With this, Gabrielle’s forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean I won’t be alone?” she asked, curiosity taking over her fear.
“As I told you earlier, others have made similar journeys. It just so happens that, as you have just been chosen to begin this one, a kindred spirit has also been chosen for a similar path. Though the two of you will be living separate lives, the journey you will share will be in tandem. I cannot stress the beauty of this union. For when others have made this adventure, they were alone. I dare say that you have already met this individual—” Alexandra smiled suggestively.
Like lightning in a night sky, the answer broke through, and she had a moment of clarity.
“Morrigan—” Gabrielle posed, certain in her choice yet the word was still a question.
Alexandra smiled widely and gently nodded her head. “Ah, you are quick, aren't you? Yes, Morrigan will be a companion. Though he will differ in each life, as you will in yours, you will be able to tell him from the other souls by two things. One will be your heart.”
“And the other?” Gabrielle inquired, embarrassment flashing on her face.
“Ah, that, my dearest, will have to wait for your adventure. Rest assured, however, that you will know that it is he, and he that it is you. Also, please know that the forbidden nature of your discussing the journey applies to the both of you, even when speaking with one another. If either of you breaks your pact to the souls, you will both be cast into your punishments.”
Gabrielle sat in a moment of silence with this new information. She knew that, at this moment, retracting her decision was not an option. She could not live with herself knowing she denied all of those spirits the chance to rest in peace.
Though, Alexandra assured her that she wouldn’t remember, a part of Gabrielle told her that no matter what happened, she would remember and never forgive herself.
She then thought of Morrigan and what might happen to him without her. What if his lives depended on her? What if he would need her saving? His lavender eyes burned into Gabrielle’s thoughts as she pondered fate. Alexandra adjusted herself in her seat.
“Just remember, you are braver and stronger than you know. Follow your heart and your instincts. Everything is up to you” Alexandra concluded, tipping the cup and allowing the warm tea to flow into Gabrielle’s mouth.
She swallowed the delicious tea with one gulp, sat back in her chair, and looked back at the fire. Suddenly, she felt her limbs become heavier than they’d ever been.
She couldn’t keep her eyes open, no matter how strongly she resisted. Taking one last look at her mother’s image in the flames, Gabrielle closed her eyes and felt a wave of euphoria devour her. Darkness drifted over her as sleep began to consume her.
What do you mean everything’s up to me?
EPILOGUE
She awoke to a small, faint explosion coupled with a panicked entry to her room. Someone was rushing to her side, shaking her vividly and commanding her to wake up.
Gabrielle opened her eyes to find herself in a room made of stone. A brief wave of panic began to rush over her as she thought she was back in the castle where Lord James had killed Heather and she had subsequently taken her own life.
Realizing she was not in the castle anymore, Gabrielle looked at the person who was fervently attempting to rally her. A strong feeling of familiarity overcame her, just as it had the first time she met Heather.
The person that stood over her was an older woman dressed in a black-and-white gown that reminded Gabrielle of a maid’s uniform she might see in an old movie. The older woman’s salt and pepper hair was tightly pulled into a bun. The wrinkles on her cheeks cast small shadows across her face as the light from a nearby window struck her.
The woman appeared panicked as she continued to shake Gabrielle awake even though her eyes were wide open and she was trying to sit up.
“You must wake up! You must! We have to hide! They will be here soon!” the woman yelled. Panic and fear consumed her voice, and she looked as though she would soon be in tears.
Gabrielle reached up to the woman’s hands and grabbed them to stop her. As she did, she saw her bracelet still sitting idle on her wrist.
“What’s happening?” demanded Gabrielle as she thrust the woman’s hands aside from her shoulders and sprang up. “What are you doing? What’s going on?” Frustration laced her voice as she tried to figure out where she was and what was happening.
“They’re coming, child. The people are angry and have risen in a mob against the king and his queen! Can’t you hear them outside the palace walls?” the woman continued as Gabrielle fell silent and leaned toward the small window opposite her bed to intently listen for any sounds that explained the hysterics.
“I can’t hear anything. What is—” Gabrielle began before the woman slapped her across the face. The slap stung as it reverberated from the ancient stone walls that surrounded them.
“They have taken the Bastille, you foolish girl! They will soon be here! We must go now!” commanded the woman as she pulled the covers away from Gabrielle who sat in shock with her hand clasped to her cheek and her mouth agape.
Even with all she had just been through, she was frozen by what this woman was saying to her.
What is she talking about? The woman was now pulling Gabrielle out of the bed and to her feet.
As soon as Gabrielle was standing, the older woman was across the room to the foot of another bed where there sat a large armoire. She threw it open and withdrew a similar gown to that of what she was wearing.
“Put this on. It’s best that we are obviously the house women and not associated with being one of the royal family, or it will be the end of us for sure,” the woman warned as she handed Gabrielle a dress and small black shoes.
The floor was cold as she hopped about, putting on her clothing and shoes — shoes that were so uncomfortable she found herself missing the shoeless romps through the forest with Heather and Fionn.
