Claire Delacroix (41 page)

And in his left hand, a moonstone pendant remarkably like Viviane’s own reflected the shimmer of the sea and the rain. Its chain was knotted around his fingers, the pendant swinging free. Viviane immediately understood that they had each held it to make their wish, then Niall snatched it back in the nick of time.

“Niall!” Viviane cried and fell upon him. He divested himself of children and caught her against him with a chuckle, lifting her high in a bone-crushing hug.

“My Viviane,” he whispered against her throat, a thread of uncertainty in his tone. His cheek was pressed to hers and Viviane felt the anxious thunder of his heart.

He hadn’t been sure.

They might as well have been alone. Viviane pulled back and framed his face in her hands, needing to touch him to know for certain that he was here. “You came back,” she whispered, suddenly shy. She was painfully aware in this moment that there was no sweet pledge between them.

“Aye,” he whispered, his green gaze searching. “I had a confession and a question for you that could not be denied.”

Viviane parted her lips but no sound came out.

“I love you, Viviane,” Niall declared. “I love you as never a man has loved a woman before.” A vulnerability dawned in his expression, the sight tearing at Viviane’s heart. “Will you wed me now, knowing the truth of it?”

“Oh yes!” Viviane laughed, she cried, she rained kisses all over Niall’s face even as he began to chuckle.

“Tears,” he mused moments later, brushing one fingertip tenderly across her cheek. “You should know that I cannot bear to see a woman weep.” He arched one brow, mischief lighting his eyes as he tugged her even closer. “I shall have to coax your smile, my Viviane. Be warned that you may have need of your rubbers.”

“No,” she whispered. “Not any more.”

Niall’s eyes flashed, he laughed aloud for the first time in Viviane’s experience. He looked younger, yet more vital, a man filled with the promise of the future.

Her man and the promise of their future.

Viviane’s heart sang as Niall interlaced their fingers and lifted his hand high. The moonstone glinted as he swung it by the chain. He looked once to Majella who nodded emphatically, then he flung the stone far out to sea. It flashed once before it splashed in the distance, then it was gone, swallowed by the ocean forever.

Majella applauded, Monty gave a hoot of delight, and they two continued their course toward the town. The children trailed behind them, full of questions and earthy demands now that they were recovered from the transition.

“We begin anew, my Viviane,” Niall declared, his intent gaze fixed upon her, his fingertips on her jaw. “The past can haunt you no longer.”

He brushed his lips across hers and Viviane shivered. Niall smiled down at her and she reached up to trace the curve of his firm lips. “I like when you smile,” she confided and his grin broadened.

“Then we shall have to ensure each other’s happiness,” he teased. “Aye, I shall pledge it to you.”

To seal that vow, Niall dipped his head and kissed Viviane so thoroughly that she thought her heart would burst. Her knight was a man of his word and she had no doubt he would keep his pledge.

In fact, the warm certainty of Niall’s love proved to Viviane that her luck had never falter despite her doubts. He had loved her all along. She knew now that she should have never doubted it, just as she knew she would be blessed with good fortune for all her days.

Not to mention her nights.

* * *

Epilogue

It was the Tuesday before Easter, on a misty April morning, that Ryan saw the electric blue flower.

He had just come up to tuck a few more plants into Barb’s new flower beds when she wasn’t looking - a columbine with three perfect blossoms, a lady’s mantle with its yellow blooms just in bud. He knew that Barb would like the shape of the columbine flowers - they were like fragile trumpets - and the ruffling on the edge of the lady’s mantle leaves.

Ryan was starting to have a pretty good idea of the kinds of things Barb liked. And he liked being able to make her smile once in a while. She looked as though she hadn’t done much of that in the last few years.

He could relate.

He could also relate to how surprised she was whenever anyone did something unexpected and nice for her. Ryan had a feeling that he and Barb were slowly going to get to know each other a whole lot better.

That was fine by him.

