Claire Delacroix (7 page)

“I would not know,” Niall admitted.

Majella bit her lip, clearly concerned. “Well. There are apples, though they are from the last harvest, you can cut around the bruises and they eat well enough. If you are hungry, you will scarce note that they have shrunken...”

A dozen apples were piled haphazardly onto the goods Niall already held. Two escaped and rolled in opposite directions, yet when Niall bent to retrieve them, all but one of the others also leapt to the ground.

The children scattered to retrieve them, two of the younger boys making a game of kicking one apple down the road and back.

“I found some wine,” Majella continued, evidently unaware of the boys’ doings. She pulled a bulging wineskin from the bag, but Niall raised a hand.

“Majella, you should not have troubled yourself.” In truth, Niall was much concerned by how much coin she had expended. “I shall manage well enough while I am gone.”

“Oh! Now, you do not even need me!” Majella’s tears welled again and her shoulders shook. “No wonder ’tis that you never told me of your departure!” she wailed. “You do not care for us at all!” Her tears began to flow with renewed vigor, while the children eyed Niall as though he were the worst criminal alive.

’Twas a most unreasonable charge she made, considering what healthy measure of his earnings went to support his nieces and nephews, but Niall knew Majella would not take well to sensible argument. He had tried oft afore to reason with her. Instead, Niall patted his sister’s shoulder awkwardly, then held her close as she wept with abandon.

He could not help but wonder whether other knights departed on noble quests under such odd circumstance.

It seemed most unlikely.

“There, there, Majella,” he said gruffly. “’Tis not that I do not appreciate all you have done.”

His sister sniffled and fired an accusing glance his way. ’Twas progress of a kind.

“And I shall miss you all, of course.” Niall forced a smile. “’Tis only that I expect to return with all haste - I did not wish for you to worry overmuch.”

To his astonishment, this confession did little to reassure his sister.

“Oh, Niall! Of course I will worry overmuch! In all honesty, you are such a
man
sometimes!” Majella poked him in the chest with evident dissatisfaction.

Niall was not at all certain what else he should be.

“I will miss you, Uncle Niall,” declared Matthew, the eldest child at ten summers.

’Twas a most timely interruption and Niall turned to the child with pleasure. Matthew fingered Niall’s new scabbard with awe. “Am I big enough yet to learn to handle a blade? Will you teach me when you return?”

“And what of me?” crowed Mark, a year and a half his junior. The boys had grown markedly since Niall had last seen them, tow-headed troublemakers both. “I can do anything Matthew can do!”

The children, boys and girls, immediately broke into a chorus of “me, too!” that coaxed Niall to smile. He ruffled Matthew’s hair, but before he could speak, Majella did.

“Your uncle may never come back!” she cried. “Say your farewells, children, and remember the courageous knight that your own blood uncle proves himself to be.”

Niall frowned. “Majella, there is no need to upset the children with such whimsy.”

“Whimsy!” Majella’s eyes flashed and her tears disappeared. She gave his mail-covered shoulder a smack that likely hurt her hand more than it wounded Niall. “’Tis whimsy now, to show concern for the last of one’s own family? ’Tis
whimsy
to endure hardship for a last glimpse of a loved one? Wasteful of coin to show such sentiment?”

As always, her rapid change of manner surprised her brother. He would never understand women and their emotional flights, he was certain of it.

He was even more certain that he did not want to.

“’Twas good of you to come, of that there can be no doubt,” Niall said as soothingly as he could. “But the expectation of my demise is overstated.”

“Uncle Niall can best any witch!” Matthew insisted loyally. The children cheered assent, though their endorsement did not dismiss the shadows from their mother’s eyes.

Majella sobered and Niall now saw the fear that fed her emotional response. “Truly you will return?” she whispered, her fingers falling of their own accord to the curve of her belly.

And there was the crux of the matter. She was reliant upon him, Niall needed no reminder of that obligation.

Just as he knew that asking after the father of this one would win him naught but more tears. Joseph, Majella’s second spouse, had been dead four years. The youngest child and this one on the way could not be wrought of his seed. As for the eldest, well, Niall did not want to count overly closely on his fingers.

