One of the great joys to Viviane in Avalon was the Saturday market in downtown Ganges. It was endearingly familiar—in concept if not in product—to stroll through the stalls of local artists and farmers. The market could be overwhelmingly busy on a sunny summer Saturday, but Viviane found a bittersweet familiarity in its hustle and bustle, no less its handmade treasures, one that reminded her all too much of what she had left behind.
She talked every week to the man who made his own cheese from the milk of his own sheep. She regularly admired the flowers a woman had grown from seed. She watched the skilled leatherworker, always awed by the array of obviously magical and mysterious masks. Such was Viviane’s obvious enthusiasm for the market Barb indulged her request to have Saturday mornings off.
And so, despite Viviane’s interest in the bobbing white sailboats and the way they raced across the ocean, and despite Monty’s considerable persistence, it was a full three weeks after her arrival that he finally convinced her to join his friends for a jaunt in their sailboat.
And only then because he chose a Sunday.
It was a perfect day, the sky as clear as could be, the sunlight glinting off the water, the sail snapping in the breeze. There were four of them aboard the sailboat—Monty and Viviane, along with the older couple who commanded the obviously magical craft.
If their host and hostess were inclined to leave Monty and Viviane alone together more often than might have easily occurred, Viviane failed to notice that, much less guess its import.
Certainly, Monty was in fine spirits—he looked to have laid hands on a new green chemise and odd footwear for the occasion. These “Tevas” as he called them seemed no more than black slabs secured to his feet with colorful straps, though those straps magically meshed together at Monty’s dictate.
It seemed fastenings of all sorts, particularly for garb, were his magical domain. Viviane thought it a rather humble specialty and considered for the first time Monty might not be a particularly skilled sorcerer.
Once it became clear that sailing was new for her, Viviane was treated to a tour of the gleaming ship. Derek’s proud claim that he and Paula lived aboard the boat for the entire summer amazed Viviane, as did the gaggle of mysterious shiny implements secreted below. She did not dare insult her host by asking him to explain his magic, though Viviane was suitably impressed.
The drinks quickly served up were even more impressive.
Raven-haired Paula bounced around the little galley like a mad pixie, periodically handing out large cups filled with frothing cloudy green. Though Paula’s face was lined and full of character, her hair was a resolute raven hue, unthreaded with silver, and her enthusiasm was that of a woman younger even than Viviane. Her partner, Derek, was a spare and soft-spoken man who gave a great impression of strength, his silvered temples and the glint of humor in his blue eyes hinting at a considerable wisdom.
These two were proof again to Viviane that she had taken up residence among the fey. When Derek declined Paula’s margaritas—insisting he was “driving” though he did no more than toy with the sails—Viviane wondered what manner of concoction this might be.
Although Monty accepted his with enthusiasm.
Viviane sipped cautiously, her first taste so tart it puckered her lips. She wondered fleetingly what magic the brew would wreak, but found the second sip was markedly better. And truly, what could befall her? Naught but good fortune, Viviane was certain.
She was uncommonly lucky, after all.
Instead of cheering her, the thought reminded Viviane of her mother. In fact, the hue of this margarita echoed that of a peridot her mother had worn. The gem had been locked in a ring her mother had once been granted as payment, Viviane recalled, its depths as mysteriously cloudy as Paula’s potion.
The memory was saddening. Viviane remembered having to sell the treasure, the recollection more vivid than she would have preferred. She took a deep gulp of her drink.
The ring had been her last token of her mother and not one readily released. But now it was gone, handily sold, the coin spent in turn, the ring lost to Viviane forever across a chasm that could be traversed only by a select few.
Viviane felt suddenly flat. She slipped away from the chatter of her companions and leaned against the rail, letting the wind tousle her hair as she watched the verdant green of the islands slip past.
