The City of Love: A Medieval Time Travel Romance (Eternity Rings Book 1)

by Paige Elwood

  The ring the old man had forced on her was still unnervingly warm inside her pocket, and so she slipped it out to inspect it more closely. The metal was flimsy and brassy-looking, with spots of discoloration like it was made of cheap materials. She held it up to the light, the metal still warm to the touch. It felt like it would easily bend, or break. It certainly didn’t look like a real relic, or anything with any value at all.

  The ring’s design was intricate, almost like a Celtic knot. It gave the ring a delicate, feminine appearance. Sophie wondered why someone would go to so much trouble creating such an unusual design on a band made from such a cheap, flimsy material. She wasn’t sure what it was actually made of. It was softer than brass and didn’t feel like gold either. Small, emerald green stones that couldn’t possibly have been real were dotted into the design. It would have been a beautiful ring if it were real gold and emeralds, but the materials used made it look like cheap costume jewelry, or even a child’s toy ring. She was very glad she hadn’t paid anything for it, and it alleviated some of the guilt that she may have technically stolen it.

  Sophie dropped the ring onto the nightstand and headed to the bathroom. This time, she chose the enormous walk-in shower rather than the bath. She hoped the sensation of the showering water on her skin would wash away the tingling feeling that just wouldn’t stop. She stepped into the shower, savoring the feeling of the water raining down on her, the warm droplets like tiny hands massaging her skin. Unbidden, the image of the old man’s eyes appeared in her mind. Those intelligent brown eyes that had transfixed her, with their deep amber color that seemed to hold a thousand secrets and mysteries, and even a hint of power. Just the thought of those eyes brought back the strange feeling of a vacuum, where only Sophie and the old man existed.

  She lathered her skin with the beautiful floral scented shower gel provided by the hotel and tried to think about something else. She thought about work and the growing to-do list that was all part and parcel of starting a new business. There would be a lot to do when she got home, all of the stock to sort through and categorize, marketing to promote the fledgling business. She needed some product images for the marketing, and she really wanted to use those old books as props. They’d look great arranged artfully with some really cool shoes. The burgundy one especially.

  Thinking of the books reminded her of Helene’s story of the cursed French nobleman. Perhaps it was a particularly cruel curse. He’d be doomed to search for his ‘one true love,’ but if life had taught her anything it was that the whole ideal of ‘one true love’ was a myth. She’d accept that love was possible, but it was fleeting and short-lived. There were bound to be many loves in most people’s lives, not just some mythical special person destined for you.

  The concept of ‘one true love’ had been around for centuries, she pondered. Even when people would often live their entire lives in one small part of the world, never traveling or moving around. Only very wealthy people and perhaps merchants, soldiers, sailors and the like had been able to see much more than their own towns and villages. In a world like that, perhaps the idea that one person in that town or village would be destined to be your true love was more plausible.

  In today’s world, where people moved across states, countries, and even continents and did most of their ‘dating’ on the internet, how on earth could fate engineer that you’d even cross paths with your supposed true love? Besides, what if your one true love was a bad person? If everybody had somebody fated to be their lover, that would mean some people would get stuck with a lover who was cruel, unkind, or worse, just because fate said so. No, thought Sophie, that is not a concept I’m buying in to. We make our own fate, and love is fickle.

  She got out of the shower and wrapped herself in the enormous, fluffy bath towel that had been warming on the towel rail. She still felt that tingling sensation and was beginning to wonder if she actually had some kind of physical ailment. She rifled through the nightwear she’d brought and wished she’d brought something comforting like a pair of flannel pajamas and not just an assortment of flimsy scraps of silk. She’d been planning for a passionate affair, and so only brought nightwear that she deemed fling-appropriate. Flannel pajamas were not conducive to passionate affairs, so they hadn’t gone into the suitcase. She hadn’t been planning on having a mini existential crisis, followed by an encounter with a creepy old man that left her literally shaken.

  Chapter 7

  Edouard landed back in his time’s version of the inn. Madame Petellier still stood in the tiny room at the top of the building. She was wringing her hands and pacing, but when Edouard appeared in a heap on the floor she moved quickly to help him up.

  “Are you alright? Where is Sabine?” she asked, looking him over as though checking for any bumps or bruises.

  “I am fine,” he assured her. “Sabine will arrive soon, she tells me her magic can help her stay just a little longer because she can tap into a little of the magic of Sophie’s ring. She’ll come back here when Sophie does.”

  “It is done? You have been gone for only a few minutes,” she said.

  “It is done,” he assured her. “I was there in the future for several hours, but I come back to my own time soon after I leave it.”

  “What was it like?” Madame Petellier asked.

  “It is very noisy, and confusing,” he said. “The people dress in clothes I’ve never seen before, and there are strange contraptions and devices everywhere, like carriages that do not need horses and candles without fire.”

  “It sounds like an interesting place,” she said, her eyes taking on a dreamy quality as she tried to imagine this strange world that he had visited.

  “It has some redeeming qualities,” he said, “but I would not wish to live there.”

  “If it is so different, how is the girl going to settle in? Will she not pine for her home?” Madame Petellier asked.

