Page 47

A Spark to Ignite

The streets of Paris were a cauldron, bubbling with rage and desperation.

Smoke curled into the skies, mingling with the distant rumble of rushing feet and angry cries.

Rollant cared not about appearances and rode straight through the city gate at Faubourg Saint-Jacques, crossing the Seine and cutting eastward past Notre Dame.

He weaved through narrow streets until he found a place to hide his mare. From there, he ran toward the Bastille.

The fortress loomed over the city as a monument to the king’s long-held royal authority. Smoke clouded the air, obscuring the streets at its base.

Gunshots ripped through the air. The resounding boom of a cannon shot blasted. The acrid smell thickened with each step closer to the medieval monument.

“Where have they got a cannon?” he muttered.

The sound of a second blast made him wince.

“Must have been mutinous soldiers. Where are the royal troops? They should be here by now.” His eyes darted westward, but there was no sign of reinforcements coming from the Champ de Mars.

He shook his head at the lack of help. The King had not ordered them, and so they would do nothing.

An ox cart hurtled toward him with its bed of hay set alight.

He jumped out of the way, barely dodging it, and coughed against the smoke as it engulfed him.

The cannon deafened his ears once more. The chaos was maddening, but he hunched down, scanning the street for élise.

A few lay dead, some wounded, as he moved closer to the fighting.

“élise!” he yelled. The cacophony swallowed his call. He searched until the summer sun started its descent.

By evening, the Bastille’s shadow stretched long over the throngs of angry Parisians. His heart stopped. He spotted her near the front line, pistol raised and firing toward the gates.

“élise,” he whispered. She stood among the chaos, fearless and resolute, her jaw set with determination.

The mob surged forward, battering the gates of the Bastille with whatever they could find. Gunfire cracked in the distance, and Rollant’s instincts screamed at him to pull her away, to drag her from the chaos.

But élise didn’t flinch. She held her ground, her courage a beacon to those around her. Rollant fought men to get to her before the mob crushed her against the Bastille’s impenetrable gates.

A musket ball whizzed past her, striking the gate. She screamed and tore her face away from the blast. Rollant’s restraint snapped. He surged through the crowd, his height and strength parting the mass like the knight he once was.

“élise!” he bellowed.

She turned, her wide eyes locking onto his.

Shock flickered across her face for a moment, but there was no time for questions.

A bayonet gleamed as a reckless attacker charged toward the gates, heedless of her position.

Rollant moved with each action precise and calculated, intercepting the weapon and wrenching it away before driving the man back with a single hard-pressed shove.

But his action earned him a musket ball that ripped through his back shoulder.

Pain flared, but he gritted his teeth, knowing it would soon pass.

He fell toward élise, grabbing her arm and pulling her through the melee to the safety of a fallen cart away from the Bastille’s entrance.

He forced her down behind it and sank with her.

“What are you doing?” élise asked in a shout, and he finally let her yank her arm free.

Another shot rang out, silencing her protest.

“You were nearly killed,” he said, his voice steady despite the madness around them. His gaze lingered on her face before raking her body, searching for blood or injury. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “I’m going to finish what I started,” she said, trying to rise, but he pulled her down.

“Stay low. You don’t expose yourself in battle,” he said and gestured to a man lying behind her, lifeless with a bloody hole in his head.

She turned and shuddered at the sight.

“Unless you want to end up like him,” Rollant said.

Her face paled as she nodded, and he wished he hadn’t brought the body to her attention.

“I’m just glad you aren’t hurt,” he said.

“What are you doing here, Rollant?” élise asked with a tremble in her voice. She leaned forward and covered his hand with hers.

Rollant stroked her hand.

“I was worried about you,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure you would stay away, given everything that has transpired,” he said, turning her hand in his. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you . . .” His voice trailed off, and his throat tightened. “I needed to know you were safe.”

Cries of the mob roared to life: “They’ve opened the gates!”

élise’s face lit up, her jaw dropping wide. “We did it! We—!” She almost jumped up, but Rollant kept her down.

