Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (101 page)

The drinks quickly served up were even more
impressive.

Raven-haired Paula bounced around the little
galley like a mad pixie, periodically handing out large cups filled
with frothing cloudy green. Though Paula’s face was lined and full
of character, her hair was a resolute raven hue, unthreaded with
silver, and her enthusiasm was that of a woman younger even than
Viviane. Her partner, Derek, was a spare and soft-spoken man who
gave a great impression of strength, his silvered temples and the
glint of humor in his blue eyes hinting at a considerable
wisdom.

These two were proof again to Viviane that
she had taken up residence among the fey. When Derek declined
Paula’s margueritas - insisting that he was “driving” though he did
no more than toy with the sails - Viviane wondered what manner of
concoction this might be.

Although Monty accepted his with
enthusiasm.

Viviane sipped cautiously, her first taste
so tart that it puckered her lips. She wondered fleetingly what
magic the brew would wreak, but found the second sip was markedly
better. And truly, what could befall her? Naught but good fortune,
Viviane was certain.

She was uncommonly lucky, after all.

Instead of cheering her, the thought
reminded Viviane of her mother. In fact, the hue of this marguerita
echoed that of a peridot her mother had worn. The gem had been
locked in a ring her mother had once been granted as payment,
Viviane recalled, its depths as mysteriously cloudy as Paula’s
potion.

The memory was saddening. Viviane remembered
having to sell the treasure, the recollection more vivid than she
would have preferred. She took a deep gulp of her drink.

The ring had been her last token of her
mother and not one readily released. But now it was gone, handily
sold, the coin spent in turn, the ring lost to Viviane forever
across a chasm that could be transversed only by a select few.

Viviane felt suddenly flat. She slipped away
from the chatter of her companions and leaned against the rail,
letting the wind tousle her hair as she watched the verdant green
of the islands slip past.

It had been two years since her mother fell
ill and died, two years that Viviane had never grown accustomed to
solitude. In Avalon, it seemed, she missed her mother even more
than she had in Cantlecroft. What would her mother have made of
immortality? What if she had survived just those two years and
accompanied Viviane here?

But if she had been alive, than Viviane
would not have been at the archbishop’s court. Viviane frowned.
What if she had used the power of her pendant sooner? Could she
have saved her mother, then?

She drank again and her mood sank yet
lower.

Perhaps such doleful memory was the price of
the beverage.

Indeed, Viviane realized that she had never
been quite so alone on mortal soil as she was here in Avalon. Here,
she was the different one, the sole mortal.

And here she was compelled to be
uncharacteristically silent. All those words she had bitten back in
the last three weeks rose in her throat, as though they would choke
her. Viviane took another swallow of Paula’s potion, hoping it
would ease some of her anguish.

Viviane knew that she could never risk
confiding the truth of her arrival in another here. She could not
guess what they would make of someone who had not been chosen and
guided to the hidden isle as was the traditional way.

Would she be expelled from Avalon, if she
was thought to have no right here? Viviane shuddered despite the
sunlight, just the memory of those cold dungeons enough for
her.

Yet despite the threat full honesty posed,
the prospect of infinite silence was not appealing.

Not in the least.

Would Viviane
always
be alone? She
could not help but conclude that she would never be enough like
these rightful occupants of Avalon that she could become great
friends with any of them. She still missed chunks of any given
conversation, although she had studied and tried to blend in.

These Avalonites simply thought differently
than she. It was a mark of the fact that they were chosen to be
here, she was sure of it.

What good was Avalon if she were doomed to
solitude for all her days?

What if she also was immortal, simply by
stepping on these enchanted shores? Viviane gulped at her
drink.

What if she spent all of eternity in virtual
isolation here, selling Barb’s books by day and writing fanciful
tales alone in her room by night? What if she were doomed to live
like this
forever
?

That was a grim prospect.

