Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (95 page)

“
You see?” she said
triumphantly. “’Tis more than clear that no mother could do as
much, mine being no exception. Nay, she sent me here for my own
safety and protection, and I have only good faith that ’twill be
so.”

Niall thought it tactless to observe that
even a mother could be wrong. “Your mother sent you to the
archbishop?”

“
Aye.”

Niall could not help but raise a skeptical
brow. “Then it seems her gift of Sight was somewhat limited.”

His companion’s eyes flashed in a most
intriguing way as she spun to face him. “Surely you do not doubt
her gift?”

Niall was certain that his one level glance
supplied all the answer necessary. He thought ’twould be churlish
to further draw the line between Viviane’s assertions and her
current situation.

The lady tossed her hair. “You must never
have witnessed such wonders,” she declared. “It cannot be your
fault that you do not believe in the most obvious things, for you
seem a most sensible man to me.”

Before Niall could consider what to say to
that, Viviane cleared her throat. “You see, my mother told me, on
her deathbed, that I should come here if ever I was to want for
anything. And I must tell you, that matters have not gone well
since her demise.”

“
Have you no siblings?”
Niall was surprised to find himself curious, no less that he asked
a question without intending to any such thing.

’
Twas foolhardy to become
interested in those sentenced to die.

Though he most certainly was not interested
in Viviane.

“
Not a one. ’Twas just my
mother and I, all these years.” A frown momentarily marred the
lady’s brow. “She told me the tales, and truly, I would have had no
trade without her.”

“
You have a
trade?”

“
Aye!” The lady lifted her
chin. “I copy manuscripts and sell them in the markets.”

“’
Tis a labor of
monks.”

Her expression turned arch. “But they do not
inscribe the more interesting tales, the ones which people truly
desire to read again and again.” Despite himself, Niall looked to
her in curiosity. “I copy romances, those tales of quests and
knights and ladies fair, of bold deeds and fearsome dragons.”

“
And you earn your keep
with that?”

Her delight faded and Niall felt a cur. “I
did, for a while. But times are less than good and even those who
admire my work have little to spare. I have traveled much since my
mother’s death, visiting all the familiar towns again, but to no
avail.” She shrugged. “In truth, the details matter little.
Finally, I had no choice but to take my mother’s advice, and so
here I am!”

She granted Niall an unexpected smile so
sunny it warmed him to his toes. “As soon as the archbishop hears
tell of this, I am certain that all will be set to rights.” She
nodded with a confidence Niall found hard to match.

He frowned as he tried to follow her
explanation. “Why should the archbishop provide for you?”

But the lady only smiled more broadly at the
question. Her expression was wondrously feminine and launched a
queer sensation around Niall’s heart. Indeed, it seemed to beat
overfast. And he could not haul his gaze away from hers, at least
until he saw the gemstone swinging from the chain around her
neck.

’
Twas a moonstone, its
milkiness containing an ethereal sliver of blue blue light. A more
superstitious man would have named it a witching stone. Niall had
heard tell of such things, though he had never given credence to
those tales.

This stone, though, was odd. It seemed to
glow from within and just the sight of it made Niall deeply uneasy.
There was something unnatural about its very blueness, as though a
sliver of the moon had been trapped inside it. Niall tore his gaze
away, finding the task more difficult than it should have been.

A kernel of dread took up residence in his
gut, though he could not account for its presence. Niall was afraid
of no odd stone! He knew as well as he knew his own name that there
was no such thing as magic. Indeed, Niall found himself unduly
disappointed by the sign that this woman was as mad as he had
originally feared.

A quick glance to the stone she proudly wore
sent a most uncharacteristic shiver down Niall’s spine, however,
and he scowled at the illogic of his response.

Magic was a whimsy for fools. The woman
addled his wits. Too late, Niall recalled that Odo had warned him
against this one’s copious charms.

“
And that would be your
witching stone,” he asked with all the skepticism he could
summon.

His companion rolled her eyes. “What
nonsense! I told you already that I am not a witch! I am but a
woman, admittedly in a bit of a muddle, but ’tis a muddle that will
come clear quickly enough. I have absolutely no doubt.”

And strangely enough, a goodly part of Niall
wanted to believe her.

His gaze fell on the pendant once more, that
uneasiness raising gooseflesh over his skin. Viviane followed his
gaze and smiled as she toyed with the jewel.

“’
Twas a gift from my
father, on my birth,” she confessed, then flashed that
disconcerting smile towards the knight once more. “My mother said
he captured the blue of the moon within the stone just for me. Is
that not a most wondrous tale? It could almost make up the
difference for never having knowing him.” She shrugged again. “But
’tis a token of good fortune, if naught else, and never have I been
parted from it.”

She was a whimsical one, that much was for
certain. And dangerously beguiling. Niall harrumphed, thinking it
poor timing to question her illusions.

“
My mother told me once
that if ever I had a wish to be made, I could wish upon this stone
from my sire’s hand and all would come right for me.” The dimple
danced engagingly when Niall dared to glance her way. “Is that not
a wondrous gift?”

Niall could not keep his lips from twisting
wryly. “One might think your current circumstance would well suit
such an appeal.”

But Viviane laughed merrily again, the sound
making Niall think of a brook splashing through an emerald glade.
He was becoming overly fanciful, there could be little doubt of
that.

“
There is no need to waste
its power. Indeed, I have only to tell my tale to the archbishop,”
she insisted. “There is naught to worry about, for once I have had
my hearing…”

In that moment, they reached the threshold
of the prisoner’s gate to the courtyard. Niall caught a glimpse of
the archbishop, his hands braced on the arms of the high seat, his
expression grimly exultant, the black and red of his garb a
striking sight. Thousands gathered in the courtyard, pennants
snapped against the azure sky, the smell of smoke was in the
air.

