Goddamn it, Gill, I said to myself, you picked a fine time not to think with your dick.
Truth be told, I think it was exhausted from a night with the queen and taking some time off. It hadn’t spoken to me in days. I was starting to get worried.
I leaned back and closed my eyes. If I didn’t look at Marie, if I didn’t think about it in any way, maybe I could just forget…
Forget what? She was a goddamn time traveler like myself, like my sister. Only she had a magical wand. And she wouldn’t tell me where she was from, or even when. Every day that passed without her was agony. I forced myself not to think about it.
“Gill!”
I jolted forward as I felt the carriage suddenly skid to a halt, and heard my sister cry out.
“We’re under attack!”
Shit.
I heard a thump outside and flung the carriage door open, and the chaos of the soldiers screaming in ancient French dialect split through the air.
“To arms!” a soldier called.
“Protect the prince!”
The last was Francis, no mistaking his high voice.
Behind me, Marie pushed out of the carriage while the queen, startled awake, began to stir Becket.
Something whizzed by my head. A thunk sounded as a crossbow bolt smashed into the side of the carriage, spewing splinters everywhere and nearly penetrating all the way through.
Right where I had been sitting.
The queen screamed.
“Get down!” I yelled at her as I jumped to the ground. “Piers!” I called, running around the back of the carriage to where Jules was.
My page, Piers, was a slight boy of fifteen or so but had the heart of a lion. No one would have ever known I’d rescued him from near death, administering CPR and saved his life only four days ago. He leapt from his place as footman; his sling flung up into his hand. All around us, the soldiers closed in, protecting both sides of the carriage. A swish filled the air as a dozen swords were drawn at once. Pier launched a few steady rocks into the tree line as more arrows and bolts flew.
I heard a loud neigh and saw Jules’ horse, riderless, take off for the forest. In its wake, I saw Jules, who was half standing, half slumped against the side of the carriage, her hand pressed to her left shoulder. Blood stained the front of her chainmail and began to drip off her fingertips.
“Help me!” I said to Piers. We crowded around Jules, both helping her stand, and I saw the arrow through her shoulder that pinned her to the carriage.
“Sire!” Piers yelled.
I turned to see a dozen soldiers, in red and white instead of the French blues, rush into our detail of soldiers, swords held high.
Whoever was shooting, had us surrounded—with arrows and weapons. The guards closed in around us, protecting me, their would-be king. One of them shouted for me to get back into the carriage, and I ignored him.
Gill, the paramedic, snapped to attention then, though I doubt my instructor ever told us how to handle archaic wounds like this. It was the chapel, the great hall full of Henry’s soldiers, all over again. Only this time it wasn’t faceless wounded … this was my goddamn sister. She’d need an IV, more blood. My mind raced with all the steps I needed to get her to…
Where? Safety? An emergency room? Fuck. There wouldn’t be a hospital for five-hundred years. Even then, an IV was centuries in the making.
I stared at my sister.
“What are you doing, fucker? Break it off!” She shouted at me.
Jules was tough. I’ll give her that, and she just ground her teeth and looked up at me.
Holy shit! A crossbow bolt landed in the wheel, six inches from Jules face, shattering it and causing the carriage to rock to one side. I almost jumped. Those things were fucking huge! If Jules had been hit by one, she would have lost her entire fucking arm.
Behind me, a soldier cried out as he crumpled to the ground, blood spraying from his knee where the rest of his leg would have been.
Yeah, just like that.
“Gill!” Jules was still yelling at me.
I touched the edge of the arrow. “It’s all the way through!” I yelled at her. Another soldier fell to our right, run clean through with a sword. I focused on my sister. “Jules, you can’t just…”
“Break it off!” she shouted in my face.
Piers looked at me. “Sire?”
“Hold her!” I said, and Piers tried his best to steady my sister. With both hands, I reached up and broke the arrow tip off—which took every bit of strength I had, those fuckers were built well, apparently. Jules screamed and gripped my hand, hard, as she slid her way off the arrow, collapsing into my arms. I had never heard such a gut-wrenching sound, not ever. Not women giving birth, men with kidney stones, or children with broken limbs. Jules’ yell was pure agony.
“Motherfucker!” she howled. She pushed me away and pressed her hand to her shoulder, wincing, bending over, sucking in air through her teeth and letting out a string of curses.
“Get down, under the carriage,” I told her and Piers. “I’ve got to get Marie…”
“And the queen,” Jules added.
“Fuck the queen,” I told her. Piers looked between us, but I motioned under the carriage. My sister lumbered behind the destroyed wheel out of sight.
Another bolt landed at my feet, thudding half way into the soft path, as I threw the carriage door open. I had no plan, no idea. I had to save Marie and the queen. Get them to the forest? But how …
The carriage was empty.
