Claire Delacroix (26 page)

And she had to be sure
first
because marriage, in Viviane’s book, was forever.

Niall straightened and pushed one hand through the thickness of her hair, his glowing gaze making her mouth go dry. She wondered if he was going to seduce her again and felt a tingle of anticipation. Niall smiled down at her as though he read her thoughts, and his heavy fingers massaged her nape.

He bent his head towards hers and Viviane knew that if he kissed her again, she’d melt like butter in the sun.

So she poked a finger into his chest and took a step sideways. “And I’ll make you a wager,” she said pertly.

Niall arched a fair brow.

“I’ll reconsider your proposal after you do something for me.”

“Aye? Another task?” He smiled ever so slightly, his expression almost teasing. “And what would that be?”

Viviane ducked beneath his arm and darted across the room, picking up her book manuscript and offering it to Niall with a flourish before she could change her mind. “I want you to read this. It’s a book, one that I’ve written, and I want to know what you think of it.”

Viviane held her breath as Niall glanced at the book manuscript, skepticism clear in every line of his being.

“Why?”

Because once he had read this, he would know exactly how Viviane felt about love. And he’d have a good idea how she felt about him, too, she realized, because Niall was clever enough to recognize himself in her work.

Perfect!

But she’d better not tell him that exactly. Barb would say it sounded too ‘mushy’ and Viviane really didn’t want Niall to start playing with the taps again.

Much less stop looking at her the way he was looking right now.

“Well, because. Um, it’s important to me and I’d like to know what you think of it. No one else has read it and I’d like you to be the first.” Viviane offered it with a smile, then caught her lip in her teeth. “You can read, can’t you?”

“Of course, I am lettered!” Niall crossed the room, his eyes lighting with curiosity as he lifted the volume and fanned through it.

Viviane felt a pang of worry now that her work was out of her hands. “So, you see, it would be a really good way for you to get to understand me, to know what I’m thinking, what I want, what I expect from love and marriage and everything.”

Her words faltered when it became apparent that Niall wasn’t listening.

Because he was reading.

Her book.

A frown furrowed Niall’s brow as he turned the first page. “This is not the tale of Gawain as I recall it.”

“No, I changed it.” Viviane knotted her hands together nervously. “It’s my story of Gawain. That’s what people do here, they start with a story and make it their own, embellishing it and blending it, making it into something different. They don’t just copy as we had to. People expect each book to be different.”

Niall pinned her to the spot with a glance. “And you would trust me with the first reading of your labor?” he demanded with that intensity that stole her breath away. “Viviane!” he whispered and took a step closer, his eyes gleaming.

Oh, it didn’t help that he knew she was trusting him with something important!

Or that he knew it.

She shook a finger at him and backed away. “Just read it, please! And tell me what you think.”

Niall bowed. “Your wish is my command,” he murmured in a way that made her want to take back the book and do something entirely different. But Niall perched on the edge of the bed, his gaze apparently snared by what she had written, and read.

“I guess I’ll go to work,” Viviane said pointedly.

Niall nodded and made a murmur of assent, turning another page and laying it aside. He pursed his lips and leaned back in to the bed, bracing one foot against the mattress, clearly unaware of how magnificently masculine he looked.

Viviane took one lingering glance, knew she should be glad he was interested in her work, and trudged down the stairs.

She hoped he liked it.

She hoped even more that it convinced him of the merit of love.

* * *

Niall had a difficult time putting his lady’s book aside, though indeed, he knew there were other matters he must resolve. Aye, he had to think, as well as make a plan to not only prove Viviane’s innocence but win her agreement to return to Cantlecroft and set all to rights.

Then he had to figure out how to manage the deed. If all that did not persuade her that he would be a worthy spouse, then Niall could not imagine what would.

Indeed, he trusted in his own ultimate success.

Though, still, Niall wondered at the power of Viviane’s pendant. How did it work? Would it work again? Were there other objects here possessing the same power? He did not know and could not fathom a guess.

