’Twas not the first time of late Niall had awakened with a pounding between his ears, and the realization did naught to improve his mood.
Neither did the persistent ache in his knee. Aye, he knew where he was without opening his eyes and the chatter of voices told him who else languished here along with him.
And that made Niall of Malloy deeply angry. He had been betrayed, by his own overlord, the man to whom he had pledged his loyalty forever.
It seemed the oath was not reciprocated in this case.
Aye, Niall had kept his word and fulfilled his quest, only to learn the archbishop was not a man of honor. The archbishop dishonored Niall’s pledge of fealty and disregarded it, simply for his own convenience. The archbishop condemned Viviane to death, even knowing she was not a witch. The archbishop had taken advantage of Majella’s vulnerable state.
Clearly, the archbishop was not interested in justice. Viviane had guessed the truth of it but Niall had believed he knew better.
And now, everyone he cared about was going to die for his mistake.
Niall did not want to open his eyes and face yet another failure to his name. He feigned sleep and listened to the chatter around him, almost smiling at the weight of a small hand on his arm. He could readily guess who that was, sitting so close beside him, and did not have long to wait for confirmation.
“But what did Gawain do?” Matthew asked, wonder in his voice.
Niall did smile then, just a little, for he knew by that question alone whose hip was pressed against his own. He lay on a hard pallet, his Viviane seated beside him, his nephew keeping vigil.
“Well, he asked the old hag to move out of the road, because he didn’t want to run her down.” Viviane’s voice so close beside him made Niall’s heart begin to pound. “He asked very politely, because he was a man who recognized the importance of good manners, but the hag refused to move.”
This was the tale of Gawain that was more familiar to Niall, not the version Viviane had created on her own.
“Did he ride right over her?” Matthew demanded. “He had a big horse, he could have done it.”
“Of course not! That wouldn’t have been very nice. He asked her what he could do to persuade her to move from the road—because he was too courteous to ride over her!—and the old hag said he had only to answer a riddle.” Viviane’s voice hushed. “Then she lifted her hand and pointed to the woods surrounding the road, and Gawain saw that the trees were hung with the bodies of dead knights.”
Matthew gasped.
“And the old hag told him they were all the ones who had answered her riddle wrong.”
Matthew clutched Niall’s hand. “Oh! I would have ridden right over her, right then! She was a wicked woman!”
“Ah, but Gawain knew that she must be a magical being, so he dared not offend her. Gawain knew when he saw the knights, for there were many there he recognized, valiant men who had ridden off on quests, never to return.”
“Like Uncle Niall,” Matthew piped up proudly. “But he returned.”
“That he did. And Gawain intended to return as well.”
“So, he agreed?”
“He did. And the old hag gave him the riddle:
‘Kings will crow and knights will boast,
Their victories hailed from coast to coast.
But none have named desire innermost:
What is it that a woman wants most?’”
Niall could almost hear Matthew thinking.
“A rich husband,” the boy decided finally, probably thinking of his mother.
“Ah, that was the first thought of Gawain,” Viviane admitted. “But then he wondered if it was too obvious a response. He looked at those fallen knights and knew all the obvious answers would have been made already. So, he did not say that, and he did not say a fine meal, and he did not say fine clothing and jewelry. He did not even say healthy children, though he considered that possibility long. The word ‘innermost’ made him think there was something more important that a woman might desire.”
“Did he guess it?”
“Well, he spent three days and three nights in that horrible forest, feeling the old hag watching him, listening to the rustle of the wind through the cloaks and the mail of the knights fallen all around him. And finally, as he watched the moon rise one night, he knew the answer.”
“What was it?”
“Oh, I am not certain I should tell you,” Viviane teased, and Niall grinned outright when his nephew cried foul.
“I told you that you had a gift with the telling of a tale, Viviane,” Niall charged and opened his eyes, deliberately avoiding a glance toward his lady. He would not argue with her before the boy, and she had been sorely vexed with him before.
