Claire Delacroix (34 page)

* * *

Odo looked up from his ledgers at the racket in the dungeon corridor and his eyes nigh fell from his head, so great was his surprise.

Not only had Niall of Malloy returned, and not only was that man garbed as a foreigner, but he had fetched back the witch Viviane herself. ’Twas well worth a look and Odo rose from his stool to peek at the passing party, somewhat annoyed to realize that he would owe Francis at the alehouse a hefty sum. Odo had bet against Niall’s return and the odds had been long.

’Twould be an expensive debt.

But then he frowned at the realization that Niall was not only unconscious, but that he was being cast into the cell with all the others. Odo drummed his fingers on his table, not impressed to see a woman heavily with child and a brood of children locked in, as well.

The guard who Odo did not like sauntered back along the corridor and grinned. “Another lot for the executioner. Faith, but that man never goes lacking for labor.”

Odo withdrew into his small chamber and retrieved his ledger. “Is that Niall of Malloy among their number?” he asked with all the innocent curiosity he could summon. Hopefully, ’twould pass under the pretence of needing the information for his register.

“Aye. You know him?” The sentry’s gaze was a little too searching for Odo’s taste.

He shrugged. “I thought he looked familiar. He labored here for a while.”

“Ah, before his quest no doubt. Well, the man is a failure, of that there can be no doubt. The one who looks about to calf is his sister, the children her brats, and they are all to die together.”

Odo frowned. “And the charge?”

“Sorcery. As usual.”

Odo cleared his throat, certain he must have misunderstood. “Surely not the children?”

“Of course, the
children
,” the guard sneered. “They teach them young, that kind, and one cannot be too wary.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you sufficiently wary, Odo? ’Tis said they have all fallen under the witch’s spell.” He leaned closer. “She seems to fancy small men, Odo, for her minion is one such. You had best mind yourself this night.”

Odo wriggled a little further back into his chamber. “Do you have their names and ages?”

“What?”

“For the register.” Odo tapped the book.

The sentry shrugged. “Nay, not I. If you care so much, you can fetch the truth of it yourself. I am to summon the executioner for the dawn three days hence.”

Odo nodded numbly, hoping the sentry would not guess how the bile had risen in his throat. The sentries marched away, jesting amongst themselves and Odo considered what he should do.

He liked Niall of Malloy, always had. A man could smell a man of honor and Niall had been one. Niall had insisted on taking responsibility for the disappearance of a witch who had surely beguiled him, a deed that many a man would not have done. And Niall had sworn to make matters come right, to fetch back the witch.

Contrary to the sentry’s insistence, Niall had not failed. Nay, Odo recalled the face of that very witch and he had seen her in that party. Niall had succeeded, and he was to be rewarded with not only his own demise but that of all his blood.

Charged of sorcery, a laughable pretence for any who had ever known Niall of Malloy. The man believed in naught that could not be held in his own hands. Sorcery! Odo rolled his eyes before his hand stilled at the price Niall would pay.

First, Aaron Goldsmith had died, along with his loyal wife.

Now, Niall of Malloy was to share that fate.

And
children
were to die! Innocents!

’Twas wrong. ’Twas unconscionable.

’Twas time someone did something about the matter. Aye, Odo’s father had told him once that there comes a time in every man’s life when he must choose where he will stand.

As he opened his ledger and carefully inscribed the date, Odo chose.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

Back on Salt Spring, things were not going well. At least not for Barb. October had come, accompanied by chilly rains and an autumnal dearth of revenue. On this particular Monday, two days after everyone had left her high and dry without so much as a note, she closed the shop and trudged down to the relative cheer of Joe’s bakery. It couldn’t hurt to nurse a latte while she mourned over her books.

“Weather sucks, eh?” Joe demanded with false cheer. There was no one else in the shop and Barb guessed he was feeling the same retail fallout as she.

“Among other things.” She marked Monty’s balance in red, then underlined it twice, just because she was so annoyed with him. Not only had he disappeared but he’d nailed her with an unwelcome NSF charge from the bank.

Ten bucks she could have used for something frivolous, like a deposit against the phone bill.

“Seen that Monty around lately?” Joe asked.

Barb grimaced. “He seems to have fallen off the face of the earth.”

“No kidding.” Joe poured himself a coffee and came to sit opposite her. “Doesn’t that figure. You try to be a nice guy and just take it in the shorts.”

Barb met his gaze with surprise. “He owed you money, too?”

“Oh yeah. Not a lot, but it grates. Coupla hundred bucks.”

“Fourteen hundred and twenty,” Barb supplied and Joe winced.

“Yeow! How’d you let him get away with that? I mean, he was a talker, but not
that
smooth.”

Barb rubbed her temples, not appreciating the reminder that she’d let her emotions get the upper hand on her good sense. “He paid off his old balance with a boinger of a check.”

“And you didn’t know it would boing, so you let him charge some more.” Joe shook his head. “I tell you, nice guys always finish last.” He clinked his mug companionably to hers and they sipped together. “Did he book off with that little redhead you had working there? I haven’t seen her much either.”

“Yeah, all three of them are gone without a trace.” Barb wouldn’t think that it was kind of convenient to have no payroll when things were this slow. And she certainly wasn’t going to admit that she missed Viviane - let alone the nice masculine scenery. Nope, she was better off without the lot of them.

