Claire Delacroix (12 page)

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 that 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; she arched toward him when he splayed his fingers across the back of her waist; she 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 that 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 like 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 like 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 were 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 that 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 marguerita, 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 than that, he completely forgot to wish. He had had this 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 that 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 that 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 that he could sort matters through, given some time and a good bit less ‘marguerita.’

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 that 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.

* * *

Chapter Six

Niall awakened to a persistent thudding.

He winced and buried his head deeper beneath the linens, though that earned him no respite. He realized that 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 that 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 that 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 that Derek, despite his tendency to be overly affectionate, had proven to be quite a decent sort.

He also remembered that 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 to 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 that 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 sorcerors, 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 that 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 that 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 in 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 most earthy kind. Was this witchery? Niall had a difficult time persuading himself so. He was quite certain that 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 that 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.