Her knight had followed her!
Viviane could hardly believe her luck. Oh, her fortune had changed for the better when she met Sir Niall of Malloy, there was no doubt about that! She had always been lucky, but this man seemed to bring out the best Dame Fortune had to offer.
Or maybe Dame Fortune—in concert with the blue moon watching over Viviane’s birth—had picked this knight out just for her. Oh yes, Viviane had made the right choice in having her Gawain look just like Niall—he was a perfect hero. Niall’s pursuit of her, his return of her beloved pendant, it was just like an old tale and proved the kind of man he was beyond any doubt.
Viviane hugged herself, impatient for him to make a reappearance from below. Niall was every bit as big and burly and gruff as she remembered—oh, he roared, but she could see that enormous heart of his shining in his eyes.
It was pretty obvious Niall was what Monty called a straight-and-narrow kind of guy, someone who was concerned with following the rules and upholding justice.
It was what made him such a wonderful knight.
But, of course, that meant he was troubled she had been found guilty as a witch. It was only natural. Anyone could see, though, that he didn’t quite believe it. After all, he had followed her, even with the cloud hanging over her name.
The only possible explanation was he was in love with her. That was the only reason men overlooked things like that.
It wasn’t such a far-flung thought. Viviane was sure she was pretty much in love with Niall already. What woman wouldn’t be? If not all the way in love, she could certainly get there from here. And the way he looked at her—she shivered in delighted recollection—well, it made her tingle right to her toes.
As soon as Viviane explained the truth to Niall, as soon as he knew the archbishop was wrong and she wasn’t really a witch, well, it would be obvious to him as it was to her they were meant for each other.
And clearly, since he was her knight, then she was his lady, which could only mean he would defend her to his dying breath and all that good stuff. It was always that way in the tales and it was certainly that way in Viviane’s book.
Absolutely perfect.
When Niall’s head appeared at the top of the stairs, his golden hair glinting with the sunlight, Viviane’s breath caught in her throat. He stretched, not unlike a great cat and turned his face up to the sun, as though he savored the heat of it upon his skin. It was not Viviane’s imagination he seemed to grow stronger beneath those caressing rays, bigger and more thoroughly golden.
Gawain, after all, was linked to the sun, Viviane remembered that. The legendary knight’s strength waxed until midday, then waned to midnight. He could only be defeated in the afternoon, and that on the shortest day of the year, the blackest night of winter.
And Niall of Malloy obviously belonged in the sunshine. Viviane had a sudden insight into his grumpiness in the archbishop’s dungeons. It must have nearly killed him to be trapped away in the darkness like that, and no wonder it affected his mood. Well, he wouldn’t want to go back there any more than she did!
Niall had to turn slightly sideways to ease his shoulders through the narrow opening, the red T-shirt he had evidently been loaned was stretched slightly to accommodate his breadth. His arms were tanned to a rich golden hue, he wore a thick golden bracelet upon his left wrist. Derek’s shorts outlined the muscles of Niall’s thighs and left his tanned legs bare.
Viviane swallowed, certain she had never seen a man so powerfully built.
Or so very alluring.
As though he heard her thoughts, Niall glanced up and their gazes locked once again. Viviane’s heart pounded and she was completely unaware Monty left her side, despite his sour comment.
There was only Niall. They might have been alone in the world when he came closer, purpose in every step.
Viviane’s pulse began to flutter in her throat. She could remember the imprint of his lips against her own, the warm salt-tinged taste of him when she had kissed him in gratitude. He gripped the handrail with a broad strong hand, the same hand that had rested heavily on the back of Viviane’s waist and urged her closer.
If she hadn’t stepped away from him then, Viviane knew she would be kissing him still.
She had a funny certainty the next kiss they shared—and there would be one!—wouldn’t be nearly so fleeting as the last.
Niall marked the distance between them with decisive steps and Viviane suddenly felt very warm. She couldn’t have said a word to save her life, a fact that would have shocked anyone—besides the residents of Avalon—who had even a passing acquaintance with her.
He braced his arms on the rail beside Viviane, so close that his bare skin brushed against her own. She watched him squint as he absently surveyed the distant shoreline. Viviane could feel the heat of him so close beside her, and she wanted to touch him more than anything in all the world.
“You kept your pledge,” he murmured, pleasure and surprise mingled in his low tones.
