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.
*
Chapter Three
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.”
Niall straightened, well aware of the weight of every eye upon him. In a corner of his heart, Niall dared to hope that he might be elevated beyond sentry of the prison if he succeeded in fetching the witch.
When he succeeded.
The archbishop smiled down at Niall, looking like a benevolent father. ’Twas as though he could discern the knight’s heart hammering in anticipation. “This knight may well walk in the valley of darkness before his quest is complete - he has the full measure of my prayers behind his quest.”
The older man cast a glance over the assembly, his expression turning stern. “And so, we dispatch this knight, surrounded by all our prayers and goodwill, that he might be protected by the grace of God wherever his path may lead.”
The archbishop dipped his thumb into the holy water brought immediately to his side. “And so I say to you, Niall of Malloy, go with the grace of God –” he traced a cross on Niall’s brow, leaving a damp trail “- and do His will in His creation. Render justice and defy the darkness of false idols. Return triumphant to us, Niall of Malloy, as our own Savior did return triumphant even from the clutch of death. Go forth, knowing that your heavenly reward is assured.”
Niall hoped that it did not come to such a dire circumstance.
The monks sang an exultant chorus as the sun pierced the stained glass high above the altar. A beam of sunlight fell on the archbishop’s bent head and seemingly encl
osed him in a halo of the Lord’s own favor. For all his skepticism of the unseen, Niall swore he could feel the heat of God’s own will running over his flesh.
Aye, he had underestimated his patron’s understanding of great mysteries once before and would not be so foolish again.
The archbishop spoke to the assembly again, lifting his hands in supplication. “I entreat you all to share in the victory over the shadows, to aid this noble knight in his mission. Raise your voices, join me now in the prayer Christ taught to those who followed him.”
The assembly rose to chant the Lord’s Prayer in unison, the censers swung with new vigor as the archbishop stepped back. A white tabard was passed over Niall’s shoulders, its front emblazoned with a fiery red cross like those of the crusaders.
He rose at the archbishop’s behest, his knee creaking loudly at the move though the music veiled the sound. The archbishop kissed Niall’s sword, which had been lying upon the altar, and returned it to the knight with a flourish. As the chant rose to a crescendo, the archbishop led Niall down the aisle of the cathedral. They stepped out into sunlight together, the glint of the archbishop’s fine garments enough to blind a man.
The crowd spilled down the steps behind them and cheered, clearly in a festive mood. The last of the incense rose to mingle with the few clouds scattered overhead. Niall’s belly rumbled, discontent at its emptiness after three days fast in preparation.
Niall accepted the aid of a servant and mounted the chestnut destrier that he was now to call his own. The beast tossed its head proudly and pranced with an impatience not unlike Niall’s own. He rode the beast to the steps of the church, pulling the reins up short so the archbishop’s volley of holy water fell over him.
“Go then!” the archbishop cried. “Go forth, Niall of Malloy, and may you return with all good haste!”
The crowd roared approval as Niall gave the steed his spurs and rode through the throngs clustered along the street. He waved once, as regally as he thought appropriate, then looked to the road ahead, letting himself grin outright as the town fell behind him.
It had been three long years since he had ridden a destrier, three years since his knightly oath had seemed to have anything to do with his days and nights. Niall stifled an urge to simply ride forever, reminding himself that he had accepted a quest, and was pledged to clear his own name.
Aye, fulfilling that vow and resolving Viviane’s mysterious disappearance would do much to retrieve what he had lost. Niall did not intend to let her influence his ability to fulfill his duty yet again.
Sooner begun, sooner finished, as his father used to say.
*
Outside the gates and well beyond the shadow of the village walls, Niall pulled his steed to a halt. He dismounted and gave the beast a pat, for with fortune, he would have no need of it on his journey. Indeed, his need mattered little - he doubted he had the means to take the beast with him. He took a deep breath and reached into his purse to retrieve the moonstone pendant that Viviane had dropped.
Aye, there was something wicked about the stone, of that a man could have no doubt. The sunlight was swallowed by its milky depths, the glint of light turned to fey silver. It felt alien in his hand, unwelcome and foul, as though its unnatural beauty was naught but a deception.
Niall wondered now why he had not shown the gem to the archbishop. That man would have been better able to assess it, but in the hue and cry after Viviane’s disappearance, Niall had forgotten about the token stuffed into his tabard. Indeed, the archbishop might have been able to explain matters better, had he known the truth of it.
Niall turned the stone thoughtfully. ’Twas as though the gem itself did not want to face such goodness, as though it toyed with his thoughts and made him forget to reveal its presence.
There was a troubling possibility.
Niall fingered the stone, then slipped its chain around his neck. ’Twould not do to lose it, as Viviane had done. Aye, if ’twere to escape his grip, he would never be able to return from the netherworld to which she had escaped.
