Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (98 page)

“
Right. And you’ll give her
less hours when business slacks off.” Monty rolled his eyes. “Come
on, give her a break.”

“
Six is it,” Barb
maintained with a resolve Viviane was already beginning to
associate with her. She fixed a bright glance on Viviane that made
that woman straighten. “But you can have the room over the store
for two hundred dollars a month if you help me clean it out.
Separate entrance.” She put out her hand. “I’ll need a deposit. One
month’s rent.”

“
Barb! She’s like outta
cash!”

The woman looked skeptical. “I’m supposed to
grant a complete strangers a room in my house
and
a job in
my shop with no show of good faith on her part? I don’t think so.
Maybe you ought to ease up on the homegrown, Monty.”

Viviane had no idea what she meant but her
companion colored. “So, like, give her an advance on her
wages.”

“
On the basis of your
sterling endorsement?” Barb folded her arms across her chest, her
expression telling.

Monty swore – though the words were
unfamiliar to Viviane, their meaning was more than clear. He dug in
his pocket and came up with some brightly colored parchment.
“Here’s fifty bucks. My life savings. And if I can bend a bit for
Viviane, then so can you. You’re already like taking advantage of
her on the wage.”

Viviane understood that this was their
currency, by Monty’s manner and Barb’s attempt to take it from his
hand.

But he snatched it back. “Utilities
included?” Monty prompted.

“
What are you, her agent?”
Barb demanded more sharply than she had spoken thus far. “I’m not
made of money, you know. Season’s nearly over, sales are going to
go down the drain.”

“
But Christmas is coming,
every retailer’s dream…” Monty teased.

Barb folded her arms across her chest again
and glared at Monty. “She’s not supposed to live off this wage,
just be getting by until she gets paid. That’s the best I can do –
otherwise I’ll just hire one of the local kids.”

“
I think it is most
generous,” Viviane interjected hastily, her years of trade telling
her that the deal was on the verge of collapse. Goodness knew, even
the most wealthy patron could become testy if their largesse was
assumed to be boundless.

Monty parted with his parchment with obvious
reluctance and Viviane knew she would have to repay his
generosity.

“
By Goddess, it’s even
real,” Barb muttered.

“
Thank you very much.”
Monty’s manner turned haughty.

Viviane moved quickly to ensure the
arrangement did not falter at this point. “I should be delighted to
aid you in clearing the room above.”

Barb surveyed her appraisingly. “Hmm, well,
I’ve been meaning to drag a lot of that stuff down to one of the
charities. Anything you can use, feel free to make your own. You
don’t seem to have a lot of baggage” – she punctuated that with a
glance to Monty and fingered the parchment – “and there are some
old clothes up there that might fit.”

Viviane bowed so low that her nose nearly
touched her toes. “I am overwhelmed by your generosity and shall
ensure that you find no disappointment with my services.”

“
One of those medieval
freaks, eh?” Barb mused when Viviane straightened. “Well, maybe
it’ll bring in business. Check the section when you have a chance
and let me know if there’s anything in particular your friends
might like. Can you start today?”

“
Your wish is my command,”
Viviane acknowledged with another bow, her move making her miss
Barb’s fleeting smile.

“
But she has a dinner
date,” Monty insisted, then grinned rakishly for Viviane. “I’ll
meet you here at seven.”

*

The Gulf Islands are sprinkled between the
east coast of Vancouver Island and the west coast of British
Columbia. The largest of those islands, Salt Spring, has a
considerable reputation as a haven from urban hassles, an enclave
of artists and artisans, a destination for meandering sailboats.
Although Salt Spring was originally settled because of the
comparatively low price for the land – thus making settlement there
an option for various Australians, ex-slaves and other adventurers
– those days of economical real estate and comparative seclusion
are long gone.

