Claire Delacroix (16 page)

Niall released a shuddering breath. He could nigh see her with the torrent of water pouring over her lovely breasts, her neck arched back, her hair in a wet rivulet against her neck. He had glimpsed her silhouette through the curtain and clenched his teeth; he had smelled that potion she used within that place, and known that he could not endure the temptation much longer.

But he had.

And she - sorceress that she was - guessed his torment and sought only to make it worse. She leaned herself against him, ensuring that he felt the ripe perfection of that breast, no less the way the nipple beaded with the cold. She left a dollop of that infernally seductive mixture upon his own flesh to torment him with the knowledge of what could have been his own. Even now, Niall could smell it and, with each inadvertent turn of his head, he was inundated with a desire that weakened his knees.

Aye, Viviane had cast a spell upon him and addled his wits. Though it took all within him to not take what was offered, Niall of Malloy still ached with desire denied.

How was a man to think sensibly when a beguiling woman stood naked before him and sought to tempt him? What was a decent man to do when he tried only to keep his pledge, and hurt flashed in the eyes of that same woman as a result? Even if that hurt must be feigned, intended to twist his heart with guilt, ’twas no less effective for all of that.

How was a man to forget the way that very woman writhed in his arms, how she trusted him, how she tasted, how very innocent she seemed?

Niall turned the taps and concentrated on them, desperately trying to push the lady from his thoughts. On and off, hot and cold. Up and down, flush and fill. These devices were not nearly so interesting as he would have had Viviane believe.

But they had kept his hands busy.

Aye, the way she pressed those breasts against him, the way she kissed him, the way she persistently invited him back for more - ’twas enough to drive a man of principles mad with desire.

A desire Niall dared not fulfill.

He had no place taking pleasure from the woman he had sworn to return to the executioner’s block. ’Twould be wrong, ’twould make his task even more difficult. Niall reminded himself of that, even as his body argued the lady’s own case.

The very fact that she desired him was telling. Aye, ’twas not the way of women to seek out such intimacy, unless they were in the trade of earning a living that way.

And Viviane was no whore.

Nay, she was a witch, which meant she sought to seduce him for other nefarious means, for her own means. There was one tale of witches that Niall recalled, for ’twas the one that chilled him to his very bones.

There was a token they desired, these witches, one that made men fall thrall to their twisted will. Aye, ’twas a token that must be won willingly from a man, then could be used against him and all his brethren with dreadful power.

For a mortal man to plant himself willingly within a witch was a daunting prospect, by the telling of this tale. To be sure, there was a part of him that Niall would prefer did not shrivel and fall off. Whether ’twould be mounted and used as a powerful talisman thereafter or not.

Niall would simply prefer to keep himself intact.

Viviane must have guessed his true objective in pursuing her and sought to turn matters to her own advantage. Indeed, Niall recalled little of what he had said the night before beneath the assault of Paula’s potion. He might well have told her of his mission himself.

One could never be certain. Viviane intended to render his quest a failure, ’twas as simple as that.

’Twas far from reassuring that the better part of Niall was more than prepared to surrender to the lady’s ardent demands, the consequences be damned. Aye, ’twas not reason guiding his impulse here!

Indeed, he had come dangerously close to joining her as she laved herself so close beside him. So great was his distraction that Niall had barely been able to distinguish what was before his own eyes. He had not found the flushing lever on purpose, though in hindsight, he was glad he had. Niall had been close to succumbing to the lady’s allure, her exit saving him just in time.

He was honest enough to admit that he was disappointed, however foolishly. Niall toyed absently with the water device, watching the water flow when he turned the handle one way, then stop when he turned it the other.

’Twas only then he realized the import of what was beneath his hands.

He was no sorceror and yet he readily made the device conjure the water. Hot and cold, on and off. Niall could see the hand of man in this. Though he could not fathom what made the water run, he knew that he controlled its temperature and pace with perfect precision.

