“And suppose I change my mind?”

“It doesn’t matter to me whether I take those papers from your hands when you’re dead or alive,” said his lordship, and his hand went to the ornate hilt of his sword. “In other words, it makes no difference whether I kill you before or after I have them.”

Paul put his hand on his own sword. “You swore an oath.”

“Huh!” cried Lord Alastair, drawing his sword. “A man doesn’t outwit the Devil by means of morality! So give me those papers!”

Paul took two steps back and drew his own sword. “Didn’t you say it was no use trying to defeat us with ordinary weapons?” he asked, raising one eyebrow as derisively as possible.

“We’ll see about that,” said his lordship. “En garde, demon!”

Paul would rather have gone on talking, but Lord Alastair seemed to have been just waiting for his opportunity. He lunged, obviously fiercely determined to kill Paul. That ferocity and his brilliance as a swordsman were not an ideal combination.

Paul realized as much when, two minutes later, he had his back to the wall. He had parried the attack as well as he could, had ducked down under the sheets, and tried to drive Lord Alastair into a corner himself. It didn’t work.

The cat from the windowsill, spitting, jumped down and ran away through the arched entrance. All was still behind the windows. Damn it, why hadn’t he listened to Lucy when she begged him to set the chronograph to a shorter window of time? Then he might have been able to hold out long enough to disappear into thin air before his lordship’s eyes.

Alastair’s weapon flashed in the sun. His next stroke was so hard and forceful that it almost knocked Paul’s sword out of his hand.

“Wait!” he cried, gasping even more than he really had to. “You win! I’ll give you the papers.”

Lord Alastair lowered his sword. “Very sensible of you.”

Appearing to breathe with difficulty, Paul pushed himself off from the wall and tossed the brown envelope to Lord Alastair. At the same time he rushed after it himself, but Lord Alastair seemed to have been prepared for that. He let the envelope drop to the ground, and easily parried Paul’s attack.

“I can see through any demon’s cunning tricks!” he cried, laughing. “And now let’s take a look at the color of your blood!” He feinted neatly, and Paul felt Lord Alastair’s blade slit open the sleeve of his coat and, under it, his skin. Warm blood ran down his arm. It didn’t hurt too badly, so he assumed it was only a slight scratch, but the malicious grin on his adversary’s face, and the fact that Alastair hardly seemed to be at all out of breath, while he himself was gasping for air, didn’t strike him as a promising state of affairs.

“What are you waiting for?” Lord Alastair called over his shoulder to the two servants. “We mustn’t give him time, or do you want to see him vanish into thin air before your eyes, like the last of them you fought?”

The black-clad men reacted at once. As they ran past the sheets and toward him, Paul knew he had lost. At least, the thought went through his head, Lucy was safe. If she had come with him, she would have died as well.

“Speak your last words,” said Lord Alastair, and Paul thought of dropping his sword, falling on his knees, and starting to pray. Maybe his devout lordship would wait a little while on the grounds of piety before murdering him. Or maybe he would be dead even before his knees touched the ground.

At that moment, he caught sight of a movement on the other side of the sheets and one of Lord Alastair’s men collapsed without a sound before he could finish turning toward it. After a split second of alarm, the other lunged with his sword at the newcomer, a young man in a green coat who now emerged from behind the sheets and casually parried the stroke with his own sword.

“Gideon de Villiers!” Paul exclaimed as he plucked up new courage and tried to defend himself against Lord Alastair’s swordplay. “I’d never have expected to be so glad to see you, boy.”

“I felt curious, that was all,” said Gideon. “I saw the coach with Lord Alastair’s crest on the panels standing out there in the street, and I thought I’d see what was going on in this deserted backyard—”

“My lord, this is the demon who killed Jenkins in Hyde Park!” Lord Alastair’s man gasped.

“Do what you’re paid to do,” Lord Alastair spat at him, seeming to redouble his own strength. Paul felt it himself for the second time, on the same arm but a little higher up. This time the pain went right through him.

“My lord…” The servant seemed to be in difficulty.

“You deal with this one!” Lord Alastair cried angrily. “I’ll see to the other!”

Relieved, Paul gasped for air as his lordship moved away. He cast a brief glance at his arm—it was bleeding, but he could still hold his sword.

“We’ve met before!” Lord Alastair was standing opposite Gideon, his sword blade dark with Paul’s blood.

“Quite correct,” replied Gideon, and Paul admired—if rather reluctantly—the calm assurance of his manner. Had the boy no fear at all? “Eleven years ago, shortly after your failed attempt on Count Saint-Germain’s life, we met at Galliano’s fencing school.”

“Marquis Weldon, wasn’t it?” said his lordship scornfully. “I remember. You brought me a message from the devil himself.”

“I brought you a warning, which, unfortunately, you ignored.” There was a dangerous glint in Gideon’s green eyes.