Viviane thought glumly of the knight she
would never know, an indulgence she was granting herself with
greater frequency. Perhaps she should have never made that wish
upon her pendant.

What would have happened if she hadn’t?
Would her knight have saved her? Swept her away? Defended her life
and her honor?

Viviane liked to think so. He had certainly
looked like a man who would do such a noble and bold deed. She
smiled slightly, the realization that he was far, far beyond her
horizons sweeping that smile away.

And it was too late for second thoughts.

Viviane took another hearty gulp of her
drink and watched the sunlight sparkle on the sea. She gripped the
rail with her right hand as the boat sliced through the waves. Her
drink was safely held in her left, and she turned to glance over
her left shoulder when Monty called her name.

“
Viviane! Does Barb have
any Thai cookbooks in stock? Paula wants to learn and I’m sure I
like saw one there.”

Before Viviane could answer, something
flashed to her right. She pivoted in time to see her knight -
her
knight! - jab a gloved finger through the air at
her.

Viviane gasped.

“
Aha! At your own right
hand!” he bellowed, then dropped with a resounding splash right
into the sea.

Viviane dropped her drink. She lunged after
her Gawain but caught only a fistful of his cloak as he sank like a
stone.

A thoroughly mail-clad stone.

And one that threatened to pull her
overboard right after him. Viviane hooked her toes beneath the rail
and bellowed for help.

*

Derek knew his eyes weren’t deceiving him,
because he’d declined one of his soul mate’s near-lethal
margueritas. Someone had to be sober, in his opinion, and as
skipper, he was his own first choice.

All the same, he couldn’t explain the sudden
appearance of a medieval knight to starboard. The guy seemed to pop
right out of thin air. That knight hovered briefly in the air and,
remarkably enough, seemed to know Viviane.

It made absolutely no sense.

But what happened after that made perfect
sense. Medieval knights - men of any time or occupation, in fact -
seldom levitated successfully above the surface of the ocean.

At least not for long.

The knight fell into the sea with a
perfectly predictable splash.

“
Man overboard!” Derek
roared. “Trim the sails!”

Paula knew the drill and dropped her drink
posthaste (he’d always suspected that she never really drank much
of hers) and set to the task of lowering the sail out of the wind.
He heard the splash as she cast an anchor overboard, but he was on
the run.

“
Please hurry!” Viviane
begged. Derek was glad to see that she had a grip upon some part of
the man.

Derek grabbed the life preserver and dove
off the side of the boat. The ocean was cold enough to nearly make
his heart stop, even at this time of the year. Derek kicked off his
old deck shoes, surrendering them to the sea, and forced his eyes
open. His heart stilled at the way the knight drifted bonelessly
below the surface. The man’s cape was snared by Viviane, yet he
just hung from her grasp.

Like a dead weight. He wasn’t even
fighting.

Definitely easier to haul aboard, but not a
good sign.

Derek broke surface, his lungs bursting,
took a gasping breath, then dove down one more time. He quickly
lashed the life preserver to the man’s waist and was relieved to
see him rise slightly, despite the obvious weight of his chain
mail.

It was the real thing, amazingly enough, and
one hell of a bad choice for swimwear. Derek caught the man around
the neck and lunged for daylight once more, his lungs aching for
air, his muscles screaming at the man’s weight.

Monty and Paula cheered when he broke the
surface, Viviane looked as though she might faint in relief.

“
He weighs a ton!” Derek
shouted, then began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

To his enormous relief, the big man almost
immediately sputtered and shook his head. His eyes opened, then he
turned to choke out all the seawater he had swallowed. Derek hung
on grimly, one arm locked around the man’s chest, the other
clutching the rope lashed to the sailboat’s side.

The knight’s gaze swiveled back to meet
Derek’s, that green stare surprisingly hostile. “What manner of man
are you to lock your mouth upon mine?” he demanded hotly.

Derek sagged with relief. The guy was going
to be okay.

