Niall awakened to a persistent thudding.
He winced and buried his head deeper beneath the linens, though that earned him no respite. He realized the pounding came from within his own head and groaned softly at the recollection of Paula’s powerful potion.
’Twas indeed some foul brew, and he could only hope this was the worst of the damage done to him. Niall wiggled his toes and fingers, did a quick check to ensure that all was as it should be, and knew some relief.
Indeed, this pounding between the ears was not unfamiliar and in a way, that was reassuring. It had been years since Niall had drunk too much ale, and he winced anew at the souvenir he was likely to enjoy all the day long. He tried to recall events of the night before, without a great deal of success.
That, too, was typical of a night of overindulgence.
Niall was fairly certain there had been singing, and given the thunder between his ears, would hazard a guess it had been particularly loud and off-key singing, undoubtedly of vulgar verse. Niall did recall, now that he pondered the matter, that Monty had not participated, and Derek, despite his tendency to be overly affectionate, had proven to be quite a decent sort.
He also remembered there had been naught magical about the cuts of beef Paula conjured from the ship’s tiny kitchen, except perhaps the speed with which they disappeared. Aye, he had had four chunks himself and could have consumed that again, had there been more available. The recollection of good food made the pounding in his head recede, just as it made his belly growl.
And Viviane had lingered close by his side all the night long. Niall smiled, his eyes still closed, not wanting to dispel the memory of the many soft smiles she dispatched in his direction, or the way her eyes shone.
’Twas then he recalled his intent to wish while he kissed her, and his failure to do so. Niall caught his breath and rolled to his back at his inevitable realization.
She had fooled him again!
Aye, the moment his lips touched hers, Niall had forgotten to take Viviane back to Cantlecroft! How could he have forgotten his pledge? How could he have failed in his task, again?
He had been bewitched.
That was the simple truth of it. Niall could find no other explanation, though this one made his innards writhe. Nay, he was neither a man who did not cleave to his duty, nor a man who could not be relied upon. Niall always did what he pledged to do.
The fact he had not could only be due to forces beyond his control. His lips tightened to a grim line. Aye, ’twas no coincidence that the two times Niall had not fulfilled his intent had been in the presence of Viviane.
Nor that she was a convicted witch.
In his heart, Niall did not believe in potions and hexes and spells, he did not believe in fairies and witches and sorcerers, he did not believe in Avalon, nor even heaven or hell. He did not believe in magic, yet magic was apparently complicating his days and confounding his intent.
The evidence was inescapable.
’Twas clear he was to learn something in this, yet equally clear Niall’s habit of believing in only what he could hold within his hands would not be readily dislodged. He tried to persuade himself of Viviane’s guilt, of the fact he had been enchanted, and failed.
Utterly.
Niall scowled and tried again, without success.
Truth be told, he had fine if somewhat hazy recollections of Viviane’s company the night before. The way her eyes sparkled when she told him tales, the way she leaned against him, the way she looked at him as though the sun rose and set on him alone could certainly be borne without complaint. She made Niall feel alluring, she coaxed him to believe in his own charm, she made him feel a man of power again.
Though her tools were of the earthiest kind. Was this witchery? Niall had a difficult time persuading himself so. He was quite certain the dark arts could only be practiced with the sacrifice of various livestock, the chanting of spells and general misdeeds undertaken in the dark of the night when the moon was veiled.
Not on a ship, in the sunlight.
Niall’s head pounded at the challenge of reconciling what he had experienced with his beliefs, and had to admit this spell of Viviane’s must be cursedly strong. He winced anew at the realization of what he must do this morn. Indeed, he felt a measure of guilt that he had to seek out Viviane and immediately return to Cantlecroft.
After all, she still had the moonstone talisman.
Sooner begun, sooner finished, after all, Niall concluded with a sigh. He had best be about his labor before she enchanted him yet more fully.
Though it could hurt naught to linger abed a little longer. Clearly, Niall had somehow found a perfect place for repose. He could hear a faint patter of what might have been rain, the pallet beneath him was soft and he was too gloriously warm to leap willingly from his repose. And his head ached, after all.
When he shifted slightly, his leg bumped against the heat of another.
Niall’s eyes flew open, his heart skipped a beat. He belatedly recalled Viviane’s invitation, then wondered if the ‘memory’ was but an invention of his own desire.
A desire born of witchery.
