A Christmas Keepsake (34 page)

“Sir—” Sir Dominic dragged himself onto his elbow.

“My few supporters in constant danger?” He spun to face the elderly man. “Is that what you want?”

Sir Dominic tried to stand, but fell back, too weak. “You owe it to England,” he gasped.

“What do I owe? Bloodshed? Revolution? More bitter memories of hopeless causes like my father brought? I’d be a Lord of Misrule, in reality. There will always be those who will fight the Stuart name. I’ll not sacrifice the lives of those I love—nor will I sacrifice the
country
I love—to such carnage.”

Christy leaned against the table and stared into the snowdome. To her, those sentiments made James a truer ruler to his people than any crown he might wear.

James straightened, his eyes blazing. “I’ll choose a powerful pen over an impotent—and explosive—crown any day.”

Christy shivered. “But what if you can’t—”

Movement, glimpsed out of the corner of her eye, focused her attention on Farnham. He half sprawled, half sat on the floor, the deadly gleam in his eyes directed at James. In his good hand he held the major’s blood-tinged knife. He drew it back, taking careful aim.

Christy screamed, and grasped the first object she encountered and heaved it at him.

She reeled, dizzy, as the snowdome hurtled through the air, its ivory flakes swirling ... The room swirled, as if she spun, not the ball...

James clutched his chest, falling, and blood welled between his fingers. Only she saw it from a great distance. Farnham caught the snowdome in a reflex action, clutching it to him as he collapsed once more, his energy spent. The world spun, blurred, receding from Christy’s vision.

“James!” she screamed, but the sound echoed, hollow in the complete silence that engulfed her. She’d inverted the snowdome...

She reached for him, but he was no longer there. A chill wind whipped about her, and she fell...

Christy knelt on her hands and knees in snow. She shivered with a cold that surpassed the merely physical. So very cold...

She sat back, trembling, and gazed about her. Several children skated on a frozen pond. She blinked. They wore jeans and sweatshirts, or down jackets like hers. The flakes fell thick and fast, covering the street and the cars parked by the curb. Somewhere, from a building behind her, a radio blared an acid rock version of a Christmas carol. Her own time, back in the park where she started.

Her gaze dropped to the ground before her, where shattered shards of glass protruded from the snow. With a hand that shook, she picked up the wooden base and turned it over. James’s signature...

Anguish washed through her. With a trembling hand, she picked up the enameled figurine of the horse which had lain beneath it. The others...

Desperate, she brushed the flakes aside, collecting the fragments of glass. She uncovered first the gig, then the renditions of James and herself, still locked in the embrace of their eternal country dance. She clutched them to her, too numb to move.

“Are you all right?” A young male voice sounded just above her.

She looked up into the face of a teen punk, his expression all concern.

“Got to watch your step, it’s a bit slippery.” He held out his hand, and when Christy took it, he pulled her to her feet. “Here,” he added, and scooped up the purse that lodged at a rakish angle in the snow.

She stammered her thanks as she took it. With a wave, he took off at a run to join a couple of other youths who waited a few yards away.

Christy stared blankly at the bag she now held. It
was
hers. But how—?

She made her way to a bench and sank down on the snowy surface. Her purse. The figurines. They shouldn’t still be here, not after so many weeks...

Unless no time had passed ... Her trembling increased.

She swallowed, and the cold, hard edges of the figurines bit into her palms as her hands tightened on them. No time had passed. Had none of it been real? Could she have dreamed the whole thing? And James—dear, beloved James—had he been no more than a phantom of her longings?

She closed her eyes, too confused to make sense of this. Her heart ached, unable to tell the difference between illusion and truth.

After several long minutes, she dragged herself to her feet. She couldn’t sit here, mourning a love—a man who existed only in her dreams. The icy wind whipped about her, chilling her to her soul, plastering against her legs her snow-dampened skirt ... her snow-dampened
Regency
skirt! She stared at the rose muslin with its single flounce hanging about her booted ankles.

It
had
been real. All of it. And James ... She dragged his. book from her pocket and opened it to the last few chapters. The print remained solid, unshifting, the tale the one of the house party.

Not one of revolution. And not so much as a mention of a Stuart met her rapidly scanning gaze. Had he escaped Sir Dominic and gone to live in exile? She closed her eyes, and the vision rose before her of him clutching his chest, falling...

He had died. The realization struck her like a physical blow...

There, in that dingy lodging, without her, he had died.

James ... An aching void opened deep within her, an emptiness which she knew would never be filled, would never heal. She had lost him forever.