And how had Viviane come by such a token in the first place? She said ’twas a gift from her father - had he been of this time?

Niall shook his head, unable to solve such problems so early in the day. With reluctance, he put her book aside, knowing that he had much to do this day before he read at leisure.

After all, he must show his lady that he was responsible. That was the greater obligation before him.

Niall scrubbed himself in the washing room, a whistle on his lips, taking great satisfaction in how the water ceased its flow completely as he turned the spigot. The looking glass over the sink was one of incomparable quality, and Niall considered the new growth gracing his chin.

He should look his best if he meant to persuade Viviane of his case. A good man should be fastidiously groomed, ’twas what his own mother had oft declared. Indeed, she had always spared a kiss for her own spouse and Niall’s father when that man arrived at the board with a clean-shaven face.

Niall fetched his dagger to scrape the whiskers from his chin and began to whistle as he worked. Aye, he would prove his eligibility to Viviane, convince her of the good sense of wedding him, persuade her that there were pleasures aplenty to be had, and ensure that her innocence was proven to the archbishop. And he would read her book, as well, thereby fulfilling the lady’s own demand.

Viviane would not be able to resist such persuasiveness.

’Twas then Niall spied the tiny brush hung above the sink. He fingered its bristles and examined its small size. A useful tool, of that there could be no doubt, and one particularly suited to cleaning small nooks and crannies.

Which reminded him of one particular task which could not be avoided. His gaze drifted across the chamber to the staircase, at the bottom of which reposed the bag Derek had returned to him. It contained the jumble of his discarded mail, a considerable investment that must be protected.

Niall retrieved it, then squatted beside it, pulling the sodden mess of his tabard free. He examined the garment for tears, then hung it in the washroom to drip. His cloak was similarly spread to dry, his chausses and aketon wrung out to the best of his ability before they also were left to drip.

He hunkered down beside the array of remaining metal, scanning the links and disliking the damage already wrought by that salted water. The greaves were well enough - a buff from Viviane’s incomparable “towel” put them back to rights. Yet the mail was in sorry shape. Without a squire, there was none to tend it but Niall himself, and were it not tended, his considerable investment would be worth less than naught.

And he did desire to look his best. Perhaps he should have proposed in all his finery, instead of nude before her.

Perhaps that was part of her quibble with matters. Women, Niall knew, were oft fond of a little ceremony. And this red chemise looked increasingly disreputable. He thought of the coin that was now his own and considered that he should acquire new garb. Aye, a man bent on courting would do well to ensure his lady’s approval.

But where and how, and what to buy?

Niall shook his head, unprepared for the challenge of a day at the mercy of shopkeepers. Nay, here was a task to keep him occupied while he awaited Viviane’s return, a sensible labor and one that would leave him more ready to court affection when ’twas done.

So, Niall fetched what he did not realize was Viviane’s toothbrush and set to work on his mail.

It hurt naught that such a tedious labor gave him ample opportunity to relive the delightful flash of a certain lady’s lovely hazel eyes, or the little sound she made before the pleasure rushed through her, or the wondrous curve of her lips when she smiled for him alone.

Or to plan precisely how he would win those responses from her once more. Niall whistled tunelessly at the prospect of being persuasive.

Aye, there were worse fates than to take a woman to wife who was beauteous, alluring and charming, if occasionally unpredictable. Niall was newly glad that he had won sentry duty on that fateful day and had the good fortune to make the lady’s acquaintance.

Viviane would have said ’twas because of her birth under a blue moon, the very idea making Niall grin. Aye, he could grow accustomed to such harmless whimsy, especially when espoused by such a charming woman as his Viviane.

Niall’s belly growled as he set to work, its volume growing with every passing moment. He began to wonder whether Viviane had skill in the kitchen, as well.

That would be uncommon fortune indeed.

* * *

Barb was plugging in the kettle when Viviane entered the shop.

“Let me guess - he came back?” she asked dryly.

Viviane laughed. She dropped into her chair at the table and propped her chin on her hands. “Oh, yes!”

