Kiss Across Blades

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  “Do you have the jump formed in your mind?” Remi asked. It was something Neven always asked her.

  “Are you channeling Neven now?” London asked him, amused.

  “It’s a good question,” Remi said, scowling. “I would like to arrive in one piece,” he added, trying to sound as if his dignity had been wounded.

  London pressed her lips to his for a moment. “I love you,” she murmured.

  “Tell me that when we get back,” Remi replied. “Then I will be happy to hear it.”

  “Nervous, Remi?”

  “Like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs,” he assured her. “Shall we?” He held out his arm.

  There was no reason why they could not jump from this very spot. London looked around, absorbing details, remembering them for the jump back. She nodded. “Yes, let’s do it.” She wrapped her arms around Remi’s waist. He did the same to her.

  “One.” She thought of the timescape, reaching for it with her mind. “Two.” She bent her knees, ready to jump. She could feel the vastness of the empty-not-empty place ahead. The whisper and beckon of thousands of bookmarks. “Three.” She pushed off with her feet and threw herself toward the timescape.

  Sauveterre-Saint-Denis, Gascony, Kingdom of France. July 1788 (one year before the French Revolution).

  Denis Remi Sauveterre, oldest son and heir of Monsieur le Duc de Sauveterre, and soon to be married to the daughter of a comte, strolled along the road to the village, enjoying the warm summer air. It was foolish to walk, when the coach with its driver and two footmen sat outside the chateau waiting to take him anywhere he wished. Only, it was such a fine day.

  Rare contentment filled him. He liked visiting Sauveterre. The people in the village were properly servile, and not too smelly if he stayed a few feet from them. It also helped to stay in the main square and not wander down the by-ways and alleys. The stench there and the hopeless poor always made him feel uneasy. They tended to leave a dark shadow on his mind that he did not know how to resolve.

  Therefore, he stayed away from the grim reminders and lingered by the public square. Sometimes, he took a drink with the village folk in their quaint inn. He always returned to the salon and the library in the chateau with a renewed sense of appreciation for the finer aspects of his life.

  And soon, he would be married and enjoy being the master of his own home. Nearly fifty workers and artisans were refurbishing the old hunting house on the other side of the estate, tucked away in the woods. Dozens of seamstresses were sewing household linens, making cushions and bedding and other comforts necessary to make a house a home. His new wife and he would be very comfortable.

  The road ahead dipped into a shallow curve, just before the steep hill up to the village itself. Denis strode around the curve and came to a skidding halt on the stony road, as a giant of a man stepped out. He was possibly the foulest man Denis had ever come across. The aroma wafting from him made Denis think of sheep and barns, mold and animal droppings. The stench of wood smoke clung about him like a cloud.

  Denis waved his hand in front of his face, the lace at his cuff helping disperse the worst of it.

  The man smiled, showing rotting teeth. “You look like you’d have a decent sized purse on you. Hand it over, then.”

  Denis dropped his hand. “You jest, surely? Do you know who I am?”

  “Don’t care much,” the man said. “I haven’t eaten for three days. Your purse will take care of that.”

  “I will give you a copper or two, but you are not having my whole purse,” Denis replied. Really, the nerve of the man!

  “A copper or two per head about does it,” the man said. He clicked his fingers, and from the trees on either side of the road, a dozen more filthy, ill-kempt men stepped out to stand behind him. They all had daggers and one had a sword. One swung an ugly cudgel, letting it smack into his hand with each revolution.

  Denis swallowed. He had never met anyone who showed absolutely no regard for his station and rank, before. It left him with a strange sense of helplessness. How, exactly, was he supposed to respond to this?

  “Denis, move aside,” a woman’s voice said from behind him, as the large man before him dropped his jaw and widened his eyes in surprise.

  Denis whirled. He could have sworn no one walked behind him. Yet he would not have guessed a band of robbers hid in the trees, either.