No spells, no rhymes, no incantations or slaughtered poultry were necessary to ensure the device did its task. The good sense of a clear-thinking man was behind this or Niall would eat his armor.

Ha! A reasonable explanation!

It made perfect sense. Niall had heard of marvels of the East in many matters - men of afar oft had other ideas, other cleverness that could be understood once explained.

But that did not make those marvels
magic
.

Aye, he could not explain the mechanism of the mill that ground the flour, though he knew well enough that it did. And he had not the skill to make ale from water and yeast, though he knew it could be done.

What if no magic governed doings here at all?

He straightened, stunned by the next clear step in his thinking. What if this was
not
Avalon? What if Paula was not a pixie and none of the others were sorcerors? What if they were but
people
, albeit people of some unknown and exotic locale, people with skills beyond those of the archbishop’s court?

Foreigners. With foreign ways and advanced mechanisms.

Niall dropped the lid and sat down heavily, his thoughts flying like quicksilver. ’Twas perfectly reasonable, an explanation that deeply appealed to his sense of how matters should be.

And, if he could learn some of the marvels of this exotic place, then he could bring new prosperity to Cantlecroft! He would be like one of the old crusaders, returning from an arduous quest with exotic marvels that dazzled those who had remained behind!

And vastly improved their lot. Oh, had they not learned much of the machinery of war from Outremer? And what of the marvel that was silk? The spices they now used to flavor meat, the cloves and pepper, both once unknown on England’s chilly shores.

Then, he truly would be a hero.

Niall turned on the shower as Viviane had done and watched the water flow, an even more appealing possibility taking shape in this thoughts. People like the archbishop would pay dearly for this marvel in their homes. Aye, the man who held the secret of this cleverness would be in high demand.

With understanding of these devices, Niall could create labor for his nephews that would see them gainfully employed for all their days.

’Twas perfect!

But all hinged upon his ability to prove that this was a mechanical marvel, that this was not Avalon, but some distant realm of men. Niall stepped beneath the stream of water, knowing his mission had just taken on another wrinkle.

First and foremost, he had to discover where precisely this was.

’Twas only then, as Niall turned his face to the beat of water, that he let himself savor the sight of Viviane, gloriously nude. He smiled to himself in recollection of her hasty departure from this shower, gooseflesh over her skin, her nipples beading, her eyes flashing sparks.

He recalled how she had looked when she gained her pleasure, the little wordless sound she had made as she crested the pinnacle, and part of him awakened with a vengeance. He had been over cruel in letting her believe that he was not achingly aware of her beauty - ’twas no wonder she was annoyed.

Surely ’twould hurt little to make amends with her first.

’Twas just his sense of chivalry, Niall knew. Aye, ’twould be churlish to leave the lady irked with him for no better cause than his own distrust of his impulses.

Or perhaps ’twas a desire for his own welfare. There was no telling, after all, what a vexed witch might do to a man. Niall told himself that he had a duty to set matters to rights, to ensure that Viviane was not irked with him. Then he would avoid her company - at least until he had discovered all he needed to know - lest she tempt him to forget himself.

And
then
, he would return them both to Cantlecroft.

* * *

Chapter Eight

Barb took one look at Viviane and headed for the tiny kitchen off the back of the bookstore. “You look like you need a cup of tea,” she said in the same moment that she plugged in the kettle.

“Oh, Barb!” Viviane’s hands bunched into fists and she made a little growl of frustration. She looked like a riled pussycat, one who was so seldom riled that she didn’t know quite what to do with her claws. “I could just
kill
him!”

“Sit.” Barb pulled out a chair and pointed to it, characteristically in no mood for avoiding the point. “Who is he?”

Viviane dropped onto the seat and knotted her hands together in her lap. Her teeth were obviously gritted and her color was high.

She had it bad, Barb immediately decided. The guy after all, had said he wouldn’t be here long. She didn’t need a map to see where this conversation was going, although she didn’t like the view. Barb reflected that, sadly, it had only been a matter of time before a really nice woman like Viviane found some jerk to take advantage of her.

