. “Like us?”

“Plenty, if your mystic friend is right. But you’re the first I’ve met. Apparently, some make it home. And the others—at least the smart ones, the ones who survive—would learn pretty quick to fit in and keep quiet. We don’t exactly have a secret handshake or a password or anything, so there’s really no way to tell.”

“But if some ... return, why ... hadn’t I ever heard of ... time-travel before?”

Ramsey shook his head. “Maybe we did hear of it and just never believed it. Would anyone in the cynical twentieth century listen to some crackpot who claimed he had traveled to the past and returned to tell the tale? Sounds like something for the supermarket tabloids.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But think of all the people reported missing every year. All those episodes of
Unsolved Mysteries
. The faces on milk cartons. The people who vanish in the Bermuda Triangle. Maybe not all of them were victims of crimes or tragic accidents. Maybe some of them fell through windows into the past. Like we did.”

Celine nodded, feeling worn out, all of it spinning through her head.

“But it looks like we’ve tired you out, ma’am. You should get some sleep.” Dr. Ramsey stood up, along with his students. “We’ll stick around for a few days and make sure everything’s okay. And we should start you on some physical therapy exercises as soon as possible, to strengthen the muscles in your back. But I think I can safely predict that you’re going to make a full recovery.”

Gaston rose and grasped the man’s forearm. “I am in your debt, Ramsey, more than all the wealth in the world could repay. If there is aught that you need, aught that you would ask, it is yours.”

The doctor seemed to consider Gaston’s offer for a moment. “Can’t think of anything, but I’ll keep that in mind. It never hurts to have a
duc
on your side. For now, though ...” He grinned. “The expression on your face when you look at your wife is payment enough, milord.”

“But if ever you have need of assistance—”

“I’ll be knocking on your door.”

Arnaud and Thibault offered their best wishes and filed out, but Ramsey stopped at the door. “Oh, almost forgot.” He withdrew something from his tunic, walked back, and handed it to Celine. “You might like to have this. And you might need it someday.”

She peered at the object curiously: a little flask made of clear glass, with a cork stopper, and inside it was ...

A dark bit of metal. No larger than the tip of the fingernail of her pinkie.

“That’s ... the bullet fragment?” she breathed, barely able to believe that something so tiny could have wreaked such havoc in her life.

“That’s it. And if your friend Brynna is right, you’ll need that to get home, whenever the next eclipse—that is ...” He glanced uncomfortably at Gaston. “If you ... uh—”

“You have my thanks, Ramsey.” Gaston escorted him out. “For all you have done.”

When the door closed and they were alone once more, Gaston remained where he was for a moment, then came and sat in his chair again. They both looked at the small flask that lay between them.

“Next eclipse?” she asked softly.

“Aye,” he said gently. “Roussette, you missed the dark of the moon. It happened two days past, when you were yet asleep.”

Celine didn’t have any reaction at first. All she could think was that it seemed strange, to hear him say that the night they had focused all their hopes and energies on for so long was past, and she had missed it. And she felt ...

Glad.

“It’s all right,” she assured him.

“Nay, it is not.” He glared down at the little flask. “Brynna tells me that there will be another dark of the moon, at midsummer. Roussette, it ...” He paused, swallowing hard. “Once, I asked you to return home and then come back to me, but it is another matter to ask you to stay forever. You would never see your family again. Never see your home.”

She lifted her eyes from the flask and gazed up at him with all the love in her heart. “I
am
home.”

He looked away. “You are tired. And confused by this potion Ramsey has given you. I cannot ask you to decide now. You have not thought of all you will miss. All the wondrous—”

“I
am
home,” she repeated firmly, remembering what she had told him once: that love was the only thing strong enough to build a future on. Not land or power or wealth.

And not electricity or cars or central air.

Love
.

She took his hand, laced her fingers through his. “My home is with you. Now ... tomorrow ... forever.”

Despite his exhaustion, the smile he gave her made him look more handsome than she had ever seen him. With their joined hands, he knocked the flask aside, sending it rolling out of the way. And then he kissed her, very, very gently.

C
eline decided to keep the Cubs hat. She wore it now, her long hair swept up beneath it, as moonlight streamed in through the window of the upstairs guest chamber, a shimmer of cool silver in the July warmth. The cap was one of her favorites, and besides, summer always made her think of baseball.

Few of her other belongings had sentimental value. Celine felt nothing but happy and lighthearted as she quickly handed over the last few items, one by one. There were only minutes left until the eclipse.

“Here’s my wallet. It has all my ID in it, and my credit cards—Mother never let me leave home without them. There’s a couple thousand francs in cash you can use, if you need to. And here’s the letter I wrote to my family, explaining everything. I’m sure they’re grieving and hopeless by now and I just have to let them know I’m all right.”

She handed over the folded parchment, sealed with wax that was stamped with Gaston’s lion crest.

“They’ll recognize my handwriting,” she continued. “If they have any doubts, they can always have it examined by an expert and compared with samples that they have. And my sister’s contacts at the university should be able to test the paper and ink with carbon dating or whatever. Once they do that, there shouldn’t be any doubt that you’re telling the truth. And here’s the guidebook. I know the lettering doesn’t make much sense to you, but there are some good maps in case you somehow get lost—but don’t get lost.”