My Own True Love (36 page)

"Don't push it," the ring complained as it complied.

"Gypsy signs, indeed," Sara said, standing in the center of the crossroads outside the village where Beth had stolen the bread. "Secret ways known to but a few. Ha!"

"They are secret ways known to but a few," the ring replied. "You and me. We have to mark them all the way to the outskirts of Paris. Shall we get started?"

"Mark them with what?" Sara asked. Then she laughed, remembering that the trail signs she'd found had all been scraps of red cloth. She hadn't noticed at the time that the cloth was cotton knit T-shirt material. She shook her head. "I took so much for granted." She fingered the hem of the shirt she wore.

"Good thing this is really big, or I'd be naked by the time we get to Paris. I'll take a pair of scissors," she told the ring. "No way am I going to try to tear this stuff with my teeth."

She fastened bits of her clothing at a dozen stops between the crossroads and the village of Nanterre, preparing the way for the caravan to follow. Once in the clearing where the Borava would eventually make their camp she sat down on a tree stump, cradled her chin on her fist, and considered her next move.

"Custine," she said, remembering the handsome, red-haired French officer. She stood, and before she could blink she was standing inside the chateau where she'd nearly found herself in bed with Custine.

She ducked behind a heavy velvet curtain as she heard people approaching. She pressed herself against the window glass, and noticed that it was a beautiful, moonlit night on the other side of the pane.

She peeked cautiously from behind her cover to watch a half dozen liveried servants carrying silver dishes toward the dining room. The sound of guitar music played in the distance. Tempting aromas lingered in the hallway after the servants had gone. She guessed that the kitchen wasn't too far away.

"Come to think of it, I did end up in bed with Custine," she recalled. She edged out from behind the curtain, and listened to the distant music. "That's my playing."

"Correct."

"This is the party I entertained at?"

"I thought that would be obvious."

Maybe it should have been, but it wasn't. She wasn't going to argue about it. She had to hurry; the music had stopped. Even now Custine was taking Sara outside to fool around in the garden. Lewis and the ring were stealing the brooch. Custine was going to notice the light in the window and want to investigate. Sara was going to be desperate to create a diversion and only one thing was going to come to mind. Soon she and Custine would go upstairs.

"No way am I—she?—me, going to sleep with him!"

"Then you'd better do something fast."

An oil lamp burned in a gilded bracket near where she stood, and the kitchen was nearby. Sara remembered the house fire and went to take the lamp from its holder. The oil was going to come in useful for helping to spread a fire from the kitchen to the rest of the mansion.

Sara rubbed her hands in satisfaction once she was certain that the blaze would spread throughout the lower floor of the building. She stood outside in the shadow of the stables and looked back at the house while servants shouted in alarm. "1 don't remember hearing about anybody getting hurt. Nobody does, right?"

"No. Everyone will be fine."

"Good, let's go." The ring made no move to transport her away. Sara shook her hand. "Time's wasting. Come on. We need to get to Bororavia and get the rebels organized."

"You're sure you want to leave so soon?"

"I want to get this over with," she said in exasperation. "I have to get back to Lewis."

"Well, all right. If you wish to let the guitar be destroyed I have to obey you."

"What are you talking about? Of course I don't want to get the guitar destroyed."

"You left it in the chateau."

"Yeah, but Lewis found it for me." She gave a fond smile as she remembered waking after they'd escaped the blaze to find Lewis smiling as he gave her her guitar.

"True, Lewis did find it," the ring told her. "But where?"

A frown replaced her smile as she thought about what the ring had said. "You mean he didn't go back to brave the flames for me?"

"For the guitar, you mean. He did go back to save you, but asking him to go back for the instrument was a bit much on your part."

"He didn't?"

"No."

"Oh." So much for that romantic gesture. At least Lewis would be making enough romantic gestures in the time between the fire and the firing squad to make up for bending the truth a bit tonight. Sara started back toward the burning building. "Let's go get the guitar."

Once she'd left the instrument leaning against a tree by the path back to the camp she gave a cackle of laughter and said to the ring, "The Emerald City— Bororavia—as fast as lightning!"

"I in no way resemble a broomstick," the ring said as she materialized outside the door to Mikal's silver shop. "Even if you do bear a striking resemblance to the Wicked Witch of the—"

"Can it." She interrupted the ring's complaint and walked into the shop, then strode purposefully upstairs. Mikal, Alze, and several others were gathered in what was going to become a schoolroom.

"I'm Sara," she announced when they looked up in surprise. She came forward. She picked up a quill from the table, dipped it in ink, and wrote a slogan in large letters on a piece of paper. The men stared while she stuck the paper onto a nail in the wall. "What we have to do," she said, turning back to the wide-eyed gathering, "is educate our kids, train them for jobs, get rid of the outdated tax structure, reorganize the military and health-care systems, and overthrow the mad duke. Let's get started. Any questions?"

It took her a while to get them to listen to her, then act on her ideas. Eventually she said to Mikal, "I'll be back."

Then she said, "Hit it," to the ring, and found herself in a familiar hallway in the nursery section of the palace. She blinked dizzily, and put her hand against the wall for support. "Rough landing," she said. She heard a door open across the hall from her.

"Sara!" Denise called out as she looked up. The governess hurried to her. "Are you feeling well?"

Sara straightened and gave her friend a reassuring smile. "I'm fine."

"What an odd costume," Denise said as she stepped back to look at her. "Do you have to play at one of the duke's silly midnight masquerades?"