“
A man who doesn’t like
drownings to happen on his boat.” Derek grinned, then turned the
knight toward the boat. “Go ahead, haul yourself up, cowboy. You
can tell us later where the hell you came from - and maybe explain
your choice of bathing suit.”

To Derek’s surprise, the knight
did
manage to haul himself up the side of the sailboat. It was no mean
feat, given the weight of his mail and his wet clothing, which
looked like it was made of really thick wool. That sweeping cape
alone had to weigh more soaking wet than Derek did himself.

Derek followed suit, glad that everyone was
fussing over the knight and missed the fact that it took him two
tries to pull himself up over the rails.

He had to start doing those sit-ups again. A
man looking at fifty couldn’t assume that the old body was going to
take care of itself any longer. Derek had always been long and lean
without worrying much about it, but - he surreptitiously pinched
the flesh around his waist and grimaced - years of living well
seemed to be finally catching up with him.

He must have run out of credit for good
behavior.

The knight stood in the middle of the deck,
his feet braced against the polished wood as he made a puddle of
tremendous size. He had presence, you had to give him that, and
Derek doubted he was the only one wondering at the breadth of his
shoulders and chest. He looked as though he had stepped out of a
Shakespearean play.

This guy
really
worked out. Derek
hoped that his wet t-shirt wasn’t showing the little ripple that
had taken up residence around his middle to serious disadvantage.
He plucked at the wet cloth, trying to keep it from clinging too
tightly.

Suddenly the knight fixed Derek with that
piercing green glare. “You ask how I come to be here - “ he boomed,
then looked about himself with obvious skepticism “- wherever this
might truly be.” The knight arched one brow as he locked gazes with
Derek again. “’Tis the doing of the
witch
harbored among
you.”

And he pointed one thick,
wet-leather-encased finger at Monty’s new friend.

*

Matters were not proceeding precisely as
Niall had expected, even after he had stepped away from Majella and
her provisions.

He supposed he had not fully expected the
pendant to work its magic again. A lifetime of skepticism took more
than even Viviane’s unexplained disappearance to be completely
dispelled. But any lingering doubt had been dismissed when the
eerie light enveloped him as the last word of his wish crossed his
lips.

That light was blue and chilly and
altogether unnatural. Niall had been unable to see anything at all.
’Twas as though he had been struck blind and left on a windy
hilltop in the same moment, a far from delightful sensation.

Added to this was the very unusual sense of
having been taken apart and put rather inexpertly back together
again. Niall felt all jumbled and tousled even before he opened his
eyes and glimpsed Viviane’s familiar features.

Aha! His heart had leapt with painful
enthusiasm at first glimpse of her smile - a triumphant skip, no
more than that, for he could not be glad to see the woman
otherwise. Aye, ’twas the portent of fulfilling his quest that sent
pleasure searing through his veins.

Was it not?

Niall had little chance to consider the
matter before his unexpected fall into the salty sea. The lean
man’s unwelcome embrace was the next puzzling event in this rapid
succession, followed by a complete lack of censure from these
strangely attired people after his damning announcement of
Viviane’s occupation.

Last but not least, was the witch’s own
response.

“
You’re here and safe!”
Viviane cried and flung herself into his arms. Niall could do
naught but catch her, though he stared dumbfoundedly down at her
delighted smile. Indeed, he could not seem to shake the last
vestige of moonlight from his thoughts.

She was
glad
he pursued her? What
madness was this? Had she not heard what he had just said?

But then, he recalled she had been anxious
to meet her fate before.

And she had insisted upon her innocence
then. Niall stared into her marvelous eyes, and once again
acknowledged an unwelcome seed of doubt. There was something in
this woman’s clear gaze, in her delight, in her very presence that
made him question anew all he knew of her.

Nay, she was guilty, as the archbishop
decreed. He had seen the truth with his own eyes. Niall frowned,
but the lady did not seem affected by his manner.