“Goddamn, it,” I said. I raced around the back, where soldiers were fully engaged in sword combat with leather-glad foes with red crosses on their shields. I dashed between them as quickly as I could. I had no idea who was attacking us or what was going on. It was utter chaos.
“Let me go!” I heard a woman yell in French. I spotted three red-cross men dragging Marie and the Queen by their hair into the woods. Just on the edge of the forest, Becket lay unconscious. I didn’t stop to verify, but from a quick glance, he didn’t have any visible wounds. Francis had fallen from his horse, the poor ambassador, taking a direct bolt through his temple that destroyed most of his skull.
I didn’t need my paramedic skills to tell me he was really fucking dead.
I ran through the underbrush after the women, wishing briefly, I had a sword, despite being completely useless with one. Not for the first time, I wondered if I could trade in my medical knowledge—which was nearly useless for the lack of supplies in this time period—for sword fighting. What was this, a video game where I could swap skills? Wouldn’t that be fucking nice?
Twenty feet ahead, Marie kicked and screamed, and I could hear her thrashing about. I could barely make them out between the thick tree trunks, but I could see the Queen was holding her hair with both hands and crying openly. Closing in on them, I wondered how in the world, I would fight two armed soldiers, who were much better at combat than I was, for sure.
Before I could catch up, I skidded to a halt as Marie pulled a dagger from her dress and chopped cleanly through her hair, leaving a huge clump of it in the man’s hand. He froze and held up the lock of hair in his hand, looking at her bewildered. The one in front, still moving quickly, turned and shouted something in that same archaic old English that Becket spoke.
English, not French. They were English soldiers.
Why would English soldiers want the queen? Did they know she was married to the heir—me—who was on his way to be coronated?
What the fuck was going on?
The man who had been holding Marie turned and gave her a swift kick in the stomach, and she crumpled to the ground. Laughing, he took off after the other soldiers. I watched them cross over the ridge and disappear from the tree line.
I jogged over to Marie. I knew I should go after the queen, but if I ventured any farther into the woods, I risked not returning. I stooped down next to her.
“Are you alright?” I held out my hand to help her up.
She groane
d and waved me away. She struggled to her feet, one hand on her stomach and the other dusting off her dress. “Rapscallions,” she muttered in French.
“Fuckers,” I said to her in English. She almost smiled, but not quite.
“What are we going to do now?” she said in English, looking at me.
I was having a bit of trouble kick starting my paramedic's brain. Jules, I had to get back to Jules. Yet, I couldn’t stop staring at Marie. I was desperate to know if she’d been stabbed or hurt in any way. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I said again.
“I’m fine!” She shook her thick head of curls, which I could see didn’t even look like she had lost some in the process. She looked over her shoulder where the men had disappeared over the ridge. “We have to—”
“Look, Becket’s unconscious, and my sister’s been shot,” I interrupted. “We have to get back.”
“The Queen….” Marie started.
“We can find her later,” I interrupted. “There’s wounded back there. Come on!”
We didn’t bother to pick our way back to the carriage carefully, but it was slow going with Marie’s heavy dress. I had to pick her up and swing her over several logs I had jumped when chasing after them.
As soon as we reached the roadway, we could see the remaining soldiers were still holding their own against the leather-clad attackers. I heard a hoot then, an owl sound that was somewhat human. The invaders broke rank and ran off into the woods, to the left of where Marie and I were standing. A couple looked our direction but paid us no mind.
“See to Jules,” I said, dropping Marie’s hand.
“Gill, wait, where are you going?” Her eyes wide, frantic.
“To save the queen!”
I left her there in the midst of after-battle and took off into the woods.
To save the queen of France—who I didn’t even like.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Read more about Gill’s story in MAGIC, Curse of Lanval: Book III, available on Amazon.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rebekah Dodson is a prolific word weaver of romance, fantasy, and science fiction novels. Her works include the series Postcards from Paris, The Surrogate, The Curse of Lanval series, several stand alone novels, and her upcoming YA novel, Clock City. She has been writing her whole life, with her first published work of historical fiction with 4H Clubs of America at the age of 12, and poetry at the age of 16 with the National Poetry Society. With an extensive academic background including education, history, psychology and English, she currently works as a college professor by day and a writer by night. She resides in Southern Oregon with her husband, two teenagers, and three dogs.
OTHER BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR
Postcards from Paris
Room 331: A Prequel
The Writer
The Runaway
The Dependent
The Independent
The Choice
The Surrogate Series
The Contract
The Commission
The Commitment
Sixteen Days
In Time for Love and Coffee
Marie (The Curse of Lanval Book 2) Page 11
