Viviane and Niall went to Mouats, because everyone knew that Mouats had everything.
Of course, Mouats had everything for outdoors and a good lot of stuff for indoors, but wasn’t a pharmacy by any stretch of the imagination. Viviane, unaware of exactly what she was shopping for, missed that critical distinction.
Niall trailed behind Viviane as she wound her way through the amazing displays of new goods, his interest snared by all the intriguing garments and tools, much as Viviane’s had been the first few times she came in here. She lost him a couple of times and had to go back to snag him by the arm, forcing him to follow her further into the store.
Because there was hope for him, even if he did insist on practicalities. She’d get the L-word out of him, Viviane knew it. She was born under a blue moon after all and destined to be lucky all of her days.
But she knew herself well enough to guess there might be a few persuasive interludes before things were resolved.
When Niall did that thing with his thumb and smiled the smile that turned her knees to butter—like he was doing as they walked through the store—Viviane got dizzy just thinking about him losing track of practicalities again.
She had to get those rubbers.
Right now.
If she got pregnant, she knew Niall would carry her kicking and screaming to a priest, regardless of her thoughts on the matter. Viviane had to admit it was kind of nice that he worried so much about doing the right thing. Obviously, the need of a child to have two parents was a big issue for Niall, and Viviane wondered why he worried about it so much.
Mouats was crowded as usual, though there were fewer and fewer tourists all the time. Viviane had learned to recognize several of the people who worked here and when one greeted her with typical charm, she caught at the girl’s arm.
“I need rubbers,” she hissed, not wanting everyone to know what she wanted, for they surely would guess why. “Where do I find them?”
“Oh, down in footwear.” The girl smiled encouragingly, though Viviane was scandalized by how loudly she talked. “Let me show you. We’re kind of running out, what with all this rain lately.”
Viviane could not imagine what rain had to do with conceiving children, though Mrs. Haggerty seemed to think it had a certain sensuous appeal. Puzzling over this, Viviane followed the clerk, and was even more puzzled when the girl presented a pair of dark green boots.
“What’s your size?”
Viviane wasn’t certain what she had expected, but she hadn’t expected boots. Niall snorted behind her and she felt her color rise.
What did boots have to do with conception?
Or more specifically, with avoiding conception?
She didn’t have to even look at Niall to know he had that skeptical expression again, but she knew to trust Barb. Barb understood things, Barb was wise, Barb was helpful.
Barb said she needed rubbers.
“I don’t know my size,” Viviane admitted. “I just tried these shoes until they fit.” The girl rummaged cheerfully for a silver implement, gestured to a chair, tugged off Viviane’s wet sneaker and quickly pronounced Viviane a seven and a half.
Then she was gone, darting through clients to the ‘back room’ from whence Viviane had seen many marvels issue.
Niall picked up one boot and looked at it, doubt in every line of his features. “This is a rubber?” He looked pointedly at her, his question not needing to be uttered, and Viviane shrugged.
“Maybe it’s part of a spell,” she said hastily. “Barb knows a lot and I’m sure that she wouldn’t give me bad advice.”
Niall cleared his throat and rolled his eyes. “A spell,” he said beneath his breath, as though it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.
It did sound a bit unlikely, even to Viviane.
The clerk bounced back, dumped boots out of a box and offered them to Viviane. In no time at all, they were pronounced a fit and Viviane walked the length of the small area and back as it seemed what she was expected to do. She chewed her lip as she looked down at them, trying to figure out how they worked.
Perhaps they were intended to make her look unattractive.
She looked to Niall. “Do you find them”—she cleared her throat—“ugly?”
He smiled slowly, obviously discerning the direction of her thoughts. “Nay, my lady fair. They do naught but enhance the beauty of your legs,” he murmured, that sensuous gleam appearing in his eyes. “Indeed, I believe the color favors you most admirably.”
Uh oh.
Viviane looked back to the boots and the clerk grinned at her, obviously approving of Niall’s comment. “They look great on you, they really do. He’s right!”
Viviane cleared her throat, hating to appear foolish but needing to ask the question. “How exactly do they work?”
The clerk frowned. “What do you mean?”
Viviane could feel a blush rising over her cheeks, Niall’s wolfish grin doing nothing to ease her embarrassment. “What do I have to do?”
“Oh! Oh, these are really good ones, you don’t have to anything to take care of then. We don’t sell those cheapies. They’ll last the rest of your life, probably. Just don’t leave them in the hot sun for days and days, you know, but that’s hardly a problem here.”
