Autumn Lord (37 page)

"Not if she dies. Not if people keep trying to kill her. And they would, even if I abandoned Marbeau

and ran off with her. There's no place for her in our world."

"She might be willing to try."

"For my sake."

"For the sake of what you have together," Jacques said for her.

Simon sighed. "I would slay dragons for her, if I could."

"But you aren't willing to change for her."

/
don't want him to change. I like him fine as he is, but breathing.

"I can't!" Simon gave a deep, rumbling chuckle. "Though if I think of something I'll let you know."

"Now, there's a hopeful sign. You're actually thinking about thinking."

"And this thinking has gotten me to wondering about something, old man."

"I don't like that suspicious look in your eye, lad."

"Nor should you. Because what I'm wondering is why I never thought of what I'm considering at the

moment before."

"And what is it you're considering?"

"Something obvious. Something I should have thought of long ago. The one practical way to protect

Diane after I'm gone. The only way to protect her. The best thing for her. The simple solution."

"Yes?" Jacques questioned.

Diane listened eagerly. Just what was this simple solution?

"Send her home."

"Home?" Jacques asked. "I think she considers where you are to be home."

Yeah,
she thought.

Simon touched her again. She felt him play with her hair. She wanted to reach up and put her hand

over his, but she couldn't move. She just continued to float, aware but cut off. It was almost as bad as

when she couldn't talk, except that the floating felt good. She wondered just what sort of magic Jacques

was using to create this almost euphoric condition. And, she wished he'd stop it.

"And where she is is home to me," Simon said. "But where she belongs is far in the future. Surely, you

can send her there."

"Can I?"

The false innocence in Jacques voice made her smile, at least to herself.
Can he?
she wondered.

"You brought her here. There must be a spell to send her back."

But she didn't want to go back!

"Do you think so?"

"What I think is that you prevented me from even considering the possibility. That you used magic to

cloud my mind, to hide the thought from me."

Jacques cleared his throat. Guiltily, Diane thought. "If I did, it seems the spell has worn off."

"And not a moment too soon. Can you send her home?"

"Do you really want her to leave you?"

Simon didn't answer for a while. His voice was rough when he did. "Of course not. There's no other

choice. Can you send her back to the future?"

A sigh. "Possibly."

"Possibly? You don't know?"

Jacques hesitated for a long time before he answered. "I haven't considered sending anyone back.

You know I have to think about something a while before I can begin conjuring."

"Then start thinking about it."

"I can't."

There was pure steel in Simon's commanding voice. "The devil you can't."

"I wish you wouldn't mention the devil just now, Simon, not with all the magic loose in the room. You

never know who might show up if you call on them fervently enough."

Simon gave a disgruntled snort. "Don't try to distract me with such nonsense. I want you to work on

the spell to send Diane back to her own time."

"Dead or alive?" Jacques's tone was harsh, a touch angry.

"What?"

"I can do one thing at a time. Right now I'm trying to save her life. Even as we speak, I am conjuring.

If you want me to change the spell into a time travel one right now, I suppose I could. But she'd still be

dying from poison when she got there."

Oh,
she thought.
In that case
—

"Do it later, then," Simon said.

Don't listen to him, Jacques,
she thought. She didn't intend to go anywhere, except maybe to sleep.

She was so weary. The dark was so comfortable.

"Go away, lad," Jacques continued, more calmly, as Diane's consciousness drifted slowly away from

the conversation. "Get some rest. Let me work."

Rest,
she thought. Yes. Wonderful, wonderful, rest. That would be lovely.

* * *

"Of course you're not," Simon said. He tucked the fur blanket close around Diane's chin. "You're too

weak to go anywhere." He smiled. It was like the sun coming out from behind dark clouds. "Welcome

back to the land of the living." He bent close and kissed her forehead. A strand of his gold hair tickled

her cheek. "And glad I am to have you here."

She was lying on her back, her head propped up by lots of pillows, in the middle of his comfortable

bed. She felt like she'd been asleep for ages. The only thing she remembered when she opened her eyes

to find Simon carefully watching her was Jacques and Simon's conversation. She was certain she hadn't

dreamed it. She just couldn't remember how she came to overhear it in the first place. She must have

been ill, but the details escaped her. She wondered what day it was. She noticed that Simon had several

days' growth of beard. He'd been clean-shaven for the Christmas feast when last she'd seen him.

"I won't go away," she said.

"You won't have to. Not for a while yet." He smiled reassuringly, and cupped her cheek in his palm.

She dragged her hand out from under the heavy covers and clasped Simon's wrist. "You don't

understand."

Her voice sounded weak in her ears. She felt weak, too weak to throw the covers off and grab the

man and shake him. She felt too weak to talk much, really, but after all the time she'd spent voiceless she

wasn't going to let a little physical debilitation keep her from speaking. Besides, she felt the desperate

rush of time passing. She had a feeling she'd been sick for quite a while. The light coming in through the

oiled skin that covered the window seemed stronger, closer to spring sunlight.

Soon, she knew, it would be too late to talk to Simon anymore. "I'm not going anywhere," she

repeated. "Not back to my own time. Not away somewhere with Joscelin. I'm staying with you."

Simon had heard her repeat these words over and over for the last five days while he sat by her

bedside. She said them so many times, it was a litany that he'd almost come to believe himself. He was

happy to hear her say them while she looked at him. He didn't even care that there was stern

stubbornness in that look. He loved her in any mood she cared to show him, as long as she was alive,

awake, and on the mend.