“Yes,” she managed to say.
Niall shot a quick glance her way. “’Tis not a trait one might expect from a witch.”
Viviane saw the blond hair on his forearms stir in the wind from the sea and caught the scent of his skin. Her mouth was completely dry. “I suppose not.”
Niall met her gaze steadily, unexpected humor dancing in the emerald depths of his eyes. “I have never known you to be without words,” he teased, an equally unexpected smile curving his firm lips. “Has something gone awry?”
Viviane felt herself blush and knew she would never find another word again. She stared as that smile widened, ever so slowly, as tantalizing and warming as she had expected it to be.
No, it was definitely more tantalizing than she had expected. In fact, Viviane felt a bit dizzy.
“Why did you come?” she whispered, her voice a faint shadow of its usual strength.
“To fetch you,” he murmured, his eyes glinting. “Why else?”
Viviane’s knees melted. He had come just for her. She was right.
Perfect!
Niall lifted one hand to ease an errant curl back from her cheek. There was a heat in his eyes that made Viviane’s heart stop, yet she stood rooted to the spot, as though she had been turned to stone.
Her heart hammered as he leaned closer, she closed her eyes when the warmth of his fingertips slid down the length of her neck. Viviane lifted her face and parted her lips, wanting only Niall’s kiss. He leaned closer, her heart raced, his breath fanned her cheek, she trembled.
“Refills!” Paula chirped so close behind that both she and Niall jumped. Their hostess smiled cheerily and shoved the frosty glasses into their hands before she danced away.
Viviane blinked, licked her lips and let the frost of the glass disperse the fire smoldering within her. She took a deep breath and reminded herself they weren’t alone.
Yet.
But she could fix that, as soon as they returned to Ganges. She would take Niall to her room, Viviane decided impulsively, she wouldn’t let him stay anywhere else. He had ridden into the unknown in pursuit of her and now they wouldn’t be separated again. Her breath caught as she wondered whether she would take him to her bed tonight, let alone what he would do about it if she did.
Viviane slanted a glance through her lashes at her knight and made a fairly good guess.
Niall meanwhile sniffed his drink suspiciously. “And what is this concoction?”
“It’s good, really.”
“Aye? And what will it do to me? Is it a potion to cloy my wits?”
“No, nothing like that!” Viviane laughed and her words spilled forth with haste now that she was reassured. “It’s kind of tart, both sweet and sour, and very cold. Like ale, but different”—she pursed her lips—“so not really like ale at all. And that’s salt on the rim, which makes an oddly pleasing tingle in contrast to how sour the drink is. It’s called a margarita, although I don’t know why.”
“So you have not been struck dumb after all,” Niall mused. He flicked a glance her way. “Though your speech has become most odd during this time.”
Viviane felt herself blush scarlet again, but she couldn’t stop talking now that she had begun. “Well, I didn’t really have a choice, you know. I have to at least try to blend in, or not arouse suspicions that I don’t belong here. What could I do but dress as they do and speak as they do? I’m not a fairy or a sorceress myself and you would think that even a lesser immortal could tell that with just a glance, but still there’s no reason to draw attention to myself.”
“Indeed.” Niall’s gaze lingered on her as though she were a puzzle he was trying to solve.
“Indeed!” Viviane nodded firmly. “You know, you should try your margarita, you wouldn’t want to hurt Paula’s feelings. It’s not precisely what you would expect and, to be honest”—she lowered her voice and leaned closer—“I did wonder at first just what to expect, since our hostess is one of the fey.”
“The fey?” Niall repeated tonelessly.
Viviane had the sense he was trying to keep his surprise from showing, though why he would be surprised by such a statement, she just couldn’t imagine.
What other explanation could there possibly be?
“Yes! Why, it’s perfectly obvious.” Viviane hastened to explain as he glanced across the deck. “She seems both old and young at the same time, which is, I understand, one of the characteristics of the little people. Not to mention, of course, her tiny build.”
Viviane sipped beneath Niall’s watchful eye.
In fact, he watched her so carefully it was almost as though he was ensuring her response before he drank of the brew. She took another swallow, purely to reassure him that it really did taste good, and felt a languor steal through her body.
“You believe our hostess is one of the fey, merely because she is wrought small?”
It was clear from his tone Niall did not share her conviction.
