No Valois dynasty. What else might change? The French explorers who had helped open up the New World? The fact that the French had lent the Americans a big hand during the Revolutionary War? France’s own Revolution a few years later? Different kings, a different dynasty ... a different future.
With a groan, she leaned over, propping her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands. “We’ve got to undo what we did. Before it’s too late. You’ve got to marry Rosalind.”
“Milady, lest you have any illusions on it,” Gaston said sarcastically, “allow me to inform you that it is not possible to undo what we did last night.”
“But maybe it will work out all right, anyway.” Celine spoke into her palms, utterly miserable. “I mean, I’ll be gone. Maybe you could just marry Rosalind after I disappear.”
“Nay, the Church will still consider us wed. It will not matter that you are missing. I will be unable to remarry anyone.”
“You’re kidding.” She lifted her head, blinking in disbelief. “Couldn’t you have me declared dead? Or just divorce me?”
“Are marriages so easily undone in your time?” he asked with a disapproving frown. “Nay, wife, here in what your chronicler called ‘the medieval period,’ we have laws. There is but one way to dissolve our marriage—by annulment. It must first be granted by the King, then confirmed by his good friend the Bishop of Paris. Without an annulment, it truly shall be till death do us part.”
Celine groaned again, hid her face, tried to think.
“In truth,” Gaston continued slowly, “the matter is worse yet than that. When you return to your time, I will no doubt be accused of causing your disappearance. Tourelle will claim that I killed you and disposed of the body. He will not have to go to the trouble of murdering me—the King will give him what he seeks. I will be forced to forfeit all I own.”
“No!” Celine shook her head and stood up, fists clenched. “I won’t let that happen. We can’t let any of this happen! We ... we’ll have to get an annulment before I leave.”
“But that is im—”
“There’s no evidence!” She gestured to the fireplace. “Who knows about what happened last night, other than the two of us? Unless you have been downstairs boasting to your men about—”
“Celine,” he said warningly.
She turned her back and paced away from him, not letting herself enjoy the fact that he was finally calling her by her real name. There wasn’t time. “Fine. So you haven’t told anyone. And I haven’t told anyone. No one knows but the two of us. We’ll just ... we’ll have to pretend that last night didn’t happen. Act as if nothing has changed between us. And get an annulment.”
“You mean to lie? To the King? To everyone?”
She spun around to face him. “I can live with one lie if it means saving the entire future!”
“And why would the King suddenly grant me an annulment?” Gaston leaned a brawny shoulder against one of the bedposts, folding his arms over his chest. “When he has so adamantly refused thus far?”
“He would believe that, wouldn’t he?” She pointed to her purse and the jumble of her belongings on the bed. “Once we prove that I’m not Christiane, and explain everything, he would have to let you get an annulment and marry Rosalind. Especially if it means saving a future king. One of his own heirs.”
Gaston tensed his jaw. “Aye,” he said with a slow nod. “He is at heart a reasonable man. I believe he would agree to it.”
Celine folded her arms over her chest, in imitation of him, trying to steady herself and her voice. “Then that’s what we’ll have to do.”
“The King is in Paris.” His gaze captured hers. “It will cost us five days at least to travel that far south of my chateau. Have you ... have we that long?”
“According to what Brynna said, the next eclipse is still six weeks away.”
“You are certain?”
“Believe me,” she said shakily, “I wouldn’t want to take a chance of missing it. I’ve been keeping track of the days.”
He kept staring at her. “We will still have Tourelle to think of. He will be searching for us. I had planned to take lesser-used roads to avoid him.”
“Then we’ll just have to ride as fast as we can. Day and night if necessary.”
“But that will place too great a strain on you.” A muscle flexed in his beard-darkened cheek. “And on this injury you have in your back.”
“It’s a risk I’ll have to take,” she insisted quietly, dropping her gaze, unwilling to let herself believe that what she saw in his eyes and heard in his voice was concern. “I can’t think just about myself. I can’t go home knowing I’ve mangled history. Who knows what my time might be like if everything changed because of what I ... because of what we did.”