“Demon riffraff! I knew it as soon as I set eyes on you. And you parried neatly, but you may recollect that I won our little fencing match.”

“I remember it very well,” replied Gideon, shaking the lace cuffs at his wrists as if they were bothering him. “As if it were only last week. Which from my point of view, in fact, it was. En garde!”

Metal clashed against metal, but Paul couldn’t see who had the upper hand, for the remaining servant had gathered his wits together and was making for him with his drawn sword.

The man fought less elegantly than his master, but very fiercely, and Paul felt the strength in his injured arm quickly failing him, in spite of that short breathing space.

When would he finally travel back? It couldn’t be much longer now! He gritted his teeth and feinted. For several minutes, no one spoke—there was only the clashing of blades and hard breathing to be heard—and then, out of the corner of his eye, Paul saw Lord Alastair’s valuable sword fly through the air. It landed on the paving of the yard with a dull clang.

Thank God!

The servant took a couple of steps back. “My lord?”

“That was a sly trick, demon!” said his lordship angrily. “Against all the rules! I was winning!”

“Seems to me you’re a bad loser,” said Gideon. He was bleeding from a wound to his arm.

Lord Alastair’s eyes were burning with rage. “Kill me if you dare!”

“Not today,” said Gideon, putting his sword back into his belt.

Paul noticed the slight movement of Lord Alastair’s head and saw the servant tense his muscles. Quick as lightning, Paul threw himself between them and parried the stroke before the point of the servant’s sword could drive in between Gideon’s ribs. At the same moment, Gideon had drawn his own sword again. He ran the man through the chest with it. Blood spurted from the wound, flowing profusely, and Paul had to turn away.

Lord Alastair had used the moment to pick up his sword and spit the brown envelope lying on the paving on the point of it. Without another word, he turned and ran away through the arched entrance of the yard.

“Coward!” shouted Paul angrily. Then he turned to Gideon. “Are you hurt, boy?”

“No, it’s only a scratch,” said Gideon. “But you don’t look so good. Your arm … all that blood…” He pressed his lips together and picked up his sword. “What were those papers you gave Lord Alastair?”

“Family trees,” said Paul unhappily. “The ancestral lines of the male and female time travelers.”

Gideon nodded. “I knew you two were the traitors, but I didn’t expect you to be quite so stupid! He’s going to try killing all the count’s descendants! And now he knows the names in the female line. If he gets his way, we’ll never be born.”

“You ought to have killed him when you had the chance,” said Paul bitterly. “He took us for a ride. Listen, I don’t have much time left. I’ll be traveling back any moment now, but it’s important for you to listen to me.”

“Not likely!” Those green eyes flashed angrily at him. “If I’d known I was going to find you here today, I’d have brought a test tube with me.”

“It was a mistake to get in touch with the Alliance,” said Paul quickly. “Lucy was against it from the first. But I thought that if we could help them to render the count harmless…” He put his hand to his stomach. As he did so, his fingers met the package of letters that he had stowed away under his coat. “Damn! Here, take this, boy!”

Hesitantly, Gideon took the package. “Stop calling me boy. I’m taller than you.”

“These are part of the prophesies that the count has always kept from the Guardians. It’s important for you to read them before you get the idea of running straight off to your friend the count to tell tales of us. Shit, Lucy will murder me if she hears about this!”

“How do I know they’re not fakes?”

“Just read them! Then you’ll know why we stole the chronograph. And why we have to keep the count from closing the Circle of Blood.” He was gasping for air. “Gideon, you have to look after Gwyneth,” he said quickly. “And you must protect her from the count.”

“I’d protect Gwyneth from anyone!” There was an arrogant look in Gideon’s eyes. “But I don’t know what that has to do with you.”

“It has a great deal to do with me, boy!” Paul had to exercise self-control not to come to blows with the lad. God, if only he had the faintest idea!

Gideon folded his arms. “Alastair’s men almost killed Gwyneth and me in Hyde Park the other day, all because of your treachery! So you can hardly expect me to swallow this sudden concern for her welfare!”

“You have no notion—” Paul interrupted himself. He was running out of time. “Never mind. Listen.” He thought of what Lucy had said and tried to put all his sense of urgency into his voice. “A simple question, a simple answer: do you love Gwyneth?”

Gideon never took his eyes off him. But something flickered in his gaze, Paul clearly saw that. Was it uncertainty? Wonderful—the boy could use a sword, but he seemed to be something of a beginner in emotional matters.

“Gideon, I have to know the answer!” His voice was sharp.

Some of the anger left the boy’s face. “Yes” was all he said.

Paul felt his own fury evaporate. Lucy had known it. How could he ever have doubted her? “Then read those papers,” he said quickly. “That’s the only way you can understand the part that Gwyneth is really playing and how much there is at stake for her.”