But then, he didn’t know the whole truth about this place.
Viviane was more than happy to explain.
“Oh, it could be,” she insisted. “After all, Paula believes in every manner of strange thing! Already she has spoken of great mysteries with authority, though I can’t even guess at what she means. Did you understand what she meant by calling Derek an Aries?”
Niall shook his head slowly.
“You see? She must be one of the initiates, to just casually refer to things beyond everyone’s understanding. And everyone here is an immortal of some kind or another—you can tell with just one glance, even when they don’t tell you so. Monty said he has known Barb forever, and he said it just as easily as that, as though there was nothing remarkable about it at all. I have met people who say that they’re eighty years of age!”
Niall’s fair brows lifted in surprise and Viviane nodded. “Imagine! They say they’re eighty years young and then they laugh, which just goes to show what kind of expectations they have. I wonder whether they just start counting over at some point, though I really can’t imagine when that would be.” She frowned in thought. “Maybe when they arrive here. What do you think?”
Niall’s expression was impassive. “I could not fathom a guess.”
“No, well, neither could I, really.” Viviane smiled. “Of course, it’s because they’re immortal that they’re so different from us. And so incomprehensible.”
She gulped her drink again and thought that maybe it was helping her to explain matters. “Although I don’t think Paula has any malice toward us, not at all. She must be a good fairy. Not that I know very much about fairies, but my mother always talked about them and it seems to me that she said things like that about them, that there were good ones and bad ones, and the good ones would aid you and the bad ones would vex you. And that, of course, if you vexed a good one, well, then even they could act like bad ones, just to get even.”
Niall chuckled beneath his breath and shook his head.
“What?” Viviane demanded.
He slanted a steady glance her way. “I do not believe that the fey exist.”
“Shhh!” Viviane pressed her fingertips to his lips. Her heart skipped a beat when her fingers touched his flesh and their gazes met with sudden intensity. Viviane tried to chatter on as though she was unaffected, for her mother had always said it was unwise to let a man see his effect upon you.
“Don’t even think such a thing! That’s the very worst thing you could possibly do. You don’t want to insult them! Who could tell how they might turn upon us, then. My mother used to tell stories of offended fairies that would keep one awake half the night, and play tricks upon mortals and all sorts of maliciousness. It’s only sensible, really, because even mortals can be malicious if they feel that they’ve been insulted or treated poorly.”
Niall nodded, then took a cautious sip of Paula’s concoction. He rolled it around in his mouth as Viviane watched, then nodded as he swallowed. “’Tis not all bad.”
She drank again as though to indicate her agreement. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Paula knew most of the other fey that are resident here…”
“Other fey?” Niall interjected.
“Well, of course! There are hundreds if not thousands of fairies here, it’s so hard to keep track of them all, never mind the wizards and sorcerers. They don’t live alone!” She cast a stern glance to her companion. “Honestly, you have to use your wits here if you’re going to blend in.”
Niall’s eyes narrowed and he leaned closer, his somber manner bringing Viviane’s tirade to a sudden halt. “And where are we, that there are so many fey at large?”
There was a glint in his eyes that told her he wasn’t prepared to believe the truth, at least not yet. Viviane knew she had to persuade him to at least be careful, before he made a mistake and was evicted. It wouldn’t be fair if her knight was snatched away from her, right after he arrived!
“Niall—do you mind if I call you Niall? After all, it seems as though we’ve known each other for a long time, probably because of all we’ve shared, and besides, they don’t use titles here, at least not as much as I can tell.”
He lifted one brow in acknowledgment and Viviane hastened on, liking how his name rolled over her tongue. “Well, Niall, you just have to believe me. And keep your thoughts less skeptical, because you never know who could be listening. My mother always said that the fey had sharp ears. They could even hear your thoughts if you weren’t careful, and that they never missed a chance to straighten out the thinking of a skeptic…”
“Viviane, where are we?” Niall interjected calmly.
Oh, it was an unexpected delight to hear him utter her name!
Even if he sounded a bit impatient when he did.
But it seemed so vulgar to just blurt out the truth and Viviane didn’t even know if it was supposed to be a secret, or whether it was forbidden to even say the word Avalon.
