by Paige Elwood
She’d have to go to reception and ask for one. She was embarrassed at wandering around dressed only in her silky nightdress, but she was grateful that she hadn’t chosen one of the more risqué items. This, at least, might be mistaken for a very thin evening dress, and its length hid her bare feet. She hoped Helene would be on the desk, as she liked the older woman’s friendly manner. She could laugh at her situation with Helene.
Her anxiety increased as she got down two flights of the stairs and her surroundings still hadn’t changed. The parts of the hotel stairwell she had glimpsed previously were all luxuriously carpeted and wallpapered like the corridors on her floor. When she reached the bottom stair and the décor still hadn’t changed, Sophie thought she might throw up. Where was she? Was it a different building? The heavy wooden door in front of her looked the same as her hotel’s, but she supposed it could be any Gothic-style building with that kind of door.
She was struggling to get air into her lungs now, so she closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing deeply, drawing the air right down into her stomach. The last thing she needed now was a panic attack! With her eyes closed and the rhythmic breathing calming her, she tried to reason through what was happening. She had probably sleepwalked into another building. The bottle had listed it as a possible side effect, so it was plausible. This could even still be a dream! It didn’t feel like a dream, though. Her feet were freezing cold from walking on the bare stone and she didn’t think you experienced any drastic body temperatures in dreams. Although vivid dreams were also listed as a side effect on the bottle of sleeping pills she’d taken, so that was also plausible.
Ok, Sophie, focus! She told herself. Either A) she was in the wrong building, which meant she could find someone and ask, or try and avoid being seen creeping around in her nightwear and just leave this building and figure out where her hotel was. If she got here in her sleep it couldn’t be far. Or, B) she was dreaming, and weird stuff might happen until she woke up.
Slightly calmer and deciding to assume her situation was probably A) sleepwalking, she padded across the floor to the wooden door and pulled it open. As she opened the door, something caught her eye that stopped her in her tracks. A small black and white sketch in a makeshift wooden frame with no glass hung by the door. It was an image of Sophie’s hotel, with horses outside, and a couple of men dressed in medieval-style clothing holding what looked like tankards of ale. A small figure in the background, partially obscured by a horse, looked like the figure of a woman. It was an exact replica of the image that she’d seen in her corridor, except this one looked newer, with no yellowing and fresher-seeming ink.
Sophie raised a hand to touch the drawing, the hand with the relic still on it. She gasped as she noticed that the ring now shone a bright, realistic gold, and the green stones sparkled like real emeralds. A warm, pulsating vibration emanated from the ring, slightly stronger than the warmth she’d felt last night. She went to remove the ring to inspect it, but the stupid thing wouldn’t budge from her finger. She pulled at the offending relic frantically, but it refused to move even a fraction.
Her stomach churned again, but she pulled the door open and stepped out into the street. The street looked nothing like the one outside of her hotel. There were hardly any other buildings around, and Notre Dame loomed large over her, the lack of buildings and bustling modern city making the cathedral dominate the entire skyline.
Sophie’s chest tightened and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Ok, must definitely be option B) then, she thought. It had to be a dream. A cold breeze fluttered her flimsy nightdress and raised goosebumps on her shoulders. If she was dreaming, then it was a vivid one.
A couple of passers-by pointed at her from a few hundred yards away. Two men, with long hair and beards, wearing old-fashioned clothing like something from one of the period dramas Claire liked to watch. The Tudors, perhaps. Maybe watching those shows with Claire had caused her mind to produce this dream. If it was a dream. Suddenly very uncomfortable but not sure what to do, Sophie started walking. Hopefully, if she looked like she had a purpose people wouldn’t notice her as much. Or at least not stare so much.
She started walking in the only direction she knew: towards the cathedral. It seemed to be early morning and there weren’t a lot of people on the streets. She avoided looking at any people walking in the vicinity. She didn’t want to know if they were staring, or if they wore funny clothing. If it was a dream, she’d eventually wake up and probably wouldn’t even remember this. Her cold, bare feet hurt from walking along the streets in no shoes. This trip to Paris was determined to be hard on her poor feet!