“Uncle Niall!” Matthew hugged him soundly and Niall tousled the boy’s hair. “You must know the answer to the riddle, for you know everything.”
“Well, I do know this.” Niall met Viviane’s gaze just long enough to note her minute nod of agreement. “What a woman desires most of all is her own will. ’Tis something any man would do well to recall.”
’Twas then Niall realized, somewhat belatedly, her own will was the one thing he had not given Viviane. She had wanted only to remain on Salt Spring, and he had stolen the choice away from her in his urge to do what was right. And what he had believed to be right had turned out to be dreadfully wrong.
Even beyond that, Niall knew he should have respected Viviane’s desire to stay away from Cantlecroft.
Because now she would die. They had come full circle from the first day they had met—not only would Viviane die, but Niall would join her.
That had not been his plan.
And just as before, Niall knew without doubt he did not want Viviane to die. He could not imagine a world without her sunny smile, or her cheerful insistence that she was lucky; her determination to see matters resolved, or the power of her storytelling. Further, he did not want to awaken and not find her beside him, he did not to be without her whimsical convictions or her certainty she could make all come aright, he did not want to sleep without her curled beside him.
He loved her. Against all rhyme and reason, against every conviction that only matters tangible were real, Niall loved Viviane.
It took him a moment to come to terms with the truth of that, amazing as ’twas.
“Is that the truth of it?” Matthew demanded.
Viviane nodded and smiled for the boy, obviously unaware Niall had just had an epiphany. He watched her shamelessly, savoring the way her lips curved to form the words, the way her eyes shone as she recounted the tale. “When Gawain gave that very answer, the old hag told him he was right. She offered him a kiss as a reward—”
“Ewwww!” Matthew grimaced and squirmed with the horror of young boys everywhere for feminine kisses. “I should never kiss a woman, especially a wrinkled old hag!”
Viviane shook a finger at him. “Ah, but you see, Gawain believed it would be rude to refuse her such a small thing. What price is a small kiss? And he felt a bit sorry for her, trapped out in the wild and condemned to ask people this riddle. So he kissed her, and to his surprise, she instantly turned into a beautiful woman.”
“Oh!” Matthew’s eyes were round.
“And she offered to marry him, admitting she had been cursed to take the form of this old hag until someone answered the riddle right. Well, Gawain thought he was terribly lucky, because she was very beautiful, so he agreed.”
“And they lived happily ever after?”
Viviane shook her head. “Not quite. For the lady confessed there was one little catch. You see, she still had to be an ugly old hag half of the time. So, she asked Gawain to choose whether she should be a beauty in the day or the night.”
“He would not want his friends to think he had married an old hag,” Matthew said quickly.
“And he would not want the lady to think that he was wedding her only for his own nightly pleasure,” Niall contributed, doubting Matthew would guess that element of the tale. He was rewarded with a glimpse of his lady’s smile.
“Exactly.” Viviane nodded. “It seemed to Gawain that this was a test of his character, but he didn’t know which to choose. But in the nick of time, he remembered the answer to the riddle.”
“The lady must choose!” Matthew crowed and bounced on the pallet.
“Yes! He told her to choose and that completely broke the spell that had been cast over her. So, the lady was beautiful all the day and all the night, and they were married and then they lived happily ever after.”
“Because Gawain let his lady have her own will.” Matthew nodded happily at this conclusion. “But Uncle Niall knew the answer.”
Matthew abruptly gave Niall a hug that brought tears to the knight’s eyes. “I am glad you returned,” Matthew whispered against his shoulder. “For now we are all together again.”
Aye, he had gone soft, ’twas true. Though as he held Viviane’s regard, Niall was not certain ’twas such a dire fate. Majella summoned Matthew and with one last squeeze of Niall’s hand, the boy scampered away, leaving Niall alone with Viviane.