His head was buried beneath a pillow which was lighter than a cloud, and as a result, he could see naught but markedly luxurious linens of a creamy hue. He caught a whiff that could only be feminine skin, then his heart galloped with the certainty of which particular woman curled beside him.
Viviane. Sorceress, temptress.
Witch.
Niall slid his toe across the mattress once again and caught his breath when he encountered soft smooth flesh. A part of him responded to the news with enthusiasm, though Niall knew he would be wise to be wary.
Surely, he reasoned, it could hurt naught to look?
Aye, a single glimpse was well worth whatever price he might have to pay. Niall eased from beneath the pillow and peeked at the woman beside him.
The breath left him of one accord when he saw that he was right. ’Twas indeed Viviane.
And the lady was a beauty. Viviane slept on her back, as trusting as a child, her auburn hair cast in disarray across the pillows. Her rosy lips were parted, her breathing deep, her cheek nestled in her own delicate palm. The linens were caught beneath her underarm closest Niall, cast over her opposite shoulder.
Even in sleep, she seemed to smile softly, as characteristically sunny in outlook as when she was awake. Only now, while she slumbered unaware, did Niall dare to admit to himself how very compelling he found this lady’s cheerful confidence.
Viviane believed the world to be a good place, she believed in her own good fortune, she was convinced that naught ill could truly befall her.
Though ill certainly had. Niall had certainly never been so unfortunate as to be sentenced to die, and he heartily hoped he never would be. He certainly would not have continued to believe in his own good fortune if he was.
Niall wondered whether the conviction alone was what held everything dire at bay for Viviane. And he was the one sworn to bring the ultimate bad fortune to her. His gut chilled, though Niall knew a pledge made was a pledge that must be kept.
He was a man of honor, after all, and his very reputation hung in the balance of making what had gone awry come right.
He was not, however, in a hurry this morn. That should have surprised him, but Niall was instead reassured to find himself less cold-hearted than he might have feared. Aye, he might have gotten soft, but he grew accustomed to it, and ’twas less dire a fate than he had once believed.
For ’twas no crime to think, just for a moment, Viviane was still too lovely, too vivaciously alive, to die.
Niall eyed the bare shoulder nearest him and swallowed at the knowledge that lovely Viviane was nude. Indeed, her flawless skin lay bare whenever he could see it and certainly there was no chemise obstructing his exploring toe.
He thought of the long sleek legs that tormented him the day before, the ripe breast that pressed against his chest, the smooth buttock that had fallen beneath his hand. He recalled her delightful smile, the shine of her eyes, the mischievous dimple that dinted her cheek.
One look. One glimpse alone would satisfy him, he knew it well. Niall eased back the linens, his headache nigh forgotten.
He was not disappointed.
First, he learned Viviane had a mole on her bare right shoulder, then another came to light, nestled amidst the intriguing hollows below her throat. A third was secreted above her left breast, temptingly close to where the nipple must be. Niall had a playful urge to trace a line between the three with his fingertip and awaken her with a feather light kiss.
Indeed, ’twas impossible to believe ill of her when she looked so beguilingly innocent.
So trusting. Viviane was not only a beauteous woman, but one who had evidently welcomed him to her bed. They had slept nude, side by each, her faith in his good intent so great that she curled up with the contentedness of a cat.
’Twas enough to humble a man.
Especially when that man was pledged to bring the lady in question to her own execution.
Niall’s mouth went dry as he stared and, even knowing all he knew, he yearned for yet another of this lady’s kisses.
Surely ’twould not be unwelcome?
And who would know?
Viviane had not protested the day before. If an ache between his ears and slumber in a fine bed was the worst due extracted for a kiss, Niall could bear the burden that would be earned by another. He leaned closer, convinced brushing his lips just once across her lips would pass undetected.
But the lady suddenly stirred.
Niall froze and watched as Viviane stretched in her sleep, arching her neck as gracefully as a swan. Her lashes fluttered but her eyes did not open. Niall did not dare to breathe, so certain was he that his conclusions would be proven wrong, that she had not actually invited him to be here, that she would awaken and cast him out of her bed.
Viviane made a wordless sound of contentment in the back of her throat, a breath that fanned across Niall’s skin and warmed him to his toes. Her hand fell upon his arm as though she knew she would find him there and he jumped. Her touch was so light he might have missed it had he not been avidly watching her every move.
And Viviane smiled, her fingers sliding across his arm, back and forth again. She was not disappointed, nor even surprised! Niall thought his heart might burst, it clamored so loudly.
