Love Entwined (20 page)

The château was on fire.

He ran, ignoring Jacqueline’s call.

Men were milling about the château, shouting and carrying torches. There must be at least thirty of them. They were on horseback, riding through the gardens, setting fire to the gazebo, the rose bushes.

Shouts and sounds of breaking glass followed torturous screams, which reached them even this far across the green.

“No! Margaux!” She ran past him, but he scooped her off her feet, muffling her hysterical wails with his free hand.

“
Maman
! Papa!”

He dragged her behind a row of plane trees bordering the lawn. They were shielded from view as the large leafy branches of the trees grew into each other.

Watching the mob, he held her. She beat against him, trying to get away.

The entire first floor of the château was ablaze.

“Damn the whoresons!” He had a pistol, but he would not get all of them. They would be on him by the time he fired the first shot.

Their time had run out. Poor Claude and Simone, and Margaux, only eighteen, and all the servants who had been hurrying and packing to get away in time.

Jacqueline sobbed inconsolably as she stared across the green. He turned her face away from her burning home. Her family was gone.

They sank down in grief onto the grass beneath the concealing trees. If she had not left the château and he had not gone looking for her…

“I am so sorry, my love, so sorry.”

Sorry for not taking you away sooner, sorry your family has died this way. I should have known this would happen…

There were no more screams now. Noxious smoke and the smell of charred wood drifted down to them on the breeze.

The mob was moving away, heaping angry, drunken curses on the heads of the upper class as they ran through the trees.

He waited until the mob’s ranting faded and then he lifted Jacqueline in his arms and started across the green.

* * * *

The heat from the blaze reached them in the gardens. “Stay here,” Roman placed her on the stone bench by the statue of Venus in a far corner away from the smoke.

“I cannot.”

“You don’t want to see this, my heart.”

“I must.”

They walked, his arm around her shoulders, into the courtyard.

Her eyes stung with acrid smoke, which hovered like some nightmarish mist around them.

A footman lay dead, sprawled across the path. Roman blocked her view of the body as they gave it wide berth around a fountain.

She broke away from him and ran to Isabelle, who lay on her back, sightless eyes staring up into the darkening sky.

She kneeled over her childhood friend and pulled the ripped skirt over Isabelle’s legs. The mob had ravaged Isabelle.

She passed her hand over Isabelle’s face and closed her eyes. Cries wracked her body as she prayed for the souls of her family and friends. She prayed for all of France and for the end of this devastation to her homeland.

Roman lifted her and they walked on, staring into the jaws of a hell she would never have believed in days ago.

The entire mansion was consumed now. Windows on the second floor balconies exploded. The fire within leaped up into the purple haze of the twilight sky, it’s serpentine tendrils hungry and searching, as if the devil himself had come to Asnières-Sur-Seine. The heat was too intense and they backed away and skirted the perimeter of the blackened stone walls of the château.

Two coachmen were dead in the stables. All the horses were gone.

Serge lay still, face down in a pool of blood.

“He had been supervising the loading of trunks and cases onto the coach…” Though it was evident from his grievous injuries Serge must surely be gone, Roman checked for a pulse. Jacqueline turned away when he shook his head.

The coach was gone, along with their possessions. There was no sign of anyone else. They must have all been in the château, her parents, Margaux, the cook, the maids, everyone.

“We must leave now, my love.” Spyglass flames danced in his eyes, a parody of the roaring fire engulfing her home. His eyes widened.

She was drawn once more to the conflagration. Two red, glowing eyes stared at her through the flames above the chateau. The dragon’s roar shook the ground beneath their feet.

Roman pulled her behind his back.

“
Mon dieu
.” She had to see it again and came to his side, clutching him.

He would not take his eyes off the fire. After a while he said, “It is the framework. It is collapsing. We must leave now.”

She stared at him. Had he seen the dragon’s eyes? She could not think anymore. She leaned against him, whispering her goodbyes to her family and friends.

