by Paige Elwood
“What… year is it?” Sophie asked.
“What do you mean?” Edouard asked, perplexed.
“I mean, what year is it? Or even, what century is it?”
“You must have had a lot of wine last night,” he laughed, “If you do not know when you are.”
“Please,” she said, desperate and terrified to know. “Tell me what year it is.”
“It is the Year of our Lord 1486,” he shrugged.
Sophie’s throat constricted. She was a long way from home. She wished she’d paid more attention in history class back in high school. This was a different world than the one she lived in, but she had no idea what existed in this time. Obviously, no electricity, or radio.
They walked down the streets that she’d hurried through earlier in a daze. Her initial complete panic had faded to a dull anxiety that settled in her ribcage like a weight on her heart. She thought perhaps people were still staring at her, but when she defiantly went to make eye contact with passers-by, she found their gazes locked on Edouard. Some even greeted him, in a deferent manner. Yup, wealthy, she thought. Now that her body was covered underneath his heavy woolen cloak, nobody paid her much attention, despite the bedhead situation.
As they walked, a small child, no more than three years old, ran across their path. A ragged looking woman shrieked, a newborn baby clutched to her chest, as she tried to race after him, but the child moved too fast for her. Edouard immediately raced after the small boy and caught him before he could get in the way of another horse and carriage. He handed the seemingly unperturbed, dusky-haired little boy back to his mother, who thanked him enthusiastically before giving the boy a loud smack across the legs that caused him to wail in dismay.
Sophie tried to glance into the buildings they passed, to see the unfamiliar scenes inside them and to try and understand this strange new Paris she’d landed in. Part of her still expected to peek through a door and find a bustling café bar full of people chatting over coffee and wine.
One building had the doors wide open, and two portly, red-faced gentlemen struggled with a very large pig carcass. Their grimy hands with dirty nails strained to keep hold of the slippery beast. The unpleasantly coppery smell from the building clogged her nostrils as she peered in after the two men. Huge animal carcasses hung from hooks in the ceiling, and a young boy of about ten years old sluiced blood and intestines down a hole in the center of the room. A tall, thin man barked orders at the two men now trying to hook the carcass they’d carried without dropping it.
Must be the butchers shop, Sophie thought, resolving to eat only a vegetarian diet in this strange new world. The whole thing looked awfully unsanitary, and she was surprised everybody that bought meat from that place hadn’t died!
The sight unsettled her. She was in medieval France, unless it was all a hallucination. Or dream. Please let it be a dream! She knew deep down, though, this was real, definitely real. She was absolutely freaking out. She might not remember much of her high school history lessons, but she was confident that people died young and medicine was laughable in this century—possibly even barbaric! She remembered reading about leeches being used to cure the sick, and most diseases put down to ‘bad blood’. She hoped she’d never have cause to find out, or that at the very least where she’d landed was past that stage in the evolution of medicine.
A beggar sat slumped in a doorway, his clothes filthy with unidentifiable grime. Sophie could smell him as they approached: a disgusting mix of human waste and dirt. She gagged a little, her previous hunger now completely vanished. Her reaction shamed her. It was obvious the poor man needed some help, but the truly disgusting stench was difficult to overlook. She wasn’t the only one noticing it; passers-by swerved to avoid the man, wrinkling their noses and either pretended he wasn’t there, or glared at him for having the audacity to smell so bad.
Edouard stopped, appearing not to notice the smell, and handed the man a coin that glinted in the morning sunlight. The man smiled a huge, toothless grin. Edouard returned the beggar’s smile, speaking some words to him in French that she couldn’t quite hear but appeared to give the man some comfort. When he took her arm once again to continue escorting her down the street, Sophie was proud to be walking beside this kind, generous man.
It didn’t hurt that he was so good-looking, either. His well-defined legs stood out in the tights he wore, and Sophie had to tear her eyes away from them. His arms when he’d carried her up the bank of the Seine had been incredibly strong. His hands also had a strength in them that was still remarkably gentle, and whenever they touched her she felt that unmistakable jolt of electricity that was becoming a familiar, and not entirely unwelcome, sensation. She couldn’t help but wonder what it might feel like to have his hands explore a little, to caress the small of her back, or how they would feel on the back of her neck if he leaned down and kissed her.
They passed a blacksmith’s shop, and Sophie was amazed at the heat emanating from the doorway and the loud, clanging sounds from within. Horseshoes hung from the walls ready to be attached. The shirtless blacksmith’s muscles rippled as he worked on hammering a piece of metal into the desired shape. Sophie couldn’t help but wonder what Edouard looked like underneath his tunic, and her face warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the blacksmith’s furnace.
The absurdity of it all began to overwhelm her. She was wandering around the streets of medieval Paris in her nightwear and a strange man’s cloak. She’d nearly had a chamber pot emptied on her head and almost got run over by a horse and cart. How had she got here, and how was she going to get back? She was sure it had something to do with the stupid ring she couldn’t get off her finger. The old man had said it came from Notre Dame, and her instinct before Edouard appeared had been to go to Notre Dame. Should she be going there now?
She stopped abruptly in the street, and Edouard looked at her quizzically.