The uneven stones proved more difficult to balance on than Gabrielle anticipated, and she had to sit on the bed to put the shoes on her feet.
As she sat, she felt her heart sink as she heard an explosion in the distance. This was coupled by a small, rising white noise that she came to realize was a crowd. As the sound grew, Gabrielle felt herself begin to panic just like the woman that had woken her up.
“Come, child, we must be off before they are upon our gates. With the Bastille gone, the soldiers have no armaments to defend the castle. They will not show any mercy to those within these walls today,” warned the old woman as she grabbed Gabrielle by her forearm and brought her to the doorway of the room.
As they attempted to leave, Gabrielle found herself being forced back through the doorway as a group of ladies dressed the same as they were rushed past, nearly trampling the two as they stood in the hallway.
“Well, follow them, you silly girl!” she barked, pushing Gabrielle in front of her and pointing off down the hallway.
She took the hint and set off after the gaggle of black that had barely managed to miss running her down.
What’s the Bastille?
Gabrielle had no time to think about it as she picked up her pace and pursued the group that was in front of her.
The hair stood on the back of her neck as she could feel the older woman closely behind her, pushing her forward. She felt as though she were being chased as she twisted and turned through hallways, trying not to get lost or struck by her follower.
Gabrielle passed an opening to a courtyard, and the sun warmly danced across her face. Fresh air filled her lungs, and she could smell the sweet aroma of a nearby garden. The courtyard also allowed her to hear the commotion that was brewing somewhere outside of the palace.
A thunderous rumble trickled into her ears as a billowing black cloud engulfed the sky. After a moment, the sour odor of burning brush filled her nose, and she was brought back to Fionn and Heather as the village burned. She rounded another hallway, and the courtyard was
removed from her sight. Is there a war going on?
“De Luanay is a fool! He could have staved off this attack if he had only held his post and kept the mob from entering its walls,” chastised the woman behind Gabrielle, annoyed rather than simply panicked.
“Their first fault was relieving Jacques Neckar. This is what really started all of the foolishness!” Gabrielle heard the woman mumble from behind her.
“Where are we going? I don’t understand what’s happening,” Gabrielle pleaded, turning her head to address the woman behind her while still maintaining her heading.
“When they have all the weapons from the Bastille, the mob will come for the royal family because Louis was such a fool! When that happens, many will lose their lives, and I will not take part in such an event. Neither will anyone under my watch,” inferred the woman. Although Gabrielle was still very confused, she presumed that the woman behind her was speaking about her.
“I hope your new, lucky bracelet will bring you the luck that you had in finding it. I fear we will need it today,” the woman added, sounding more annoyed.
Gabrielle felt panic swelling in her chest as she ran through the halls past groups of other panicked people and the smell of burning wood. She found herself thinking back to Alexandra and the decision she had made.
CLICK.
She looked down at the bracelet.
Did I make a mistake?
Curiosity and The Hounds of Arawn
A Gabrielle Novel: Book 2
PROLOGUE
The aromatic smell of fire and baking bread filled the air of the small, flour-coated bakery as the sun began to creep through the front window, casting streams of bright sunlight across the stone floor
The great furnace that held the rising treats radiated heat in the back of the shop as Marc placed his goods on a counter at the front of the bakery.
With pride in his eyes, he filled baskets, shelves and cutting stones with grand displays of baked goods. Marc hung rings of bread in his shop window to entice the passersby to come and taste.
Marc had been a baker all his life. It was a family business and he found joy in his craft. This very shop had been in his family for three generations. This was his home, his love... his life.
Never having married, Marc poured all he had into his craft; which had proven wise and profitable. He was the best baker in France (as the locals claimed), but he knew all too well that no one ever left their small town. The cost was too steep and unachievable within the impoverished city—or at the very least, in Versailles.
The turmoil that ravaged the place he called home weighed on the hearts of its citizens. The king and his court lived in elegance, while his people delved deeper into poverty.
Marc was placed in an interesting predicament in this trying time; bakers held a distorted level of power as bread had become a large staple in the diets of the people. He mixed flour, yeast and other ingredients, place them within the old oven, and produced culinary gold.
As bad as things were in Versailles, Marc found solace in believing that he felt things would turn around for the people soon. Since the storming of the Bastille, his fellow countrymen proved they wouldn’t sit idle. Change was in the air and Marc knew that good things were right around the corner.
Stepping back, he admired his work. Everything was in its place and his goods looked like they’d been painted into place by Vigee Le Brun herself.
The stacks of loaves were even and steady, his baguettes protruded from their baskets like an edible flower arrangement. He even managed to get his hands on some late-season apples and had created some delicious tarts that he hoped would sell this morning.
Marc took the base of his apron and wiped the flour from his face. He ran his fingers through his beard and hair, brushing out the bits of flour and straightening his appearance.
With himself as presentable as his breads, Marc took a deep breath, savoring the smells of the morning's hard work. The smell of sweet dough made his stomach growl and gave him a little smile of pride.