Viviane was almost too nice. In fact, business had improved a lot since Viviane came on board, mostly because the younger woman was so genuine. She was a bit shy, but once people asked her about books - especially romances! - well, she had lots to say.

She was really interested in the constantly changing condition of Mrs. MacAllister’s gout. She listened to all of Mr. Ramsay’s adventures, or at least the adventures of his amorous billy goat who wouldn’t stay home and Mr. Ramsay’s ongoing efforts to foil the goat’s escapes.

And Viviane loved books. Barb was starting to think that hiring Viviane was one of the smartest things she had ever done. People came, just to visit with Viviane, just to see her smile and hear her talk about the books she was reading.

The woman read like a demon, she seemed obsessed with reading every single book in the store. And she was ready to tell anyone about her latest favorite, always with such enthusiasm that her listeners invariably bought books.

A lot of books. Barb was beginning to wish that Viviane could be twins.

As unlikely as it might have seemed to the casual observer, even prickly and private Barb had become very fond of her new employee. Viviane had a tendency to bring out Barb’s deeply buried maternal impulses, as she did right now. Viviane was such a peach - she deserved better than some love-’em-and-leave-’em type.

A type who had apparently left Barb with the fun job of explaining the truth to Viviane.

What a rat!

Viviane took a deep breath and unknotted her fingers, clearly choosing her words with care. “I knew Niall before, where I used to live.”

“And he followed you here.” Barb tossed teabags into the old brown teapot, not liking the sound of this at all.

“Well, yes.” Viviane frowned and propped her hand on her elbow with a sigh. Barb noted that it was not the sigh of a happy woman. “And I thought it was so romantic, that he came after me and that he brought me back the pendant I had lost there and that he seemed so
glad
to have found me...”

“And...” Barb prompted.

Viviane shrugged and toyed with a spoon left laying on the table. “I thought it was like one of the books, and that everything would be wonderful, that we were destined to be together and that he loved me. And when he kissed me, well...”

“So you slept with him.” Barb grimly filled the teapot with boiling water.

Viviane lowered her voice to a scandalized whisper as her cheeks pinkened. “We didn’t just
sleep
, Barb.”

“Well,
duh
!” Barb shot a lethal glance across the room. “I figured that out.”

Viviane bit her lip and frowned at the stray spoon as she spun it around the tabletop with one fingertip.

Barb had seen enough of Regret to recognize it when it showed up in her shop, guns a-blazing. And she had given the Get Real talk enough times to have it memorized, not to mention her own extensive on-the-ground experience.

Might as well get it over with. Barb poured tea which was pretty thin and plunked the two mugs down on the table. She sat down opposite Viviane and willed the younger woman to look at her.

She deliberately kept her voice unemotional.

“So, now it’s done and you’re worrying about biological souvenirs and thinking that maybe you made a big mistake. You can’t imagine what you were thinking last night, that maybe you jumped into the pond too fast. Maybe you’re half worried he’s going to boot it.”

Barb turned her steaming mug in the wet ring it left on the table. “On the other hand, you don’t really know anything about him, not nearly enough to be making any sort of commitment and what you’ve seen so far isn’t changing your mind. And that part of you is wondering how you’re going to get rid of him if he
doesn’t
boot it.”

Barb sipped, certain she had nailed it in one.

“Oh, no! Niall won’t leave.”

That was news to her, but Viviane seemed convinced. In fact, her whole face had brightened. “I mean, we’re meant to be together.” She smiled with a sunny confidence Barb didn’t share. “I just know it.”

Hmmm. Barb sipped her tea and decided to try another tack. Let him do his own dirty work! “So, how well did you know him before?”

“Not very well,” Viviane acknowledged with a dreamy smile. “But there was a force between us, right from the beginning. And you know, when he kisses me, well I just forget all about everything else. He tastes so good and he feels so...”

“Spare me the play by play.” Barb waved her mug. “What’s the issue here?”