“I don’t know that we should go to the inn,” she said. “I’m not really staying there, and I don’t have any money. I just woke up there.” He looked at her blankly
“Can we go into Notre Dame instead?” Sophie continued desperately. “I think… I think that’s where I need to be.”
She carried on without pausing for breath. “Is it really 1486?” “How do you know English?” As the questions spilled out of her, he looked at her with a vague amusement. Sophie thought she might also see contempt in those eyes. Was it because she was speaking English? Should she try French?
She switched to her limited French. “’Chest vraiment 1486?” Her accent was bad, and her grammar sucked, but she also knew it made enough sense for him to understand.
He cocked his head, looking even more amused. The arrogance…ugh! Sophie yanked her arm out of his grasp and stepped back a few paces. She stopped not very far away, realizing that she needed him. He was her only ally in this strange world, and she needed him to help her. Without him, she’d be literally stranded in a wet nightgown, and potentially in a lot of danger.
She bristled in annoyance at her predicament. She wanted to walk away from the arrogant Frenchman, go to Notre Dame and see if she could get home, but she knew that was absurd. She was a practical girl at heart, and being left to fend for herself right now wasn’t an option. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. He shrugged, lazily, and his intense amber eyes still mostly held amusement. A chill breeze caught the wet nightgown and reminded her that she was in no position to walk away from him.
Sophie bristled at the unfairness of it all; she shouldn’t even be in this position. To make it worse, he was so attractive, she couldn’t even hate him enough to make her reliance on him bearable. How could she look at a man this handsome and not feel the attraction that was almost a physical pull towards him. That electricity that sparked between them. Did he feel it too?
He shrugged and started walking again, leaving her to decide if she would follow or turn and run. Of course I have to follow, she thought. Where am I going to go? And I’m
wearing his cloak. I can’t give it back while I’m dressed like this.
She hurried after him, feeling like a silly child chasing after an exasperated parent, but when she caught up he simply took her arm again as if nothing had happened. They continued their walk to her hotel. As they walked, a gold chain around his neck worked its way out from under his tunic. Sophie was astonished to see that it was a masculine version of the ring that was currently stuck on her finger. The band was plainer, but she immediately recognized the tiny emeralds and the unusual color of the gold as twins of her own.
Almost as if to back up her point, once she spotted the ring, her own ring heated a little on her finger, emanating that peculiar warmth and practically vibrating. Her ring seemed to recognize this one as its partner. She remembered suddenly the encounter with the old man in the square, insisting the ring belonged to her, and her alone. He’d said that he’d been waiting for her. She’d thought him crazy but had this boy somehow gotten the old man to give her the ring on purpose, to bring her here?
“Why do you have that ring?” she demanded, pointing at it. He just shrugged.
“No, answer me!” she yelled. “What is that ring?”
He shrugged again. “It’s just a family ring,” he said, that haughtily amused expression flashing across his features again.
Sophie bristled. “Why did an old man give me a matching ring last night, then?” She waved her hand with the ring on in his face. “He said it was for me, that I had to take it and then I woke up here.
“There’s something wrong with this ring,” she continued, “and I think you know what’s going on!”
“I’m just trying to help you avoid the crazy house,” the man said. “You are not helping with your shouting and your strange accusations. It’s a ring, just a ring!”
Sophie opened her mouth to argue, but he shushed her. “You must get dressed,” he said firmly. “Go to your room and get dressed properly. I will wait.”
Sophie could have screamed in frustration, but he was right. She needed to get dressed. Perhaps once she was dressed she could somehow get to the bottom of this mess, and make him tell her why he had a ring that was so obviously the partner of her own.
“Would you like me to help you?” He asked her. “With your clothes,” he clarified when Sophie stared at him.
“No,” she said shortly. As if she’d let some random stranger ‘help her dress’. She was certainly not letting him into her room.
“I can show you what is proper,” he said.
Sophie snorted. She was fairly certain having a stranger in your room while you dressed might be even less ‘proper’ in his time than it was in her own. “Thank you, but no thank you. I think I can manage.”
Her eyes quickly darting around to look at how other women in the vicinity were dressed. It couldn’t be that hard, could it? They all just wore dresses, what might be some kind of stocking, and plain shoes. Simple. She turned and flounced into the hotel, rushing up the stairs and back to the room she’d deserted that morning.
Chapter 10
Edouard watched her enter the inn, the door swinging shut behind her. He leaned against the inn’s cold stone wall, absent-mindedly twisting the ring he now wore on the chain around his neck. The air was cool, but the ring was giving off a strange warmth that kept any chill away. He could have slapped himself. What kind of man offered to help a woman with her clothes? She was obviously offended, and he just couldn’t seem to stop acting like a pompous ass.
He just reverted to who he always was around women he was interested in, and that was his arrogant, self-assured duc persona. It had always worked for him before. Marianne, and the others, had been fine with that, even charmed by him. Why hadn’t he considered that it wouldn’t work with Sophie?