Barb shook her head as she put teabags into the pot. “Judging by the sound effects, you didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” she mused, much to Viviane’s confusion. Her boss’s quick glance though made everything clear.

And Viviane felt her cheeks heat. “Well...”

Barb studied the teapot as though it was a lot more interesting than it was. “A little trouble in paradise this morning?” she mused, and Viviane realized their argument had been overheard.

“Oh, just a misunderstanding.” She grinned sunnily as she accepted a mug of tea. “Everything will work out, I’m sure of it.”

“Is that right.” Barb shook her head and took the other seat, looking the younger woman right in the eye. “Viviane, you do know that men have commitment disease, don’t you? They fight like tigers whenever they think they might get snared, and lie like the devil to get loose. Men don’t want to settle down, get hitched, tie the knot. They avoid it like the plague - if you’ll forgive the medieval reference - and would rather jump off the Golden Gate bridge than propose.”

Barb shrugged and pushed to her feet, heading back to the kettle. “It’s just the way they are and if your particular catch is trying to bolt into the blue, well, you can’t be too surprised. The really good looking ones never stick around.”

Viviane shook her head vigorously, both impressed by Barb’s protectiveness and anxious to defend Niall. “No, no, you don’t understand, Barb. Niall’s not like that at all. Niall wants to get married.”

Barb pivoted, her eyes wide. “
Married
? Is that some kind of a joke?”

“He seems very serious about it. In fact, he was pretty annoyed when I turned him down.”

Barb frowned at the whistling kettle as though she didn’t know what to do about it, then unplugged it and crossed the small room with quick steps.

She folded her arms across her chest and stared down at Viviane. “So, let me get this straight. He followed you, you’re glad to see him, and now he wants to marry you? And that’s a problem?”

“Well, yes.” Viviane smiled. “Obviously.”

“Obviously? Viviane! It’s pretty remarkable that he’s so ready to get married - I mean this was the guy who said he wasn’t staying long - and you did keep saying that everything is
perfect
, never mind that he was your knight and all that jazz.”

Viviane rolled her eyes. “Well, it would be perfect, if Niall could stop talking about duty and responsibility and partnership.” She stuck out her tongue. “It’s not very romantic, is it?”

“Uh huh. Fate worse than death.” Barb leaned back, her assessing gaze fixed on Viviane, and Viviane tried to explain.

“Well, it
isn’t
! You see, he just doesn’t even talk about love and how could I marry a man who didn’t love me? He says he doesn’t even believe in love, and well, I can’t even imagine thinking anything like that!”

“Love.” Barb sounded a lot like Niall.

“Love.” Viviane sighed at the very thought. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he at least mentioned love, but he keeps saying that it’s his
duty
to marry me. He goes on and on about responsibilities and children needing a father and -” she grimaced then appealed to Barb “- he’s just so practical about it all!”

“Duty!” Barb raised her brows. “He sounds pretty medieval.” She studied Viviane for a long moment. “Maybe he’s the perfect guy for you,” she said mildly.

“Not unless he changes his thinking! He only wants to marry me so that people don’t question where he’s a man of honor. It’s all about him and his reputation and the fathering of his children. That’s not nearly romantic enough for me.”

Viviane waved one hand. “But don’t worry, it’s all solved now. You said that men didn’t read romances, so I gave him mine and he’s agreed to read it. And once he does that, well, everything will be perfectly obvious and he’ll act like the knight in the story does.”

Barb seemed to be trying not to laugh, although Viviane couldn’t imagine why. “Viviane,” she said and shook her head, her lips quirking. “You are a treat.”

Viviane frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“No, I know.” Barb shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. “You see, real live guys can’t even say the L-word.”

“What L-word?”

“Love. The word tangles up on their tongues and they just can’t spit it out. It gets all knotted up in there, maybe it’s stuck in their teeth. They know what it is and they feel it, but they’d rather die than admit it.”

Viviane blinked. Now, there was a thought. Maybe Niall really did love her but couldn’t say the word. That was an interesting possibility! “Really?”