Niall surveyed her silently for a moment, still marveling at his realization. The liveliness had left her features now that she was no longer telling a tale. Questions lurked in the depths of her eyes and Niall knew he was the knave responsible for their presence.
’Twas not the way he preferred she regard him. Niall frowned and averted his gaze, knowing he needed to repair his error. He had to give Viviane her will, he had to find a way to send her back to Salt Spring. He had to save his sister and her brood from the danger he had cast them into, however unwittingly.
Zounds, but the world was heavy on his shoulders!
“Matthew admires you,” Viviane said softly.
Niall snorted and sat up, rubbing his temples with his fingertips, feeling a very unworthy hero for his nephew. “He is young.” Then Niall winced at the unwelcome truth. “Though indeed, he will not have the chance to grow much older.”
She leaned dangerously close and place her hand upon his, her eyes filled with appeal. “Niall, we must talk…”
Nay, he must think. There had to be a way free of this trouble, a way to see Viviane’s desire fulfilled and Niall’s family saved.
“Nay, Viviane,” he interrupted her crisply. He scowled deliberately and made an excuse. “My head aches overmuch. I fear my companionship would be burdensome.” Before she could argue with him—for he knew she would—Niall pushed to his feet and strode across the tiny stone chamber.
The cursed moonstone held the key, Niall knew it well.
And once—if!—he retrieved it, Viviane would be gone. The very thought made his innards clench, even though her departure might well see the rest of them released.
Niall could only hope.
He gripped the bars on the window in the door, well aware of Viviane’s gaze locked upon him. He hated that he had been discourteous, and heartily disliked that he could not mend matters between them.
But that would only make matters worse when they did part, for part they must. Niall’s place was here, he knew it as well as he knew his own name. He had not needed Matthew’s reminder of the obligations of his blood. Niall could not simply follow his heart’s desire to another place and time, nor could he selfishly change the course of eight people’s lives in pursuit of his own happiness.
Which meant he did not dare give Viviane any hint of his newly discovered feelings for her. ’Twould be better if Viviane despised him for his betrayal, better if she believed him a duty-bound wretch who had used her for his own ends.
Aye, Niall knew his lady had a weakness for love and its charms. He would not condemn her to the unhappiness of yearning for what she could not have.
He would save the burden for himself, for truly, he would not have to endure it long.
Now, to fetch the witching stone.
Something was wrong.
Viviane didn’t know what it was. In fact, she couldn’t imagine what it was. It was true she had questioned Niall’s feelings for her—for two reasons.
The first had been proven false—Majella was neither his lover nor wife, or even pregnant with his child. Niall’s obligation was only that of a brother for his widowed sister’s children. Viviane liked that he took such responsibility for his family and she had already seen they were children who would do him proud.
The second had proven to be a miscalculation on Niall’s part. Aye, just as Monty had charged, Niall had made a pledge to bring her back to Cantlecroft. He had kept his word, but clearly only because he had believed he could vouch for her innocence. Viviane had seen the truth in Niall’s shock at the revelation of the archbishop’s deception.
Now that Niall had finally awakened, after a day and a night of lying unconscious while Viviane kept an anxious watch, things should be right between them.
But they weren’t. He wouldn’t even talk to her.
She wondered whether he was worried about his sister, but he wasn’t hovering around her.
Niall was pacing.
And he was avoiding Viviane, as well as a man could in the confines of this cell. He studiously kept from making eye contact with her, he was always on the other side of the small chamber no matter how she tried to end up beside him.
Viviane thought that maybe Niall was insulted she hadn’t given him a chance to explain for himself. She made a point of apologizing, hoping for a kiss, but Niall mumbled an excuse and turned away.
He busied himself with his nieces and nephews, or scowled out the small window to the corridor. His mood was clearly not good and though he wasn’t a talkative man at the best of times, now he positively brooded. Every time Viviane managed to corner him and try to strike up a conversation, Niall mumbled an excuse, ducked and escaped.
It was getting annoying, mostly because Viviane couldn’t explain his behavior.