There were quaint-looking buildings lining the streets, but nowhere near the number of buildings that she’d walked past just yesterday evening, and the Quai looked to be bare of any stalls. A large group of men came walking down a street towards her. They jostled and laughed, dressed in a similar fashion to the other people she’d seen in long overcoats with tights underneath.
There were at least seven of them, all in high spirits. They didn’t seem to have noticed her yet. Such a large crowd of men while she was wandering in her nightwear made her nervous—dream or not—so she ducked down an alleyway and behind one of the buildings, listening to hear if they’d left. Out of a window opposite her, a sudden stream of something landed in the street, just inches from where Sophie was crouched. She was disgusted to see, and smell, that it was a pile of human waste. If this was a dream, her subconscious was bringing back some disgusting facts about medieval life she’d learned in high school. Thank goodness she hadn’t been crouched a little more to the right! The sound of the men laughing drifted down the alleyway as they passed, and Sophie was keen to move before the contents of somebody else’s chamber pot landed on her head!
When she was certain the men were long gone, she came out from behind the building, hurrying over the road and continuing on to walk along the Quai. As she walked, she kept her eyes on the majestic outline of Notre Dame. The closer she got to the cathedral, the more pronounced the vibrations from the relic got. Did it recognize its home, she wondered, glancing down again at the ring in its new splendor? The emeralds twinkled in the morning sunlight, and the gold gleamed like a newly minted coin. The thought reminded her that she had no money at all, and her mouth felt cotton-stuffed from a combination of the sleeping pills and adrenaline.
In this medieval version of Paris her mind had conjured for her, there were no cars and no real delineation between sidewalks and roads, so she just kept walking. She was still cold, but found it easy to focus on how mesmerizing Notre Dame was in the early morning light with the vacant streets and no modern buildings obscuring the view. She was just wondering if she should go into the cathedral, as there didn’t seem to be anywhere else to go, when the feeling of something slightly liquid-y squelched under her bare feet.
She peered down, aghast to discover that she’d stepped in a patch of mud that now seeped through the gaps between her toes. But then, a pungent smell struck her, and she realized that it was actually an enormous pile of horse manure. She thought she might throw up, and for a moment she contemplated just giving up. She wanted to sit on the floor with her head in her hands and weep. Worst dream ever!
A flash of rapid movement in front of her startled her out of her dismay, and she looked up to see a horse and carriage racing towards her. Sophie froze, all thoughts of the manure and how she’d clean her foot vanishing as she practically came face to chest with an immense brown mare harnessed to a massive wooden carriage. A liveried man atop the horse yelled something, but she couldn’t understand. She knew she needed to move but she was frozen in fear. It was just a dream, but she’d heard an old wives’ tale that if you died in a dream, you died in real life, and she certainly didn’t wish to test it.
Her heart raced but her feet would not operate. The whole world slowed down as she awaited the imminent crash. She covered her face with her hands, waiting for the inevitable impact. The horse was traveling
too fast to be able to dodge her. She prayed it was a dream and she’d just wake up.
An electric feeling coursed through her, just like she’d encountered earlier that evening, and for a split second she worried it might be what death felt like. Until she registered the fact that she was moving, and there was a strong hand grasping her elbow and guiding her to safety. She stared down at the hand, eyes wide. This was a younger, smoother hand. Yet the now-familiar electric feeling radiated from the spot where the hand touched her, and she recognized, without any doubt, that it was his hand.
Chapter 9
Sophie shivered as that odd sense of connection flooded her once again. It both terrified and calmed her. She couldn’t understand the feeling, it was like nothing she had ever experienced before; physical and emotional all at once. Now she’d felt it twice in one night. Or maybe hundreds of years apart? Who knew? She shook her head, physically shaking the errant thoughts from her mind. Gradually, as if afraid of what she might see, she lifted her eyes from the strong hand on her elbow to the face of the stranger that held her steady.