Indeed, Niall wondered now whether she lured him with the token to some heinous fate, whether she would toy with him when he was securely within her clutches. He had never believed in matters he could not see, but he had seen Viviane disappear, right before his eyes. The truth of that could not be denied.
However it had been contrived. Niall frowned at the stone, instinctively disliking that its abilities defied reasonable explanation.
Would it work for him?
Niall was so focused that he barely noted the sound of footsteps. Then his name was called and he looked up, his frown melting to astonishment.
For a woman trailed by a brood of children ran closer, waving madly. “Niall!” she cried again. “Wait!”
Majella? ’Twas remarkable to see her here, for she lived in a village still within Cantlecroft’s domain, but a good ten miles from the main town.
Surely she had not walked this far?
In a heartbeat, she had latched onto his arm. “My baby brother!” she cried, landing a wet kiss on Niall’s cheek before he could duck her embrace.
Niall noticed immediately that his sister was as beauteous as ever, though there was markedly more of her than before. Her hair was yet the same ruddy gold, her eyes sparkled, her breasts nigh spilled from her bodice.
And she was quite decidedly with child.
Just as her letter had confessed. Niall’s heart twisted at this evidence of yet greater financial burden.
“Oh, I am so very glad that we managed to find you in time!” Majella breathed, taking a trio of quick breaths. She pressed a fist between her ample breasts and inhaled quickly. “We were too late for the ceremony and they said you had ridden this way, but without a horse, well, I had no certainty at all that we would find you in time.”
We? ’Twas then that Niall realized all seven of his nieces and nephews surrounded him. A handsome brood of children, they smiled up at him with mingled admiration and exhaustion.
“You have all come, all this way?” Niall demanded, horrified at the cost. “What seized your wits, Majella? You have no coin for such a journey!”
And he should know the truth of that.
“Of course! How glad I am that we are in time to see you off on such a journey as this!” Majella pinched Niall’s cheek as though he were but five summers of age. “The children have not seen you of late, after all, Niall. A man cannot depart on such a quest without a fair sendoff from his own blood. And besides all of that, I have brought you provisions…”
She began to rummage in her bag.
“Majella, there was no need for you to do this,” Niall began sternly. “You should not have traveled so far…” As his sister’s eyes clouded with tears, Niall felt his annoyance with her weaken dangerously.
Oh, women were a fair bit of trouble!
“How could we not come?” she cried. “You depart on a dangerous mission, one from which you may never return.”
“I but right an omission,” Niall said firmly. “’Twill be done quickly enough and there was no need…”
“No need! And you did not even write to tell me of it!” Majella wailed. “My only brother hastens to fight a wicked and Godless foe, yet does not trouble himself to say farewell! I had to learn the truth of it from a leatherworker in the marketplace, who had it from the shoemaker, who heard from the alewife, who..who…”
With that, Majella began to weep in a most noisy fashion. Niall shuffled his feet, hating that she did this and hating even more how much it troubled him.
Majella knew he could not bear to see her weep.
“I did not wish to trouble you,” he began in a cajoling tone.
“Trouble me?” she cried. “When you are about to die?”
“I do not mean to die, Majella.” Niall used his most reasonable voice, to no visible effect. “I have but a mission to fulfill…”
“To retrieve a witch who has already enchanted you! Oh, Niall, we shall never see
you again.” Before Niall could think of a suitably reassuring comment, Majella fell on his shoulder and sobbed as though her heart was breaking. “The entire realm is talking of naught else than how brave, and how doomed, you are! You will be lost to us forever! How could I not come to see you one last time?”
Niall patted her shoulder awkwardly, scowled, and knew not what to say.
Curse women and their displays!
“Majella, compose yourself.”
To Niall’s enormous relief, Majella abruptly straightened and took a deep breath, her face still streaked with tears. “Aye, you speak aright. This is no time for tears.” She sniffled and wiped her nose. “Niall, I brought you vittles for breaking your fast, though you may never indeed have the opportunity to savor them.”
She wiped determinedly at her tears, then opened that satchel again, proceeding to empty its contents into Niall’s arms. “There is pastry filled with sausage, I know how you like that, for you always did say that I made them as mother did.”
“Aye,” Niall conceded.
Majella sighed and half-smiled in reminiscence. “Do you remember how we used to steal them when mother was not heeding us? You always took mine and feigned to eat it yourself, though I knew you would return it to me.”
She granted him a smile so affectionate that Niall flushed before she turned back to her satchel. “I had little enough time and the children did consume some of them on the journey, but there are a good half dozen of them left to you.”
She gave Niall a handkerchief knotted around lumpy contents. The scent of meat escaped the bundle and tempted Niall’s empty belly to roar anew.
“And bread from the bakery, his last three loaves this morning.”
As those plump loaves were added to Niall’s burden, Majella met his gaze with concern. “How long will you be gone? Is three loaves enough? I cannot imagine that there is a good bakery to be found in the realms of darkness.”
Time Travel Romances Boxed Set Page 73