  The woman moving toward him was a vision. His heart creaked and his soul stuttered. Her clothes were those of a high class noble, only she wore no wig. Instead, her bright red hair was piled upon her head in the tall coifs women favored these days. A jaunty hat with a high crown was pinned on top of it. Her redingote was dark green and the underskirt pale green. Belted to her trim waist and hanging from one hip was a long knife in a scabbard.

  Beside her was a man in elegant court clothes—silver buckles, breeches and a satin coat in a fine dark blue. Denis blinked as he took in the man’s details as he seemed to flash past Denis, drawing his sword with a soft ringing sound. “I’ll take care of this,” he said, striding toward the robbers.

  Why, the man looked much like Denis! Only, he was older, as Denis might look in quite a few years….

  The woman took Denis’ elbow. “Come with me, Denis. Come along. We must talk, you and I.”

  Denis turned to look behind him. The man who looked like him was running his sword through the gut of the giant, while the others looked surprised or worried, or angry. “Should we just leave him to deal with such a great number?”

  “Oh, he’ll be fine,” the woman said. “He’s out of practice, although ten won’t stress him unduly. Come, Denis.”

  “How is it you know my name?”

  “I came to Sauveterre to find you.” she said, drawing him to the side of the road. The tugging on his arm was quite insistent. He tried to remember the last time anyone had dared laid a hand on him without his explicit permission and could not. He found himself drifting to the side of the road with the glorious woman, despite the ringing of steel behind, and the grunts and gasps of men fighting.

  The woman’s grip on his arm tightened. “Watch out!” she cried, reaching for the knife at her hip. She pushed Denis aside and stepped forward, as Denis turned to see what had alarmed her. One of the band had broken away from the fighting and was racing toward them. It was the one with the cudgel, which he raised high in the air, ready to bring it down on their heads.

  The woman did something quite extraordinary. She moved closer to the racing brigand, reached up her free hand and caught his descending arm in her hand, up by his shoulder. Her arm straightened with a snap. The cudgel went flying.

  She brought the hilt of the dagger down upon his shoulder. The man’s other arm dropped and hung uselessly at his side.

  He swore a vile streak and tried to reach for her with his one good arm. She held it above his head, easily defeating any effort of his to bring his hand down where he could defend himself.

  Then she brought the knife swinging down and rammed it into his belly.

  The robber let out his last gasping breath, his useless fingers trying to rise to where the hilt protruded from his belly. Then his eyes closed and dropped to the ground.

  The woman crouched and wiped the blade on the man’s trousers, then stood and slid it back into the scabbard, while Denis stared in amazement.

  “I have never seen fighting like that,” he breathed. “That was marvelous!”

  “Not really.” She took his hand. “Come with me. We must find somewhere away from this mess and let Remi deal with the rest undisturbed.”

  Remi. That was his second name, which no one used. How strange. Because he was so dumbfounded by the remarkable events, Denis let the woman lead him through the trees, farther into the countryside. The dip in the road where the thieves had hidden contained a narrow creek which they walked alongside for some way.

  “Do you have a name?” He spoke breathlessly, for the rocky path along the river was taxing upon sinews and breath.
/>   “You can call me Lucienne.” She glanced from one side to the other along the banks of the stream, looking for something. “There,” she said at last, sounding satisfied. She jumped over the stream with an energetic movement Denis was not accustomed to seeing ladies make. Although he had not ever seen a lady fight off a man with a knife and win, before, either.

  She did not let go of his hand as they moved up the little banks of the stream and onto firmer footing. Instead, she pushed aside bushes one-handed and ducked under tree branches, until they emerged onto a tilled field. It was not a vineyard, but a farmer’s field. The oats were still green and at half-height. It would be September before they ripened and turned a dark golden color and were ready for harvest.

  In the corner of the field was a large barn. The doors stood open.

  “Why would the farmer leave the door open?” Denis asked. “What if it rains?”