She looked down at the figures in her hands. All she had left of him ... She clutched them to her, and stared into nothingness, numb and empty and drained...

“Christy?” A deep, familiar voice sounded behind her.

She spun about, incredulous. For one long, disbelieving moment she stared at the disheveled figure, then flung herself into his arms. “James...” she breathed, his name no more than a whisper on her lips.

“Careful.” A shaky laugh escaped him. “I have a small cut there.”

“I thought you were dead...” She clung to him, half laughing, half sobbing. He was here, alive, not torn from her...

His mouth found hers, and he kissed her with a thoroughness that took her breath away. His lips brushed her cheek, her eyes, then returned to her mouth with the fierceness of desperation. Joy and disbelief ran rampant in her, until she had to draw back, to actually
see
it was really him.

“How—how did you get here?” she managed at last.

“The same way you did.” He smoothed back her hair, then kissed her once more. “When you disappeared like that, the others were too startled to react. I realized what had happened—and that my disappearing as completely would be the only way to prevent revolution. Sir Dominic and his cabal—” He shook his head. “They never would have given up until the country ran with blood.”

“So you inverted the ball.” And gave up his way of life, everything he had known.

His arms tightened about her. “It seemed the only chance to avert the revolution. I’d have tried it at once, but I had to bandage that slice Farnham gave me, first.”

“Farnham. He—he caught the snowdome,” she said, recalling the whirling scene. “What happened to him?”

“He’s dead.” James’s jaw set. “Sir Dominic, though, will be all right—if he recovers from the shock of seeing us both vanish.”

A tremulous laugh set Christy’s shoulders shaking. “He must have, by now.” Her gaze fell on his strained face. “Come, you’re cold and hurt. Oh, James, let’s get back to my hotel.”

“Where?” For the first time he looked about, at the people, the cars on the street. An expression of wonder entered his dark eyes, and he shook his head. “I’ve left my own time,” he said, as if the reality of it just struck him. “My God, what have I done?”

She sobered. “Sacrificed your birthright to save England.”

“Have I?” For several long seconds, he stared at her in silence. Then his lips curved in a slow smile. “In that case, I’ve freed my descendants from the curse of being pretenders to a throne. I can continue my work—” He broke off. “We shall have to visit the Bank of England to see how well I provided for us—and the poor of this time.”

“We’re bound to be filthy rich. We’ll be able to fund all sorts; of shelters and programs. My brother—” she broke off as laughter again welled within her. “James, do you realize no time at all has passed while I’ve been gone? It’s only the beginning of December, still. That means we can be there for my brother’s wedding.”

A warm glow suffused his entire face. “And what of ours?”

For a moment, her heart stopped. “I’m not a European princess.”

“Good. The few I’ve met have been dead bores.”

To be his wife ... Happiness surged through her, driving out the last traces of pain, and she snuggled her head against his shoulder.

“I suppose I’ll have to establish a new identity.” He rubbed his chin on the top of her curls, and a contemplative gleam lit his eyes. “I believe the poor won’t begrudge us a little of all that money so I can buy whatever papers are necessary. Surely such things must be obtainable in this time?”

She nodded, bemused and relieved. James, in any era, appeared extremely capable.

His lips brushed hers. “Let’s go. I have a burning desire to obtain a marriage license.” He caught her hand, and saw the enameled figurines she still gripped. “The snowdome. Never mind, my love, I’ll put another together for you.”

“Don’t you dare!” She tucked the pieces into her purse. “What if it took me away from you, again? We’ll put them in a display case, where they’ll—where
we’ll—be
safe.”

“An excellent suggestion.” He led her forward, only to stop in his tracks as he stared at a Christmas banner which hung from a lamp post beside the path. “Decorations all over the streets, just like you said.” The last remnants of tension faded from his expression, and he grinned down at her, as delighted as any of the Runcorns’ boys. “Two Christmases in one year. Come, my love, I’ve got years of traditions to catch up on. Show me what Christmas is like in
our
time.”

JANICE BENNETT holds two
B.A.
degrees and an
M.A.
from the University of California. She has been a bookkeeper, an archeologist, and a college crafts instructor. The author of nine Regency adventures, including the award-winning
Midnight Masque
and time-travel Regencies
Forever In Time
and
A Timely Affair,
she currently teaches novel writing at a community college. She lives with her husband, young son, computer, horse, dogs, cats, rabbits, goldfish, and any other animals currently in need of a home.