Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (94 page)

He particularly disliked executing women
prisoners.

But that was precisely what he had to do
this morn. At least, he had to go to down to that miserable pit of
a dungeon and accompany some poor misbegotten soul to her demise.
There were finer ways for a man to start his day, Niall was
certain.

Indeed, ’twas in moments like these that he
found the employ of the archbishop particularly onerous. Of late,
there were just too many days beginning like this one. Niall had a
difficult time believing that the hearts of so many men and women
in this corner of the land were rotted with evil.

Indeed, he was heartily skeptical that
witchcraft had any truth to it at all. As much as he hated to even
consider such a traitorous thought, Niall believed his patron was
dead wrong. Sorcery was the stuff of tall tales alone.

Yet ’twas the plain truth that a scarred old
warrior like himself had few other options for earning his keep.
Niall was not more than eight and twenty, though his soul felt
shriveled beyond all since his injury.

How he missed being in command of his own
fate!

Those days, however, were gone for good. The
cold in the nether regions of the castle brought the ache in his
knee to a bellow, which was fitting enough for his circumstance.
Niall limped along the old stone corridor grumpily, hating that he
was no less fettered than the many prisoners moaning within their
damp cells.

’
Twas no consolation that
the old hag who was to die was likely more uncomfortable than he.
Niall’s heart twisted in a most unsoldierly fashion at the task
before him.

One bad fall and he had gotten soft.

Niall could not have said why he felt
particularly troubled by the women condemned by the archbishop’s
court to die, for he was quite certain that he had been completely
spared his comrades’ weakness for the fair sex. Either that, or his
trying sister had cured him of any such inclinations.

Women were, after all, a powerful amount of
trouble.

Niall growled and crumpled the parchment
beneath his tabard, a telling reminder of that truth if ever there
was one. ’Twas a letter he had received this very morn from Majella
and his mood soured yet more at the recollection of its
contents.

One would think after seven children,
Majella would have the wits to know how she had come by them. Or to
at least consider the unholy cost of supporting them before she
parted her thighs once more.

But thinking had naught to do with the life
of his sister. It never had. She was a creature of passion and
impulse, though so warm and charming that even Niall could forgive
her many sins. Twice widowed, Majella and her brood would be
virtually penniless - were it not for her brother’s consistent
support.

’
Twas a support he felt he
owed Majella’s children, for there were no others forming a line to
fulfill the duty. And ’twas not the fault of the children that they
had no father.

’
Twas also a support that
depended upon Niall continuing to do the archbishop’s will. Even
when he did not agree with it. He ground his teeth and did not
trouble to hide his foul mood when he entered the guard’s
antechamber.

“
Number seven,” Odo
declared without even glancing up from his ledger. The half-eaten
round of bread resting beside Odo’s book prompted Niall’s innards
to complain once more at their neglect.

Perhaps after this deed was done…

But Niall knew he would have no taste for a
meal by the time he had looked into the eyes of a condemned woman.
Sooner begun, sooner finished, he reminded himself. Niall retrieved
the appropriate church key and stalked down the hall.

“
Oho, and mind yourself,
Niall.” Odo called after him, with a cheer that was far from
welcome. “Do not be letting our witch cast a spell upon you! The
archbishop intends to watch this one twitch in the wind
himself.”

Niall grimaced at the choice of some folk in
entertainment as he made his way down the fitfully lit corridor.
Scrawny hands reached through grated openings in the cell doors,
voices called in supplication. He swore he could hear the rats
scuttling across the floor, and somewhere in the distance,
something vile dripped with sickening regularity.

How Niall loathed this place.

How he loathed being dispatched to the dark
for even a moment. He expected that most of these troubled souls
did not even understand what they had done amiss, nor even how much
time had passed since they stepped into these clammy shadows.

Niall suspected that few of them cared any
longer.

He turned the key in the heavy lock upon the
door of the seventh cell with purpose, anxious to return to the
sunlight. He would not think upon the numbers here who would never
feel that warmth again. He would not feel guilty that he did not
share their fate.

At the sound of the key grating in the lock,
the prisoner within the cell gasped. ’Twas typical enough. Niall
nudged open the door, the hinges creaked bitterly at the movement,
and the woman seated within glanced up and smiled.

Smiled.

Niall gaped, his boots suddenly rooted to
the spot. He had not expected a condemned witch to be quite so
young.

Nor indeed, quite so cheerful.

“
Good morning,” she said in
a most friendly manner. A delightful dimple deepened in her left
cheek. “I had begun to despair that anyone would come at
all.”

She was anxious to be put to a gruesome
death?

The witch’s clean but simple garb was
markedly at odds with the filth of her surroundings. Her face
glowed with good health, though her skin was fair, her auburn locks
were gathered with a ribbon tied in a pert bow. She stood and
smoothed her skirt, the move revealing that she was both tall and
graciously made.

Niall stared. She seemed a perfectly normal,
if uncommonly pretty, woman.

“
I had understood that I
would be summoned at the dawn, and as you might well imagine, I
slept nary a wink last night, thinking all the while of this
morning.” A merry twinkle danced in the warm hazel of her
eyes.