It was only because Viviane was watching Niall like a hawk, trying to sneak up on him one more time, that she even noticed his mumbled conversation with their jailor. Niall had called for water and the little jailor had brought the cup to the door again. This time, Viviane noticed, he came alone, without one of those big sentries hovering behind him.
That sparked Viviane’s curiosity. Niall was certainly bigger than this little man and could have pushed past him easily. She supposed there were sentries close by, but then realized Niall had probably given his word of honor or something he wouldn’t try to escape.
That would be like Niall, she thought with mingled affection and exasperation. And if this man knew him at all, he’d know that as well as Viviane did.
Come to think of it, Viviane remembered the bald little man from the last time she was here. He glanced nervously over his shoulder while he handed Niall the cup of water. At first glance, the two didn’t appear to be speaking, but then Viviane saw the jailor’s lips move quickly. Either no sound came out or his voice was pitched so low Viviane couldn’t hear it.
She had a funny feeling something was being decided. She took a step closer and tried to look as though she wasn’t straining her ears to listen.
Niall nodded once, quickly, then shot a glance over his shoulder as though sensing someone was watching the exchange. Viviane hastily dropped her gaze to her hands and hoped he hadn’t noticed her attention.
He was hatching a plan! Viviane knew it. Just as she knew he was going to do something noble and heroic, something that would save them all from death.
She decided right then and there whatever Niall was going to do, she was going to do it with him. Sticking close by his side was the best way she could imagine to get the chance to talk to him, after all.
And they had to talk.
Niall turned back to the cell, the key grated in the lock, and Majella suddenly screamed. The little man’s feet scampered in the corridor outside as he fled back to his station.
“Yowsers!” Monty roared, leaping to his feet from his crouch beside the lady in question. “What is that all about?”
“My water has broken,” Majella declared, then lifted her skirts to show the growing puddle. “The babe is coming!” Her beautiful features contorted with pain and she teetered unsteadily on her feet.
Niall was across the cell in a flash, his expression concerned. “Majella, you cannot birth a child in this hovel!”
She gasped as she obviously had a contraction, then managed a wan smile for her brother after it passed. Her fingers gripped his arm tightly. “Niall, we have little choice. Whether you believe ’tis good sense or not, this babe is coming and ’tis coming soon.”
Niall swore, then helped Majella to the rough pallet he had recently abandoned. He shoved a hand through his hair and scanned the cell, as though looking for aid unexpectedly hidden amongst them.
“But Majella, you cannot bear a child here,” he insisted. “There is no midwife, I know not what to do.”
Majella heaved a sigh and winced as she settled on the pallet. “’Tis a boy, no doubt,” she said philosophically. “They are most unlikely to heed convenience or the will of others.” She grimaced and caught her breath, exhaling mightily when the contraction passed. “And he is hurried. ’Tis a boy, to be sure.”
“You cannot do this!”
Majella cast her brother a wry glance that made Viviane smile. “I have done this afore, Niall. Trust my certainty that ’twill happen with or without your blessing.”
“But Majella, something could go awry! You could die in such unfitting circumstance. The babe could die in the chill of this place.” Niall appealed to Viviane with a desperate glance but she had to shrug.
“I have never witnessed the birthing of a child,” she confessed, not liking the pallor of his skin. Majella’s other children gathered around Niall, and several took his big hand in theirs, though Viviane couldn’t guess whether they were turning to him for support or offering their own.
“Well, it’s a good job I’ve done my research,” Monty declared, pushing past Niall as he rolled up his sleeves.
“You?” Niall demanded.
“You?” Majella echoed.
Viviane blinked in shock and refrained from comment.
“Yeah, me.” Monty surveyed them all, obviously insulted by this commentary on his competence. “Nobody here has delivered a child before, right?” Niall and Viviane nodded reluctantly. “And I spent two months with a midwife on the island, traveling around to do pre-natal and post-natal check-ups. We delivered four babies in that time.” He held up his fingers. “Count ’em. Four.”
