Claire Delacroix (8 page)

Certainly, Monty was in fine spirits - he looked to have laid hands on a new green chemise and odd footwear for the occasion. These “Tevas” as he called them seemed no more than black slabs secured to his feet with colorful straps, though those straps magically meshed together at Monty’s dictate.

It seemed that fastenings of all sorts, particularly for garb, were his magical domain. Viviane thought it a rather humble specialty and considered for the first time that Monty might not be a particularly skilled sorceror.

Once it became clear that sailing was new for her, Viviane was treated to a tour of the gleaming ship. Derek’s proud claim that he and Paula lived aboard the boat for the entire summer amazed Viviane, as did the gaggle of mysterious shiny implements secreted below. She did not dare insult her host by asking him to explain his magic, though Viviane was suitably impressed.

The drinks quickly served up were even more impressive.

Raven-haired Paula bounced around the little galley like a mad pixie, periodically handing out large cups filled with frothing cloudy green. Though Paula’s face was lined and full of character, her hair was a resolute raven hue, unthreaded with silver, and her enthusiasm was that of a woman younger even than Viviane. Her partner, Derek, was a spare and soft-spoken man who gave a great impression of strength, his silvered temples and the glint of humor in his blue eyes hinting at a considerable wisdom.

These two were proof again to Viviane that she had taken up residence among the fey. When Derek declined Paula’s margueritas - insisting that he was “driving” though he did no more than toy with the sails - Viviane wondered what manner of concoction this might be.

Although Monty accepted his with enthusiasm.

Viviane sipped cautiously, her first taste so tart that it puckered her lips. She wondered fleetingly what magic the brew would wreak, but found the second sip was markedly better. And truly, what could befall her? Naught but good fortune, Viviane was certain.

She was uncommonly lucky, after all.

Instead of cheering her, the thought reminded Viviane of her mother. In fact, the hue of this marguerita echoed that of a peridot her mother had worn. The gem had been locked in a ring her mother had once been granted as payment, Viviane recalled, its depths as mysteriously cloudy as Paula’s potion.

The memory was saddening. Viviane remembered having to sell the treasure, the recollection more vivid than she would have preferred. She took a deep gulp of her drink.

The ring had been her last token of her mother and not one readily released. But now it was gone, handily sold, the coin spent in turn, the ring lost to Viviane forever across a chasm that could be transversed only by a select few.

Viviane felt suddenly flat. She slipped away from the chatter of her companions and leaned against the rail, letting the wind tousle her hair as she watched the verdant green of the islands slip past.

It had been two years since her mother fell ill and died, two years that Viviane had never grown accustomed to solitude. In Avalon, it seemed, she missed her mother even more than she had in Cantlecroft. What would her mother have made of immortality? What if she had survived just those two years and accompanied Viviane here?

But if she had been alive, than Viviane would not have been at the archbishop’s court. Viviane frowned. What if she had used the power of her pendant sooner? Could she have saved her mother, then?

She drank again and her mood sank yet lower.

Perhaps such doleful memory was the price of the beverage.

Indeed, Viviane realized that she had never been quite so alone on mortal soil as she was here in Avalon. Here, she was the different one, the sole mortal.

And here she was compelled to be uncharacteristically silent. All those words she had bitten back in the last three weeks rose in her throat, as though they would choke her. Viviane took another swallow of Paula’s potion, hoping it would ease some of her anguish.

Viviane knew that she could never risk confiding the truth of her arrival in another here. She could not guess what they would make of someone who had not been chosen and guided to the hidden isle as was the traditional way.

Would she be expelled from Avalon, if she was thought to have no right here? Viviane shuddered despite the sunlight, just the memory of those cold dungeons enough for her.

Yet despite the threat full honesty posed, the prospect of infinite silence was not appealing.

Not in the least.

Would Viviane
always
be alone? She could not help but conclude that she would never be enough like these rightful occupants of Avalon that she could become great friends with any of them. She still missed chunks of any given conversation, although she had studied and tried to blend in.

