Kiss Across Blades

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  “Remi! Aimée is right there,” London said quickly.

  Aimée looked up. “I am, too,” she said in agreement. She wasn’t upset. “What is a jig?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Remi settled the sword at his hip then knelt down to speak to Aimée at her level. “We’ll be gone just a little while longer,” he told her.

  “To gut Brusard,” she said, nodding her head in agreement.

  The nurse, Isobel, who stood behind Aimée and Edgard and had baby Micheline on her hip, looked shocked.

  “Yes, to gut a bad man and make him pay for all the misery and hurt he has given so many people for many years. Sometimes, to make bad people get what they deserve, you cannot wait for fate to deliver it. You must deliver the payment in person. Do you understand?”

  Aimée nodded. London wondered if she really did understand. Still, the words might stay in her memory and as she got older, she would figure it out.

  “This is a bad idea,” Neven said yet again. “You haven’t used a sword in a duel in over a hundred years, Remi.”

  Isobel looked from one to the other of them in confusion, her brow wrinkling, as she tried to make sense of what they were saying.

  London cleared her throat. “Perhaps it might be best if you take the children back to their room for a little while,” she suggested diplomatically.

  Isobel nodded and touched Aimée’s head. “Come, child.”

  Aimée followed Isobel back to the room where they slept.

  “I used a sword six hours ago, subjectively, and I wasn’t noticeably slowed down,” Remi said. “The thieves I dealt with certainly didn’t spot any weaknesses.”

  “That’s different. You didn’t care about them. You’re all wrapped up in fury and vengeance over Brusard. It will make you reckless.”

  “Oh, I’m already reckless,” Remi said, his tone indifferent. “Fury will only make me more determined.” He looked at London. “Ready?”

  London looked down at the trousers and knee-high boots, the ruffled shirt and the sword on her hip. She’d trained with a sword, although she was much more comfortable with the knife that rested on the other hip. Her coat was a cutaway, her waistcoat silk. Lace hung from her sleeves. She even wore a tricorn hat—what they called a ‘cocked hat’ in this time. All of them were Denis’ clothes and she could smell his scent upon them. It was uniquely Remi—a scent she only ever caught a hint of during sex, when his body was heated to human hot.

  She had wrapped a wide belt around the trousers to keep the waist pulled in, so they wouldn’t fall down her hips. It was hidden beneath the long waistcoat.

  “I believe I am ready, yes,” she said in agreement.

  Neven shook his head. “You’re both fools. If you’re determined to do this, then I’m coming, too.”

  “You’d better hurry,” London said. “I’m jumping as soon as Remi steps over here.”

  Remi headed for her.

  “At least let me find a weapon,” Neven said.

  “Gun case,” Remi said, pointing to a tall cupboard in the corner.

  Neven leapt for the cupboard and wrenched open the door. He grabbed a long rifle and a pistol and held them in one hand, then reached back into the cupboard to scoop a handful of shot into his coat pocket and a pouch of powder. With a soft curse he stuffed a piece of folded rag into the other pocket.

  “We’re going in hot,” Remi said, as he stood beside London. “You’d better load the things right now.”

  London glanced at him. Hard humor was in his voice, yet he did not smile. He hadn’t smiled since they arrived back in this time.

  Neven cursed and pulled out the powder and the shots. He loaded them in the guns one at a time, ramming the powder down with the ramrod in hard, swift motions.

  “Neven, where did you learn how to load a musket?” London asked curiously.

  “This is not my first time-jump,” Neven said, sounding pissed as he worked quickly. “It might be my last,” he muttered to himself.

  “At least you’ll have had some fun,” Remi told him.

  Neven shot him a glance as he loaded the pistol. “If Brusard doesn’t kill you, I will, once this is all over.” He shoved the pistol in his belt, hoisted the long rifle, then strode over to where Remi and London stood waiting for him. He kissed them both, hard and fast. “Let’s do this.”

  They wound their arms around each other. “It’s dim in the cave,” London warned them. “And it’s not very big.” She flexed her knees and jumped.