The last thing he needed was more tears.

And the last thing his sister needed was more worries.

Niall looked Majella dead in the eye and smiled for her. “Aye, Majella,” he said with soft determination. “You may rely upon me, as always you have.” He squeezed her hand. “Never doubt that I shall return.”

His sister managed to give him a tremulous smile. “As always,” she echoed softly and touched her fingertips to his cheek. “Oh Niall, why have you never found a woman to appreciate you?”

She had the look about her of a woman about to land a kiss upon him, which could only lead to more copious tears, and Niall knew better than to encourage her.

He squatted down amongst the children to deflect his sister’s intentions, noting how this own had grown, and that one cut a tooth. He spoke to each, knowing all too well that they too were reliant upon him.

Even though they might not understand the truth of it yet.

“What is that?” three-year-old Elizabeth demanded, her chubby fingers reaching for the moonstone pendant. She would want it for her own if she deemed if pretty, his one.

Niall quickly snatched it away from her grasp and covered it with his hand. “’Tis a token abandoned by the witch and one that she used to make her disappearance.”

“A charm!” Mark breathed, his eyes wide.

“Aye, and one of great potency,” Niall slipped it inside his tabard that the children might not be further tempted to touch it. Who knew what evil a mere brush of the fingertips might spawn in these innocents?

“Is that how you shall find her again?” Matthew demanded.

“Aye.” Niall nodded at the boy’s quick wits. “’Tis my hope that ’twill take me directly to her side, then back here with all haste.”

Matthew frowned. “But Uncle Niall, ’tis said that witches are most cunning.”

“That they are,” Niall agreed. “And this one already has tricked me once, so I am doubly wary.”

The children’s’ eyes rounded in awe, likely as much at this confession as the fact that he had been in the presence of a witch.

Majella had doubtless filled their ears with too many outlandish tales. Niall frowned. They had need of a father in their lives, a man whose good sense would counter Majella’s whimsy.

He thought no further before Matthew tugged on his sleeve. “In all the tales, a knight must match wits with the foe he faces.”

“Aye, ’tis true enough.”

“And in the tales, the knight must choose his words carefully, lest his foe turn his own words against him. ’Tis said that witches are doubly deceptive in this.”

Niall smiled for the clever boy who was oft too serious. “That is uncommon wisdom, Matthew. I shall keep your good counsel in my thoughts.”

But his nephew was not yet reassured. “And you must speak in a rhyme, Uncle Niall, when you use her charm. The old tales say ’tis so.”

Niall did not think it fitting to observe that the witch had departed without any such rhyme to her benefit.

“’Tis sage advice you grant, and I shall heed it well.” He ruffled the boy’s hair and hoped with all his heart they would fare well while he was gone. “And you, young Matthew, would do well to listen less to tales and tend more to your labor. Have you found an apprenticeship as yet?”

Matthew’s face fell and he looked to his mother.

Majella wrung her hands. “Niall, I have not had the chance…”

Niall fixed his sister with a stern look. “He has need of a trade, Majella, need of a way to earn a living with his hands. You owe him no less than to find a suitable apprenticeship, and ’tis time one be found for Mark, as well. You must use good sense in this.”

“But I am going to be a knight like you, Uncle Niall!” Matthew declared.

“Me, too!” Mark cried. “Me, too.”

Majella smiled indulgently. “Their hearts are set upon it, Niall.”

Niall met his sister’s gaze steadily, for he knew well enough the expense of a knight’s training. So would his sister, if she had ever deigned to heed his counsel. “Then you had best wed a far wealthier man than I will ever be. I have neither the coin nor the associations to win this even one of them.”

His sister looked away, her eyes clouding with tears. Her hand strayed to her ripening belly and Niall sighed. ’Twas neither the time nor the place for their continuing argument.

On his return, he would resolve all of this as well, though the thought alone made him feel as though he carried the weight of the world itself. Indeed, none other would ensure these children had trades, had means of seeing food in their mouths long after Niall was gone.

