Odin was gone as quickly as he had come and Thor studied himself in the water. The changes were enough. No god of the North would recognize him at once. But there was something more to the change than just his appearance. The sky did not respond to his touch. There would be no flash of lightning to give him away if he lost his temper. No dark clouds forming in a clear blue sky to alert anyone of his location. He lacked the powers which marked him as a god.
“You can turn around, now,” she said.
He turned immediately, and there she was. Eve. Lovely, loyal Eve. “I’ve never seen someone as beautiful as you.”
She smiled again, her cheeks dimpling, and a flush creeping up her neck into her face. “You’re a stranger to us.”
“Yes.” He had to stop himself from reaching out to her. Touching her just to reassure himself that she was real, and he was present. “I’ve traveled from the north.”
“Will you stay very long?”
“If I am welcome, I believe I will.” It wasn’t until he said it that he realized it was true. He would stay with her, for her. He wanted so much to know her, as he could not have until this moment. He smiled. “I am skilled in the art of crafting. Have your people any need for boats?”
Her eyes lit and she took his hand. “Come. My father will want to speak with you. You are like a gift from the gods.”
How she managed to speak so casually of other gods, he wasn’t sure. The House of Lions had shown him she believed none of it, but it sounded natural from her lips.
She led him through the trees, and with a shock, he saw the same small fishing village laid out before him, the hill upon which he and Odin had stood just that morning in the distance. Women sat together in the sun, mending nets with quick fingers. Men laughed raucously, drinking mead and wine, before going out to work in the fields, while others left with spear and bow to hunt. No wonder Odin had changed him, hiding his godhead. In the heart of the Northlands, it was the only way to keep Sif from knowing where he had gone, and Loki from searching him out.
She glanced back at him when his steps slowed and smiled encouragement. “We will be grateful for any help you can offer us. Please. My father will make a place for you here.”
Thor returned her smile and matched his pace to hers. He would have time to consider the ramifications of his actions later. For now, he was with Eve and she seemed to be pleased to have him there. Her hand was warm within his and his heart eased. Perhaps, at least, they could know one another, and some good could come from all of this.
Chapter Ten: Present
Eve hugged her mother and father, kissing their cheeks. Her parents were the last of the line of well-wishers who had filtered through the house and out into the courtyard for the wedding rehearsal. A broad white canopy shaded the guests from the sun, and what looked suspiciously like storm clouds in the distance. The small chapel at the other end of the yard stood with its doors wide open, and Garrit’s father, René, was laughing with the priest. He was a friend of the family, she’d been told, not at all acquainted with the peculiar beliefs of the House of Lions. As a rule, the DeLeons were not religious, but the Catholic Church had held influence over France for a very long time and allying themselves with it had been the prudent choice. Eve couldn’t blame them, even now, and avoided speaking to the man altogether when it was possible. When it wasn’t, she limited herself to comments on the weather.
But guarding against offering some accidental heresy in conversation was almost a pleasant distraction from fearing for her sanity. Almost. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen anymore ghosts framed by lightning, and she wasn’t aware that Garrit had either.
“How was your trip, Mum?” Eve asked.
“Pleasantly uneventful,” her father replied, waving off the question. Her mother had already turned to Garrit, hugging and kissing him.
“Garrit, the wedding will be so lovely. We’re so thrilled to have you join our family. Abby has been so lucky to have found you,” her mother said. Anne Watson had little love for France, nor did she care much for the French themselves or anyone who claimed to be Catholic. Eve tried not to wonder if her mother would have loved her new son-in-law quite so much if he hadn’t been so wealthy.
Her father grinned and shook Garrit’s hand. “Glad to have you, son. Glad to have you.” His nose was already beginning to turn pink with the pre-dinner drinks.
“Mum, Dad, why don’t you go sit down? I want to just double check and be sure we have everyone.”
“Of course, of course.” Her father pumped Garrit’s hand once more and then hustled his wife away. “Let’s not embarrass the boy, now,” he mumbled to her mother as they went.
Garrit flexed his hand dramatically. “Bon Dieu, but your father has a grip. I’d forgotten.”
“I wish René hadn’t shown him to the port quite so soon.” She watched her parents greet others on their way to their seats, rows of chairs neatly arranged for the wedding rehearsal. Her father tripped over one of the chair legs, knocking three others out of line before righting the first and taking a seat. As if she weren’t already on edge, now she had to babysit her father.
“Just a few more hours, Abby. Then he can get as drunk as he likes, and no one will know the difference but us.”
“Until tomorrow at the wedding when he’s hung over and blustering.”
Garrit grimaced. “I’ll have Maman watch him.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
Garrit’s family clustered together in smaller groups on the groom’s side of the aisle. Her family, sparse enough already, seemed even smaller in comparison. Not that it mattered, really. For Eve, family had always been a strange imposition, bonds to be balanced against lifetimes of knowledge she couldn’t share. Unless she had the good fortune to come home.
The DeLeons laughed together, every now and again shooting glances her way. René’s sister, Brienne, the matriarch of the family, had identified her the first time they had met. René’s two brothers had been a bit slower to catch on, but just as pleased when they had learned the truth. The House of Lions could not be happier to welcome her back into the fold.