  It was dim. London knew it only seemed that way because her vision was human normal and she had just been in a brightly lit room.

  She blinked, trying to orient herself.

  Remi and Neven stepped away from her. Remi pointed. “Neven—get them out!”

  Brusard was rising from the fire which burned in the middle of the floor. London had arrived on the same spot she had left from, last night. Brusard stared at the three of them, his mouth coming open. His unshaved chin jutted forward as he shut his mouth and reached for his sword.

  Neven moved past him in a blur of speed, raised the pistol and pointed it at the face of one of the six men also sitting around the fire. He cocked the pistol. It made a loud click in the echoing chamber of the cave.

  Everyone grew still, including Brusard. One of the men on the far side of the fire away from Neven reached his hand slowly down to his hip.

  Neven brought the long rifle up, balanced it on his forearm and cocked it one-handed. “Uh-uh-uh…” He pointed the rifle at the man. He looked at the thief he held at pistol point. “Out of the cave, all of you. You first.” He waved the muzzle of the pistol a little, toward the mouth of the cave, which was a narrow crack in the wall.

  The men scrambled and staggered to their feet and hurried from the cave. The one who had reached for his weapon came last. He sent Neven a hate-filled look as he moved past him and out of the cave. Neven took up a stance at the opening, his pistol pointed at it. He kept his gaze on the entrance. “Whatever you plan to do, do it fast,” he said. “They’ll be back in greater numbers next time.”

  Remi pointed at Brusard. “You.” He crooked his finger. “Come here.” He drew his sword.

  London moved back to the wall, to get out of the way. It left a wide wheel of space around the fire.

  Brusard smiled, showing his rotting teeth. “You’ve never wielded a sword in your life, fop. What makes you think you can take on me?” He drew his own sword as he spoke. His sword looked wider and stronger.

  Remi gave a grim smile. “Try me and see.”

  Brusard pulled his sword from the scabbard the rest of the way and with a growl, leapt at Remi.

  London sucked in a breath as the two met with a clashing of swords. Brusard was a big man. She expected Remi to take a step back when Brusard’s sword smashed up against his own blade. Remi merely thrust back his foot and fought back. Their blades gave a sour metallic ring as the edges slithered together, then separated.

  Abruptly, they were fighting.

  Sword fighting—dueling—was nothing like the movies. London watched with fascination, her heart screaming, as the two men chopped at each other, often using both hands to drive their swords with more power. They grunted with effort and Brusard’s breath bellowed after the first few blows. There was minimal shifting of their feet.

  They did not run around the cave and leap off furniture, nor did they trade insults. These two men were intent upon killing each other. They saved all their energy for that goal alone.

  After a few minutes, London realized with sick despair that Remi was giving ground. His steps were small, yet with one step at a time, he was retreating.

  Brusard realized he was gaining at the same time as London saw it, for he smiled as he swung his sword. He stepped in closer and hacked at Remi’s sword with great chopping motions. He delivered blow after heavy blow, the way a man might wield a hammer, to smash repeatedly at Remi.

  Remi held up his blade in a horizontal position, the only
shield he had against Brusard’s vicious chopping and hammering. His sword wavered. With a soft sound, Remi broke. He turned and ran around the fire, to stand on the other side from Brusard.

  Brusard laughed. It was an ugly sound. He knew he had won.

  Remi rested the point of the sword in the rock and leaned on it, breathing hard.

  Brusard shook his head. “No rest for the vanquished.” He hefted his sword and stalked around the fire toward Remi.

  London stopped breathing.

  Remi’s eyes narrowed as he measured each step Brusard took. When the man was directly in front of London, Remi moved.

  It was lightning fast and London could only reconstruct what he did afterwards, by putting together the consequences. He tossed his sword vertically up into the air, the hilt uppermost, and took a grip on the blade a foot from the base of the hilt. He sent the sword spinning across the cave, with a powerful overarm throw.

  The hilt struck Brusard in the face. The flat of the blade slapped into his head. The sword clattered upon the rocks as Brusard stood swaying, dizzy.