  “It is July,” Lucienne said as she walked toward the barn, taking him with her. “It is hot. Better to let cooler air circulate the barn than risk wet hay from last summer bursting into flames.”

  “How do you know such things?” he demanded. “You are a noble, I wager a fat purse on it.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Lucienne said. She peered into the barn and nodded. “Yes, this will do. Come in.” She let go of his hand and took hold of the heavy door and hauled on it.

  Denis watched, mystified, as she brought the big door swinging closed, then brushed off her hands, reached up and unpinned her hat. She put the pin back in it, then looked around for somewhere to place it. A hook was on the wall, beside a second, identical hook which held a pitchfork. She hung the hat on the hook and turned back to him.

  “Who are you?” Denis demanded. “Why have you brought me here?”

  “You and I must have a rather unusual conversation, Denis. I would rather not be interrupted.”

  “Yes, but who are you? Do you live near here? Do I know your family? I know everyone in Gascony—”

  She shook her head. “No, you don’t know my family. That is quite beside the point—”

  “Your man, whom we left behind. Is he your husband?”

  She hesitated. “Remi is very dear to me,” she said, her tone cautious. “Please listen to me—”

  “I am the one who gives orders,” Denis pointed out. “I am the son of a duke. His heir.”

  “And if you do not listen to me, then you will never be a duke yourself!” she snapped, temper showing in her eyes.

  Denis took a half-step back, astonished. “What did you say? Are you threatening me?” His gaze dropped to the knife at her hip. They were isolated here and no one knew where he was…

  At the same time, a small still voice in his mind whispered that she looked even lovelier, with her temper roused and passion sparking in her eyes and animating her beautiful face. Was her skin really as soft as it appeared? He had never seen such flawless flesh, ever.

  Lucienne gripped her hands together. “This is not helping,” she murmured to herself. She took a breath, which had the effect of making her breasts lift and flatten against the firm bodice of her dress. It was a distracting effect, for she wore no lace or modest muslin to cover herself.

  Denis tore his gaze away from her lithe body. “What is not?” he asked, only just now recalling what she had said.

  Lucienne held her hands in place. It looked a little as though she was praying. “I am here to warn you, Denis.”

  “Warn me about what?”

  “About something which will happen a little less than one year from now.” Her blue eyes were steady. “Next year, in May, the peasants will rise up in Paris. They will storm the Bastille and they will depose King Louis.”

  Denis gasped. “How can you say such things? It is…sacrilege!” Yet even as he spoke, he recalled the mutters he had heard in the darker corners of the salons and parlors of aristocrats everywhere. They whispered of the discontent of the peasants, their constant complaining about lack of food and fuel for their fires, and the general state of unhappiness with their lot, which was as fixed as that of the noble class.

  The talk had always generated in Denis the same deep uneasiness which wandering the alleys of Sauveterre produced in him. Better to not think about it at all.

  Lucienne took a step closer to him. “It is shocking, I know, but it is true. This will happen, Denis. Your friends, your family…they will be executed by the new government which takes Louis’ place, for no other reason than they are of noble blood.”

  He stared at her, his heart pounding. “No. You are wrong. The army is loyal to the King. They would never allow such an uprising. It is impossible.”

  “It isn’t impossible and it will happen. Please, you must hear what I am saying, Denis. I am trying to help you survive what is inevitable.”

  Denis shook his head. “I am afraid your imagination has got the better of you. It is simply inconceivable. The Kingdom of France is strong. Louis is a great and grand king. Such a thing could never come to pass.”

  Lucienne stared at him, her full lips parted.

  A soft, two note whistle sounded beyond the doors.

  “Remi,” she breathed.

  “How did he find us here?” Denis demanded.

  She held up a finger. “Stay here. I will see if the thieves have been managed, or if we must stay in hiding for a while longer.”

  Denis shuddered at the reminder. “I will stay here,” he said fervently.

  London closed the stable door with a sigh and moved over to where Remi stood by the nearest line of trees.