It had been two years since her mother fell ill and died, two years that Viviane had never grown accustomed to solitude. In Avalon, it seemed, she missed her mother even more than she had in Cantlecroft. What would her mother have made of immortality? What if she had survived just those two years and accompanied Viviane here?
But if she had been alive, than Viviane would not have been at the archbishop’s court. Viviane frowned. What if she had used the power of her pendant sooner? Could she have saved her mother, then?
She drank again and her mood sank yet lower.
Perhaps such doleful memory was the price of the beverage.
Indeed, Viviane realized she had never been quite as alone as she was here in Avalon. Here, she was the different one, the sole mortal.
And here she was compelled to be uncharacteristically silent. All those words she had bitten back in the last three weeks rose in her throat, as though they would choke her. Viviane took another swallow of Paula’s potion, hoping it would ease some of her anguish.
Viviane knew she could never risk confiding the truth of her arrival in another here. She could not guess what they would make of someone who had not been chosen and guided to the hidden isle as was the traditional way.
Would she be expelled from Avalon, if she was thought to have no right here? Viviane shuddered despite the sunlight, just the memory of those cold dungeons enough for her.
Yet despite the threat full honesty posed, the prospect of infinite silence was not appealing.
Not in the least.
Would Viviane always be alone? She could not help but conclude she would never be enough like these rightful occupants of Avalon that she could become great friends with any of them. She still missed chunks of any given conversation, although she had studied and tried to blend in.
These Avalonites simply thought differently than she. It was a mark of the fact that they were chosen to be here, she was sure of it.
What good was Avalon if she were doomed to solitude for all her days?
What if she also was immortal, simply by stepping on these enchanted shores? Viviane gulped at her drink.
What if she spent all of eternity in virtual isolation here, selling Barb’s books by day and writing fanciful tales alone in her room by night? What if she were doomed to live like this forever?
That was a grim prospect.
Viviane thought glumly of the knight she would never know, an indulgence she was granting herself with greater frequency. Perhaps she should have never made that wish upon her pendant.
What would have happened if she hadn’t? Would her knight have saved her? Swept her away? Defended her life and her honor?
Viviane liked to think so. He had certainly looked like a man who would do such a noble and bold deed. She smiled slightly, the realization he was far, far beyond her horizons sweeping that smile away.
And it was too late for second thoughts.
Viviane took another hearty gulp of her drink and watched the sunlight sparkle on the sea. She gripped the rail with her right hand as the boat sliced through the waves. Her drink was safely held in her left, and she turned to glance over her left shoulder when Monty called her name.
“Viviane! Does Barb have any Thai cookbooks in stock? Paula wants to learn and I’m sure I saw one there.”
Before Viviane could answer, something flashed to her right. She pivoted in time to see her knight—her knight—jab a gloved finger through the air at her.
Viviane gasped.
“Aha! At your own right hand!” he bellowed, then dropped with a resounding splash right into the sea.
Viviane dropped her drink. She lunged after her Gawain but caught only a fistful of his cloak as he sank like a stone.
A thoroughly mail-clad stone.
And one that threatened to pull her overboard right after him. Viviane hooked her toes beneath the rail and bellowed for help.
Derek knew his eyes weren’t deceiving him, because he’d declined one of his soul mate’s near-lethal margaritas. Someone had to be sober, in his opinion, and as skipper, he was his own first choice.
All the same, he couldn’t explain the sudden appearance of a medieval knight to starboard. The guy seemed to pop right out of thin air. That knight hovered briefly in the air and, remarkably enough, seemed to know Viviane.
It made absolutely no sense.
But what happened after that made perfect sense. Medieval knights—men of any time or occupation, in fact—seldom levitated successfully above the surface of the ocean.
At least not for long.
The knight fell into the sea with a perfectly predictable splash.
“Man overboard!” Derek roared. “Trim the sails!”
Paula knew the drill and dropped her drink posthaste—he’d always suspected she never really drank much of hers—and set to the task of lowering the sail out of the wind. He heard the splash as she cast an anchor overboard, but he was on the run.