These Avalonites simply thought differently than she. It was a mark of the fact that they were chosen to be here, she was sure of it.

What good was Avalon if she were doomed to solitude for all her days?

What if she also was immortal, simply by stepping on these enchanted shores? Viviane gulped at her drink.

What if she spent all of eternity in virtual isolation here, selling Barb’s books by day and writing fanciful tales alone in her room by night? What if she were doomed to live like this
forever
?

That was a grim prospect.

Viviane thought glumly of the knight she would never know, an indulgence she was granting herself with greater frequency. Perhaps she should have never made that wish upon her pendant.

What would have happened if she hadn’t? Would her knight have saved her? Swept her away? Defended her life and her honor?

Viviane liked to think so. He had certainly looked like a man who would do such a noble and bold deed. She smiled slightly, the realization that he was far, far beyond her horizons sweeping that smile away.

And it was too late for second thoughts.

Viviane took another hearty gulp of her drink and watched the sunlight sparkle on the sea. She gripped the rail with her right hand as the boat sliced through the waves. Her drink was safely held in her left, and she turned to glance over her left shoulder when Monty called her name.

“Viviane! Does Barb have any Thai cookbooks in stock? Paula wants to learn and I’m sure I like saw one there.”

Before Viviane could answer, something flashed to her right. She pivoted in time to see her knight -
her
knight! - jab a gloved finger through the air at her.

Viviane gasped.

“Aha! At your own right hand!” he bellowed, then dropped with a resounding splash right into the sea.

Viviane dropped her drink. She lunged after her Gawain but caught only a fistful of his cloak as he sank like a stone.

A thoroughly mail-clad stone.

And one that threatened to pull her overboard right after him. Viviane hooked her toes beneath the rail and bellowed for help.

* * *

Derek knew his eyes weren’t deceiving him, because he’d declined one of his soul mate’s near-lethal margueritas. Someone had to be sober, in his opinion, and as skipper, he was his own first choice.

All the same, he couldn’t explain the sudden appearance of a medieval knight to starboard. The guy seemed to pop right out of thin air. That knight hovered briefly in the air and, remarkably enough, seemed to know Viviane.

It made absolutely no sense.

But what happened after that made perfect sense. Medieval knights - men of any time or occupation, in fact - seldom levitated successfully above the surface of the ocean.

At least not for long.

The knight fell into the sea with a perfectly predictable splash.

“Man overboard!” Derek roared. “Trim the sails!”

Paula knew the drill and dropped her drink posthaste (he’d always suspected that she never really drank much of hers) and set to the task of lowering the sail out of the wind. He heard the splash as she cast an anchor overboard, but he was on the run.

“Please hurry!” Viviane begged. Derek was glad to see that she had a grip upon some part of the man.

Derek grabbed the life preserver and dove off the side of the boat. The ocean was cold enough to nearly make his heart stop, even at this time of the year. Derek kicked off his old deck shoes, surrendering them to the sea, and forced his eyes open. His heart stilled at the way the knight drifted bonelessly below the surface. The man’s cape was snared by Viviane, yet he just hung from her grasp.

Like a dead weight. He wasn’t even fighting.

Definitely easier to haul aboard, but not a good sign.

Derek broke surface, his lungs bursting, took a gasping breath, then dove down one more time. He quickly lashed the life preserver to the man’s waist and was relieved to see him rise slightly, despite the obvious weight of his chain mail.

It was the real thing, amazingly enough, and one hell of a bad choice for swimwear. Derek caught the man around the neck and lunged for daylight once more, his lungs aching for air, his muscles screaming at the man’s weight.

Monty and Paula cheered when he broke the surface, Viviane looked as though she might faint in relief.

“He weighs a ton!” Derek shouted, then began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

To his enormous relief, the big man almost immediately sputtered and shook his head. His eyes opened, then he turned to choke out all the seawater he had swallowed. Derek hung on grimly, one arm locked around the man’s chest, the other clutching the rope lashed to the sailboat’s side.