More evidence that I’m dreaming, she thought as her eyes took in the smooth, handsome face of the man that held her elbow. Tall and dark-haired, he was certainly young with a tanned, unlined face. He was also incredibly, knee-wobblingly handsome. This was not the crazy old guy from last night—this was a man who had stepped straight out of her dreams. Or into them. This whole experience left her mind reeling from exhaustion. Great, the man of my literal dreams shows up, and he’s a figment of my imagination, or a sleeping pill induced hallucination.
Her eyes locked onto his, and she gasped in surprise. Those eyes! The strange but familiar amber colored eyes. They were even more captivating in this young man’s face, framed by thick black lashes that made their intelligent sparkle even more pronounced. The same eyes as the old man’s. Something in her gut told her this was real, that she’d known this was real all along, but her rational mind refused to accept it.
“Do I… Do I know you?” Sophie asked. The words felt sticky in her throat and came out thick-sounding. She remembered she’d not had anything to drink yet this morning, and the sleeping pills exacerbated the dry mouth.
She cleared her throat a little and asked again, seeing the blank look on the young man’s face. “Have we met?” she asked, raising her eyebrows and shrugging a little to indicate she’d asked a question. She wondered if he had the answers she needed, But his still-blank look dashed that hope.
Her empty stomach churned at the awful realization that this was reality. Looking at the solidity of the man in front of her, seeing those eyes, she just… knew. What was she going to do? She had no clothes, no money, no phone… not that a phone would work here, would it? The young man placed his other hand on her arm, holding her tightly now and forcing her to look back into his eyes. He really was gorgeous, even in his strange cloak. His curly dark hair twisted at the base of his neck and around his ears, framing a regal face with a perfectly straight nose. A Roman nose, she’d heard that kind of strong feature referred to. It suited him, gave a kind of authority to his face.
Seeing he now had her attention, he laughed lightly, and Sophie thought it a surprisingly musical sound from such a strongly defined face. He ignored her question and began to pull her along, leading her back the way she came. Sophie pulled her arm away. She didn’t know where she wanted to go, but she didn’t think she should go back to the hotel. He smiled at her defiance, amusement shining in those beautiful eyes.
“You are not in proper clothing,” he said in a very heavy French accent. “Ladies running about in their sleep garments might find themselves waking up in the crazy house.”
So, he did speak English! Sophie thought. His words sunk in and she glanced around to see that the number of people out on the Paris streets had grown in the time since she’d narrowly escaped death by horse and carriage. Most of them were staring at her.
She raised a hand to her head, certain that her hair must be in a terrible state. Although, if her hair had been her first thought this morning she would have had some serious prioritization issues.
Still, now that the idea was in her head, embarrassment gripped her at what a state she must look. Her self-consciousness was made all the worse by the young man’s obvious amusement and the fact that he was so incredibly attractive. Those people must be wondering what on earth such a good-looking gentleman was doing with a nest-headed crazy woman who ran around the streets half-naked!
“I’m a hot mess,” she mumbled under her breath.
“Pardon?” he asked, catching the words.
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “If you think I’m crazy, why save me?”
“When I saw the carriage wasn’t going to stop, I thought you might appreciate some help,” he said with a shrug.
Sophie’s cheeks heated. He had been helping her, and she sounded quite ungrateful. He didn’t seem to mind, though, simply continuing in his heavily accented English.
“You are staying at the inn over here, yes?” he asked, pointing towards the medieval version of her hotel.
Sophie’s brow furrowed. “How do you know?”
“It is the only inn, and you do not seem to be a local.”
Sophie felt a bit silly and nodded. He took her arm and began pulling her towards the inn, but Sophie pulled away again.
“Wait,” she said, and he looked at her expectantly. “I need to wash my feet first.” She lifted the now-soiled hem of her nightdress to reveal a manure-covered foot.