Her last glimpse of
Maman
was in her bedroom.
Maman
had complained about leaving her home under the circumstances while she and her maid Clara packed linens; she always traveled with her own. Papa had been in his study gathering important documents.

She looked toward the study window, a fiery hole, and a vision of him sitting with her and reading his history books passed before her eyes. She could hear Papa recounting a story of the Egyptian pyramids he visited as a young man.

Margaux had been so worried for
her
future, and now it was she who did not have one. Tears started anew. There would be no fairytale marriage to Marchese Falco for sweet Margaux now.

Why? Her head ached with the senseless cruelty of it.

“Don’t.” He grabbed her arm.

She had taken several steps toward the château. She turned to Roman, whose features were a fierce mask of hate as he stared into the flames.

He met her gaze and the fury in his eyes softened. He kissed her. “I am your family, my love. I am your home.”

He took her hand and they turned their backs on the inferno and walked slowly out of the courtyard.

Asnières-Sur-Seine, France – July 15, 1789

Roman held Jacqueline in his arms.

They had walked a mile through the Comte’s land when she stumbled and leaned against him, weighed down by her heavy skirts. She had protested at first, but he lifted her and continued down the road. She had fallen asleep immediately.

Once he saw a light through the trees and went up the roadside to see if he might find help. The heavy smoke hit him first. Its blackness shimmered, separating it from the night in a final and ominous curtain. In the distance was the burning shell of another estate. The eerily quiet grounds were in ruins.

Thank God, Jacqueline was spared the sight. She must have known these people who were her closest neighbors.

He turned back to the road and continued his march, staying close to the trees in case they encountered another band of marauders.

The men at the château had traveled in the opposite direction away from the city, where the Swiss Guard would have been dispatched from base to the surrounding counties. He had hoped to run into the Swiss Guard, but had seen no sign of them yet. They were alone on these death roads of Asnières-Sur-Seine.

There was a light on the road ahead, and it was coming closer.

He could make out a wagon and a team of horses. As it drew near, he saw a shock of red hair in the wagon’s lamplight.

Moving to the center of the road, he waited for the wagon to catch up to them.

“Captain, what in hell’s name has happened!” Dutch reined in the horses. The stallions were lathered and huffing for breath. They must have been driven non-stop into the country.

Jamie, a strapping young mate, jumped down from the perch and ran over to them holding his arms out.

“The rebels attacked the château,” Roman would not give up his precious burden, but walked toward the wagon. “They set it afire.”

“I knew there was trouble afoot. You should have returned to the ship hours ago.” The horses danced in agitation and Dutch worked to get them under control.

Jamie jumped atop the wagon and helped him lay Jacqueline down in the back.

“It’s just the two of you, then?” Dutch asked.

Roman climbed up and laid Jacqueline’s head in his lap. He passed his hand over his forehead and it came away blackened with soot. “They killed her family, the servants. Everyone.”

Dutch shook his head. “Thank God, Captain, thank God you’re alive.” He turned to Jamie. “Blankets, lad, and water.”

* * * *

They arrived at the Paris docks in the dead of night. The lookout sounded their arrival and the crew on deck came to meet them.

“Charlie, tell the Swiss Guard what has occurred at the Château de Vaujours. Be quick about it. We’ll cast off as soon as you return.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” The gofer went for his mount.

Roman went to his cabin below decks. He kicked open the door and laid Jacqueline on the bed.

Jamie brought in a basin of water, cloths, and a bar of lavender soap from the hold. The young man glanced at Jacqueline sleeping on the bed, the first woman to set foot on the ship, before he closed the door behind him.

Roman dipped the cloth into the basin and rubbed soap into it. He wiped Jacqueline’s face. She did not stir, but remained in a deep, healing slumber.

He would let her sleep. They should be underway by the time she woke. The sooner they left this hellish place, the better.

The Raven, the English Channel – July 16, 1789

She rode Anouk along the banks of the Seine.