Niall wasn’t looking away, though, just waiting for his answer as though he’d wait for it all week if necessary. And she supposed he did have a right to know. Viviane licked her lips. She glanced to their companions, who seemed markedly disinterested in their conversation, although you could never be entirely sure.
“This place is”—Viviane dropped her voice, glanced around to ensure once more that no one was listening, then leaned dangerously close to Niall—“Avalon!”
He choked in the act of sipping his drink then. “Avalon!”
“I know!” Viviane nodded sagely. “Isn’t it amazing? I could hardly believe it myself when I ended up here. And now we’re both here and everything…”
“Avalon!” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Are you mad?”
Viviane straightened. “Shhh! Don’t get them upset!”
“Them?”
“The immortal ones! I told you! They’re all sorcerers here and who knows what kind of hexes they might loose upon us, especially if they thought that we didn’t appreciate their hospitality.”
“I would have expected more from great sorcerers,” he mused with a significant heft of his drink.
Viviane barely stifled the urge to swat him.
“Your irreverence could cost us dearly!” she hissed.
“Nay. There is no such place as Avalon,” he insisted, with all the flexibility of a mountain. “And there are no such things as fairies.”
Viviane tossed her hair over her shoulder, not caring for his tone at all. “Of course, there’s such a place as Avalon. There must be because it’s where we are.”
“Aye?” Niall challenged, his voice low. “Prove the truth of it to me.”
Viviane lifted her chin, intent on doing precisely that. She ticked off points on her fingers. “The island where we sailed from lies in the west. It’s shrouded by mist and invisible to those mortals on the mainland, except on a day of rare clarity, and people on the island say that the mainlanders are always trying to come to the island. But they can’t—because they have to shed their love of material possessions and greed to enjoy the spirituality of the island life. That’s what Monty says and he should know—he’s a sorcerer after all.”
Niall glanced across the deck at the sorcerer in question, his expression speaking volumes.
But Viviane pressed on. “And it’s hard to navigate a safe passage through the islands—although they say that it’s just people getting lost in unfamiliar waters, it’s probably a protective spell. Immortals do that, you know, to maintain their privacy. All the myths say so.” She took a fortifying sip of the margarita, watching Niall sip long and slowly.
“And there is no poverty on the island; the elderly come there when otherwise they might die; the shops are full of inexplicable marvels that anyone can buy for themselves. The land is blessed with bounty, the hills are wondrously green, the sky is flawless blue, the weather is perfect. Apples grow in unnatural abundance on trees that hang to the ground with massive fruit.”
Viviane punctuated this with a stern glance, for it was not insignificant. Her heart skipped to find Niall watching her avidly.
“And women abide upon that island in great numbers. They are revered. Barb says that there are many priestesses there, though I’ve yet to meet one. Finally, books are so common that every man and woman can collect the most beautiful manuscripts themselves.”
“And they all are in agreement with you?” her knight asked, shrugging toward their companions. “They too believe themselves to be in Avalon?”
Viviane had the feeling he didn’t believe her explanation. “Well, not exactly,” she had to admit. “They call the island Salt Spring, for some reason. Perhaps there is a magical spring that I have yet to see. Springs are always of fresh water, after all, so that would be a marvel.”
Niall did not look persuaded.
“They say that we are off the west coast of British Columbia, which I can only imagine is another name for Ireland. Wasn’t it claimed for the English king? And didn’t Saint Columb come from there?”
Niall did not look suitably impressed by this assertion. He sipped his drink. “I believe he was of Scotland.”
“It doesn’t matter! Don’t you see—they wouldn’t tell just anyone that this was Avalon! Maybe they’ve altered the names of places so that Avalon can’t be easily found. It has to be some kind of a secret, otherwise, everyone would just come here and there wouldn’t be anything magical about it at all!”
Niall leveled a glance at her that effectively communicated his doubts.
But Viviane lifted her chin. “You can be as skeptical as you like, but I know the truth. We’re on an isle to the west of all the world, a mystical magical enchanted place that exists on no known maps. And that is Avalon.” Viviane waved off any further objection he could make.
Niall took a quick gulp of his drink. “And what have you told them of your own deeds?”
“As little as could be contrived.” Viviane sighed. “Monty tells everyone that I have a fourteenth-century thing. They don’t seem very interested in the passage of time in the mortal world.”