It was Brienne who suffered from her father’s attentions, now. Juliette had probably asked her to keep an eye on the Watsons. Garrit’s aunt bore it well, though Eve could feel her bemusement. John Watson was an odd sort of man, especially after he started drinking. Better than her mother’s disdain, Eve supposed.
Garrit slid an arm around her waist, turning her slightly away from the door, just as one of the caterers opened it. Where had they found someone so immense? And with that shade of red-gold hair?
“I think that’s everyone, Abby. Père Robert is ready to begin whenever we are.”
“Of course.” She swallowed hard, her throat tight, but when she glanced back over her shoulder the man was gone. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea that it had been her imagination any better. But now wasn’t the time. They had a wedding to rehearse, and Eve directed her attention to finding her maid of honor in the mob.
Her sister stood in the midst of a crowd of DeLeon cousins, a bright spot of red among the navies and blacks of their suits.
“Mia! We’re ready.”
Her sister winked at the men and excused herself. Garrit kissed Eve’s cheek and started herding everyone into their seats, collecting his best man, Luc as he went.
“Sorry about Dad, Abby.” Mia said, still flirting over her shoulder. “I really did try to keep him from the port. Have you seen Garrit’s cousins? They’re absolutely stunning!”
“A little bit of focus, Mia, if you don’t mind.” Eve snapped her fingers in front of her sister’s face until she had eye contact. “You’d think you were still in grammar school.”
“Easy for you to say—you’re marrying one of them.” Mia grinned at the group, which was still entirely too focused on her for Eve’s liking. One of them was mentally undressing her.
Eve tsked softly and gave him a pointed look until he noticed and grinned, dropping his gaze
. Garrit’s cousin, Jean, his uncle Ryan’s only son. No doubt he had just remembered that one of Eve’s many gifts was mindreading.
She smiled slightly. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunity to get to know them later. At the moment, perhaps we can get through this rehearsal.”
“Oh, fine. Yes. Although the longer you drag it out the more sober Dad will be before the dinner starts and he can drink himself drunk again.”
“Merveilleux,” Father Robert said, raising his voice to be heard above the hum of conversation. “If we could have the bride and the groom up front, as well as their attendants. Everyone, please, take your seats.” The DeLeons quieted quickly at the call to order by the minister; the Watsons a bit slower.
Eve let Mia pull her by the hand to the front of the assembly, trying to ignore her father’s over-loud and absurd comment to her mother about Catholic mass.
Garrit took her hands in his and lowered his voice so only she could hear. “Just let it all play itself out, Abby, and we’ll be done here in no time.”
She leaned forward to kiss his cheek and whispered softly. “Your cousins are thinking very unchaste thoughts about my sister.”
Garrit chuckled and the priest cleared his throat before nodding to her parents. “Now, Mr. Watson, you’ll have walked Abby down the aisle and released her into Garrit’s capable hands. And the service will begin with a reading from the Old Testament.”
There was a chuckle from somewhere on the DeLeon side of the aisle. Garrit turned a snicker into a cough, and Eve tried to hide a smile.
The wedding would certainly be interesting, with the house full of Lions.
A few too many glasses of wine later—a pre-emptive attempt to keep her father from getting his hands on them—Eve blinked blearily at the large man who didn’t appear to be mingling. The same man she’d glimpsed before the rehearsal, and she still hadn’t made up her mind if she was imagining things.
He wasn’t family, of that she was certain. None of her progeny had that odd shade of red-gold hair. Or that kind of height and breadth of shoulder. And yet, Garrit and René had been speaking with him earnestly at the beginning of the dinner, their lightly built height dwarfed by the man. He looked too familiar though, and even drunk it was making her uneasy. God, but she hoped it was just the drink making him look familiar at all. She really didn’t want to lose her mind again, not with Adam haunting her footsteps.
“You don’t think Jean is too old for me, do you? Really, it’s only four years. Garrit’s almost two years older than you, isn’t he?” Mia was saying. “Dad can’t really object. I’m old enough to make these decisions on my own by now. And he’s so delicious. Those dark eyes—I could swoon.”
Eve shook her head once. The room spun slightly, but it distracted her from the man who looked much too much like a long dead husband. She would not allow herself to think of Thorgrim on the night before her wedding.
“Mia, he’s practically undressing you with his eyes. If that’s the kind of relationship you want, I don’t see a problem. But don’t fall in love with him. It’s not what he’s interested in.”
“You really think so?” Mia almost squeaked in her delight, and Eve winced. “Wonderful! If Mum asks, tell her I just went out for a walk or something. I’ll be back before too long.” And then she was gone, walking straight to Jean and standing on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear. He at least had the grace to be surprised before he offered one of the most charming DeLeon smiles Eve had ever seen in her long association with the family.
Eve shook her head again and looked back to the large man, now in deep discussion with Garrit’s aunt, Brienne. If her family was talking to him, he couldn’t be a figment of her imagination, could he? Or a construct of her subconscious mind? If he was, wouldn’t he have been talking to her instead? Thorgrim had never been shy about talking to her, when she had imagined him. Maybe if she went to sleep he wouldn’t be there in the morning, and she could stop thinking about it. Or perhaps when she was sober she’d realize there was no real resemblance at all. It wasn’t like she wasn’t capable of that sort of trick.