He wrinkled his nose and then bellowed a huge laugh, much heartier than the soft musical amusement of earlier. Sophie’s cheeks flamed.
“Of course,” he said, gesturing towards the bank of the Seine. “You should certainly wash your feet first.”
He helped her down the bank of the Seine, which glistened with muddy patches. She didn’t worry about them; she figured she was about to wash her feet anyway, what was a little more grime? They’d only get dirty again on the way to her hotel, but she could handle dirt. Horse excrement was another thing entirely.
The young man was sure-footed as they made their way down through rocks and greenery that didn’t exist in the Paris she’d left behind last night. Sophie stumbled a couple of times, but his strong hands kept her upright. When they reached the edge of the river, Sophie took a seat on a large rock, pulled the bottom of her hem up to her mid-calves, and swirled the offending foot around in the water.
Sophie gasped as her foot touched the icy cold water. Pulling it back out of the water, dismay filled her at the sight of spots of manure still clinging to it. She supposed a combination of freezing cold water and no soap didn’t exactly make for a particularly effective wash. She looked around, and spotted a small plant nearby with large, lush green leaves. Perhaps she could use one of those leaves as a washcloth .
She shifted on the rock, but the silky material of her chemise made her slide around. Before she knew it, she’d lost her balance and toppled into the Seine. Luckily it was shallow, so her head didn’t go underwater, but she found herself sat ungraciously, waist-deep in the icy water with the silky material of her nightdress floating up around her waist. She shrieked jumping up immediately, her nightdress clinging to her hips and thighs. She scrambled to get out. Strong hands lifted her and placed her back on the rock.
Sophie looked up to say thank you, and saw the man’s shoulders shaking with laughter. Anger bubbled inside her. She didn’t see what was so funny; this was the worst day she’d ever had. She’d nearly been run over, she had horse mess on her foot, and she’d fallen into a cold river. All before breakfast. Then, seeing the funny side of it all, uncontrollable laughter rose in her too. They giggled for several minutes, gulping in air in between great racking bouts of laughter that pulled at her stomach muscles and made tears stream down her face.
When they both finally got control of themselves, the young man unclasped his cloak and wrapped it around Sophie’s shoulders, fastening it around her
with a large copper brooch. “It is too cold to be wearing only the wet clothes,” he said gently.
Sophie nodded in thanks and smiled at him. The cloak was made of a heavy dark navy material, possibly wool, and it was much softer than the blanket she’d woken up under this morning, although still slightly scratchy on her skin. The weight of it slumped her shoulders somewhat, and she supposed it must have been expensive. Perhaps he was a wealthy man. He didn’t seem like a man weighed down by money troubles, and she thought perhaps his smooth unlined face indicated he didn’t have an outdoor, manual kind of job.
Underneath the cloak, he was wearing some burgundy tunic and dark tights. His masculine appearance despite the old-fashioned clothing surprised Sophie. The tunic looked well-tailored and the material had an expensive appearance to it, despite being fairly simple. He handed her one of the leaves she’d been attempting to reach, and she used it to wash the muck from her foot. It did a pretty good job.
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome insisted on lifting Sophie and carrying her back up to the street from the banks of the river. “You will get them dirty again,” he said when she protested. Far too tired to argue that they’d get dirty on the street too, she just let him lift her in his strong arms and set her down gently on the street.
“What is your name?” she asked, because she could hardly refer to him as Tall, Dark, and Handsome all the way back to the hotel now, could she?
“Edouard,” he said with a small smile.
“Sophie,” she said, holding out her hand to shake. He looked confused for a minute, then took the hand, turned it so that the palm faced down, and raised it to his lips. He pressed his lips to her skin, landing a soft kiss on the back of her hand that made her knees feel weak. She flushed again, wondering if he thought she wanted him to kiss her hand. She supposed that they either did not shake hands in this time, or that it might be a thing only men did.