The clerk smiled reassuringly.
Viviane thought about wearing clumpy green boots that came up to her knees for the rest of her life and wasn’t particularly reassured.
“I’m sure you’ll just love them,” the clerk enthused. “We’ve never had any complaints. They work just great and you know”—she leaned closer—“there’s nothing better in the garden.”
In the garden?
Niall cleared his throat deliberately and Viviane felt her blush get hotter. “I’ll take them,” she managed to say.
“Great, should I wrap them up?”
Viviane risked a glance to Niall, only to find his bright gaze fixed upon her with an intensity that could only mean one thing.
“I’d better wear them,” she whispered to the clerk, not in the least bit reassured when her knight chuckled and looked very pleased with himself. It seemed an eternity before they managed to pay and escape the store, and Viviane was well aware of Niall’s smile the whole time.
“I find myself feeling very persuasive,” he murmured as they stepped into the street and Viviane knew she blushed clear to her toes.
She gritted her teeth and seized his arm, practically dragging him to their next stop. He chuckled and slipped his arm around her waist in a companionable gesture she didn’t quite want to shrug off.
En route, Niall pulled her to a halt and made a great show of peering into a neighboring garden, as though curious as to what the people there were doing.
“Indeed, I cannot help but think somewhat more favorably of Barb’s small garden,” he mused. Once again, he smiled with the innocence of a child, though a wicked twinkle glinted in his eye.
He was teasing her!
“You have reading to do first,” Viviane declared as sternly as she could and Niall’s grin flashed.
“I do not believe we agreed that I should stop trying to persuade you in the interim,” he said silkily, then bent and kissed her before Viviane guessed what he was about.
She was trembling in her boots when he lifted his head and Niall had to know it. He started to whistle, striding along the street as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Viviane didn’t know whether to kiss him or kill him—he was so sure of her response.
And so good at cultivating it.
In a bittersweet irony neither of them appreciated, their next stop was the drugstore.
For toothbrushes.
Niall watched Viviane stride down the street to return to her labor, admiring how those green boots accented the slender perfection of her legs. With a sigh, he slipped back to Mouats, readily finding the woman who had been so helpful. She smiled at the sight of him and Niall knew he had been right to seek her aid.
She easily guided him through the choices of clothing and rendered him not only presentable, but she announced ‘delish’. This apparently was good. She also recommended a restaurant which was ‘divine’ when Niall confessed to wanting to impress his lady.
He returned to Viviane’s chamber, fed and well-garbed, then carefully brushed his teeth with his new brush. ’Twas not unpleasant to run his tongue across the smoothness of his teeth, though he quickly thought of running his tongue across the similar smoothness of Viviane’s and nigh forgot himself.
Niall considered her book. Aye, Viviane had been irked he had not read more of it, despite more practical obligations. Niall pushed his mail aside. He sat on the edge of the bed and began to read the volume one more time.
And within moments, he was snared once more, for his lady had a skill unexpected. Each page he turned drew him more deeply into the tale, each scene ensured he must read just a bit more.
Indeed, Niall read until the midday sun slanted through the window, and was surprised to find himself yet sprawled on the bed. His knee was aching at being bent in the same position for so long, his belly was complaining at its empty state, but Niall could not put this tale down.
Nay, he wanted to know what became of Gawain, how the noble knight fulfilled his daunting quest, how he proved himself to the lady whose heart he had made his own. Niall wanted to know how Gawain would prove himself worthy of that glorious and gorgeous damsel, no less how he would best the Green Knight at tournament.
He rolled around on the bed and read some more, ignoring more earthy complaints. Each time Gawain and his lady kissed, Niall’s loins heated in recollection of Viviane’s sweet kisses. When they coupled—a mating filled with too much chatter, to Niall’s thinking—he smiled, for his own lady’s maidenly naiveté was clearly revealed.
Though she proved to have a rare imagination for these encounters. Indeed, he put the book aside after the couple’s third mating merely to consider whether the deed could be done that way.
There was naught for it, he and Viviane would have to try.
Each time Niall thought he would stop reading, that he would gather himself and go to the bookstore or he would labor a little upon his mail, the tale lured him back.
Aye, the battle scenes were clearly penned by one who had never witnessed the filth of war, though they were filled with excitement. ’Twas a weakness quickly forgiven, for the men and women in the tale seemed true to life. Aye, Niall knew better than to trust the chatelaine of the court, for that man had a scheme to see Gawain dead, there could be no doubt.