Well, the sooner he departed on his quest, the sooner he could return. Niall straightened with purpose, smiled at the children, then clasped his sister’s hand.

“Be well, Majella,” he muttered, deliberately avoiding a downward glance as an unwelcome thought crossed his mind.

How many months would his task consume?

Who would ensure Majella’s welfare, the safe birth of her child, the meals in the mouths of these seven, without him here? ’Twas his honor at stake and his duty to fetch the witch Viviane back again, yet all the same, Niall dreaded what would occur in his absence.

He would not consider whether his pledge to return would have any power in whatever place his witch had fled.

“We shall be fine, Niall.” Majella squeezed his hand, as though she divined his thoughts, and landed a wet kiss on his cheek. She took a deep breath and forced a smile, though the shadows lingered in her eyes. “Think only of your welfare. Your victory will not be easily won.”

Niall nodded, for there was naught to be said to that simple truth. He handed her the knotted handkerchief and the bread and smiled, hoping she would not take offense. “The children must be hungry, Majella,” he said gently, “and we both know that they have greater need of sustenance than I.”

She chewed her lip, unshed tears shining anew, and clutched her precious provisions.

“Ride the steed back to town, if he does not come with me, for ’twould be better if you walked less.” Niall kissed her cheek before she could argue with him. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness,” he added gruffly. “Now, eat of his fine fare yourself. Your babe has need of it.”

“Oh, Niall.” Majella’s tears streamed down her cheeks as her mouth worked. Her hair had crept free of her braid and she looked suddenly very much like the young sister whose pastries he had feigned to steal.

The children gathered around her skirts, though, belying that impression of maidenly innocence.

“Go to the archbishop,” Niall urged with sudden inspiration. “You have come this far – go and tell him that you are my responsibility. He will not let you go without.”

“Oh, Niall!”

Matthew clasped his mother’s hand, his eyes solemn, and Niall guessed he was of an age to understand more than the others.

Niall looked his eldest nephew in the eye. “See it done, young Matthew. I place my trust in you in this matter. Ensure the welfare of your mother and siblings in my absence.”

Matthew’s chest puffed up and his eyes brightened. “Aye, sir!”

Before Majella could fall upon him and weep again, Niall gripped the moonstone with one hand. He grasped the hilt of his blade with the other, knowing ’twas past time to depart. He winked at Matthew with a confidence he was not quite feeling, then closed his eyes, tipped his head back and wished aloud.

“By all that is good and holy,

Grant me but one wish fully:

Place me so near witch Viviane

That I might grasp her right hand.”

It has often been said to use caution in what one wishes for – in case that wish is granted. Niall, unfortunately, was unfamiliar with the expression.

Although he did get his wish.

* * *

Chapter Four

One of the great joys to Viviane in Avalon was the Saturday market in downtown Ganges. It was endearingly familiar - in concept if not in product - to stroll through the stalls of local artists and farmers. The market could be overwhelmingly busy on a sunny summer Saturday, but Viviane found a bittersweet familiarity in its hustle and bustle, no less its handmade treasures, one that reminded her all too much of what she had left behind.

She talked every week to the man who made his own cheese from the milk of his own sheep, she regularly admired the flowers a woman had grown from seed, she watched the skilled leatherworker, she was always awed by the array of obviously magical and mysterious masks. Such was Viviane’s obvious enthusiasm for the market that Barb indulged her request to have Saturday mornings off.

And so, despite Viviane’s interest in the bobbing white sailboats and the way they raced across the ocean, and despite Monty’s considerable persistence, it was a full three weeks after her arrival that he finally convinced her to join his friends for a jaunt in their sailboat.

And only then because he chose a Sunday.

It was a perfect day, the sky as clear as could be, the sunlight glinting off the water, the sail snapping in the breeze. There were four of them aboard the sailboat - Monty and Viviane, along with the older couple who commanded the obviously magical craft.

If their host and hostess were inclined to leave Monty and Viviane alone together more often than might have easily occurred, Viviane failed to notice that, much less guess its import.