The wind lifted the fringed hem of her white lawn dress. Ahead of her, Margaux coaxed Tatiana into a gallop. The bells on the Arabian’s gold tassels tinkled as she surged ahead. The horse snorted in excitement.

Margaux’s thick, dark hair waved in the wind. Her trilling laughter drifted back to Jacqueline on the breeze as she widened the gap between them…

Jacqueline came back to awareness in a gentle rocking motion. She lay with her eyes closed, soothed by the sensation of being cradled in the arms of the ship, and wanting the dream to go on forever.

When she stretched, the covering slipped off the bed and only then did she acknowledge her conscious state. She opened her eyes and leaned up on her elbows.

She was on a large bed, which was chained to the wall and covered with furs. Iron lanterns hung at each end of the bed and swayed to and fro.

The shadowed cabin was too large to be called cozy, but it felt that way. Bolts of bright silk stood against the walls. Lengths of it hung from iron rings in the ceiling.

Several crates were stacked in one corner and in the other was a large desk and chair. Metal instruments and well-worn leather bound books were stacked high on the desk, along with a lone engraved pewter mug.

A woven map of the world covered the wall opposite the bed. Huge wedges of faraway places she had dreamed of. Painted flat, they gave the impression you could leave one life’s pain behind by simply stepping from one country to another.

No, it was much too late for that.

She knelt on the bed and looked out of the nearest portal. The sky and ocean were a seamless hue, dull as her aching heart and stretching as far as she could see. The depths were only distinguishable by the movement of the tranquil slate gray waves. As the waves swelled and rolled past the ship, yesterday came crashing back into her mind.

She had hoped it was all a nightmare, that it hadn’t really happened, but her heart was covered in the blackest shroud.
Maman
, Papa, Margaux…

Heavy boots sounded on the stairs. When the door opened, she turned.

Roman held a tray with covered dishes. His eyes caressed her as he set the tray down on the desk. He removed his coat, placing it on a hook on the wall. He gathered her in his arms and her sobs wracked them both.

“I killed them. They died because of me.”

He pulled her up. “Don’t say that. It was a senseless act by desperate people.”

“Did you see the dragon’s eyes?”

He looked out the portal. She put a hand on his cheek and stared into his eyes. “Please, tell me.”

“It was the fire, my love. And we were in shock.”

She watched the gray waves roll outside the portal. “Yes. The fire dragon of my dreams.”

He stiffened beside her, and she hugged him. “My father has…had writings from the East that spoke of reincarnated souls. Do you believe that is possible?”

“You are not responsible.”

His non-answer prompted her to blurt out her nightmares of the high priestess and her sacrifices to the fire dragon. She could not bring herself to tell him of the high priestess’s consort whom she knew to be Lord Alsborough.

She could not speak anymore and he put his chin atop her head. “Where are the rubies?”

“In the fire.” Her cries softly muffled against his chest.

“We are away from that godforsaken place now. You are safe.”

When she quieted, he brought the tray over. He poured her a steaming mug of chocolate.

She sipped it gingerly and watched him take off his boots. He sat back on the bed, his long legs hanging over the edge. She welcomed the silence as he fed her eggs and toast. He must know that she did not want to talk anymore. When she’d eaten enough, he stood.

“Where are you going?”

“The galley.” He looked down at her hand, which gripped his wrist.

She loosened her hold but he covered her hand with his and sat down next to her. “You are safe now, my love, never doubt it.” His kiss was as tender as his promise. “I will return soon.”

She was left alone with her bleak thoughts. She walked around the room, fingering the fabrics in the corner, reading the titles of the volumes on shipbuilding and navigation, weather almanacs. There was a book in which the only writing was symbols, some foreign language.

There was a knock on the door. “Jacqueline, are you dressed?”

“
Oui
.”

Roman hung several garments up on a hook in the corner. Two mates carried in a large copper tub, and stealing glances at her, placed it in the center of the room, along with towels, soap and shampoo. Steam rose as they filled the tub with water.

“
Merci, messieurs
.”