Just when the sky grew darker and he was certain he should put the manuscript aside, the tale surprised him and there was no chance of halting his course. Indeed, Niall sat up straight when the lady gave of herself to ensure her knight’s survival. She drew herself into danger to see Gawain safe and, though Niall cried out in dismay, she did not repent of her course.
This could not be!
Yet further reading revealed that in the same moment, far afield, Gawain put himself into similar jeopardy, intending only to ensure his lady’s survival.
Nay, it could not be so! They could not both die, one could not die and be left without the presence of the other—but indeed, it seemed death would not be cheated in either case. Niall read in a frenzy, he turned the pages in increasing haste, until he turned the last one, his heart in his mouth.
But the ending of the book was not there.
Niall’s eyes widened, he felt abandoned at the lip of a precipice. He scanned the chamber, rifling through the few other papers on the table beneath the window but did not find what he sought. He looked beneath the bed, certain he must have dropped part of the tale, but there was naught.
’Twas then Niall recalled the tale was his lady’s concoction.
Which meant she alone knew the ending.
“Viviane!” he roared.
He raged into the bookstore like an avenging angel and every woman froze to stare. Niall of Malloy was a vision in jeans that showed every muscle to advantage and a creamy chambray shirt that only made him look more broad, more tanned and more blond. The broad gold bracelet on his wrist gleamed, his eyes shone, his lips were taut.
Viviane’s mouth went dry at the sight. Niall cast one glance around the shop, spied her and cut a path straight to her. Nothing could have stood in his way and she found herself thinking of Gawain in her own book, riding to the rescue of his lady with fire in his eyes.
She hadn’t begun to do Niall justice in that scene.
“Viviane!” He halted before her and propped his hands upon his hips, blissfully unaware of the whispers that had begun in the shop. “I am reading this book of yours, but there is no ending.” He scowled. “Where is the end of the tale?”
“I haven’t written it down yet.” Viviane tapped her temple. “It’s still in here.”
“Aye? Tell me of it!”
“I can’t. I have to write it down.”
Niall shoved a hand through his hair, leaving the waves askew in a boyish fashion. “But what happens to those benighted souls? Tell me that neither one nor the other died alone, much less for naught!”
Mrs. MacAllister eased her gouty leg closer, her eyes narrowed. “You wrote a book?” she demanded of Viviane.
“Well, yes, but it’s not finished yet…”
“What kind of a book? What’s it about?”
“It’s a romance…” Viviane began but Niall interrupted her.
“’Tis a sweeping tale of a knight endeavoring to win the favor of his lady fair,” he answered firmly. “A tale in which all goes awry despite that valiant man’s efforts, a tale which no man with a heart could willingly put aside. ’Tis a compelling tale that snatches one in its grip and does not surrender until the last page is turned.” He locked his intent green gaze on Viviane. “And then one learns the ending is not there.”
Viviane swallowed. “I haven’t had a chance to write it down, but I will. I promise.”
“Aye, you will,” Niall punctuated his words with a telling glance. “For I would know the ending of the tale.”
“Because of our wager?” Viviane asked, hoping Niall didn’t just want to have a final answer to his proposal.
He frowned. “Nay! I want to know the resolution of the tale! Indeed, you cannot leave me to fret for the hide of that knight, no less the woman he swore to win for his own.” He drove his fist into his palm. “They are both in dire peril and I must know the ending of their tale.”
“Oh, it sounds so good!” Mrs. MacAllister’s eyes were cat-bright. “When do I get to read it, my dear? You know how I love a good story.”
“Well.” Viviane looked away from Niall with difficulty. Honestly, he looked as though he would stand right there and wait for her to scribble down the end of the book! “I guess I’ll have to find a publisher, right, Barb?”
“Uh huh. Look, there’s a book right here, a market guide for writers.” Barb pulled down a fat volume from another section and strolled closer, thumbing through the back. “There’s usually a listing under the index of romance publishers…”
Niall scooped the book out of her hand, scanning the column under Barb’s finger. “Aye? And what does one do?”
“Well, you send them the book. Not the original, a copy, and they decide whether they want to buy it. At the front, it usually talks about format and stuff, and each listing tells what the publisher likes to see.”
Viviane reached out a hand for the book, but Niall shot her a dark look. “You have a tale to commit to the page. I shall read this volume while I await the ending of yours.”
“And then what, Viviane?” Mrs. MacAllister demanded. “Are you going to be a famous author?” She giggled, looking markedly younger than her years and dug her elbow into Niall’s ribs. “She might not even admit she knows us then!”