Viviane eased the linens lower with a sigh and turned toward Niall in a soft tumble of femininity, wriggling her shoulders as she nestled contentedly into a hollow beside him. Niall’s mouth went dry as the move revealed the sweet curve of her left breast fully to his gaze.
As well as the moonstone pendant she still wore.
Niall stared at the odd stone. He knew he should snatch at the pendant and make his wish, he knew he should seize this chance to see his quest complete, but that taut ruby-hued nipple so temptingly displayed distracted him.
’Twas so very, very beauteous.
Just like the lady herself. Niall swallowed, the weight of his pledge heavy on his shoulders.
He much preferred to think about Viviane’s bare flesh. Indeed, he was certain her breast must be soft and sweetly scented, perhaps even more so than her delightful kiss.
But he knew what he should do. His hand lifted but hesitated before him instead of moving decisively toward the pendant. Caught between desire and duty, Niall closed his eyes and reached, trusting Fate to guide his hand.
And Fate, as she has oft been known to do, betrayed him.
Niall’s fingertips brushed over the ripe curve of Viviane’s breast and she sighed contentment. She arched against the roughness of his hand like a demanding cat and Niall could not help but close his hand over her. Her jutting breast fit perfectly beneath his palm, tempting his fingers to curve around its softness. His gaze slid to her mouth in time to watch the tip of her tongue appear between her parted lips and his desire raged like an inferno.
Just one more kiss, Niall insisted to himself.
And then he would do his duty.
Niall’s thumb slid leisurely across that nipple, and it tightened to attention. He bent without a moment’s pause, cupping her breast in his hand and ducking his head to kiss that errant mole, then moving across the warmth of her flesh to take the pert nipple in his mouth.
Viviane’s eyes flew open when his breath slid across her skin. Niall halted as though caught at a crime. The sleepy scent of her inundated him and curled his toes, time stood still while the lady leisurely opened her eyes.
This was it. Niall feared anew Viviane would chastise him for his familiarity. If naught else, she would scream and shout. She would clutch the gem and flee his side, leaving him alone in this place. Worse, she might weep! Niall’s gut clenched.
But all the same, he could not willingly move away.
To his astonishment, Viviane smiled, confounding his expectation yet again.
“Good morning,” she murmured, a welcoming glow taking up residence in the depths of her eyes. Her smile widened and that dimple appeared in her cheek. Her fingertips brushed his jaw, wonder dawning in those marvelous eyes. “So, I didn’t dream you after all,” she murmured and the thunder of Niall’s pulse drowned on the pounding between his ears.
He found himself smiling back at her, filled with a sense of potency he had not known in years. Her hand fell on the back of his neck, her fingers curled into his hair and she urged him back toward her breast.
Niall could not resist. He let his thumb move across her nipple again, savoring how she gasped when the roughness of his skin snared that turgid peak. Viviane fell back against the pillows, arching her back as she clenched his hair. She gasped and writhed, her delight making Niall want only to please her more. He bent to suckle her.
He began gently, loving how she moaned when he flicked the peak with the tip of his tongue. Her immediate response fed his own desire, the silky warmth of her skin prompted his fingers to drift ever lower and lower in exploration. She was lean and long, all supple curves and satiny skin, soft and feminine and seductive.
And she desired him. The way Viviane moaned in pleasure and stirred beneath Niall’s touch fed a newfound confidence in his own allure, a confidence that had been shattered along with his knee and his knightly life.
If this was the magic she wrought, Niall only wanted more. He wanted to please her in exchange for this feeling she gave him, to make her cry out and scream aloud.
Niall knew he would have to fulfill the quest he had begun. He knew this and he deliberately forgot, pushing everything from his thoughts to focus solely on Viviane and her pleasure. He knew he had never felt this way with a woman before, be there a spell cast or nay.
He knew without a shred of doubt he would never forget her.
’Twould have to be enough.
Niall caressed the indent of each rib, he flattened his hand to slide his palm across her belly, he gripped the curve of her hip possessively. His other hand slipped beneath her, lifting her breast to his hunger as he feasted upon her. He gently grazed his teeth across that nipple, then laved his attention upon its partner, his every touch making Viviane writhe.
He trailed kisses up the length of Viviane’s throat, he kissed the wild pulse visible beneath the creamy perfection of her flesh. He kissed those moles, drawing a line between them with his tongue and blowing softly upon it, making her shiver with delight. Viviane locked her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, her kiss filled with all the urgency Niall felt.