Viviane was not the first to believe she had
discovered paradise the moment she set foot on Salt Spring’s
shores. The island has been ‘discovered’ by tourism, a fact that
had driven its population to an all-time high, its privacy (and
water table) to an all-time low and generally created stress where
once there had been virtually none. In this case, the island’s
unique distinction in the Gulf Islands of having three harbors –
all with regular ferry service – has proven to be its bane.

It’s just too easy, in the opinion of many,
to get there.

And so, Salt Spring Island finds itself in
the midst of a battle familiar to ‘discoveries’ – that of striking
a balance between the soul-pleasing pleasures of privacy and the
earthly delights of a robust local economy.

Ganges, Salt Spring’s main town, is a
bustling haven of activity, particularly in the summer. The ferry
from the B.C. mainland stops here, disgorging tourists, bicyclists
and locals returning from shopping sprees in Vancouver. Ganges’
harbor for visiting and resident sailboats is the largest on the
island, and thus similarly busy. Restaurants, coffee shops,
bakeries and art stores abound.

One of the benefits to Viviane of this
constant influx of people was that no one paid much attention to
her arrival, nor even was interested in learning precisely how she
had arrived. The population mix on the island, and the many
eccentricities among those individuals, also ensured that no one
cared about whatever Monty meant by her “fourteenth century thing”.
On Salt Spring, it not only takes all kinds – most of them are
already there.

Indeed, it was rather startling to discover
how well she fit right in. Viviane marked this to the incredible
tolerance of those wise beings deemed worthy enough to populate the
mythic wonderland of Avalon.

The obvious wealth might have been
surprising to another, but Viviane expected nothing short of
perfection from the fabled island of which she had so often
written. With each passing day, she was more convinced of her
conclusion. Avalon this was and Avalon ’twould eternally be.

As Monty was teaching her to say, Viviane
had lucked out.

And by the end of her first week in this
island paradise, Viviane had developed a plan. Her primary
objective was to do naught that might prompt questions, or even
worse, lead to her expulsion back to where she had come. After all,
any fool knew that powerful sorcerors and immortals could be testy
and the archbishop had no plans for Viviane that she shared.

Here she would stay, or die trying.

Secondly, interaction with Barb’s clientele
had made it clear that Viviane’s speech was unduly odd. She
resolved to say as little as possible, lest she make a grievous
error.

Viviane was not so good with silence,
however; it was against everything within her to not chatter fairly
incessantly. All the same, there was little choice to be had. And
she did watch her speech diligently, declining to use ’twas and
trying to utilize the patterns she noted here.

Viviane increasingly felt as though the
words she bit back were going to spill through her skin at some
future, much dreaded and quickly approaching point. It was as
though they welled up inside her, like a river trapped behind a
dam. Viviane supposed that even in paradise, there were prices to
be paid.

If she was surprised to find Avalon so
focused on mundane commercial activity, she quickly found a
rationale – was it not said that idleness led to wickedness?
Clearly, those powers in charge of this isle had no need of trade,
but used it to provide productive activity for their occupants.

’
Twas reassuring to
consider that perhaps ’twas not so different in Avalon from all
Viviane had known.

Viviane managed to read when business was
slow and was delighted to find these romances much the manner of
tales she was so accustomed to inscribing on parchment. Indeed,
’twas marvelous to learn that those who inscribed the tales were
yet paid as she had been, but here, they were evidently paid
‘royally’.

Paradise indeed.

Though she labored as hard as she could,
Viviane knew that she could not rely upon her patroness’ indulgence
forever, nor indeed upon Monty to feed her each evening. Nay, she
had to earn coin of her own, and mercifully, she could still ply
her old trade. Her head was full of tales, and she had but to put
them to vellum once more. ’Twould ensure that she did fit in with
this markedly industrious population.

And also, that she could perhaps afford a
residence more private. Then she could chatter to herself, or to
the very walls, in order to let out those held-back words, and that
with no fear of being overheard.

’
Twas her best hop of not
saying something she would regret.