He felt as though he was walking through clouds as he climbed the hill to her place and the morning mist swirled around his ankles. Ryan paused more than once to look over the silent harbor, glad for a hundred reasons that he had come here. It was early. Even the birds weren’t up, but he had to catch the first ferry from Fulford to the mainland this morning.

And he wanted to do this first, so he could spend the day imagining Barb’s surprised smile. Ryan stepped into the garden, hoping he was earlier than her today, and the vibrant blue immediately snared his eye.

It was gorgeously vivid and he knew exactly what had bloomed. Barb was going to be over the moon! Ryan crossed the garden, circumnavigating the pond he had installed and pausing beside the stones he had worked into place.

It was the Siberian Iris that she had tried her damnedest to kill. Ryan shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned at the stubborn little sucker.

This was a far better surprise than what he had brought. Ryan quickly added the young plants to the beds, deciding where they would look best with an ease born of experience. He turned to leave, then stopped to look at that iris again.

It was so beautiful, all the more so because the plant reminded him of Barb. This little iris had toughed it out, dumped in soil and light conditions completely wrong for it, thriving despite the odds. All it had needed was a little TLC to coax it to bloom.

Ryan was good with TLC, at least the kind plants needed.

He liked to think that the plants people picked said something about the kind of person they were, and Barb’s choice spoke volumes. The iris leaves were like swords, their edges sharp enough to cut. A Siberian Iris was a tough plant, bred to survive brutal conditions and harsh winters.

Yet still it made a fragile and beautiful blossom, one of stunning color that was carefully sheltered behind those sharp leaves. A delicate core. Ryan bent and studied the bloom, impressed as always by the detailed craftmanship of Mother Nature.

He smiled when he saw the next bud lurking below, just a tip of blue that would emerge into splendor by the end of the week. That was all the encouragement he needed to pull out his shears.

There was a vase in Barb’s kitchen with a fantastic surface texture and millions of metallic hues depending how the sunlight caught it. It held a place of honor on the kitchen shelf, even though it was always empty, and Ryan had a pretty good idea what Barb was saving it for.

Spring was a time for fresh starts.

* * *

An hour after the ferry chugged out of Fulford Harbour, Barb yawned on her way into the kitchen. She always slept late after the sabbat. She plugged in the kettle sleepily, and pulled back the drape to study her new garden. She still couldn’t believe it had come to be there, and had to prove it to herself a couple of times every day.

Making a garden had been quite a process and a lot of work. But it hadn’t cost as much as Barb had feared - mostly because of Ryan’s connections and the hard labor both of them did, moving rocks and soil. In the end, the effort made the garden feel more like Barb’s own.

And she had enjoyed Ryan’s company. He had a way of listening,
really
listening, that she liked. He didn’t make her feel impractical and foolish for wanting a garden, or even for her reasons why she wanted one, though Barb hadn’t parted with those secrets easily.

And the resulting garden was exactly as she had always imagined it would be - with a few critical improvements. Ryan had done such a beautiful job. It looked as though it had always been there. Barb smiled slightly at the nodding white flower that
hadn’t
been there the day before, and knew very well who had put it there. She’d look closer after her shower, but she already knew she’d like whatever he had brought.

He was a man who paid attention to little things. Barb liked that.

She turned and caught her breath when she saw her special vase in the middle of the kitchen table, exactly as she had always envisioned it. Her hand rose to her lips and she crossed the room slowly, hardly able to believe what she saw.

Her iris had bloomed!

And the flower was so beautiful. It was delicate and faintly ruffled, a fantastic hue that proved on closer examination to be shades upon shades of saturated blues. There were tiny beard hairs on three of the petals and they were of brilliant sun-drenched yellow.

Barb touched them with one finger and was amazed that such beauty could come from one plant, especially one that had until recently been so very unhappy.

There was a note tucked beneath the vase, the bold masculine printing very familiar to Barb after all the garden sketches she had seen.

“
Beauty triumphs!

Celebrate with me - and dinner - tonight?”

Barb chuckled to herself and traced Ryan’s strokes with one fingertip. She supposed that accepting the invitation was the least she do after the man had saved her plant.