“Please hurry!” Viviane begged. Derek was glad to see that she had a grip upon some part of the man.
Derek grabbed the life preserver and dove off the side of the boat. The ocean was cold enough to nearly make his heart stop, even at this time of the year. Derek kicked off his old deck shoes, surrendering them to the sea, and forced his eyes open. His heart stilled at the way the knight drifted bonelessly below the surface. The man’s cape was snared by Viviane, yet he just hung from her grasp.
Like a dead weight. He wasn’t even fighting.
Definitely easier to haul aboard, but not a good sign.
Derek broke surface, his lungs bursting, took a gasping breath, and then dove down one more time. He quickly lashed the life preserver to the man’s waist and was relieved to see him rise slightly, despite the obvious weight of his chain mail.
It was the real thing, amazingly enough, and one hell of a bad choice for swimwear. Derek caught the man around the neck and lunged for daylight once more, his lungs aching for air, his muscles screaming at the man’s weight.
Monty and Paula cheered when he broke the surface, Viviane looked as though she might faint in relief.
“He weighs a ton!” Derek shouted, then began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
To his enormous relief, the big man almost immediately sputtered and shook his head. His eyes opened, then he turned to choke out all the seawater he had swallowed. Derek hung on grimly, one arm locked around the man’s chest, the other clutching the rope lashed to the sailboat’s side.
The knight’s gaze swiveled back to meet Derek’s, that green stare surprisingly hostile. “What manner of man are you to lock your mouth upon mine?” he demanded hotly.
Derek sagged with relief. The guy was going to be okay.
“A man who doesn’t like drownings to happen on his boat.” Derek grinned, then turned the knight toward the boat. “Go ahead, haul yourself up, cowboy. You can tell us later where the hell you came from—and maybe explain your choice of bathing suit.”
To Derek’s surprise, the knight did manage to haul himself up the side of the sailboat. It was no mean feat, given the weight of his mail and his wet clothing, which looked like it was made of really thick wool. That sweeping cape alone had to weigh more soaking wet than Derek did himself.
Derek followed suit, glad everyone was fussing over the knight and missed the fact that it took him two tries to pull himself up over the rails.
He had to start doing those sit-ups again. A man looking at fifty couldn’t assume that the old body was going to take care of itself any longer. Derek had always been long and lean without worrying much about it, but—he surreptitiously pinched the flesh around his waist and grimaced—years of living well seemed to be finally catching up with him.
He must have run out of credit for good behavior.
The knight stood in the middle of the deck, his feet braced against the polished wood as he made a puddle of tremendous size. He had presence, you had to give him that, and Derek doubted he was the only one wondering at the breadth of his shoulders and chest. He looked as though he had stepped out of a Shakespearean play.
This guy really worked out. Derek hoped his wet T-shirt wasn’t showing the little ripple that had taken up residence around his middle to serious disadvantage. He plucked at the wet cloth, trying to keep it from clinging too tightly.
Suddenly the knight fixed Derek with his piercing green glare. “You ask how I come to be here”—he boomed, then looked about himself with obvious skepticism—“wherever this might truly be.” The knight arched one brow as he locked gazes with Derek again. “’Tis the doing of the witch harbored among you.”
And he pointed one thick, wet-leather-encased finger at Monty’s new friend.
Matters were not proceeding precisely as Niall had expected, even after he stepped away from Majella and her provisions.
He supposed he had not fully expected the pendant to work its magic again. A lifetime of skepticism took more than even Viviane’s unexplained disappearance to be completely dispelled. But any lingering doubt had been dismissed when the eerie light enveloped him as the last word of his wish crossed his lips.
That light was blue and chilly and altogether unnatural. Niall had been unable to see anything at all. ’Twas as though he had been struck blind and left on a windy hilltop in the same moment, a far from delightful sensation.