"Yes," Sara agreed quickly. "Yes, I do."

"What a shame. You must be tired. And I was looking forward to a chat with you over warm cocoa."

Sara smiled. "But we couldn't have the chat, anyway," she told Denise. At the other woman's curious look she went on. "Stefan stopped me as I came up to change," she extemporized. "He asked me to ask you to meet him on the roof."

"The roof? Are you sure you heard him correctly?"

Sara gave her skeptical friend a conspiratorial smile. "Oh, yes. I think he wants to have you alone for once. You two hardly ever have a chance for a little private romance."

Denise nodded slowly. "That is true. The roof." A smile lit her violet-blue eyes. "How wickedly improper. I'll fetch my cloak."

"Good," Sara said once she was alone in the hall. "Lewis now has someone to help him find me. I don't have to worry about him getting caught. What was he doing on the roof, anyway?"

"Walking a very fine line," the ring answered. "A cold, dangerous one. Let's get out of here, shall we?"

She knew the ring wasn't going to explain any further. She'd ask Lewis when she saw him again.

"Anything else? Are all the loose ends tied up now?"

"All anomalies now accounted for," the ring answered.

"Great. Get me back to Lewis," she ordered.

"Not quite yet."

Before she could ask she was back in Mala's tent at the Renaissance Faire. She looked like her twentieth-century self again.

"What the—!"

"Just one more little thing." The ring cut off her protest. "You have to go back to the body you left at the execution."

"Of course I do," she agreed. "I've got a kid to look after."

"So this Sara has to be left behind again."

Sara sat down on the piled pillows. "What happens to this body when I go back? What happens to me?" she asked, remembering that she was the person she was leaving behind. "You've been through this all before," she realized. "You know."

"I know that you and Lewis live happily ever after. At least you'll grow happily old together and be smothered in many grandchildren. Then—"

"Yes?" she prompted.

"Sara and Lewis Morgan will fade into legend. You will wake up at the Renaissance Faire."

"In this body?"

"Yes."

"Then what? Will she—I—think it was all a dream?"

"No. You'll remember."

"But . . . What about Lewis? I want to be with Lewis."

"Your own true love, you mean?" -

"Yeah. The guy back at the firing squad."

"You will find your own true love again." For once the ring sounded serious instead of sarcastic.

"Don't worry. It's meant to be. Speaking of the firing squad," it added, "we'd better go."

******************

It was a futile protective gesture. She was already dead.

He could sense no spirit animating her small, delicate form. One moment she had been smiling into his eyes; then everything that made her Sara flicked away, like a candle being carelessly blown out. He cursed the inefficiency of the executioners who had left him to suffer even a few moments without her.

He heard the commander shout the order to reload.

In the distance other voices shouted. Many voices. The cobblestones beneath him rumbled with the echo of many running feet. Lewis, vision strained with tears, looked up as a mob roared into the square before the palace. Some members of the mob halted, raising British-made rifles to aim at the firing squad.

Shots rang out; gun smoke filled the morning air. The soldiers, still reloading, were instantly overwhelmed.

Lewis saw Beng and Mikal and Captain Rudeseko in the forefront of the triumphant crowd. The palace guard appeared, not to put down the riot, but to join it. The mercenaries left in the square ran for their lives.

The revolution, it seemed, had begun. Rescue was at hand. Lewis didn't care. Sara was dead. He sat on the ground and cradled her in his arms as Beng came running up to them.

"We did it, my fine young
rom baro!"
Beng called out triumphantly. "What's wrong with that lazy wife of yours?" he asked on a deep laugh. "Sleeping through her own rescue?"

"No," Lewis choked out as Beng squatted on his heel beside him. He brushed his hand across her hair. Curls twined around his fingers with a life of their own. "She's—"

"Heavy," Sara complained as she stiffened in his grasp. Small hands pushed against his chest. "Come on, move, hon, you're heavy." Sara opened her eyes as he stared at her in aching wonder. Her smile brought him back to life. "Hi."

Somehow, someway, she was back. She had been gone. He had felt her wrenched away from him, felt it in the part of his soul firmly and permanently attached to his lovely Rom wife. She was back, and he was whole again.

"But—"

She grabbed his hair and pulled him into a kiss before he could say anything else. "Shameless," he heard his father-in-law complain before he was lost to the sensual heat only Sara could arouse in him.

The kiss might have gone on forever. It might have gone on for only a few moments. He was left grinning with delight, and aching for more when Sara pushed him away.

"We'll continue this later," she promised him.

"At great length," he promised her.

"For the rest of our lives. Now let's wipe these silly smiles off our faces and get to work."

He nodded, and helped Sara to her feet. They couldn't help but embrace and start kissing again.

"Do you mind?" the ring shouted, so loud they both heard it. "You're not the only ones with an own true love, you know."

"Right," Sara said to it. She took Lewis by the hand. "We'd better go rescue the ruby from the mad duke." He nodded his agreement. He was happy to go with her anywhere. "What is with you and that brooch?" she asked the ring.

"That," the ring told them, "is another story."

She didn't say anything more to the ring. She turned her attention to Lewis, who put his arm around her waist. She touched the slight swelling at her abdomen. He put his hand tenderly over hers. He smiled at the thought of his soon-to-be son, and at the teasing light in her eyes.

"So," she asked as they began to follow the mob into the palace, "what do you think of naming the kid Richie?"

"No."