She shook her head, pulling against him. “I’ll be safe now. We won.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, peering one eye over the cart. The riot spiraled out of control. The mob spilled into the Bastille’s gates with shouts of victory. Rollant knew the danger wasn’t over—victory often turned to bloodlust.

“You did win; now let’s return to Charonne,” he said.

“What? No!” élise tried to pry his iron grip off her wrist. “Let me go, Rollant. We won!”

Rollant shook his head. “I’ve seen it before, élise. More will die. Please,” he said, removing his grip. “Please, let me take you home.”

Her gaze flicked to his hand before looking down at the spot he’d held on her wrist. Admiration flickered in her eyes. “You didn’t bruise me,” she stammered.

Rollant’s chest tightened. He knew why she’d said it—knew the weight her words carried.

“I will never hurt you, élise,” he whispered. “I only aimed to restrain you from seeing things that will haunt you for a long time.”

A flash of fear leached into her eyes before she glanced back at the dead man.

“Please, élise,” he urged. “I’m not supposed to be here but came for you. I had to make sure you were safe.”

Her gaze fell back on her wrist. “You didn’t bruise me,” she whispered.

A tear ran down her cheek before she wiped it away. She lifted her chin and studied his face before giving a slight nod. “You can take me home, Rollant. I trust you.”

Relief swept through him as she took his outstretched hand. Before doing anything further, he kissed the back of her hand just to feel her soft skin against his lips.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

He kept élise close, careful not to let her fall into his arms. His broad frame shielded her from the frenzied crowd as they pushed through the streets.

The crowd had already beheaded a garrison soldier and dragged Governor de Launay into the streets, beating him as they paraded him toward a likely execution.

élise froze at the sight, her fingers squeezing Rollant’s.

They reached his mare and escaped through side streets, avoiding the worst of the violence until they crossed the city gate. Black smoke marked the large chateaux in the countryside.

Rollant’s heart sank. The revolt was not as isolated as he had thought; it was something much bigger: a revolution.

élise sagged against Rollant, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She scanned the spots of black smoke. “Why have they set homes on fire?”

“Because they belonged to the rich,” Rollant sighed as he gripped the mare’s reins in one hand and adjusted her hand in his other. They walked the cobblestone path to the quiet, contented village living on his land. It was a stark contrast to the chaos they’d left behind.

“I don’t understand. Did they say horrible things like Réveillon?”

“Doubtful.” Rollant opened the door. “They only had too large a home.”

He held the door for élise. “Can you make dinner for us? I will put the mare in the stable.”

When he returned, she was waiting with a plate of cheese and dried meat. “I’ll wash up,” he said, pouring water into the basin.

“Were you shot?” She must have noticed the blood stain splattered on his back.

He remembered the bullet. Answers raced through his mind.

“Must be another’s blood,” he finally answered. He washed the grime from his hands, face, and neck in the basin, leaving the ends of his hair dripping with water. He sat down, exhausted. élise did not look well either.

They ate in silence, and when she was done, her voice was soft, and her shoulders sagged. “I was so excited earlier, and now I can barely stay awake.”

“It was courage surging through you, but those acts usually leave you exhausted after the surge is gone. Believe me, I feel the same after today.”

She stood using the table to support her. “I’m glad you’re here, Rollant. I’ve missed you so much,” she said, though her eyes drooped.

“And I, you,” he replied. Unspoken truths pressed against him. He wondered if she would ask him to stay again. How could he refuse her a second time?

“I want to talk to you in the morning, but I am so tired tonight,” she said.

“Go, sleep. I promise I won’t leave until we have spoken.” He stood to respect her exit.

She lingered in the bedroom doorway, glancing back at him with a faint smile. He smiled in return, watching as she disappeared into the bedroom.

Alone in the dim light, Rollant slipped his shirt and boots off, grateful to have a basin of water to wash the rest of the grime and sweat from his body.

The water cooled his muscles after the day’s many trials.

He sank against the too-small sofa. The ache would dull with time, but the memory of seeing élise again—after swearing never to return—would haunt him far longer.