He'd been frantically worried. He'd spent much of that time on his knees, praying for her life. He'd

spent all of the time hoping. He'd spent some of it thinking. Before Diane had confronted him on

Christmas he hadn't thought there was anything left for him to think about. His plans were made. He was

unhappy about his course, but certain of it.

Then, he watched her nearly die. Nearly lost her. Not for the first time, but this crisis had been

different. There had been no instant response he could make, no threat to her that he could vanquish with

a sword or a lordly command. Her illness had shaken him like nothing had before. Shaken him out of his

complacency as he had to helplessly watch and wait and hope.

Hope was turning into a habit with him. As was thinking and planning. His thoughts kept racing off in

ridiculous directions, trying out schemes and fantastical possibilities. He felt like he was a character in one

of her heroic tales, one whose duty it was to save the heroine, retrieve the treasure, defeat the Nazis, and

get out alive. He felt wonderful.

Or, at least he had when she'd opened her eyes and looked at him a few moments before. He'd been

waiting for the reward of that instant for days. It was a look of love and trust that made him feel like he

could do all those things as long as she was at his side.

Rational as he tried to be, the wonder wouldn't fade, it lit his heart, warmed him like no hearthfire

could ever manage. This was what it felt like to be truly alive! All because this woman had come into his

world, and changed him forever.

He didn't think he dared to tell her it was too late for change, for hope, for taking chances. She'd

probably shout at him, or try, since she was weak as a kitten and could barely speak above a whisper.

Besides, there was some small chance that she was right.

Simon walked away from the bed and sat down at his desk. He set out quill, inkstone, and parchment

as he said to Yves, "Have Father Andre brought to me." He felt Diane's curious gaze on him while he

wrote. He knew it was a measure of how truly weak she still was when she didn't even try to get out of

bed to see what he was about.

He was sanding the wet ink when Joscelin pushed the disheveled priest through the door ahead of him.

Days spent locked away in the dark had left Andre filthy, gaunt, and pale. Simon was not unhappy to see

him that way. Or to note that Andre quaked with fear when he was brought to stand before the table.

Father Andre's gaze darted, once, toward Diane in her nest of pillows and furs, then he looked down as

Simon rose to his feet.

"I've made up my mind what to do with you," Simon told the assassin as he came around the table.

Andre's voice shook when he spoke. "You dare not kill me. It is a great sin to kill a priest."

He grasped the man's chin, and forced Andre's head up. When they were looking eye to eye, he said,

"You know a great deal about the sin of killing." He was very tempted to shift his hold and strangle the

man for what he'd done to Diane. Unfortunately, he had a better use for him. He stepped back and held

the message out to the priest. "Take this."

After a short hesitation, Andre snatched the folded parchment. He turned it over in his hands, and ran

his fingers over the still warm wax seal. "What is this? What do I do with it?"

"What it is is no affair of yours. What I want you to do is deliver it."

The priest managed to look even more terrified. "To Father Raymond?"

Simon laughed. "You failed him. I don't think you want to experience the penance he'd demand for

your failure."

Andre bent his head again. His shoulders slumped. "That is true." He glanced back up, furtively this

time. "Where is it you want me to take this?"

"Somewhere where you'll be sure to find protection, a rat hole I can trust you to run to. That would be

in the camp of my greatest enemy, of course. Somewhere where you'll be greeted as a trusted old friend.

The message is for my son," Simon concluded.

The man's look went from furtive and fearful to speculative. "And what does this message say?"

Simon had no intention of answering any questions. "Take him away," he told Joscelin. "Fit him out for

the journey, give him a good horse and set him on his way."

He had no intentions of answering Diane's questions once the men were gone, either. He had set a

new thing in motion. He had a plan. He wasn't in the mood to discuss it. Especially not when he wasn't

sure if it was going to work. He might have learned to hope, but he still wasn't certain of his luck. It had

rarely been good before.

"I have to have a long talk with Jacques," he said. He hurried toward the door before Diane's

imploring look could call him back.

It was going to be a long, detailed talk, then Simon was going to leave Jacques alone. The wizard was

going to have a great deal of thinking to do to prepare the spell Simon wanted, and not much time to do

it in.

"So you actually talk to people
on the other side of the world using this fishing net?"

"Internet. It's a communication network that links computers together. It's really very simple. All you

need's a modem and—Actually, it's very complicated, but if you have a user friendly front end program

you can access the Web and—" She sighed, and stroked his face. "It doesn't make any sense to me

either, darling, I just know how to log on and use it."

"Log? Web? Are there spiders and woodcutters involved with this fishing net?" Far from looking as

confused as he sounded, there was a teasing light in Simon's eyes.

Diane chuckled, and snuggled closer beside him in the big bed. He had woken her up only a few

minutes before, with first a kiss, then a question. The heavy curtains were drawn across the bed, the only

light was from a thick tallow candle on a shelf over their heads. She had no idea what time it was, and

didn't really care. Time wasn't important when she was with Simon—except that it was racing away. She

tried not to think about that.

So she answered his question with one of her own. "Why do you want to know about computers

anyway?"

He put an arm around her shoulder. She rested her head on his heart and looked up at him through his

fuzzy blond chest hair. The angle and the shadows highlighted the imperious arch of his nose and the