And coaxed it to be happy again.

* * *

But it wasn’t the blue iris blossom on her kitchen table that made Barb greet Ryan with a smile.

It wasn’t because Viviane finally had a call from a publisher who wanted to buy her manuscript. It wasn’t even because Monty paid his balance that afternoon - a vigilant Majella by his side.

It wasn’t even - as Barb insisted - that Viviane and Niall were going to move out or that Niall’s apprenticeship with Derek was working out so well. She tried to convince her date that all of these things were responsible for her buoyant mood.

But Ryan, a keen observer of details, knew better than to believe her.

* * *

Author’s Note

After all these references to Gawain and his adventures, you may be wondering why the full tale of that legendary knight is not included in the book. Part of the reason is that there are so many stories about Gawain and they have been fitted together in many different ways over the centuries.

According to Arthurian chronicles, Gawain was the nephew of Arthur, the son of Arthur’s sister Morgaine (sometimes called Anne). Like Arthur, there is some question that the character may be modeled after an historic figure, an illegitimate son of a king of Lothian and Orkney who was denied by his father. Some tales call Gawain the son of a fairy, cast out by his parents and raised by a childless fisherman and his wife.

There is also speculation that Gawain is the medieval version of a Celtic solar hero. This is evidenced by Gawain’s strength waxing until midday, then waning thereafter in several tales, and can also be supported by the persistence of unusual elements in stories about Gawain.

No matter his origins, Gawain was reputed to be the champion of women, a courteous and fearless knight who was both noble of spirit and golden-tongued. He crossed water to win as island ruled by women (Avalon?) and besieged the
Castellum Puellarum
(Castle of Maidens) in several tales. He also is often portrayed as the diplomat who reconciles differences at Arthur’s court. His symbol is the pentacle (a five pointed star often associated with paganism); his sword was named Excalibur; his destrier was named Gingalet (‘of good staying power’).

Gawain figures prominently in three different stories of the Arthurian cycle, though his role (like that of most of the players) changes in each version. It has also changed over time, several of his stories being rolled into Arthur’s mythology.

The first tale is that of Gawain’s rescue of a woman of otherworldly origins. After a series of ordeals - battles with demons, the ‘terrible kiss’ of a serpent, and nightmares - Gawain rescues the lady in question and she gratefully bestows her sexual favors upon him.

The trials here are somewhat bizarre, even in medieval terms - hand-to-hand combat was a much more typical test! - the kiss of the serpent in particular hinting at the old association of snakes with the Goddess. The besieged lady’s characteristics suggest that she may not be mortal. In many versions, she grants Gawain a token or talisman which magically protects him from harm after his success. It has been suggested that this tale is one of Gawain being tested as the earthly consort of the Goddess and that winning the challenge makes him her champion.

The second tale of Gawain is that of the Riddle Test, much as Viviane tells Matthew in the archbishop’s dungeon. Medieval people loved riddles so that part of the tale isn’t unusual, although the riddle is. Those familiar with pagan symbols will recognize the two aspects of the Goddess in this tale - that of the Maiden and the Crone. Hers is not a passive role, either, for she challenges knights - who bow to her will! - and demands Gawain’s kiss. Additionally, courtesy is given greater weight than military ability, though this story purportedly predates the romances of courtly love by a number of centuries.

The final tale involving Gawain is perhaps the most telling one in terms of exhibiting his Celtic pagan history.
Gawain and the Green Knight
tells of the arrival of a large knight completely green in hue (yes, even his hair!) at Arthur’s court during the Yule festivities. He challenges the knights to cut off his head - none take the wager except Gawain. To Gawain’s astonishment, the stranger doesn’t defend himself (although he is much larger than Gawain) and Gawain successfully beheads him with a single blow.

To everyone’s surprise, the Green Knight then scoops up his head, and demands that Gawain meet him in a year so that he can return what he was given. Gawain keeps his word, even knowing that he will be killed. In several versions, this tale is entwined with the other two above, so that the token given by the lady saves Gawain’s life.