The smile crept farther across his face as he made his way to the front door. Marc stood with one hand on the handle and the other on the lock, and looked through the glass to the street outside. The sun stretched down the avenue and he could see other shops beginning their day. A group of young ladies scurried passed his door, giving him hope that he would make a sale.
With an optimistic smile on his face, Marc unlocked and cracked the door. He stuck his nose through the narrow opening as the brisk morning air nipped at its tip.
Marc had a good feeling and a small celebration of good blessing was in order. He grabbed a small, wooden goblet from a shelf in his back storeroom and knelt to the barrel of wine which he kept under a shelf. Raising his cup to the sky, he tilted his head backward.
“Cheers, to October the 5th. May our troubles be behind us and good tidings ahead!” Mark brought the cup to his lips and smelled the sweet bitterness of the red liquid. Before he could enjoy its flavor, he heard a crash from the front of the store.
At first, he was at a loss as everything still looked to be in its place. Then, his eyes found themselves to a large stone that sat in the center of the floor. There were glass shards scattered all over the room, which then brought Marc’s eyes to his front window.
A large hole illustrated how the stone entered the shop. Marc stood in shock as his glass of wine fell from his hands and shattered on the floor. He crept towards the stone, eyes glued to it as if he expected it to jump up and hit him.
Who would find it necessary to throw a stone through my window?
Looking around Marc noticed that not only was the glass smashed in but his entire window display of bread had been taken. He’d never been robbed before, and the acrid taste of bile crept up his throat.
With all hopes of a pleasant day vanishing from his heart, Marc reluctantly turned and walked back to the storeroom. He grabbed a broom and a dustpan to address the mess left by the thief.
When he came back to the front room, the edges of a smile formed on his face at the sight of a woman. She’d let herself in and was looking around the store. Maybe today would work out after all. The woman was a regular customer and Marc recognized her right away.
“Morning Mrs. St—” The newly formed smile, transformed into a grimace as he noticed her strange appearance. Her once beautiful brown hair was disheveled, sweat poured down her face and she looked flush, as if she’d run a marathon. Her clothing looked clean, but there was a large rip across her left sleeve and her usually pressed dress was wrinkled.
She stood at the shelving, helping herself to the tarts. She threw them into a sack and walked across the shop, casually stepping over the glass. Without missing a beat, the disheveled patron turned on her heels and made her way back towards the entrance.
“Hey!” Marc stepped out from around the counter and waved his broom at the woman thief filling a sack with his hard work.
At the sound of his voice, the woman halted. Then, with a wicked smile that stretched the entirety of her face, she ran for the front door. Marc dropped his broom and took pursuit after the woman.
The feeling of the cool morning air on his flushed face sent a chill through his body. As he took in his surroundings, the chill turned into frozen fear. Halting in place so quickly that he nearly fell forward, Marc stood petrified in the presence of madness. Hell had found its way to his steps.
He couldn’t move, hear, or speak; he could only watch as masses of women trashed through shops, shattering windows and tipping carts. Marc rubbed his eyes in disbelief at the savage looks on their faces. This must all be a terrible dream, one where everyone went simultaneously mad, Marc thought as he tried to force the vision away.
No, this was reality. He’d seen this sort of ravenous behavior in packs of dogs that lived in the hills just outside of Versailles. These people were starving and their anger had clearly boiled up to insanity.
He was jolted back to reality as a group of women ran pas
t him, causing his ears to ring. He felt the blood fill his limbs and the numbing buzz throughout his body gave way to a chill. The owner of the vegetable cart across the street was forced to the ground by three women, his face smashing against the cobblestones.
Two of the assailants—who appeared to be bourgeoisie despite their tattered clothing—helped themselves to the goods from his cart. The third woman raised her hands and called to her fellow attackers, drawing their attention to Marc.
Marc’s eyes passed from one wicked gaze to the next and his spirit seemed to vacate his body completely. The world seemed to be ending on this once ideal morning, and all he could see were the sinister eyes of five women tearing through his soul.
The women dropped in their stances, and lunged toward him. The ferocity pouring from their outreached arms and screaming voices was unlike anything he’d ever seen.
Turning on his heels, he wheeled around and sprinted back through the doorway of his shop. Just as Marc’s hands swiped at the bolt on the old, heavy door, he felt the weight of several ferocious attackers press in against him. He fell to the floor and, as his back hit the cold ground, several women poured through the entrance like smoke through an open window.
The first two women were on Marc from the moment they stepped in the shop, while the last three spread to the side and moved past him into his store.
Instinctively, he brought his foot up to deflect his first attacker. The ball of his foot smashed into her bosom, flushing the color from her face as she fell sideways to the floor, gasping and holding her chest.
Like a cat on its prey, the second woman was on top of him, scratching at his face and grabbing his hair. He struggled to get his arms out from under her but she was too heavy. The wild woman grabbed a fistful of his hair, raised his head and slammed it down to the ground.
The Gabrielle Series Boxed Set Page 14