The sunlight glistened off the executioner’s
gruesome arsenal, arrayed for public view, and Niall found a lump
rising in his throat.

Then the crowd caught a glimpse of the
prisoner and roared for blood.

Viviane jumped back against Niall in alarm.
She breathed quickly, her gaze dancing over the sliver of view
accorded to them from here.

And when she turned to Niall, her smile was
banished. A fearful light claimed her eyes and the tint of roses
that had colored her cheeks faded to naught. There was no longer
any merriment to be found in her hazel eyes.

“
He does not mean to hear
me,” she whispered, as though she could not believe it.

Niall could not lie to her in this moment.
He shook his head heavily, wishing he could tell her otherwise.
“Nay.”

“
They said he would give me
a final audience,” she said wildly. “They said I would have a
chance to plea my case. They said…” Viviane’s eyes filled with
helpless tears and she stared up at Niall, searching his visage for
the truth.

He did not have the heart to keep it from
her. He held her gaze and let her see the truth in his own.

“
They lied to me,” she
whispered hoarsely.

Niall looked to his toes, wishing he could
tear the archbishop’s insignia from his back and run. ’Twas always
thus, but usually the prisoners were either deserving of their fate
or driven mad by their time in the dungeons. Niall cleared his
throat, knowing that this time the archbishop had erred.

Not only was this woman no witch, but
Viviane was too delightfully alive to die this day. Indeed, the
sparkle of her company had briefly made Niall forget how his knee
ached, how far his life had fallen from his own dreams.

Yet there was naught he could do about the
matter. Niall hated the powerlessness of his situation, such marked
contrast to what his life had been before. His task it was to
fulfill his duty, no more than that.

Yet, against every rule he knew, against
every pledge of loyalty he had sworn, Niall hesitated to lead the
woman out into the screaming throng of people. ’Twould be an ugly
confrontation, it always was, rotten fruit and vulgar language
taking the air. ’Twas a humiliating way to die and one this woman
far from deserved.

He liked her, regardless of the addled state
of her convictions.

Viviane bit her lip and blinked back her
tears, glancing once through the doorway before impaling Niall with
a luminous glance. “Could I wish upon my father’s stone? Would it
trouble you overmuch?” Her words faltered and she seemed suddenly
very young. She did not stand so tall now that her optimism had
deserted her. “I…I might never have the chance again.”

She most certainly would not. And Niall
could not see what damage it would do to indulge her. ’Twould only
take a heartbeat and the archbishop need never know.

But he could not risk untying her hands,
lest someone unexpectedly appear. Without a word, Niall reached for
her chain, noting how heavy his hands looked against the finely
worked silver, against the flawless cream of her throat.

There was no time to seek a clasp, he simply
took the chain within his hands and lifted it over her head. Her
glossy hair caressed his hands like the finest silk, the faint
scent of her reminding him of sunshine in dancing meadows of
wildflowers. Niall slipped the gem into the waiting cradle of her
slender fingers and his mouth went dry as their hands brushed in
the transaction.

She took a deep breath and tipped her head
back, squared her shoulders and squeezed her eyes closed. Her pose
was a curious blend of vulnerability and strength that tore at
Niall’s hardened heart and for an impetuous moment, he wished he
might have had the opportunity to know more of this Viviane.

“
I wish,” she said softly
but with passion. “I wish that I were as far away from here as ever
a person could be.”

And no one could have been more surprised
than Sir Niall of Malloy when the lady shimmered right before his
eyes, shimmered with the same strange blue light as was trapped in
the gemstone. A flash blinded him and he heard a tinkle as he
instinctively closed his eyes.

When Niall looked a mere heartbeat later,
there was naught before him but a single moonstone, tangled in its
silver chain, lying on the floor before him.

And the crowd beyond, baying for the
spectacle of execution.

The knight spun but there was no one behind
him, not a sound in the corridor. Niall bent to retrieve the
glowing pendant, a shiver dancing over his flesh when he touched
the fragile chain. The odd sensation made him draw his fingers
briefly away, for ’twas unnatural beyond all else.

’
Twas witchery.

Against all odds.

’
Twas then Niall knew that
he had been wrong. He cautiously picked up the pendant and
considered anew its eerie light. There were such creatures as
witches for he had just seen the truth of it. Niall had been not
only in the company of one, but had been lulled into granting her
the chance for freedom.

’
Twas clear that he had
made a grievous error in doubting his patron’s
knowledge.

Niall lifted his head and surveyed the
roaring crowd, inadvertently catching a glimpse of the archbishop’s
impatient expression. The sight made his blood run cold, his hand
closing instinctively over the wicked gem.

’
Twas equally clear that
this particular mistake would cost him dearly.

*

Viviane cringed at the sudden blinding light
that leapt from her moonstone. ’Twas silvery and blue and cold as
death. She could not see anything, not even the stalwart knight
directly beside her, not even her own hand. She reached for his
solid strength as fear stole her pulse, but her fingers closed on
emptiness.

And suddenly she felt as though her body was
not her own, as though ’twas scattered to the four corners of the
earth, spread thin and laid bare to the chill of an angry moon.

No sooner had Viviane formed that thought
that she felt a sense of gathering. The far flung parts of her
seemed to hasten together, though they did not fit as well as they
did before. She felt disheveled and disoriented, dizzy and
uncertain what had happened. The cool moonlight faded, the chill
left her flesh as abruptly as it had descended.

Viviane cautiously opened her eyes, only to
find herself on completely unfamiliar turf. She blinked and looked
again, though the scene did not change. Then she gasped aloud, for
clearly, she was not where she had been before.

Her father’s charm had worked! Oh, he must
have loved her dearly to have left such a wondrous gift in trust
for her. Viviane nearly hugged herself in delight.

But where
was
she?