His tongue slipped between her teeth, he swallowed her sigh, his fingers dipped into the slick mystery between her thighs. He cupped her head in his hand and kissed her thoroughly as his fingers coaxed her response. He watched the flush rise over her flesh, the glitter of desire dawn in her eyes. Viviane twisted beneath his touch, but he granted her no escape, teasing her, drawing her further, urging her to the heights.
And when she cried out, her fingers clutching him, Niall swallowed the sound of her release greedily and held her while she trembled in its wake. She whispered something he did not catch, then her lashes fluttered to her cheeks again. She sighed and cuddled closer to him, a smile of contentment curving her lips as her breathing deepened.
Yet again, she slept against him, her legs entangled with his, her trust in him complete. A nigh unbearable sweetness flooded through Niall before practicality checked its course.
Indeed, his bile rose that the lady should have judged his intent so wrong. He was a knave of the lowest order to have fed her illusion. He was a liar and a thief, for ’twould be Niall who stole this woman’s life and freedom away from her.
He felt suddenly dirty, unworthy of sheltering her sweetness against his chest.
Niall rolled abruptly from the bed and put the width of the room between them. He shoved a hand through his hair and scowled, then turned back in time to see Viviane settle into the warm hollow he had left. His heart contracted painfully and he could not stop himself from stepping closer, if only to gaze upon her.
The cursed moonstone glinted at him as he drew near, rising and falling on the lady’s breast as she dozed, a tangible reminder of his pledge. Niall knew what he should do, just as he knew that in this moment, he could not do it.
One fall had indeed made him soft.
Niall swore under his breath, spun and snatched up the red shirt of Kissing Derek. He hauled it over his head and made impatiently for the door.
’Twas just the call of nature clouding his thoughts. Aye, that was the way of it. He had need of a garderobe, ’twas no more than that.
Then Niall would keep his word.
Barb plugged in the kettle, chose Lemon Zinger from her array of herbal teas and yawned mightily as she waited for the water to boil. She leaned one hip against the counter and rubbed her eyes sleepily. Another day, another dollar.
Another day older and deeper in debt, more like it.
Her laugh was more of a snort. She wasn’t going to think about Payables so early in the morning when they’d kept her up half the night already. She deliberately went to the window, trying to let the gentle sprinkle of the morning rain calm her with its soothing echo on the roof.
Barb loved the patter of falling water. She closed her eyes and listened to the rain hitting the glass, feeling as though the sound alone could ease all the kinks out of her neck and straighten out all the tangles in her thoughts.
One of these days, she really had to get that garden planted. Barb could see it in her mind’s eye, her imagination helped by the pages of the horticulture magazines she dutifully earmarked and piled on her nightstand. There would be a little fountain splashing into a pond ringed by irises and lilies. The garden would be filled with private shadows, a world apart from everything else. It would be Barb’s own haven to retreat from the world, close her eyes and listen to the splash of water.
One of these days, she would work less and play more.
But not anytime soon. Barb heaved a sigh and admitted that planting a single Siberian Iris hadn’t been much of a start or an inspiration. It was probably a bad omen the reputably tough plant had shown itself discontent with Barb’s garden.
The withered little thing couldn’t be said to be thriving.
Barb looked ruefully in the direction of the little cluster of iris leaves, hoping the plant had made a miraculous recovery in the face of adversity. That was something she was going to have to do with the shop and she could use a mascot.
But the plant wasn’t any better. And how could it be? There was a great big blond guy peeing on it!
Barb was out the door in a flash, scooping up a loose sneaker on her way. “Hey!” she bellowed, not caring about the early hour or the sleeping habits of her neighbors. “Hey, you! What do you think you’re doing?”
The man seemed intent on finishing what he had begun. His head moved slightly, but he didn’t turn, the yellow stream running unrestrained on the defenseless iris.
Well, it wasn’t completely defenseless. Barb chucked her shoe at the guy’s head and hit him squarely in the back of the neck. He jumped in a most satisfactory manner and the stream was momentarily dammed.
Ha! Barb bunched up her bathrobe in both hands and marched across the wet grass to do battle.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she raged. “It’s bad enough that I have to pick up after everyone’s cats, but I will not tolerate human waste in my garden!”
The man turned, his manner that of a monarch acknowledging the lowest serf of his realm. He glanced skeptically across the weed-infested stretch of greenery that some—specifically Barb—generously called a lawn.
“Nay, this can be no garden,” he said evenly.