He should have thought of this. Things were so different in Sophie’s time, so she wouldn’t be impressed with his title, his privilege, or his attitude. The girl was… different than he’d expected, different than any girl he’d known in his twenty-eight years. Dreams didn’t do her justice. His wealth and standing as the son of a Duke had always ensured that he wasn’t short of attention from the Parisian ladies. They fluttered around him like moths to a flame, with impeccable manners and dressed in the latest fashions from the best tailors in France. They were softly spoken and generally spoiled, pampered narcissists. This girl, Sophie, was unlike any of them.
It was too late now to ask for advice or help from Madame Petellier on how best to deal with the situation, and how to behave. Sabine was inside the inn, but goodness knows she was no use in matters like this. Thinking of Sabine alone with Sophie in this time made him nervous. He fidgeted again with the ring around his neck. He’d check on Sabine in a few minutes if she didn’t appear. It probably wasn’t wise for him to leave Sophie with her for too long. Sabine was impatient, and likely to go off plan if things didn’t seem to be going the right way.
His mind returned to Sophie. He was acquainted with many beautiful women, but Sophie’s delicate features and expressive eyes set her apart from most women. Even with her hair floating wildly around her head like a dark cloud, she was still strangely alluring. He wondered what it would look like once a comb had been pulled through it. She’d been wearing a strange, but not unflattering garment. In fact, he had enjoyed the way it clung to her body. Perhaps women where she came from were less modest with their fashions.
Her beauty aside, it was her spirit and fire that he found most interesting. He’d met confident women, but mostly their confidence came from wealth, privilege, or the knowledge that they were beautiful. Her confidence was from something else, he concluded. He found he liked it very much. She had a rather unfeminine way of speaking to him that suggested she regarded herself as his equal and as an independent person in need of no assistance. A low laugh escaped from him. He’d never seen anyone more in need of assistance than the wild-haired Sophie.
He wondered what his father, the Duke, would make of her. His father was a man who appreciated ‘proper’ behavior and dress from ladies, and indeed from gentlemen too. Edouard’s mother had been a gentle, softly-spoken soul, but he believed she would have liked Sophie very much. His father would probably find her too brash for his tastes. Still, his mother was no longer with them and his father would have no say in this matter. It was imperative that this went smoothly.
Edouard had felt the ring doing its work last night while it brought her here to his time. It had grown warm against his chest as its partner ring drew closer. It woke him from his sleep with its strange vibrations. His dreams, when he could sleep, were fitful, full of images of the old man passing the girl the ring. They were misty round the edges and unfocused, but felt familiar to him nonetheless.
He twisted the ring around and around. It was the material embodiment of his curse. Of his power—and of his powerlessness. It had become almost the very essence of him. The electricity as it recognized its partner had been palpable, and a feeling he wasn’t familiar with had stirred inside him, separate from the ring’s reaction and separate from the curse. Something that was just Edouard. Did he feel that she was the one? He wondered if it was foolish to trust his feelings; they hadn’t been his strong suit so far. In fact, it was his feelings that got him into trouble before, and he wasn’t certain they were trustworthy now.
Regardless of whether he was sure, the girl had arrived now, and he didn’t have any choice but to see it through. She must be the one, and if she wasn’t the one then he didn’t know if he’d have the time or the strength to search again.
The girl, Sophie, hadn’t seemed to want to be here. She wanted to be home, where it was familiar to her. Edouard needed her to stay. He’d have to do everything he could to get her to stay. Perhaps in time she would settle. If she was the one, then she would feel the pull. The ring would do its work. In the meantime, he needed to keep her comfortable and make sure she stayed in this time long enough to fulfill the prophecy.
To do that, he’d need to stop behaving l
ike an idiot and learn how to handle this beautiful, strange, fiery woman without annoying her. Perhaps he was in trouble. What if he couldn’t persuade her to fall in love with him and stay? How could he persuade anyone to fall in love anyway. How would you even know it was love?
The ring tingled warmly against his palm as he fidgeted, almost like a reminder that this was destiny. He thought it a strange fate that his destiny was to fall in love, and here he was with no idea what that even meant. He liked Sophie, he felt a connection with her and a pull he had never experienced. There was an incredible physical sensation whenever they touched. Like a gentle kind of lightning had struck. Was that it? Was that love, the physical tingling he felt when they touched, and her touch lingering long after her hand had moved? Did she feel that too?
He knew something was different with Sophie, something he’d not experienced with anyone else before. He understood that their fate was to fall in love, and that was why they had the rings. What if it didn’t happen, though, if their times were too different, or neither of them recognized it? He sighed, dropping the ring back against his chest. Where was Sabine? He really shouldn’t leave her alone with Sophie much longer.
Chapter 11
Sophie sat in the room on the lumpy straw mattress, trying to gather her thoughts. What was actually happening here? Now, alone in this room she wondered again if this was real or just some messed up dream. This was her first transatlantic trip, and the sleeping pills did say they could cause vivid dreams. Perhaps she’d underestimated just how vivid. If it was a dream, it was completely nuts. She pinched herself. Ow! Yes, definitely not dreaming if the sting was anything to go by.
People did not just suddenly vanish into a different time, did they? It couldn’t actually be real. How would you know, though. People disappeared sometimes, and they weren’t always found. Mostly they were presumed dead, but what if….