The knight’s gaze swiveled back to meet Derek’s, that green stare surprisingly hostile. “What manner of man are you to lock your mouth upon mine?” he demanded hotly.

Derek sagged with relief. The guy was going to be okay.

“A man who doesn’t like drownings to happen on his boat.” Derek grinned, then turned the knight toward the boat. “Go ahead, haul yourself up, cowboy. You can tell us later where the hell you came from - and maybe explain your choice of bathing suit.”

To Derek’s surprise, the knight
did
manage to haul himself up the side of the sailboat. It was no mean feat, given the weight of his mail and his wet clothing, which looked like it was made of really thick wool. That sweeping cape alone had to weigh more soaking wet than Derek did himself.

Derek followed suit, glad that everyone was fussing over the knight and missed the fact that it took him two tries to pull himself up over the rails.

He had to start doing those sit-ups again. A man looking at fifty couldn’t assume that the old body was going to take care of itself any longer. Derek had always been long and lean without worrying much about it, but - he surreptitiously pinched the flesh around his waist and grimaced - years of living well seemed to be finally catching up with him.

He must have run out of credit for good behavior.

The knight stood in the middle of the deck, his feet braced against the polished wood as he made a puddle of tremendous size. He had presence, you had to give him that, and Derek doubted he was the only one wondering at the breadth of his shoulders and chest. He looked as though he had stepped out of a Shakespearean play.

This guy
really
worked out. Derek hoped that his wet t-shirt wasn’t showing the little ripple that had taken up residence around his middle to serious disadvantage. He plucked at the wet cloth, trying to keep it from clinging too tightly.

Suddenly the knight fixed Derek with that piercing green glare. “You ask how I come to be here - “ he boomed, then looked about himself with obvious skepticism “- wherever this might truly be.” The knight arched one brow as he locked gazes with Derek again. “’Tis the doing of the
witch
harbored among you.”

And he pointed one thick, wet-leather-encased finger at Monty’s new friend.

* * *

Matters were not proceeding precisely as Niall had expected, even after he had stepped away from Majella and her provisions.

He supposed he had not fully expected the pendant to work its magic again. A lifetime of skepticism took more than even Viviane’s unexplained disappearance to be completely dispelled. But any lingering doubt had been dismissed when the eerie light enveloped him as the last word of his wish crossed his lips.

That light was blue and chilly and altogether unnatural. Niall had been unable to see anything at all. ’Twas as though he had been struck blind and left on a windy hilltop in the same moment, a far from delightful sensation.

Added to this was the very unusual sense of having been taken apart and put rather inexpertly back together again. Niall felt all jumbled and tousled even before he opened his eyes and glimpsed Viviane’s familiar features.

Aha! His heart had leapt with painful enthusiasm at first glimpse of her smile - a triumphant skip, no more than that, for he could not be glad to see the woman otherwise. Aye, ’twas the portent of fulfilling his quest that sent pleasure searing through his veins.

Was it not?

Niall had little chance to consider the matter before his unexpected fall into the salty sea. The lean man’s unwelcome embrace was the next puzzling event in this rapid succession, followed by a complete lack of censure from these strangely attired people after his damning announcement of Viviane’s occupation.

Last but not least, was the witch’s own response.

“You’re here and safe!” Viviane cried and flung herself into his arms. Niall could do naught but catch her, though he stared dumbfoundedly down at her delighted smile. Indeed, he could not seem to shake the last vestige of moonlight from his thoughts.

She was
glad
he pursued her? What madness was this? Had she not heard what he had just said?

But then, he recalled she had been anxious to meet her fate before.

And she had insisted upon her innocence then. Niall stared into her marvelous eyes, and once again acknowledged an unwelcome seed of doubt. There was something in this woman’s clear gaze, in her delight, in her very presence that made him question anew all he knew of her.

Nay, she was guilty, as the archbishop decreed. He had seen the truth with his own eyes. Niall frowned, but the lady did not seem affected by his manner.