The Watchtower

back to Marguerite, who’d finally made up her mind and was running toward the small cottage Will had pointed out to me earlier as the local farrier’s.
    “We need to get into her—my—our room,” Will said, stumbling over his pronouns. I couldn’t blame him. Encountering your past self with your old love while trying to explain your feelings to her descendant and your present lover would flummox most men. I didn’t need to make it any harder by throwing a jealous snit.
    “Let’s go then.”
    We snuck up the back stairs to the second floor. The inn bore little resemblance to the modern Relais I’d booked into with Octavia La Pieuvre (where was Octavia, I spared a moment to wonder, had she ever gotten out of the Val sans Retour?), but I did recognize the view when we reached the room. It was the same view I’d had from my modern-day room. I stood at the window telling myself that I was keeping a lookout for Marguerite, but really I was trying to avoid looking at the rumpled bedclothes and the intimate story they told. When I turned around, I caught Will staring at the bed, fingering the hem of the linen sheet.
    “What are we doing here?” I asked. “Shouldn’t we be following Will—I mean past-Will?”
    “We can’t follow him on foot. It’ll be dawn soon; I’ll need cover. We’ll have to hire a coach and for that we’ll need money. Here…”
    He lifted a small leather sack from a chest beside the bed. “It’s not much but it should pay for a coach. It’s a shame. Leaving a tip for the maid was the one selfless act I performed in this whole fiasco and now it’s … undone .” He placed a queer emphasis on the word, as if it had suggested to him other things that might also be undone . “But we need it.” He opened the chest and pulled out a long dress of sprigged muslin. “Here, you’ll need this, too. It’s Marguerite’s. She must have been too upset to take it. It’ll fit you, of course…” He started to hand it to me, but then pressed the cloth against his face. “Lavender and rose. I’d forgotten her scent…” Then, catching my glare, he collected himself. “But I much prefer yours, of course.”
    I snorted as I pulled the dress over my tank top and shucked my jeans off.
    “And then what will happen?” I asked while Will laced up my dress. “How are we going to get this vampire’s blood?”
    “Right after the creature changed me, I attacked it and threw it out the tower window. When it lands on the rocks below, I’ll be there waiting to drink its blood. If Morgane’s telling the truth, I’ll become mortal.” He pulled the laces tight, tugging me toward him. I felt the length of his body pressed against my back. He gathered my hair into a knot and pressed his lips to the nape of my neck. “Are you sure you won’t miss … this .” His teeth dragged across my skin and a quiver moved down my spine directly into the place where his hips spooned against mine. As I felt him harden, I wondered if we could spare a little time … but the thought of making love in the bed where he and Marguerite had made love—albeit over four hundred years ago—chilled my ardor. I took a step away and turned to face him.
    “I suppose there are things we’ll both miss,” I said, trying to be honest, “but it’s your choice whether you want to live as a mortal or as how you are now. You chose to become immortal four centuries ago. Are you really sure you’re ready to choose differently now?”
    My question seemed to take him by surprise. Before he could answer, a piercing musical trill filled the room. “A lark,” Will said, “warning us of the dawn’s approach. We’d better go.”
    He brushed his lips lightly against mine and hurried from the room. As I followed him, something sharp stabbed through the thin slippers I’d put on with Marguerite’s dress. I knelt and pulled a pin out of my foot. It was the brooch that Marguerite had used to stab her finger. It must have fallen from her cloak in her hurry. The pin, which was long and rather lethal-looking, still bore the stain of her blood. I quickly pinned it inside the bodice of my dress, where Will wouldn’t see it and be reminded of Marguerite by it, but where it would be handy if I had need of something sharp.

29
    The Swimmer
    Will reached Pointe du Raz about an hour before sundown. On one speedy horse, his journey from Paimpont, which had begun at 4:30 a.m., might have taken only five or six hours, which would