Garrit chuckled softly in her ear, startling her. He kissed her cheek. “Ma chérie, I believe your sister has bitten off more than she can chew.”
“She’s resilient. And she could do much worse than Jean. At least he’ll be respectful for the duration.” She leaned back in her seat and smiled at him. “I had too much wine.”
“Your father did as well, in spite of our best efforts.” Garrit nodded to where he was passed out on a table. “How many glasses did you take out of his hand and down yourself?”
“Too many. I’m going to have a miserable headache in the morning.”
He smiled. “Plenty of water and an aspirin before you go to bed tonight will have you fixed up. Raw eggs and Tabasco, if necessary.”
“At least it’s nearly over.”
“Mmm.” He helped her to her feet, guiding her toward the exit. “Let me get you into bed before you imitate your father.”
“If I weren’t exhausted, I’d be offended by that remark.” But then she stopped, her gaze still on Brienne and the man. Those blue eyes were straight out of her memory. And his face. She knew his face. It definitely wasn’t just the wine. “Who is he, anyway?”
“Who?”
She pointed.
The large man looked up at her. His eyes flashed white and she stumbled in shock.
Garrit caught her, picking her up off her feet and continuing on. “Just an old friend of Papa’s. You might say that he’s acting as our security for the event tomorrow.”
“Security, huh? He looks the part.” She must’ve imagined his eyes. She was certainly drunk enough to be seeing things, and there was no reason at all that she would have brought him here. Not now. She wasn’t insane anymore, and even Thorgrim’s ghost had refused to come to her in France after she had escaped the mental ward and left America in her last life.
Ghost. She closed her eyes and tightened her arms around Garrit’s neck. Delusion, more like, if she was honest with herself. Hearing voices, seeing people who didn’t exist, those were symptoms of schizophrenia at best. If Garrit saw him, and René knew him, she had to believe it wasn’t just her mind this time. Except that other people had seen him last time, too. One minute she’d been unconscious in her cot, and the next she’d been in France. She couldn’t have done that alone.
“The best offense is good intimidation at the outset,” Garrit agreed. “Shall I carry you all the way up to the bedroom? Call it a rehearsal for tomorrow.”
“Don’t strain yourself.”
He chuckled again. She liked the sound. It was the most relaxed he’d been in months. Weddings did that to people, though. There was something to be said for eloping. Perhaps in her next life she would insist upon it.
She rested her head against his shoulder and he pulled her closer against his chest. “Merci,” she murmured.
“Pourquoi?”
“Letting me be me. For giving me this life, as Eve.”
He almost overbalanced them as he climbed until he braced against the wall. “I didn’t give you the life, Abby. It was yours for the taking. Always. You don’t have to marry me or any of us to have it. We’re your family.”
She smiled. “You know I can’t resist the DeLeon charm.”
He laughed and took the last steps from the stairs across the hall to the door. “Do you suppose you could get the knob? I can’t quite manage that without dropping you.”
She obliged him and he crossed to the large four poster bed, tossing her onto it. “Oof!”
“Don’t worry, tomorrow I’ll be nice,” he said, grinning as he began to loosen his tie.
“Sometimes niceness is overrated in these circumstances.” She climbed to her knees and pulled him close enough to help. Her fingers fumbled with it, but the knot came free and she started on the buttons of his shirt. If she could just put it all out of her mind, let Garrit distract her and forget until m
orning. Forget that she might be insane again. Forget what it had been like, with Thorgrim. What she would never have again, even with her family.
Garrit pulled the fabric from his collar and kissed her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do you suppose you could lock the door, and then help me out of this dress?”
“I would love to.” And then he leered at her. It was a far cry from the too-charming smile of his cousin, but she liked it all the more for its artlessness.
He kissed her again and they both forgot about the door.
“Water for my beautiful bride.” Garrit opened his palm, sitting stark naked on the edge of the bed, and revealed two chalky white tablets of aspirin. “We’re breaking the rules, you know, it’s after midnight now.”
Eve propped herself up on an elbow and took the pills first, then the water. “Don’t be silly. It’s only bad luck if you see me in my dress.”
His gaze traveled over her body, as bare as his was amidst the tousled sheets, and he smiled. “No danger then.”
“Non.” She swallowed the pills and drank the rest of the water. She was feeling much more sober now that she had sweated off most of the alcohol, and her mind kept returning to the man at the rehearsal dinner with the blue eyes that had flashed white. There was no help for it. “Tell me something?”
“Oui?” Garrit was trailing his fingers along the line of her ribcage, and instead of looking up, bent his head so that his lips could follow.
She shivered and wound her fingers through his short hair. “It’s important,” she said, though for the life of her, when his teeth grazed her breast, she wasn’t sure she remembered why.
He stopped, and she made a soft sound of disappointment. Garrit chuckled. “You said it was important.”
“I didn’t mean it.” She tried to pull him back, but he lifted his head and lay down on the bed instead, leaning on one elbow to face her, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
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