During the French Revolution, Jazelle l`Heaureau, of both royal and common blood, is betrothed to Laurent Picard. The man she loves, Charles Bruneau, chateau manager, battles customs and new laws to marry her before Picard, and save the chateau for her. While Charles is away fighting for his king the chateau is commandeered by the French Army under the command of Lieutenant Cardin, who appropriates Jazelle for himself. Wounded, Charles cannot keep her safe from Cardin, but her Uncle Fromert l''Heaureau can. Or is Fromert her father? Jazelle is sentenced to the guillotine. Will use of the family motto, We Conspire to Survive, and an American Indian totem allow her to escape? Will Charles return in time for the family to sail for the New France in Canada?

Outside the prison the bright spring sun blinded Jazelle. She stumbled forward behind ten others prisoners, a bayonet pricking her back. She felt blood warm against her skin. Feet stumbled behind her. The street was just wide enough for people to stand three or four deep, pressed against buildings. Jeering men and women waved red, white and blue cockades. Shouting, laughing, calling names, hurling curses. The prisoners shuffled down the steps onto the cobbles.

Jazelle looked ahead. The guillotine blocked the end of the street, reaching to heaven, its iron frame black as hell, sunlight sparkling off the knife. Except at the blade end.

Her throat constricted. She gasped for breath, pressed a fist against her chest, forced a breath

During the French Revolution, Jazelle l`Heaureau, of both royal and common blood, is betrothed to Laurent Picard. The man she loves, Charles Bruneau, chateau manager, battles customs and new laws to marry her before Picard, and save the chateau for her. While Charles is away fighting for his king the chateau is commandeered by the French Army under the command of Lieutenant Cardin, who appropriates Jazelle for himself. Wounded, Charles cannot keep her safe from Cardin, but her Uncle Fromert l''Heaureau can. Or is Fromert her father? Jazelle is sentenced to the guillotine. Will use of the family motto, We Conspire to Survive, and an American Indian totem allow her to escape? Will Charles return in time for the family to sail for the New France in Canada?

Outside the prison the bright spring sun blinded Jazelle. She stumbled forward behind ten others prisoners, a bayonet pricking her back. She felt blood warm against her skin. Feet stumbled behind her. The street was just wide enough for people to stand three or four deep, pressed against buildings. Jeering men and women waved red, white and blue cockades. Shouting, laughing, calling names, hurling curses. The prisoners shuffled down the steps onto the cobbles.

Jazelle looked ahead. The guillotine blocked the end of the street, reaching to heaven, its iron frame black as hell, sunlight sparkling off the knife. Except at the blade end.

Her throat constricted. She gasped for breath, pressed a fist against her chest, forced a breath

During the French Revolution, Jazelle l`Heaureau, of both royal and common blood, is betrothed to Laurent Picard. The man she loves, Charles Bruneau, chateau manager, battles customs and new laws to marry her before Picard, and save the chateau for her. While Charles is away fighting for his king the chateau is commandeered by the French Army under the command of Lieutenant Cardin, who appropriates Jazelle for himself. Wounded, Charles cannot keep her safe from Cardin, but her Uncle Fromert l''Heaureau can. Or is Fromert her father? Jazelle is sentenced to the guillotine. Will use of the family motto, We Conspire to Survive, and an American Indian totem allow her to escape? Will Charles return in time for the family to sail for the New France in Canada?

Outside the prison the bright spring sun blinded Jazelle. She stumbled forward behind ten others prisoners, a bayonet pricking her back. She felt blood warm against her skin. Feet stumbled behind her. The street was just wide enough for people to stand three or four deep, pressed against buildings. Jeering men and women waved red, white and blue cockades. Shouting, laughing, calling names, hurling curses. The prisoners shuffled down the steps onto the cobbles.

Jazelle looked ahead. The guillotine blocked the end of the street, reaching to heaven, its iron frame black as hell, sunlight sparkling off the knife. Except at the blade end.

Her throat constricted. She gasped for breath, pressed a fist against her chest, forced a breath