  “London!” Remi said urgently.

  She acted without thinking. She didn’t remember pulling out her knife, yet it was there in her hand. She reached up, gripped the hair at the back of Brusard’s head and swung her knife arm around in front of him. She drew the blade across the man’s throat, putting all her strength into the swipe.

  The jet of arterial blood was powerful, reaching beyond the fire. The fire hissed as the thick blood landed in the ashes and on the burning logs.

  The tip of Brusard’s sword smacked the cave floor with a soft ringing sound. His other hand came up to his throat, as if he might stop the spouting blood. He was already weakening. So was the blood spray.

  His knees folded. He slid to the ground. His boots twitched.

  London held out her knife blade, for the blood was dripping from the point.

  Remi laughed. He wasn’t breathing hard. “That was flawless!”

  “It was meant,” London replied.

  Neven glanced back into the cave. He gave a nod. “Good. Can we leave now? They’re building up to a rush, out here and these things fire one round each before reloading.”

  “Leave the knife,” Remi told London, as he leapt over the fire, moved around Brusard and the growing puddle of blood, to where London stood by the back wall. “Neven, now!” He slapped his hand around London’s waist.

  Neven raised the pistol and fired a shot. A large cloud of smoke billowed from the pistol. He turned and sprinted around the edge of the cave, dropping both pistol and long rifle and spreading his arms in preparation as he came toward them.

  London bent her knees, and visualized the main room of Denis’ apartment. As soon as Neven’s hand gripped her hip, she leapt.

  Remi emerged from the children’s room with Micheline on his hip, and Edgard’s hand in his. Aimée held Edgard’s other hand and gripped a doll with a china face and velvet dress. She was solemn.

  Neven rubbed his chin. “How do we manage this?” he asked London. “Two jumps?”

  London shook her head. “No. We leave no one behind. I won’t risk separating us again. You and Remi must hold them between you. If we all squash in together, we’ll be fine.”

  Neven looked doubtful.

  “I know this will work,” London assured him. “As long as everyone has a hand grip on everyone else, and me, of course, I can take them with me.”

  Neven looked as though he wanted to protest. He closed his mouth and nodded. “Very well.” He bent and spoke to Edgard. “Do you want to come with me?”

  Edgard nodded.

  Neven scooped him up and settled him on his hip. He picked up Edgard’s arms and wrapped them around his neck. “You must hold on tight, yes? Very tight, so you don’t fall off.”

  Edgard’s eyes were large. He nodded.

  Remi hitched Micheline into a better position and looked at Aimée. “I will have to pick you up, even though you’re a big girl. Is that all right?”

  “I can’t jump with you?”

  “Not this time,” London told her. “Maybe, after you’ve done it once or twice, I’ll take you on a jump where you can do your own jumping.”

  Aimée held her hands up to Remi. He bent and lifted her, with a pretend groan of effort. Aimée grinned.

  “Arms around my neck,” Remi told her. “Hold on tight. That’s all you have to remember to do—to hold on. Yes?”

  She put her arms around his neck and Remi rolled his eyes. “Quickly, she’s cutting off air.”

  Aimée laughed.

  London smiled. Remi did not need to breathe—not for a long while, yet. Breath was needed for talking and that was all. She stepped up close to both of them. “Neven, hold Remi with your other hand.” She put her arms around Neven’s and Remi’s backs, and gripped their jackets in a tight fist. “Ready?” Her heart zoomed a little. It was easy to tell Neven she had this under control. Only, now she must deliver.

  Everyone nodded, even Edgard. Micheline simply looked at London with big brown eyes.

  “One…two…three.” London jumped for home. Finally.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Canmore, Alberta, Canada. A few minutes later.

  As promised, no one had moved in the three minutes since they had left this timeline. Sydney stared at a timer counting up seconds on her cellphone. Veris stood like the rock he was, his arms crossed, staring at the spot where they had left from, which London had neatly landed back upon.

