Page 34 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

Drue narrows a cynical smirk. “It’s also kind of a bummer that those walls aren’t dripping with the aftermath of bloody battles anymore.”

Rae groans. I join her. “Max is right,” I remark. “You have an impressive morbid streak.”

Drue shrugs. “I blame moody France and all its ghosts.”

“They do say parts of Chambord are haunted,” Raegan interjects. “Ohhh!” She leans over and nudges Max. “Do you know where all the Chambord ghoulies hang out, Max?” As she straightens, she breaks out in rapid little claps. “Wouldn’t it be epic if we saw a hunky prince or two?”

Max only answers with a dark growl. My own throat tightens, as I admit to a strange surge of empathy with the man.

What is going on with him?

No time for exploring that answer. As soon as the driver stops the limo in the visitor drop-off area, Raegan urges us out of the car. Her energy does nothing for mellowing Max out. Reading him is as impossible as nailing Wi-Fi in an electrical storm. His gaze gives me no further clues. A few times we pause and wait as he stops, taking everything in as if beholding it for the first time.

During one of those moments, I succumb to more of the protectiveness that’s becoming second nature regarding him. I’m still not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. How can one man be like a nine-year-old and a ninety-year-old at once? But that’s totally the case. I’m torn between yearning to shelter him and jump him at the same damn time.

I’m so confused…

And scared as hell.

Why didn’t I just close things out with him when I had the chance?

Why didn’t I know my bafflement—and fear—would just worsen if we spent more time together?

Why didn’t I anticipate it would get worse in moments like these, as he slips his elegant fingers around mine? As he turns and angles his magnificent upper body down toward me?

“Hey.” I use the moment of privacy we’re given, courtesy of his tumbling hair. “You okay, mister?”

His eyes warm, giving away his pleasure at my concern. “Oui, ma cœur. This all merely requires some…adjusting.”

“All of this?” I glance around, taking in the crowd’s colors, textures, and ethnicities. “But aren’t you from around here? You must be used to the chaos here by now.”

“I have been away for a while.”

“Like a few hundred years?”

I add a smirk to the tease.

He doesn’t bite.

Not even a little.

“Hey. It was a joke, okay?” That’s when horror punches me in the gut. “Oh, my God. Ghosts. Are you—does your family have history here, Max?”

“No.” He pulls away, almost too fast. “Not directly. The place was empty for many years, so I—” He cuts himself off while gazing back up at Chambord’s imposing white structure. “I…uhhh…hear that the children of my ancestors used to come and play here.” He shakes his head, once more seeming to lapse into a daydream. “They would pretend they were warriors, tasked with protecting the keep from the monsters in the forests.”

“Even the ones who ate orcs and babies?”

“Especially those.” To my relief, he finishes it with a soft laugh. As he pulls me back against him, the gravel crunches beneath us. And just like that, all the modern conveniences around us are a blur, fading to a vision of what he’d look like if the surroundings matched his garb. The man would be just as hot during the times of Robespierre and Bonaparte as he is here and now. Perhaps hotter.

“Come on.” I step back and tug on him, determined to end the weird moment with a return to tacky tourist mode. “We need to catch up. I’m sure Raegan has us prescheduled for a tour or ten.”

“A…tour?” Max looks like I’m proposing a blow job in one of the boudoirs within. I have to admit, the idea is more appealing than the rote castle guide experience. But Rae’s been especially excited about this château, having snagged us passes to the sole English-language tour of the day.

As we enter and approach Chambord’s iconic double spiral staircase, Raegan and Drue wave from their spot at the edges of a bigger group. Everyone in the throng would stand out as Brits and Americans even without the stick-mounted sign saying Visite en Anglais. The placard is wielded by an Audrey Hepburn lookalike who’d obviously be happier corralling a group of two-year-olds.

“Bienvenue, ladies and gentlemen,” the guide greets in a clipped monotone. “Welcome to Château Chambord. We shall begin the English-speaking tour in a few moments, oui?”

Rae claps quietly. “This is going to be epic!”