“You aided a midwife?” Niall demanded, his incredulity more than clear.
“Hey, it’s not off the deep end or anything. Just research. Character research. I had a midwife in a book and wanted to know what she would know, what she’d do, you know?” He shrugged and glanced at Majella. “You don’t have a lot of options here, babe. Looks like I’m it.”
Majella grimaced and caught her breath, puffing when the contraction passed.
Then she smiled for Monty. “With your count and mine, and this child on the way, we make an even dozen, Master Monty. I welcome your aid—though trust you will not take offense that I heartily pray for an uncomplicated arrival.”
Monty winked at Majella. “No offense taken.” He dropped his voice. “In fact, I’m with you. No breech stuff, if you can negotiate it.” He cast a telling glance around the cell, his gaze lingering on a persistent drip that created a dark puddle in the far corner. “In this joint, we could use all the help we can get.”
“Zounds,” Niall muttered. He strode to the door and roared anew. “We have need of a midwife here!”
There was a lot of scuttling and heavy footfalls in the corridor, some muted argument, and a runner audibly dispatched to the archbishop. Meanwhile, Majella’s labor progressed, the child clearly disinterested in what trouble was taken for its arrival. And in the end, no midwife was summoned.
The archbishop forbade it.
This news was received poorly by Majella, no doubt because she had expected better from her lover. “Wretched bastard!” she hissed through her teeth, straining through another contraction. Her brow was damp, her face flushed despite Monty’s cheerful coaching.
’Twas bad timing to understand precisely how little the man cared for her, Viviane guessed.
“Don’t push yet, babe, you’ll just hurt yourself. Breathe, breathe, breathe.” Monty puffed, Majella glared and echoed his manner, working in an insult for the archbishop when she could.
Viviane gathered the children in the opposite corner and told them tales, hoping to distract them from their mother’s labor. She believed it was the most useful deed she could do, since Monty truly did seem to know what he was doing. Niall paced, his unnatural pallor growing with every passing hour, his limp becoming more and more pronounced as the evening progressed.
Monty was surprisingly calm, murmuring to Majella and even making her laugh at intervals. One at a time, the children fell into restless slumbers and Viviane tucked each in with whatever cloaks she could retrieve.
’Twas late when Matthew’s grip finally loosened on Viviane’s hand and she was nearly out of tales as his eyes closed. She brushed the hair back from his brow and nestled him in beside his brothers. She glanced up in time to find Niall’s considering glance upon her. Viviane murmured his name and got to her feet, but Niall abruptly turned to watch his sister.
The single candle had burned low, almost gutting itself in the residue of wax. There was not much wick left so Viviane knew it was late. She could hear the silence of the night filling the keep, that curious stillness broken only by the scampering of mice. The cell echoed with Majella’s strained breathing, Monty’s encouragement was so low as to be incomprehensible.
Niall was watching the candle and as the flame flickered and dipped dangerously low, he dropped to one knee beside his sister.
“’Tis time, Majella,” he urged. “You must bring this child forth with haste.”
“First, you want to stop it,” she huffed, “and now you would rush it forth.” She flicked a glance to Viviane. “Is that not like a man? To want all the world to bend to his desire?”
A contraction seized her and she arched her neck back before Viviane could smile or agree. Majella’s teeth gritted in agony. Niall took her hand, and began to mutter a prayer beneath his breath. Viviane came to his side and joined his entreaties, feeling helpless as she witnessed Majella’s state.
“I see the head!” Monty cried and Majella visibly summoned her resolve. He shook a finger at her. “Give me a minute here.” Viviane did not know what he did but an instant later, he looked up. Majella was watching him avidly, her eyes glittering. “Next time, push! Push as hard as you can!”
Majella had only the time to nod agreement before she cried out again in pain. She gripped Niall’s hand so tightly Viviane saw her nails cut into his skin. Majella’s toes curled, her back arched and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut.