So, Viviane decided that she would begin
with one of her favored tales, that of Gawain and the Green Knight.
She could blend in the other tales of Gawain – as always she had
wanted to, but could not as a copyist – and create one fine volume
of that most chivalrous and noble knight. Then she would seek out
these publishers, evidently so necessary yet held in such disdain
by Monty and Barb.

That decided, Viviane bought markedly fine
parchment – wrought of chipped wood, of all things! – and a magical
quill which never needed to be dipped in ink. Each night, when the
store was closed and the town fell quiet, as the stars slowly
appeared in the indigo sky and the moon rode high, Viviane wrote
and wrote and wrote.

And if her Gawain bore the manner and visage
of a certain kindhearted handsome knight parted from her forever by
magical seas, then none but Viviane would guess the truth of
it.

*

The archbishop himself read the Mass.

The cathedral was crowded on this morn, for
most had heard the tale of Niall’s pending mission in the three
weeks since Viviane had vanished before his own eyes. If naught
else, they were curious to see the knight who had been fooled by a
witch.

’
Twas not a reminder that
the man in question appreciated. Niall’s ears burned when he
stepped into the cathedral and the whispering began.

Niall’s patron - waiting serenely ahead -
was a lean man, though his formidable will tinged the air even from
this distance. The archbishop of Cantlecroft had an air of command
that drew every eye to him, even when he sat back behind the altar
as he did now. Indeed, the hair rose on the back of one’s neck
beneath the weight of his regard.

As Niall’s did when he stepped into the
central aisle. Oh, he had failed his patron in the worst way and no
one was more aware of that than Niall of Malloy.

He had failed his overlord, he had
questioned that man’s wisdom, he had broken his oath of fealty. The
archbishop owed him naught.

But that man, in his grace, had shown Niall
marked compassion. He had showered Niall with gifts once that
knight had declared his intent to set matters to rights. Niall’s
new chemise and chausses were wrought of the finest wool, his
trusty blade endowed with a fine new scabbard heavy with jewels. A
stallion of untold magnificence awaited him outside the church,
that steed festooned in ribbons and caparisons befitting the glory
of his intent.

And indicative of the archbishop’s
endorsement. It took a great man to be gracious when his command
had been specifically denied. The archbishop even deigned to bless
Niall’s mission with his own hand.

’
Twas humbling, and Niall
was suitably humbled.

He was also sorely irked with the witch in
question. Viviane had tricked him and that was no small matter. At
least now, there could be no doubt of her guilt, for to disappear
at will was no mortal feat.

Aye, Niall would fetch her back to face her
rightful fate or die trying. He strode forward with purpose and
knelt before the altar, savoring in a strange way, this unexpected
return to the life he had once called his own.

Niall’s knee complained mightily when he
knelt, but he ignored its fleeting groan and kept his features
impassive. The air was thick with clouds of incense that would
carry the assembly’s entreaties to the very ear of God. A bevy of
monks brought purely to incur the Lord’s favor sang like angels all
around him.

The archbishop intoned the ancient words of
the mass, Niall answered in kind, then that man laid the Eucharist
upon the knight’s own tongue. The chalice was cupped in the older
man’s hands and lifted to Niall’s lips. Niall closed his eyes,
bristling with impatience to be done with ceremony, as the chorus
swelled to its final triumph.

The archbishop raised his hands, and the
entire assembly fell silent of one accord.

“
On this day, we gather to
offer our prayers to Sir Niall of Malloy, a trusted knight in the
service of this estate, and one bold enough to venture into the
unknown. He pursues a witch of great wickedness and cunning, a
thorn in the side of righteousness, but one of a vast number whose
plague spreads across the land and darkens the sun.”

The archbishop laid a cool hand upon Niall’s
brow. “This man knows not what he shall encounter, what challenge
shall be cast before him, what obstacles he must surmount, yet he
goes nonetheless. ’Tis no small thing for a heart to be as valiant
as his, for a man to know what is right and pledge to do it,
regardless of what the cost might be to himself.”