Added to this was the very unusual sense of having been taken apart and put rather inexpertly back together again. Niall felt all jumbled and tousled even before he opened his eyes and glimpsed Viviane’s familiar features.
Aha! His heart had leaped with painful enthusiasm at first glimpse of her smile—a triumphant skip, no more than that, for he could not be glad to see the woman otherwise. Aye, ’twas the portent of fulfilling his quest that sent pleasure searing through his veins.
Was it not?
Niall had little chance to consider the matter before his unexpected fall into the salty sea. The lean man’s unwelcome embrace was the next puzzling event in this rapid succession, followed by a complete lack of censure from these strangely attired people after his damning announcement of Viviane’s occupation.
Last but not least, was the witch’s own response.
“You’re here and safe!” Viviane cried and flung herself into his arms. Niall could do naught but catch her, though he stared, dumbfounded, down at her delighted smile. Indeed, he could not seem to shake the last vestige of moonlight from his thoughts.
She was glad he pursued her? What madness was this? Had she not heard what he had just said?
But then, he recalled she had been anxious to meet her fate before.
And she had insisted upon her innocence then. Niall stared into her marvelous eyes, and once again acknowledged an unwelcome seed of doubt. There was something in this woman’s clear gaze, in her delight, in her very presence that made him question anew all he knew of her.
Nay, she was guilty, as the archbishop decreed. He had seen the truth with his own eyes. Niall frowned, but the lady did not seem affected by his manner.
“I have been thinking of you ever since that day,” Viviane confided with a smile that could warm him right to his toes. “Though I never imagined that I would see you again, and certainly not here!”
Ah, she did not expect a God-fearing mortal to be able to visit her dark domain. That was telling!
Yet instead of feeling triumphant at this hint of proof, Niall was disconcertingly aware of the fullness of Viviane’s breasts pressed against him. Her auburn hair was loose, obviously designed to ensnare a man in unruly desire within its tangles, yet her gaze was as clear and golden as he recalled.
And as trusting. Niall’s heart clenched.
“I knew you were a gallant man,” she breathed, “a true knight if ever there was!”
Viviane stretched to her toes and granted Niall his second kiss in quick succession. This one was markedly more pleasant, though her lips barely brushed across his own. He told himself sternly it should not be welcome in the least.
’Twas only that ’twas from a woman that reassured him matters were as they should be. Aye, that was the way of it.
And he must remain vigilant against temptation, lest he fail to complete his task once again. Niall thrust the witch a discreet distance from his side and resolved to keep his thoughts firmly fixed upon his responsibilities.
Sadly, his gaze strayed over the witch’s alluring legs, which he could not help but note were bare to mid-thigh and beguilingly curved. Her kirtle was craftily constructed to display her charms—which were copious—and indeed, there was markedly little of the garment. She wore some flimsy manner of footwear which left her feet nigh fully exposed to view, and her toenails were crimson.
Blood red.
Niall swallowed, certain he had never seen any feminine frippery as alluring as those crimson-tipped nails. He stubbornly lifted his gaze, only to note the wisp of naught that flowed around her hips. Her kirtle was not only short, but ’twas uncommonly thin. A man could tear the garment off with his teeth, of that Niall had no doubt, and he felt an unruly desire to volunteer.
Of course, that was not why he had come, regardless of how delightful the legs of his prey might be.
This time, he must keep his mind upon his task.
With an effort, Niall forced himself to consider the remainder of the company.
A man there was, besides the one who had kissed him so fully, and another small woman. Niall scanned his surroundings hastily—though he did not intend to linger long, he was curious as to where Viviane had fled.
But Niall could not name this place. Indeed, ’twas so perfectly wrought it could not be real. It certainly was unlike any corner of England he had ever seen.
Niall’s eyes narrowed. The archbishop was right—Viviane had fled beyond the beyond. And this place could not be all it pretended to be. Nay, this was but an alluring guise cast over the darkness of the netherworld. ’Twas intended to deceive the unwary.