Viviane dropped her voice and practically leaned on Niall’s shoulder. “Actually, I was afraid I might say the wrong thing and prompt too many questions, so I’ve tried to be quiet. You see, I don’t think we’ve come here the usual way and they might not let us stay if they figure it out.”
That snared his attention. He considered her, his gaze sober, then glanced to her pendant. “And you came here with the aid of your witching stone.”
“It’s not a witching stone, because that would mean that I was a witch.” Viviane rolled her eyes. “Or that my father was a witch, which makes no sense at all. In all honesty, Niall, how can you be so gullible as to believe those false charges against me?”
Niall arched a brow. “Yet we are in this place, without explanation, by virtue of that stone.”
“A father’s love is a powerful thing,” Viviane insisted. “There’s nothing more powerful than love—my mother taught me that. And what parent wouldn’t want to see their child saved from execution?” She shook her head as she fingered the pendant, then shook her head. “I don’t care exactly how it worked; my father’s love saved me and that’s explanation enough. We’re here and alive and that’s a good thing.”
And she smiled at Niall, letting him see that his presence was a big part of everything that was good. “Thank you for returning my pendant. I was upset to have lost it, because it’s all I have left from my mother.”
“Aye?” Niall demanded softly, and arched a fair brow as he leaned closer. “Then, if you are so well pleased, perhaps you might grant me a small token of your gratitude.”
Viviane knew exactly what token he had in mind. She didn’t even need a whisper of her mother’s Sight to recognize the meaning of the purposeful gleam in Niall’s eyes.
Nor did she have to guess why a quiver took up residence in her belly.
And she was in absolute agreement with him.
Viviane nodded mutely and leaned closer. She shivered when Niall’s arm slipped around her, arched toward him when he splayed his fingers across the back of her waist, and tipped up her face when Niall bent closer and blocked out the sun.
And Viviane sighed when his mouth closed possessively over her own.
Perfection.
Monty pounced on Derek as soon as the man appeared on Deck again. “Look at them,” he muttered, jerking a finger toward the embracing couple. “Talk about a flying lip lock!”
Derek looked supremely untroubled by the sight. “And so? Obviously, they know each other. Nothing like a happy reunion.” He shrugged and made for the rigging with purpose.
“Well?” Monty demanded. “Aren’t you going to do something?”
“Like what?” Derek shrugged. “Green’s not your color, pal. Let it go.” And he turned away once more.
But Monty wasn’t going to let him get away that easily. “Yeah, but where did he come from? Did you see? He just”—Monty snapped his fingers—“like appeared out of thin air!”
Derek met his gaze levelly. “I didn’t see a thing,” he insisted flatly.
“What do you mean, you saw nothing?” Monty flung out his hands in frustration. He was really annoyed; just when he thought he was making progress with Viviane, when he’d blown a fortune on dinners, this guy had to appear out of the blue and ruin everything! “Come on, Derek! You were looking right at him! You saw what I saw, which was a guy just poof appear from nothing.”
“I told you that I didn’t see a thing.”
Monty stepped into his friend’s path and propped his hands on his hips. “Then where did he come from?”
Derek shrugged. “He must have been hiding on board.” He nodded, the idea obviously gaining appeal as he thought about it. “Yeah. A stowaway. He popped up and jumped overboard to get the lady’s attention. Seems to have worked.” And he started to whistle as he tugged the sail back into the wind.
“Come on!” Monty surveyed his friend with disgust. “You don’t believe that any more than I do!”
Derek flicked a serious glance Monty’s way, his voice dropping low. “And what’s the alternative?”
“That something truly weird is going on.”
“Right, truly weird. I need that like a hole in the head.” Derek rolled his eyes and turned back to his work. “Like this guy just appears out of midair for no reason at all. You can’t say it happens all the time. Think about it, Monty.”
“But it did happen! Right here, right now.”
“Nope. Can’t have. No way. It’s impossible and we both know it.”
“Can’t be impossible if it happened,” Monty felt compelled to comment. He stole another look at Viviane and noted the killer kiss showed no chance of stopping anytime soon.
He was jolted back to the conversation when Derek poked a finger in his chest.
“Look. You’re going to just let this go, understand? I don’t know what happened and I don’t really care. There’s got to be a perfectly rational explanation, so I’m sticking with the best one I know.”
Monty grimaced. “He stowed away and suddenly appeared.”
“You got it.”