  He raised a brow.

  “Denis thought ten would be too many for you to deal with,” London told him.

  He grinned. “No problem at all. How is it going?”

  London sighed again. “I can’t get him to listen to me. Just a blank wall of denial. Louis can never fail and all that bullshit. How do I break through to him, Remi?”

  He stroked his knuckle across her cheek. “How do you get through to me when I am being stubborn?”

  “You want me to hit him?”

  Remi rolled his eyes. “You must earn his trust.” He cupped her face and his voice lowered. “He is me. I fell half in love with you the moment I saw you. He will have, too. Use that.”

  London rested her hand against his. “I didn’t think this would be so hard.”

  “You will win him over. You stole my heart, after all.” Remi pressed his lips to hers. “I’ll patrol the perimeter and make sure you’re not interrupted.”

  London gave him an effortful smile and moved back to the stable.

  Denis was at the far end where the hay sheaves were stacked in high piles. He strode back to her. “Is it safe to return?”

  “Not quite yet. Three men got away. Remi will hunt them down and deal with them. We should stay here until he does.” London felt no qualms about lying. It was too important that Denis stay and hear her out. “We can see you safely back to the chateau, afterwards.”

  “Thank you, that would be appreciated,” Denis replied, his tone stiff and proper. He turned and moved back to the hay, then came back again. He was pacing. Waiting out the time impatiently.

  “You remind me so much of Remi,” London said.

  “Who is he, anyway?” Denis demanded. “Why does he look as I do?”

  “He is not exactly the same,” London pointed out. “You are younger.”

  “Yes, but we could be blood brothers, for all the difference there is between us.” He came back to stand before her. “You raise far too many questions, Lucienne.”

  “I know.”

  His brow raised. “You do?”

  “There are things I cannot explain about myself. They are the reasons I am here. It was a risk I had to take—and I did take a very large risk to come here and warn you about the revolution which will happen next year.”

  He made an impatient sound and turned away again. “That, again.”

  “Yes, again and again, until you believe me,” London in
sisted. “It is so important—it is critical you hear me.”

  “Why?” He turned and threw out his hand. “Give me one reason why I should?”

  “I will give you three. Your children, Denis.”

  He grew still. “My…” He swallowed. “I am not even married yet.”

  “You will by All Hallow’s Eve. Your wife is Carole, daughter of the Comte de Perville. You will have three children, Denis. Aimée, Edgard and Micheline. And if you do not listen to me now, they will all perish when they are very young.”

  Denis’ lips parted. His throat worked. “How can you know that?” he whispered.

  “Because I have traveled through time to tell you this.” London’s heart thudded. Remi had assured her she could reveal to Denis that she was a time traveler, because she already had done so. Yet it still felt enormously risky to say the words aloud.

  Denis did not instantly dismiss her statement as impossible, as he had before. He just stared at her. “How did you know I would be married in October? No one knows that. We only made the arrangements yesterday.”

  “I know because some time in the future, you will tell me,” London replied.

  He swallowed. “How…how do my children die? Why?”

  London didn’t know if she had revealed this to Denis or not. She hesitated.

  “Please, if you know, tell me,” he whispered.

  London sighed. “They are locked inside the chateau, while the villagers of Sauveterre burn it to the ground and make you watch—because they think you are a Royalist.”

  Denis flinched.

  London blinked as the tears slid down her face. Watching Denis face the awful fact hurt.

  “You cry for them…” He came closer and raised his hand, as if he would wipe her tears away.

  “For you,” she said truthfully, as she thought of Denis lying upon the path. “I came back here for you, Denis.”

  His fingers touched her face, sliding across it as if he tested the feel. Then he cupped her cheek. His hand trembled. “I have never met anyone like you…”

  London could feel his body heat. He was human hot, something only Remi experienced when deep in the throes of passion, when he was aroused to such a degree his heart worked independently of his will.