Just as Viviane’s beauty hid her traitorous heart.
Well, Niall was wary enough for two. He skeptically surveyed the sky of vivid blue, the water as radiant as a glinting sapphire. The land stretched in great curves around them, though Niall could not guess whether ’twas a morass of islands on all sides or some single jut of land that twisted like a serpent.
The trees that clung to the land were starkly drawn, their boughs drawn to grow in one direction by an evidently strong and prevailing wind. They gripped the veined gray of bare rock with great presence and no small measure of stamina. Seabirds cried overhead as the waves lapped at the sides of their craft.
For they five were aboard what was clearly a ship, though ’twas unlike any vessel Niall had yet seen. ’Twas all wrought of gleaming white, the glimmer of the sunlight upon it so bright as to make a man wince.
“You know him?” demanded the second man. He was as sparse and bedraggled as an unkempt dog, his manner little better. Niall assumed him a servant or a beggar of some kind, though his tone was most haughty.
“Well, sort of,” Viviane acknowledged, with a sly smile to Niall. Her grip tightened on his arm and her eyes glowed. His heart skipped a beat, though Niall told himself ’twas only because it had been overlong since a woman regarded him with such welcome.
Save his sister.
And Viviane herself on that fateful morn.
Niall scowled, hoping the witch would be dissuaded by the fierce expression that had sent warriors fleeing from before him in the past.
But Viviane was unaffected.
“He did save my life,” she purred and nestled yet closer to Niall. “Just like Gawain, from King Arthur’s court, who so nobly saved the besieged lady in his adventures.”
A murmur of appreciation echoed across the deck. The drenched man nodded and the other woman smiled. The bedraggled man folded his arms across his chest and looked displeased.
Niall felt the back of his neck heat beneath their admiration and felt the need to correct the witch’s false conclusion. “’Twas naught…” he began to protest, but the witch interrupted him.
“You see, he’s so wonderfully modest.” Viviane sighed and treated him to a smile so warm it could nigh melt the bones of a man unprepared against her allure. Even Niall’s resistance wavered. “He did save my life, he did!”
“And now you’ve saved his,” the tiny dark-haired woman declared with approval. She clasped her hands together and sighed rapturously. “Perfectly closing the circle and sealing your entwined fates. How wonderfully romantic!”
The man who had hauled Niall from the ocean cleared his throat pointedly. “Some others were involved,” he commented with a sharp glance to that woman.
They were a pair, Niall immediately concluded, for the woman’s eyes widened and she scampered to the man’s side to make amends. “Oh, of course! You were heroic, Derek, just the way you dove over the rail…” She sighed as though much enamored of the man’s deeds and Derek exchanged an amused glance with Niall.
He winked and Niall knew not what to do.
In ordinary circumstance, Niall would have assumed they shared a manly jest over a woman’s approval, but still he could feel the imprint of this Derek’s kiss.
’Twas a situation rather outside of his experience.
And one of little import. Niall had a mission to fulfill. As Matthew insisted, ’twould be prudent to see matters resolved with all haste. Sooner begun, sooner finished.
Niall caught Viviane tightly around the waist, refusing to consider the price she would pay upon their return. ’Twas sympathy for her that led him awry in the beginning and Niall was not a man to make the same error twice.
Niall closed his free hand around the moonstone pendant and took a deep breath, trying to compose a verse to wish them back where they belonged.
“Oooh, you’re soaked and cold,” Viviane complained as she pulled away from him with a shiver. Niall was temporarily disconcerted by the bold display of her nipples, taut beneath the thin and now wet cloth of her chemise.
Nay! He would not be tempted! Niall gritted his teeth and made to wish.
But the witch crowed with delight before he could summon a verse to his lips.
“You brought it!” She pried the moonstone free from a startled Niall’s fingers as her eyes widened in awe. “Oh, you wonderful man! I just knew that you had a good heart, I just knew that you were a true hero.”
She flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek yet again. Niall caught a disconcerting whiff of the scent of her skin, more feminine than anything he had smelled in years. The wind and sun had filled her hair with the smell of outdoors, yet a perfume reminiscent of the finest flowers teased his nostrils. His eyes closed, his hands fell of their own accord to the neat indent of her waist.
How long had it been since he tasted a woman fully?
Niall inclined his head to kiss her fully, his eyes drifted closed before he considered the wisdom of his impulse. But Viviane lifted the chain of the pendant over his head with nimble fingers and proudly dropped it over her own.
Niall gasped but she had turned away to show the others.
“You see? Isn’t this just perfect? First, he saved my life, then he returned my pendant, then, oh”—she turned a shining glance upon Niall—“you show up just when I’m thinking about you and wondering about you, almost as though you heard my thoughts!” Viviane rewarded him with yet another dizzying kiss.
Clearly, she had discerned he could be twisted to her will in this way, for this kiss fell leisurely upon his mouth. Niall tried to fight his response, knowing ’twas no coincidence her soft lips so adeptly coaxed his response, that her tongue nudged against his own lips.
But he lost. His fingers tightened, gathering a fistful of the bewitchingly sheer cloth and brushing against the ripe curve of her buttocks.
She fit perfectly against him, her lips soft and alluring beneath his own. Aye, his blood was roaring, though he fought to remind himself she sought only to manipulate him.
Charm or nay, he wanted. Niall might have tightened his grip upon the temptress’s waist, slanted his mouth possessively across hers, intent on thoroughly sampled all she offered.
But Viviane danced suddenly out of his grip, taking her talisman distinctly out of his reach. Niall instinctively snatched after her and the pendant, and she laughed.
Zounds, she was more unpredictable than Majella!
Viviane’s cheeks flushed prettily as she shook a finger at him, clearly savoring his frustration. “Not in front of everyone!” she chided, mischief in her eyes. Her kirtle lifted in the breeze, as though ’twould tease him with a greater glimpse of her slender thighs. Their gazes locked and a heat rose between them, a heat Niall longed to turn to his own advantage.
How he wished he could show this sorceress the fire she awakened!
And how he wished he yet had a grip upon the talisman. He took a deep breath. Somehow Niall must win it back from her, and with all haste. ’Twas clear enough he could not trust even his own response in this woman’s presence.
But Viviane seemed intent on reminding him that ’twas she who would call the tune. She held the pendant out for the perusal of the others, the chain dangling from her fingertips, the stone winking in the sunlight.
“Look? You see?” She was as delighted as a child with an unexpected sweet. “My mother gave this to me, it was a token from my father, but I lost it on the way here. I was so disappointed.” Viviane turned a dewy smile upon Niall. “But my very own knight brought it back to me. Just like an old tale of lovers true.”
It seemed that ’twould be churlish to snatch at the woman in this particular moment and be gone. Niall folded his arms across his chest and resolved to await his chance.
“What a guy,” the disreputable-looking one said sourly. “You should have told me you’d lost it—I would have found you another one.”
“But not this one, Monty,” Viviane insisted. “You couldn’t have brought this one. He had it, he kept it safe for me. There’s a special bond between us…”
Monty of the poor grooming grimaced. “So, does he have a name?”
Viviane blushed so demurely Niall felt his own flesh heat.
A maidenly temptress. ’Twas an intoxicating combination. He resolved in that moment he would have one thorough kiss from this woman before he returned her to the archbishop.
’Twas only fair, after she had kindled such a flame within him.
One kiss. Just the prospect tightened his chausses.
“Well, I…” Viviane hesitated, casting a glance Niall’s way through her lashes.
“I am Sir Niall of Malloy,” he declared with resolve, “and I am pledged to the service of the archbishop of Cantlecroft.”