  “We must do everything we can to put her at ease,” Edouard said. If him meeting her was his destiny, then surely it was also her destiny to come here? He shouldn’t have to feel guilty at using the rings to make that happen. Wasn’t that why he’d been given the rings in the first place?

  “D’accord,” Madame Petellier agreed. “She must stay with me, my daughters will make sure she feels at home, with friends to speak to and learn of this time.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “Can we trust them to keep our secret?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even Delphine?” he frowned. Madame Petellier’s youngest girl was bright, vivacious, and something of a flibbertigibbet. If any of them would let the secret slip, it would be Delphine.

  “We will make sure she doesn’t say anything out of turn,” she assured him.

  “Thank you,” he said, “for all your help.”

  “It is my pleasure,” she said, her eyes brightening with the threat of tears. “I promised your mother I would look after you, and I will always keep my promise.”

  He gave her a kiss on the cheek, grateful for her unwavering support. “I will always be grateful,” he said.

  She waved away his gratitude. “Like I say, I will always look out for you,” she said, and as if confirming this, held out bread and cheese for Edouard to eat. He needed to regain some of the strength spent on his leaping in and out of time. “I must go. There is much to do to prepare for our guest tomorrow.”

  Edouard escorted Madame Petellier home and then took the short walk to his own estate . Despite it not being far, his whole body ached like he’d been walking for days on end. Time travel played havoc with him; morphing from his own young body to an old sack of bones and back again really took a toll. It was draining mentally and physically, and he would need some rest to put his plan into action first thing tomorrow.

  Despite the weariness that seeped into his bones, his heart was still strangely elated. He had found her! All of that time spent looking, and he had finally found her. He’d known when he saw her in the dream, and his ring’s reaction had con
firmed it, but when he’d touched her that knowledge had solidified into something real, tangible and concrete.

  Before seeing her, he’d known she was the right one in a logical way. Since he’d touched her, it had become more than just logical. It was a pure, powerful knowledge that was simply part of him. In the same way he knew how to breathe, how to walk, he knew Sophie was the one he’d been searching for. It terrified him as much as it reassured him. He’d found her, this was the moment he’d been waiting for. But now he had to make sure he didn’t mess up. If he let this chance slip through his fingers he wouldn’t get another one. This was the only chance he would have. He wasn’t completely sure leaving Sabine there had been the best idea. He hoped she stuck to the script and didn’t cause any problems. The woman had an infuriating way of assuming she knew best.

  The pressure of the whole situation weighed heavily on his chest. What if he failed? What if Sabine did something to jeopardize it? He pushed the thought away. He wouldn’t fail. He couldn’t fail. It was his destiny, wasn’t it? How could you fail at your own destiny? And Sabine? Well, it was in her best interests to follow the plan.

  Chapter 8

  Sophie selected the most comfortable item of nightwear she’d brought—a full-length chemise in black silk that skimmed both her curves and the floor—and got into bed. Her mind kept taking her back to the old man and the moment he’d touched her elbow. She realized she’d been touching her elbow, unconsciously, in the exact place where his hand had been. That hand! So old, with the wrinkled and weathered skin almost loose around the joints of the knuckles. His hands were deceptively strong, his grip on her firm, and she couldn’t have escaped from it.

  How was he so strong, and where had he gone? He couldn’t have actually blown away in the wind, but how had he vanished so fast? One second, he was in front of her, and the next—poof! And those eyes… she’d always thought it was nonsensical fancy when people talked about drowning in someone’s eyes. Yet looking into those amber eyes had felt a lot like drowning, plunging her into the depths of some emotion that she couldn’t quite name, and where she couldn’t quite catch her breath.

  She rubbed her arms, which still held a faint tingle. Energy had passed between them the moment his hand had touched her elbow, and it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It felt like she somehow knew the man. Yet she couldn’t possibly know him. She’d never been to France, and she would have remember meeting such a wizened old man. He looked ancient, like he’d never been young, but his strength and those eyes didn’t belong on such an old person. He’d certainly acted like he knew Sophie. He’d insisted he had been waiting for her, but why?

  She wasn’t tired enough to sleep so she flicked through some of the channels on the hotel room’s flat screen television. Most of the channels were French, and she was too frazzled to try and understand what was being said. She found a news channel in English, but she didn’t want to hear about the terrible things happening in the world right now. She needed a distraction. A couple more channel changes and she found an English movie playing with French subtitles. She figured that would do, but after a few minutes she realized it was a creepy ghost story, and that also didn’t suit her already disturbed mood.

  She sighed, exasperated with herself and this ridiculous mood, and turned the television off. She’d placed a small bottle of sleeping pills in the nightstand in case of jetlag, so she fished them out and swallowed one with a gulp of now-warm water from a half-drunk bottle of Evian she’d bought at the airport.

  As an afterthought, she read the back of the bottle. ‘May cause drowsiness, please avoid operating heavy machinery.’ Sophie rolled her eyes at that one. The instructions continued: May cause vivid dreams, dry mouth, dizziness, tingling sensation, stomach upset, indigestion…. The list went on and Sophie put the bottle back down. The tingling sensation from his touch was disturbing her enough, hopefully the sleeping pills wouldn’t make it worse! The list of side effects was alarming, but she reminded herself that they were fairly rare, and she definitely needed a helping hand to get some sleep tonight.