Barb’s eyes widened when she saw he was only wearing a T-shirt. She didn’t want to look, but it was hard not to notice exactly where the hem ended.
And what was right below.
Even looking past that didn’t help when the guy had the legs of a gladiator. He propped his hands on his hips, his move mercifully driving Barb’s gaze upward, and she felt relieved only when she met the keen green of his eyes.
There was a hunk pissing in her yard.
Barb felt suddenly very withered. It had been a while since she’d had—or even wanted—a man in her bed, but the sight of pure beefcake half-naked, up close and personal, awakened a few forgotten urges.
Unwelcome urges, to boot.
Barb folded her arms across her chest and glared at the intruder, doing her best impression of a woman unaffected by his actor looks. “It is a garden. It’s my garden and you’re pissing on the only flower in it.”
He looked back at the iris, which didn’t make much of a proud showing. “This would be a flower you hold in esteem?” he asked with a point of one finger.
Barb lifted her chin and changed tacks, figuring a good offense was better than a poor defense. “Haven’t you ever heard of a toilet? Or are you one of those biker-hiker kids who crashed drunk on the beach?”
He didn’t look like much of a kid, but then, lots of men never passed the intellectual age of two.
Barb glanced at those legs again without intending to do so.
But most got stuck at sixteen.
She shook a finger at him. “If you think you can sleep outside, then come hang around her, using my garden as a toilet, then hoping for a meal like all those other eco-tourist bums, you’ve got another think coming.”
“I did not slumber outside.” His gaze strayed to the second story of the house—the room over the shop—and Barb suddenly had a very good idea where he had crashed.
The accent should have given her a clue.
“Don’t tell me.” She held up a hand. “You’re a friend of Viviane’s.”
His gaze met hers once again. “’Twas Viviane who welcomed me to her bed last eve.”
Oh boy. That was more information than she needed.
“Well, there’s a toilet up there and I’d appreciate your using it,” Barb snapped. “However long you’re staying.” She turned and strode back to the door, glancing back to find he had picked up her shoe. He was looking at it as though it was an enchanted slipper or something, instead of just a plain worn red Ked. “And you can tell Viviane that the rent’s for one, not two. If you’re staying, then we’ll have to talk.”
His expression turned grim. “That should not be a consideration. I do not intend to linger long.”
Well, wasn’t that typical? They really were all the same. Barb contented herself with a shrug and retreated to her chaste kitchen where the kettle was whistling merrily away.
For the first time since she had bought this place, the floral wallpaper border annoyed her. It made the room look so exclusively feminine, as though it would tattle to anyone who listened no man had ever crossed its threshold.
Which was exactly how Barb wanted her life to be. She mutinously poured a steaming mug of tea and sipped it so quickly she burned her tongue.
She stiffened when she heard the back door open and knew the half-naked man was coming into her house. He was going to chase her into her kitchen, Barb just knew it, and she could make a pretty good guess of what would happen after that.
Or what he would try to make happen. Oh, it had been a long time since she’d had the chance to set a man straight about how irresistible he supposedly was, and she’d thought of a lot more compelling arguments since that last one.
She braced herself and turned, a warrior princess at the ready for anything at all.
Except for what did happen. The clear sound of a shoe dropping onto the mat echoed through the little hall. The door closed with a resolute click and Naked Man’s footsteps faded away. The faint creak of Viviane’s separate entrance opening, then closing again, was barely audible beneath the whisper of the rain.
Barb leaned against the counter one more time, sipping Lemon Zinger that wasn’t quite steeped without even tasting as much. She couldn’t be feeling disappointed. The last thing she wanted was a guy, particularly one who had been with Viviane just the night before.
No, what she felt was a yearning, a sense of incompleteness she’d been ignoring for a long time. She stared through the rain-streaked window at the sword-like leaves of the iris and felt a sudden sympathy for it. They were both vulnerable—lonely, wounded, but making a good show of doing just fine.
Barb frowned and decided she just hadn’t had enough sleep.
And that was mucking with her mind. By Goddess, she was happy here and that was all there was to it. She’d made her choices and hoed her own row, and she’d be damned to hell and back before she admitted there was a single thing wrong with the life she’d chosen.
Barb put her mug down with a thump. She gave herself a shake and strode to her own bathroom. What she needed was a good hot shower, and some revenue rolling in the door.
She certainly wasn’t going to think about what kind of rolling was going on in her rental unit right now. Now way, no how.
She’d much rather think about Payables.