“Niall!” Viviane echoed with a smile that made Niall’s belly warm. “The champion of champions. You see, it suits him perfectly. My champion, too.”
But Monty rolled his eyes. “And who is this archbishop? And where is Cantlecroft? I’ve never heard of it! And where the hell did you even come from?” He snapped his fingers. “People don’t just pop out of thin air, you know.”
The other couple eyed him with undeniable curiosity and Niall knew none would let him evade this question. “The witch brought me to her side with the power of her magic,” he said slowly, feeling the explanation was hopelessly inane, but not wanting to reveal the truth of her token when it was out of his own grip.
“Magic! What a bunch of crap!” Derek flung out his hands in obvious exasperation and Niall warmed to the man immediately. The world could not have enough men of good sense! “Witches! Circles closing and entwined fates.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Jesus! Spare me the rest of this. It’s all a little too familiar for my comfort level.”
“But Derek…” the tiny woman protested.
“But nothing, Paula. I tell you, when the talk turns to magic, angels, and horoscopes; who knows what kind of garbage can’t be far behind.” He made a sweeping gesture with one hand and glared at the small woman. “I’m over my threshold for this stuff for the year, maybe for the decade.”
He wrung out his sodden chemise as he strode to an opening Niall had not noticed. There were stairs leading below the deck and he halted there to shake a finger at his woman. “Didn’t we make a deal for this trip? No mumbo jumbo?”
She shuffled her feet. “Oh, but Derek, this just happened…”
Derek arched a skeptical brow. “You mean you’re not going to insist that it’s fate or something similar?”
The little woman flushed guiltily and Niall suspected these two knew each other too well to be fooled. “Well…” she began tentatively, flicking a glance to her man.
“Fate!” Viviane breathed and danced toward Niall again, her eyes shining. “That’s exactly what it is! You followed me here because we’re destined to be together. In all the old tales, it’s exactly that way—the people who are destined to be together forever find each other over and over again, despite the odds against them.” She smiled in a way that truly did make Niall feel like a champion. “Oh, Paula, isn’t this just perfect?”
The two women grinned at each other. Derek and Niall exchanged telling glances.
Derek flung his hands skyward again. “See? See what I have to deal with? Every day more of the same. Crystals and rune stones and reams of import and tarot cards.” He snorted. “I’m going to change into something dry.” Derek cocked a finger at Niall. “You want to escape this conversation, you’re welcome to borrow something and do the same.”
Niall, though, was not entirely certain he wanted to be alone in a small space with this kissing man. He bowed and summoned his best manners. “I thank you for your hospitality…”
“Yeah, well, thanks for not drowning on my watch, wherever the hell you came from. Paula, if ever a man needed one of your concoctions, Sir Niall here would be my prime candidate.” He granted the little woman a stern look. “Maybe you could remember our deal by the time I come back.”
With that, Derek stomped down the stairs in obviously poor temper. An unrepentant Paula stuck out her tongue at his back and Monty laughed.
“What deal is this?” he asked.
“Oh, Derek would only sail up here if I promised to not get all woo-woo on him,” Paula explained breezily, then rolled her eyes. “His term. Don’t worry about him. If he just learned to trust his inner voice, he’d be much more at peace in this life.” Paula dropped her voice confidentially. “It’s an Aries thing, you know. It’s not like he can help it.”
Niall blinked at this incomprehensible claim, his gaze rising of its own accord to meet Viviane’s. She looked as confused as he was by this reference and shrugged when their gazes caught. Niall almost smiled at the sudden sense of camaraderie between them, but managed to catch himself and scowl instead.
It still did not halt Viviane’s smile.
Monty tapped his toe. “But I don’t get it. So, like, what’s the whole story here? Have you got magical powers or something, Viviane? You holding out on us? How’d you make this guy just show up poof?”
“She is condemned as a witch and sentenced to die,” Niall felt it pertinent to explain.