Monty watched his friend work for a few moments, knowing that Derek was fiddling more than necessary. “What if there’s a perfectly irrational explanation?”
Derek pivoted and glared at Monty. “You know, I put up with this shit all the time. Power of the unseen, the magical mystery of runes, on and on and on it goes, and frankly, I’ve had enough. I don’t appreciate you even hinting that you might encourage Paula with more of it. I’ve always thought it was bunk and I’m not changing my mind.”
“Even if it means closing your eyes to what’s going on?”
“Monty, there’s nothing going on.” Derek pointed at the couple still embracing. “You tell me what’s unnatural about that, hmm? Have a margarita, put your ego back on ice and just enjoy the fact that your friend is happy.”
The older man smiled. “In a couple of days, my friend, you’ll get over the fact that her happiness isn’t with you. And eventually, you might even be glad. These things have a way of working themselves out.”
Then Derek winked and headed back to his work.
But Monty turned to watch as the pair finally parted, something ugly in his gut twisting when he noticed Viviane’s flush of delight. It wasn’t just jealousy, he knew it.
Nope, there was something screwy going on, whether Derek admitted it or not.
And Monty was going to get to the truth of it.
For Viviane’s sake, of course.
The potion of Paula’s reminded Niall of the tales the old crusaders told of Greek fire. It slipped over a man’s teeth without much noise; indeed, ’twas almost pleasant. He had just enough time to savor its tang before it hit his empty belly.
And exploded.
’Twas a thousand times stronger than the strongest ale he had ever imbibed and it shot through his body like wild lightning. Matters were not helped by Viviane’s torrid kiss and the way it left him dizzy—Niall had downed almost the whole of the green brew before he realized its potency.
And then, ’twas too late to save himself.
Worse, he did not care.
Even worse, he completely forgot to wish. He had thought that he would accomplish two matters at once, by having his kiss of Viviane and making his wish while she was in his arms. He’d be holding the pendant by way of holding her. But as soon as her soft lips parted beneath his, as soon as her breasts were pressed against him, as soon as she made that irresistible little sigh of satisfaction, Niall just forgot.
Savoring was the only thought he had.
And in the wake of the kiss, naught made sense to him. Not the way Vivian’s smile set his very flesh afire; not the easy command Derek had over his strange craft; not the thousands of lights that erupted along the shore as the sky grew dark. Certainly not Viviane’s conviction they had come to Avalon, a place that did not even exist—and not one that would tolerate intruders if it did.
He could not even sort the proof of Viviane’s witchery from his belief in her pledge of innocence. Indeed, ’twas impossible to believe ill of her when she smiled at him just so, never mind when she kissed so sweetly.
There had to be a reasonable explanation for all that had transpired. The tiny sober bit of his mind was convinced of that, even as it was banished to a corner. That sober bit of him was equally convinced he could sort matters through, given some time and a good bit less ‘margarita.’
But the greater part of Niall was oblivious to such concerns. He was simply having too much fun. ’Twas the first time since the wounding of his knee that he had celebrated anything, and though he did not precisely know what was being celebrated now, he joined in with gusto.
He drank more of the brew. He sang with abandon. He consumed ‘grilled steak’ until there was none left to consume. He kissed the woman back who was so determined to make herself his own. He let her talk and did not correct her illusions, for indeed, he could not have summoned a decent argument to save his life.
And when they stood in a moonlit harbor and she shyly invited him to her abode, Niall accepted without a second thought. Viviane took his hand and led him through the quiet streets, the weight of her slender fingers in his own giving Niall more pleasure than he had known in years.
And ’twas then he realized the truth.
’Twas not because he had been fasting that he was so intoxicated. ’Twas not because of some fearsome ingredient in Paula’s brew. ’Twas not because anyone had bewitched him against his will. ’Twas not even because he was in the presence of a fearsome witch.
Nay, nay, nay. Those were the obvious answers. The truth was simply that the loveliest lady he had ever met thought he was wonderful.
And that was heady stuff indeed. Truly, to be believed a hero had a tendency to make a man want to fulfill such expectation, not to shatter it. Niall was not quite ready to prove to Viviane he was somewhat less than wonderful, certainly not that he had come to collect her person for execution.
Nay, not when she smiled at him sweetly as she did now.
Indeed, Niall of Malloy smiled back.