  London realized she had searched out Veris first, to check his reaction. She was in time to see his jaw loosen. Genuine relief painted itself on his face.

  “Oops. There we go,” Remi told Aimée. “Not so bad, hmm?”

  “It was all dark…” Aimée said in a small voice. She looked around the room, taking in everyone standing around them, and ducked her head against Remi’s neck, suddenly shy.

  Sydney stuffed her phone into her jeans pocket and came toward them. “Three minutes exactly. I’m impressed, London.” She held her hands up to Micheline. “Would you like me to take her, Remi? You’ve got a handful.”

  She was speaking English. Aimée and Edgard both looked at her uncomprehendingly.

  “This is Sydney,” London said in French. “She will be your Aunt Sydney, if you’d like that.”

  Sydney rolled her eyes. “Sorry,” she muttered in English, then switched to a smooth Parisian French with not a hint of accent. “You must be Aimée, yes?”

  Aimée nodded.

  “Are you hungry, Aimée?”

  Aimée’s eyes widened. Then she nodded.

  Sydney smiled. “I have something for you to try which you’ve never eaten before. They’re called pancakes. And sausages. And to finish, chocolate chip cookies. Do you want to come with me?”

  Aimée looked at Remi uncertainly. Remi lowered her to her feet. “It’s safe here. You can go with Sydney.”

  Aimée dropped her chin to peer at herself. She was wearing jeans and sneakers and a simple tee shirt. She plucked at them, frowning.

  London made a mental note to explain to Aimée how to undo jeans, later. Also, how to use a flushing toilet…and so many more things which would be unfamiliar to her.

  Neven looked at Edgard. “Would you like to try pancakes, too?”

  Edgard nodded and Neven lowered him to the floor. Aimée held out her hand and Edgard took it.

  Sydney lifted Micheline from Remi’s arm. “The highchair is set up in the kitchen,” she said. “London, there is coffee, when you’re ready.”

  “Coffee!” London’s throat contracted.

  Sydney moved out of the room, taking the children with her, talking in soft French and describing pancakes and what a cookie was.

  London sighed.

  Veris put his hand on her shoulder. “Well done,” he said softly. “How long were you back there?”

  London cast back in her mind. “Two days,” she said. Warmth built in her middle. Veris thought well of her. Sh
e had not realized how much she valued his good opinion until now.

  Alex was peering at her face. He was in doctor mode, assessing her health.

  “Something went wrong,” Veris said. It wasn’t a question.

  “It went horribly wrong,” London admitted.

  “Damn,” Rafe said. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his wallet. He extracted five one-hundred euro notes and handed them to Brody.

  Brody grinned and shoved the notes in his shirt pocket. “Thank you.”

  Remi laughed. “You bet it would go smoothly?”

  “It could hardly go smoothly. You were jumping into a house on fire,” Alex said. “Speaking of which, I want to check all three of them before you return to Brittany. Smoke inhalation comes with nasty complications.”

  “You might want to hold off on that until you hear the full story,” Neven said.

  “Oh?” Alex raised a brow. He held out his hand. “Have a seat. Tell us.”

  A door chime sounded, making everyone pause.

  London had never heard the chime before. Normally, everyone who arrived at the front of the log house used the old wrought iron knocker to announce they were there.

  “That’s the arrival chamber,” Brody said. “I’ll let them in.”

  “I’ll get you some coffee,” Rafe said.

  “And cookies, please!” London called after him, as she moved over to the sofa which sat in front of the big fireplace.

  Neven and Remi settled on either side of her. Remi leaned and kissed her cheek. Neven picked up her hand and held it.

  “Ah…Veris?” Brody said from the door to the big lounge room.

  Everyone turned to look.

  Marit stood on Brody’s left, a scowl on her face. David Pallas was on his right.

  “They arrived almost at the same moment. David had barely stepped over the chamber line before Marit appeared,” Brody told Veris, who was also scowling.

  “Not my idea,” Marit muttered. “There was a ripple in the timescape. I had to come.”

  David nodded. “I would like to know what you’ve done now, to create such a wave.”