He slumped a little lower in his chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “It took me a while to accept that, but once I did, I started to think of all the great things I could accomplish—all the people I could help. But the physicians in Paris just about ran me out of town on a rail. They weren’t exactly ready to embrace change. I was lucky to escape in one piece, and decided it might be smarter to keep a low profile. Agincourt is a nice little town, and for the past three years I’ve had a small, quiet practice there. I also pass along what I can to a few very carefully selected students.” He grinned at Thibault and Arnaud. “It’s frustrating having to be so secretive, but I manage to do some good here and there.”
“Can’t you ... get back?” she asked curiously.
“I’ve wondered that myself from the very beginning. But I’ve been having some interesting conversations with your husband and your friend Brynna, and I think my problem was that medical journal I fell asleep over. It came back in time with me, and like I said, I was a little arrogant at first. Thought I would single-handedly save the medieval world. I showed the magazine to the physicians’ guild, trying to get them to believe I was from 1989, and they confiscated it. I’ve never seen it again.” He shrugged. “According to Brynna, that means I’m stuck here for good.”
“Are there ... others?” Celine murmured. “Like us?”
“Plenty, if your mystic friend is right. But you’re the first I’ve met. Apparently, some make it home. And the others—at least the smart ones, the ones who survive—would learn pretty quick to fit in and keep quiet. We don’t exactly have a secret handshake or a password or anything, so there’s really no way to tell.”
“But if some ... return, why ... hadn’t I ever heard of ... time-travel before?”
Ramsey shook his head. “Maybe we did hear of it and just never believed it. Would anyone in the cynical twentieth century listen to some crackpot who claimed he had traveled to the past and returned to tell the tale? Sounds like something for the supermarket tabloids.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But think of all the people reported missing every year. All those episodes of Unsolved Mysteries. The faces on milk cartons. The people who vanish in the Bermuda Triangle. Maybe not all of them were victims of crimes or tragic accidents. Maybe some of them fell through windows into the past. Like we did.”
Celine nodded, feeling worn out, all of it spinning through her head.
“But it looks like we’ve tired you out, ma’am. You should get some sleep.” Dr. Ramsey stood up, along with his students. “We’ll stick around for a few days and make sure everything’s okay. And we should start you on some physical therapy exercises as soon as possible, to strengthen the muscles in your back. But I think I can safely predict that you’re going to make a full recovery.”
Gaston rose and grasped the man’s forearm. “I am in your debt, Ramsey, more than all the wealth in the world could repay. If there is aught that you need, aught that you would ask, it is yours.”
The doctor seemed to consider Gaston’s offer for a moment. “Can’t think of anything, but I’ll keep that in mind. It never hurts to have a duc on your side. For now, though ...” He grinned. “The expression on your face when you look at your wife is payment enough, milord.”
“But if ever you have need of assistance—”
“I’ll be knocking on your door.”
Arnaud and Thibault offered their best wishes and filed out, but Ramsey stopped at the door. “Oh, almost forgot.” He withdrew something from his tunic, walked back, and handed it to Celine. “You might like to have this. And you might need it someday.”
She peered at the object curiously: a little flask made of clear glass, with a cork stopper, and inside it was ...
A dark bit of metal. No larger than the tip of the fingernail of her pinkie.
“That’s ... the bullet fragment?” she breathed, barely able to believe that something so tiny could have wreaked such havoc in her life.
“That’s it. And if your friend Brynna is right, you’ll need that to get home, whenever the next eclipse—that is ...” He glanced uncomfortably at Gaston. “If you ... uh—”
“You have my thanks, Ramsey.” Gaston escorted him out. “For all you have done.”
When the door closed and they were alone once more, Gaston remained where he was for a moment, then came and sat in his chair again. They both looked at the small flask that lay between them.
“Next eclipse?” she asked softly.