“Nay, Viviane is not of the kind who believe themselves better than their fellows, simply by dint of a stroke of fortune,” her knight insisted, a small smile curving his lips as he warmly considered her. Viviane felt herself blush. “After all, the lady was born under a blue moon and has been uncommonly lucky all her days.”
There was no mockery in his tone, not a shred of skepticism, only affection shining in his eyes.
Oh, he had understood!
Viviane’s heart began to pound and she couldn’t look away from his gaze. “Did you really like it?”
Niall smiled fully and folded his arms across his chest, his gaze turning indulgent. “Do you imagine I am irked at not knowing the ending because the tale had no merit? You did a fine job, my lady, indeed, you are most talented.”
“Oooo!” Mrs. MacAllister squealed. “Isn’t this exciting? We’ll have our own author!”
“Well, the book isn’t ready to go anywhere,” Viviane argued.
“’Tis true enough,” Niall agreed pointedly. “It has no ending.” He turned to Barb. “Do you know the books of these publishers?”
She led him toward the shelves, chatting about this publisher and that one. Viviane followed, her and Mrs. MacAllister pointing out the books they particularly enjoyed. Niall quickly learned where to look for the publishers’ addresses and was compiling titles against the listings in the market book in no time at all.
Mrs. MacAllister toodle-ooed and went on her merry way—no doubt to tell anyone who would listen about Viviane’s book—and Barb made a run to the bank. Niall hauled a chair across the shop and settled in the romance section. He began to examine the books in turn, focusing on those adorned with knights and damsels, and was busy making sense of it all by the time the store closed.
Viviane was itching to ask him again whether he had liked her book, whether he had recognized himself and all that good stuff, but she didn’t know how to do it. So, she worked and he worked, and she watched him through her lashes until she couldn’t stand it any longer.
Then she took a deep breath and crossed the shop.
And in the end, she didn’t have to say anything at all.
“This is of similar ilk to yours,” Niall declared without looking up from the volume he perused when Viviane came back to his side. “For it concerns a knight, though your tale is finer.”
A part of Viviane hated that she was so unsure of her work, but she couldn’t help asking for Niall’s praise. “You really liked it?”
Niall glanced up at her and smiled. “Aye, Viviane, you have a rare gift for making a tale take flight from the page. You paint an image with words with rare talent.”
Viviane smiled back, three-quarters reassured. She locked her hands together, knowing she had to ask the question she’d rather not. “Is there anything you didn’t like?”
Niall pursed his lips and considered her, as though wondering how honest he should be.
But Viviane had to know. “Really. I’d like you to tell me. If I could change something to make it better, I’d do it because I want to send this to a publisher.”
She hunkered down beside Niall when he didn’t say anything, intent only on explaining herself. “I mean, wouldn’t it be wonderful to see my book like this! People like Mrs. MacAllister would be able to read it and I’d have a job doing something I really liked. Not that I don’t like working in the shop, but I don’t want to be a burden on Barb after she’s been so nice to me and all.”
“This is of great import to you.”
“Yes.” Viviane’s mouth went dry as their gazes held and the silence stretched long.
Then Niall nodded in understanding. “They talk too much abed, to my thinking, for there are more interesting matters to attend with one’s mouth in such circumstance.”
He winked unexpectedly and Viviane dropped her gaze, remembering all too well the interesting things he had done with his mouth.
Niall cleared his throat, his fingers rifling through the manuscript again. “And your innocence is evident in some of their couplings.”
Viviane’s cheeks heated. “I can fix that now.”
Niall’s eyes twinkled when she dared to meet his gaze once more. “Aye, I have little doubt of that,” he said warmly and Viviane felt as though she was the only person in his world.
It wasn’t a bad feeling.
“Though truly, my lady, you might have need of further persuasion. The third time, in particular, seemed most challenging to me.” He coughed into his hand…that wicked glint reappearing in his eyes. “I believe we should ensure the pose is a plausible one.”
“Niall!”
He flipped open the reference book, tapping the header on a chapter called “Research.” His eyes gleamed, though he tried to take a lofty air. “’Tis your duty as a writer to ensure that all you include is truth.”
Viviane tried to look disgusted with him and failed. “And you volunteer to help with my research?”
He bowed slightly. “’Twould only be gallant.”
Viviane laughed at him, she couldn’t help it. Niall grinned and their gazes held for a breathless moment before Viviane remembered not only that they were in the shop, but she was trying to get his opinion.