“Come on, babe, come on!” Monty urged. “You can do it.”
Viviane gasped as the baby’s head appeared between Majella’s thighs. She heard the children stirring behind her but couldn’t look away from this marvel. Monty turned the child with gentle fingers and coaxed it out into the world. Majella screamed fit to bring down the walls, the children awakened and clung to each other.
And the babe suddenly slipped free of its mother. Its expression was anguished, its skin was an angry red. It was the most beautiful thing Viviane had ever seen.
And it was a boy.
Monty cooed to the child, stroking the mucus away from his nose, then cast a grin at Majella as he scooped the baby into his own purple polar fleece. “You were right, Majella babe. It’s a boy and he looks just perfect.”
“Oh!” Majella clasped her child gratefully to her breast and fell back against the pallet, tears of relief streaming down her cheeks. “He lives!”
“Hey, I’m not some amateur, you know.” Monty fastened the teeth of his chemise so it wrapped around the child.
Niall leaned forward and kissed Majella’s brow. “Truly you weep whether the news is good or bad,” he teased, a tear making its way down his own cheek.
Majella opened her eyes and smiled at him, the affection between them unmistakable. “A child does not care where he enters the world, Niall. Indeed, the son of God himself came in far worse circumstance than this. We are warm, we are fed after a fashion, and we are together.” She sighed, the strain leaving her features. “’Tis enough.”
“Aye, Majella,” he whispered. “I was worried more for mother than child.”
And Viviane blinked back her tears.
“You fret overmuch, brother of mine,” Majella teased.
Niall kissed his sister’s knuckles and might have straightened, but she seized his hand.
“His name is Niall,” she insisted quietly, her tears gleaming on her cheeks as she squeezed Niall’s fingers. “In honor of your return to us.”
At that, Niall turned abruptly away. He paced to the door again, hung his head for a moment, and then took a deep breath. “’Tis precious little my return has brought this child, Majella.” His voice was soft. “Indeed, you all are compromised by my deeds.”
“Hey, don’t get all serious in such a happy moment,” Monty insisted. His cocky grin was back in place and he was flushed with his success. “Everything will come out right in the end. Darkest before the dawn and all that.” He grinned at Majella. “Cavalry, right? You’ve got those do-good kind of guys here, don’t you? Robin Hood? The Masked Avenger?”
Majella laughed. “Monty, you speak in the most odd way at times. Indeed, I cannot fathom your meaning.”
“Well, hey, this medieval re-enactment stuff is seriously freaky. I have no idea how it works, but this jazz puts movie theaters to shame. No wonder you guys get so hooked on it.” He looked pertly between Niall and Viviane. “So, what happens next? Who’s got the script?”
“Monty, this is no jest,” Niall said solemnly. “We are all sentenced to die.”
“Yeah, yeah, but everything’s going to be okay, right?” Monty demanded. He gestured to Niall. “Like you have friends, right? Three Musketeers stuff? All for one and one for all, take that you dastardly villain. This is some kind of game. Advanced 3-D Dungeons and Dragons, right? We’re not all gonna die, are we?”
Niall studied each of them in turn, his gaze lingering on Viviane. He looked oddly gray, very tired and less than happy.
“Nay,” he said softly. “We are not all going to die.”
Viviane heard the conviction in his tone, and knew with sudden clarity he was prepared to risk his own hide for the sake of theirs. It was so characteristic of the kind of man she knew him to be that she couldn’t believe she hadn’t guessed it sooner. Viviane stepped forward just as Niall bent and snuffed the candle with one smooth move.
The cell was filled with a blackness so complete Viviane could not even see her hand before her face. She heard Majella gasp but knew she had to reach Niall’s side.
“Guard!” he cried. “We are without a light and a new babe is arrived. For the love of God, grant us a light at least!”
The baby, as though sensing his cue, began to wail.
And then, just as Viviane feared, things happened very fast.