  Sophie figured she’d have about half an hour to kill before they kicked in, so she picked up her phone and checked her social media accounts. Claire had posted a few hours earlier about needing a holiday. Claire, Sophie thought. I wish I could talk to her right now. She checked the time back home—there was no way Claire would be awake. Perhaps if she sent her a text? That way if she was awake, she might call Sophie back. If she wasn’t awake, perhaps just telling Claire about her strange night would make her feel better.

  She started to type:

  Miss you! I’ve had such a strange evening. Some old guy grabbed my arm on the Quai and tried to sell me an old relic. He was really, really, old and creepy and now I just feel so odd. Like, as if my whole body has been tingling since he touched me.

  Sophie read back what she’d typed and pressed delete. She sounded hysterical. She wrote a quick Miss you! message and sent that instead. Even though she knew it was unlikely, she was still hoping Claire would be awake. Or selfishly, that the message would wake her up and she’d call her. She watched the little icon on the screen that would show when the message had been read, but after five minutes there was no change, and her eyelids were beginning to droop.

  In the absence of an actual conversation with her sister, she thought about what Claire would probably say if she did call. She would advise her to get some sleep and put the whole thing out of her mind, and she’d say it was probably just down to jetlag.

  She set the phone down on the nightstand, and her eyes landed on the relic she had placed there earlier. She picked it up, clenching the ring in her fist, imagining the old man’s hands closed tightly around her own. She wanted to feel his hands there again. That was crazy, though. Why would she want that? Maybe she did catch something from him—his craziness.

  She opened her clenched fist and peered again at the ring, noticing that it still emitted that peculiar warmth, but it looked marginally more like gold than it had before. She slipped the ring onto her finger. Once it was on it looked even more like real gold, and less tacky than before. Weird. She tilted her hand to view it at different angles, and the tiny green stones twinkled in the muted light from the bedside lamp.

  Sophie yawned, the sleeping tablets beginning to take effect. She switched off the lamp and lay back onto the plumped feather pillows that cradled her head like she was resting on a cloud. She closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

  For a while she dreamed that she was home, in California, working on her new business. As she worked, there was a knock at the door. She got up and opened the door to find Helene standing on the porch. Sophie greeted her like an old friend with a smile and a hug and invited her in, never wondering why she was there or how she got to California. Sophie asked if Helene would like a coffee, but Helene grabbed her elbow, like the old man on the Quai. Leaning in, Helene whispered in Sophie’s ear: Are you ready for your destiny? In the dream, Sophie was confused at Helene’s words, but the confusion soon gave way to the comforting darkness of a dreamless sleep.

  Sophie slept for hours, the combination of jetlag and sleeping medication keeping her locked in such a deep sleep that she had no idea where she was when she finally began to emerge from slumber. She rolled over without opening her eyes, wondering why the mattress that had been so wonderfully springy yet firm last night now felt hard and a little lumpy. She also could have sworn that she’d had a soft down duvet with Egyptian cotton sheets, and not the blanket draped over her now that rasped against her skin with every slight movement. Was it the brocade blanket from the bottom of the bed? The expensive-looking blanket had appeared soft, but whatever she had over her now was certainly not nice against her skin.

  She opened her eyes, and for a moment confusion paralyzed her. The windows were the same, enormous Gothic arches, but instead of the beautifully wallpapered walls, the entire room had simple stone walls. The mattress she lay on was a sack stuffed with
what she assumed was straw, and the brown, woolen scrap of a blanket looked and smelled like it had never been washed. The ‘mattress’ didn’t smell much better. Sophie jumped up, confused more than afraid, her bare feet landing on cold, hard stone, and not a soft, plush carpet. Had she been sleepwalking and ended up in a different room in the hotel, an old store room, perhaps? She looked around, and saw that the size and shape of the room was the same as her hotel room.

  She walked to the window and realized the view had changed too. There were fewer buildings. It must be a different room. Then her eyes landed on Notre Dame, visible from the exact same angle as through the window her hotel room, just with no other buildings blocking the view in any way. Her stomach churned. No. She must be imagining it, this was definitely not her room. No furniture, other than the strange makeshift bed, and what looked like a chamber pot in one corner. There was no bathroom either, she realized, which of course prompted her bladder to remind her that she actually needed to use the bathroom.

  She opened the door—a heavy, wooden slab like the front door of the hotel on a slightly smaller scale. The corridor looked wrong too, she saw with dismay. Still no carpet, no wallpaper, just stone walls and floors. The doors of the first two rooms she passed were closed, but the third was open. Sophie peered in to see a mirror of the room she’d slept in. How strange. It must be a floor of the hotel that had never been renovated,.

  At the end of the corridor, she turned left to where the elevator was on her floor. Yet there was no elevator here, just the stairwell. She started down the stairwell cautiously, very aware that she was barefoot and in her nightwear. She hoped she didn’t bump into any other guests before she found her room. Her stomach sank when she realized that she didn’t have any of her belongings on her, including her key card!