And see if he noticed the most important part of all.
“Anything else?” Now, she tried to not look too hopeful. Niall had shown he was a perceptive man—had he discerned she was really writing about him? Had he guessed how she felt? Had he understood what she meant about love and its importance?
Viviane held her breath and hoped.
When he spoke, it seemed that he chose his words carefully. “Aye, there is one more thing I noted.”
Viviane bit her lip, but Niall suddenly looked at the pen Barb had lent him and discovered the button to retract the nib. He clicked it a few times with obvious delight, then prepared to take the pen apart, doubtless intending to pry at its magical workings.
“You shouldn’t do that, you know. No one likes having meddlers in their magic.”
Niall’s glance was wry. “I meddle with no magic.”
“Of course, you do! Everything here is magic and sooner or later, someone won’t take kindly to your…”
“Viviane, naught is magic here.”
Viviane sat back on her heels, astonished he could be so sure of himself, especially when he was wrong. But Niall’s gaze never wavered. “Of course, it’s magic! What else could it be?”
“’Tis the cleverness of man we witness,” Niall confided. “’Tis not true that we are in Avalon, though indeed, you were not so foolish to imagine so. This place is indeed full of marvels.”
Viviane frowned. “Well, where is it, if it’s not Avalon?”
“’Tis a place called Salt Spring Island…”
“Oh, I know they call it that!”
Niall’s gaze grew sober and his voice dropped low. “Nay, Viviane, they call it that for that is what ’tis. Truly. ’Tis not Avalon, but a foreign land, thousands of miles from Cantlecroft.”
Viviane blinked and looked around herself. “No, Niall, that can’t be true. There’s magic everywhere here!”
“Nay, these marvels are but the workings of men.” Niall unscrewed the pen as she watched, a spring and a narrow tube dropping into the palm of his hand. He fiddled with it for a moment, then put the spring and tube back into the bottom of the pen. He pushed the nib in and out, then showed her how the button at the top pressed the assembly back and forth.
No vengeful sorcerer smote him for dissecting this magic and indeed, when Niall explained it, it didn’t seem very magical at all.
“’Tis cleverness, Viviane, no more than that.”
But Viviane frowned. “Then, why have we never seen any of these things? Why have we never heard of these marvels? Travelers and merchants leave Cantlecroft all the time, then return with tokens from foreign lands—surely they could have brought these!”
“Only if they had been here.”
Viviane flung out her hands. “You know the merchants leave Cantlecroft for the four corners of Christendom!”
“But they do not leave Cantlecroft’s time.”
Viviane stared at her knight in astonishment, certain he had lost his wits, but he held her gaze steadily. “Viviane, we have come into the days far beyond our own,” he explained softly. “’Tis the year 1999, nigh 2000 years since the birth of Christ and some six hundred years away from all we know.”
Viviane caught her breath. “But that’s impossible!”
“Clearly not, for we are here.” Niall dug in his pocket and unfolded bills, pointing out the date to her. He showed her coins, with the A.D. clearly marked after the year—1999!—on a shiny new penny. Viviane couldn’t believe she hadn’t really looked at them before.
She’d liked the pictures of the animals and assumed the numbers meant something entirely irrelevant to her.
Niall seized her hand and showed the legends on maps, even the dates in the front pages of books. Viviane gave a little cry when she realized that the ‘-99’ on the cash register tape implied a ‘19’ in front of it.
She turned to Niall, still shaking her head. “But how? How can this be? How did we get here?”
“I do not know. ’Tis some wondrous invention of which we know naught, but clearly one of this time.”
Viviane frowned, momentarily uncertain how that could have happened. She fingered her pendant. “But I wished on the pendant and then came here,” she said slowly. “Unless someone summoned me here at the very same moment with whatever invention is at work…”
Her voice trailed away, that not sounding very likely to her. Niall’s gaze fell to the pendant.
“And I wished upon the stone, as well. ’Twas that which brought me to your side, or so I believed.”
Viviane’s fingers trailed across the stone and she shivered at its chill. “But how could that be? Do you think my father is here, in this time and place?”
Niall shrugged. “Or perhaps he was once. We know for certain that naught from our own days could explain this feat.” He met her gaze. “Maybe he came from here.”
Suddenly, it all made perfect sense to Viviane. “And loved my mother. That was why I never knew him. But my father did save me! My father did give me a token of his love in this gift!” she said with delight. “He saved my life!”
Niall did not smile.
“Don’t you see, Niall? We’re as far away from the archbishop and his court as we could possibly be!”