Wherever they had gone.

“But it’s the quiet ones that surprise you. She seemed like a sweetie, that Viviane, though you never can tell.” Joe frowned. “Course, you’re probably glad to be without the payroll this time of year.”

Barb nodded reluctantly. “Except she could really sell books.” She sighed and closed her ledger. Barb felt bankrupt, both financially and spiritually, and couldn’t imagine how she’d shake herself out of it this time. Maybe she should just let the bank take it all - at least then she’d have nothing left to worry about. The grey slant of cold rain only emphasized the futility of it all.

Her lone iris would probably die.

“Hey, Joe, you got anything else that needs doing?”

A rather interesting specimen of the male gender stepped out of the back of the bakery, wiping his hands on a rag. Barb wasn’t down quite so far that she didn’t notice.

A small frown marred the space between this guy’s dark brown brows and he had to be six four. He had dark brown eyes too, and a serious demeanor. He was built, if looking a bit gaunt and pale, although winter didn’t favor everybody. No, this guy looked like he’d rather be outside.

And it was lousy weather for that. Barb sipped and watched him through her lashes.

A harmless treat, after all.

He didn’t even glance at Barb, not even out of curiosity, and she tagged him as gay before returning her attention completely to her latte.

A waste, she thought absently. Figured.

Joe frowned. “Sorry, Ryan, I can’t think of another thing.”

The man shrugged and tossed the rag into the trash. “Then maybe I’ll have a look at the truck’s transmission again.”

He turned and left, even as Joe shook his head. “Poor guy,” he muttered.

“New employee, at this time of year? You surprise me.”

“Nah, it’s my kid brother.” Joe sipped as though weighing the merit of explaining, then he shrugged. “Helluva story if you ask me. Busted his ass building a business on the mainland, his wife takes it into her head that he’s not good enough for her and packs it up. Gutted his business on the way - getting
her
half - though she did sweet bugger-all but spend all those years. Ripped his heart out and ate the sucker warm, if you know what I mean.”

Barb nodded. “Read the book and saw the movie.”

“No kidding? Well, hey, it’s hardly my business.” Joe sighed. “Anyhow, he was too good to her, I say, even at the end, and now he’s got nothing to show for all his work. She’s living in style, as you can imagine, some fancy hotshot lawyer sipping champagne at her feet.” Joe shook his head. “Another nice guy finishing last.”

Barb smiled despite herself. “Runs in the family?”

Joe grinned. “Yeah, yeah, you could say that.” He sobered and leaned closer. “Be a while before Ryan heads back onto the field though - he’s hurting bad and won’t talk about it at all. I tell you, I’m running out of odd jobs around here, though I can understand that he wants to keep busy.”

Joe licked his lips, casting a quick glance to the doorway his brother had briefly occupied. “You don’t happen to have anything that needs doing, do you, Barb?”

Barb shook her head. “Joe, I’m fresh out of cash. I’m not going to have someone do any work for me when I can’t pay them.” Barb wrinkled her nose. “It’s not in the nice guy code.”

But Joe frowned. “No, that’s not what I mean. I don’t care about the cash and neither does he. He just needs something to keep his hands busy, he’s not the kind of guy to sit still and brood. Ryan will work his way through it, he’s a pretty balanced guy.” He snapped his fingers. “You could think of it as providing therapy.”

Barb laughed. “Well, what does he do? I don’t have a car, let alone one needing a transmission repair.”

“Nah, that’s just a hobby. Ryan’s a landscape architect and I tell you, he’s damn good.”

Barb caught her breath. “You mean he designs gardens.”

“Yeah, and puts them in. You name it - rocks and patios and decks and trees and pretty posies all in a row. Got no gift for it myself, kill everything I touch. The missus too. She’s got African violets blooming on the windowsill for the first time ever and is thrilled to bits. Ryan’s even done little waterfalls and I swear to God, when he’s done, they look as though they were there all along.”

Barb was tempted. Really tempted. But one glance at her books reminded her of the realities of her situation. “Oh, Joe, I’ve wanted a garden forever.” She sighed. “But I don’t know how to do it or even where to start...”

Joe saluted her with his cup. “A match made in heaven!”

“But, Joe, I don’t have any money for it! The plants will be expensive...”

“Hey, not wholesale. And maybe we can cut a deal with someone - Ryan already was talking to some woman down Fulford way who’s setting up a nursery for the spring. They’re trying to work out a deal to the advantage of both of them. She might need books, or advertising space in your store. I don’t know, but it never hurts to ask.”

“But...”

“But
nothing
, Barb. This is a community and we’ll work something out. More goddamn creativity on this island than you can shake a stick at - let’s use some. It’s not like we’re that busy in the winter.”

Before Barb could argue any more, Joe raised his voice. “Hey, Ryan! We might have a job for you!”

And Barb felt a tingle of excitement for the first time in years. A garden!

Suddenly, her prospects didn’t look so dreary after all.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

’Twas not the first time of late that Niall had awakened with a pounding between his ears, and that 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 that 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 had condemned Viviane to death, even knowing that 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 that Viviane had created on her own.

“Did he ride right over her?” Matthew demanded. “He had 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.”