Both Paula and Monty looked alarmed by this, but Viviane lifted her chin. “I’m not a witch.” She looked directly at Niall. “I told you that before,” she added, her voice soft with accusation, then her eyes filled with a hurt far more compelling than Majella’s tears. “I thought you believed me.”
Niall felt an unwelcome jab of what could have been guilt.
Aye, he wanted to believe Viviane; indeed, when she turned her tearful gaze upon him, Niall did believe her.
And that was the root of the problem.
Before meeting Viviane, Niall had believed himself to be a good judge of another’s heart. Now, he knew he was wrong about her, knew it without doubt, yet his heart insisted he should believe her still.
He hesitated too long, for Monty moved quickly to console Viviane, sliding one arm around her waist and shooting a triumphant glance at Niall. “Hey, babe, don’t you think this fourteenth-century thing is getting a bit out of hand? Sentenced to die?” He grimaced and Viviane smiled wanly.
When she leaned her head against his shoulder, this Monty’s expression turned smug.
Niall felt his lips thin. So that was how ’twould be. Not that it mattered to Niall where the witch granted her favors. Nay! ’Twas a better thing to be so clearly reminded her temptation of him truly meant naught.
He folded his arms across his chest and let his voice turn stern. “Aye, I was fool enough to believe your tales afore, and indulge your request. Now the price must be paid in full, and that at the archbishop’s command.”
Viviane’s head snapped up. “The archbishop lied to me!”
Niall could hardly argue with the simple truth of that.
Before he could decide whether to debate the matter or simply seize the witch and be done with it, Paula laid a hand on his arm. “Derek’s right, you’ve got to get changed. With this wind, you’ll have pneumonia in no time.”
“My garb is perfectly suitable.”
“It’s wet!”
“I shall don dry garb upon my return homeward.”
“You can’t wait that long!” Paula caught at Niall’s elbow when he did not move, leading him to the small ship’s hatchway. “You have to get into some dry clothes before you catch a chill, then I’ll make you a nice margarita.”
“Nay, I will not be parted from the witch,” Niall argued. “I cannot let her from my sight!”
“Viviane isn’t going anywhere.” The small woman pushed him toward the stairs as Niall found himself unexpectedly confused by the sweet smile Viviane suddenly bestowed upon him. “I promise.”
Niall hesitated, caught between duty and comfort.
“Where would she go? We’re out at sea,” Paula chided. Her words were little reassurance, for Niall knew well enough the pendant Viviane fingered could take her anywhere she so wished.
He pivoted to face the witch, not surprised to find her gaze locked upon him. And once again, Niall was tempted to trust her.
“You must grant me your pledge that you will be here when I return,” he demanded of her.
Viviane sobered and straightened, though she could not or did not quell the expression of feminine delight lingering in her eyes. Niall wondered what conclusion she had made now, then her words fell low and filled with conviction. “I do. I swear it to you.”
Niall’s heart thumped at the way Viviane’s luminous gaze clung to his, but her pledge, whatever ’twas worth, was likely all the guarantee he would win.
And, yet again, as much as he might have preferred otherwise, Niall believed her.
Curse women and their wiles!
Paula rapped an authoritarian finger on his arm. “Derek won’t let anyone drown on his watch and I won’t let anyone catch pneumonia. Come on, don’t fight me on this.” Paula grabbed Niall’s tabard and pulled him hard toward the stairs. “Derek must have something that will fit you.”
Niall spared the witch one last glance, and the moonstone pendant winked in the sunlight, as though to remind him of his own pledge. ’Twas true enough Viviane affected his thinking, but Sir Niall of Malloy was not without a certain charm of his own.
He would win possession of that pendant and return to the archbishop’s court, or die in the attempt. ’Twas a quest he had committed to fulfill, after all.
And he would have one lingering kiss to call his own before all was said and done. ’Twas only reasonable, given how Viviane seemed determined to tempt him.
One kiss surely could hurt naught.