Niall nodded heavily. “Aye.”
“But if I have the stone and it’s not from Cantlecroft, then no one can ever follow us here! I’m safe!”
“I do not know for certain, though ’twould seem to be the case.” Niall frowned, though Viviane couldn’t guess why. “Just as I do not know whether we can go back.”
But who wanted to go back?
Not Viviane! She was ready to sing and dance. In fact, she couldn’t imagine why Niall looked so glum.
“That’s perfect!” she declared with a grin. “Who would want to go back? We couldn’t have planned any better than this if we had tried! I told you I was uncommonly lucky and it seems my father was lucky, too!”
Niall frowned. “Viviane, perhaps you do not understand…”
“I understand exactly what you’re saying. We’re stuck here, which suits me fine. Niall, I don’t care whether I can ever go back to Cantlecroft or not!” Viviane practically bounced. “I’m here and I’m staying here and you’re here and you’re staying here—it’s perfect!”
Niall got to his feet, frowning at her. “But Viviane, we do not belong in this place…”
Viviane arched a brow skeptically. “Niall, I don’t belong anywhere where someone is trying to have me killed.”
He pushed his hand through his hair and appealed to her. “But Viviane, ’tis not right your reputation should be maligned! We could clear your name! You are innocent, the archbishop would clear the charge against you if he knew the truth of matters.”
Trust Niall to want to do something so sweet! Viviane’s heart melted that he believed in her innocence so much that he was prepared to defend her.
And he said he wasn’t really a knight any more.
Unfortunately, Viviane didn’t share her knight’s conviction justice would prevail at the archbishop’s court.
She caught at his hands and leaned close to explain, knowing she could persuade him. “But I’m safe here, Niall.”
“I would see you safe in Cantlecroft,” he said gruffly, his protectiveness making Viviane want to kiss him senseless.
But first, she had to win his agreement. “But you know the archbishop lied to me before. He promised me an audience, but didn’t give it to me.” Viviane shook her head. “No, I don’t care where this is, I’m staying and that’s that. It’s not worth the risk to go back.” She cast her best smile Niall’s way.
But he was scowling at his toes and seemed to be summoning an argument.
It was endearing he wanted to see everything set to rights, but it wasn’t important to Viviane that her name was maligned by people who were long dead and gone.
Although she was beginning to understand that Niall was the kind of man who finished what he started, who defended his woman—which is clearly who he had decided Viviane was—and ensured the truth was laid bare.
It was the kind of gallant thing her Gawain would have insisted upon doing and Viviane decided Niall’s arguments about love were easily outweighed by his deeds. Her heart skipped a beat or two while she watched him.
She certainly didn’t want to argue any more. In fact, she wanted just one more teeny confirmation this man was the knight for her.
So, Viviane deliberately changed the subject to one that interested her a lot more than the issue of returning to Cantlecroft. It was a shameless effort to resolve the last obstacle between them, so she could surrender to a little persuasiveness.
“What about my book?” she asked pertly. “What else did you notice about it?”
Niall held her gaze, though he didn’t look very pleased. “Your Gawain,” he said, his low voice filled with portent.
Viviane caught her breath. He had noticed! And he was just shy talking about mushy stuff, just like Barb said. Oh, this was too marvelous! They were stuck six hundred years from Cantlecroft with only each other for all the rest of their days. And no one could follow them to ruin everything.
“Yes?” she asked anxiously, more than ready for Niall to admit that he understood her view on love.
And that he agreed with her, of course.
Niall frowned. “He seems a man of intellect and great loyalty.”
Viviane wished he’d get to the point more quickly. “Yes? Yes?”
Niall took a deep breath and seemed to be searching for the words on the hardwood floor. “A noble knight who fulfills his pledge,” he said heavily, “regardless of the cost to himself.”
“Oh, yes, yes, yes! That’s my Gawain!” Viviane couldn’t wait to hear the acknowledgment fall from his lips.
Niall studied her for a moment, looking for all the world as though he was going to give her the worst news ever, instead of the best.
“But he embarks on this quest without the consent of his overlord.” Niall shook his head. “’Tis not done, Viviane, at least not by any man of merit. A pledge to an overlord cannot be broken, not at any cost, and no man is free to choose his course once he has made such a pledge.”
He sighed and sat down again as Viviane stared at him. “You shall have to change that, and make it Gawain’s overlord who dispatches him upon his quest. There is no other way it can be.”
Viviane waited, but Niall returned to his perusal of the books and the listing.