Niall’s arrival was never greeted with such
pleasure and he was momentarily uncertain of how to proceed.

“
I simply could not wait
and must say that I am most pleased that you have finally arrived.
I cannot wait to begin. Shall we go?”

Niall blinked, but her smile did not
waver.

“
Oh! Where are my manners?
Why, I am Viviane and so very pleased to make your
acquaintance.”

This was no social moment! The last thing
Niall wanted was to befriend a woman on her way to the
executioner’s block.

But she stepped forward, her smile
unwavering. “You do have a name?” she asked with no small measure
of charm.

Clearly, this woman did not understand the
fullness of her fate.

“
My name matters naught,”
Niall said gruffly, disliking that he should be the one to grant
her the sorry news. “If you would turn about, I must bind your
hands behind you.”

That should remind her of the trouble she
faced this morn.

But she simply smiled and complied, as
though there was naught strange about the request. She crossed her
wrists behind her waist and Niall found himself unwilling to even
touch the roughened rope to such creamy softness.

But he did.

If not too tightly.

“
Of course, your name
matters!” she chided as Niall scowled and knotted. “How on earth
could I possibly have a conversation with you unless we are
introduced?”

The omission did not seem to be interfering
too mightily with that, Niall thought, but he refrained from saying
as much.

“
Truly! What would I call
you? What would I say? There is absolutely no reason for this to be
unpleasant..”

“
Unpleasant?” Niall echoed,
incredulity breaking his usual reserve. “You do understand that you
are to die this morn?”

She glanced over her shoulder to him, her
full lips quirking with mischief. “Of course, I understand that
that is what people believe is going to happen, but I know that
things will not come to such a dire end.”

Niall eyed her dubiously. “’Tis true then,
that you believe you are a witch? You mean to enchant your way free
of these proceedings?”

Her laughter pealed like a bell in the tiny
chamber, the merry sound nearly enough to make Niall smile along
with her. “Of course not!” She shook her head as though he was the
one possessed of whimsy. “What a foolish thought. There is no such
thing as witchery. ’Tis perfectly obvious that this is no more than
a horrible misunderstanding and as soon as I have the chance to
address the archbishop, all will be set in order.”

She smiled into Niall’s eyes and his heart
took an unruly - and uncharacteristic - leap. Indeed, his mouth
went dry.

When had he last glimpsed a woman so fair of
face?

And when had such a woman smiled for him
alone? Niall could not even remember.

It helped little that she made such good
sense.

“
Do not fear for my life,
sir,” the lady murmured and wrinkled her nose playfully. “I do not
mean to die this day.”

Niall was so disoriented by his own response
to her smile, that his mood turned even more surly. “You may not
have a choice,” he growled, then urged her toward the door.

“
Oh, you take this far too
seriously,” she charged, stepping delicately around a puddle of
some nameless substance on the stone floor of the corridor. “My
mother always declared that I had uncommon fortune…”

“’
Twould seem to be less
than that in this moment.”

“
But that is only because
details interfere and will be resolved in short order. That is why
I could not wait for you to come, so we might begin.” Viviane
leaned closer, her tone dropping confidentially. “Waiting has never
been my strongest gift, I must confess.”

Niall harrumphed, uncertain why he felt so
compelled to try to make her understand the full horror she faced.
“You need not wait much longer for anything, from all signs.”

The lady mimicked his manner with a wink.
“Such dire warnings! You, sir knight, are truly too glum for your
own good. There is no point in fearing the worst until ’tis before
you own eyes. That was what my mother always said.”

“’
Twill be before your own
eyes soon enough.” Niall trudged along the fitfully lit corridor,
feeling even older in contrast to his companion’s light
footfall.

Indeed, she nigh skipped. “Ah, but you do
not know that I was born under a blue moon.”

Niall snorted at such suspicious nonsense.
“And that will save you from death?”

The lady tossed her braid over her shoulder,
apparently untroubled by his skepticism. “’Twill save me from any
trouble that be might be sent my way. My mother said as much and my
mother knew more than most.”

Something about her conviction caught
Niall’s attention. “What do you mean?” he demanded suspiciously.
“Did she believe herself a witch, as well?”

That laugh echoed again, the sound spreading
a little sunshine in the dank corridor.

Niall completely forgot to limp.

“
Of course not! You are a
man looking for witches at every turn, sir!”

Niall’s ears burned at the charge, but he
strode on stoically.

“
She had the Sight,” his
companion confessed as though there was naught preposterous about
that. “She could see into the beyond like no one I have ever seen
before.” The lady’s tone turned surprisingly wistful. “’Tis a rare
gift and one that ensured we ate more often than we might have
otherwise.”

Niall urged his charge forward, not liking
how she suddenly turned silent. ’Twas evidently uncharacteristic
and he had a strange urge to restore her good cheer.

For however short a time she might have
left.

“
She is dead, then?” Niall
asked, realizing after the words left his lips that ’twas not the
most uplifting question he might have concocted.

“
Aye.” She smiled sadly for
him, the smile not reaching her eyes. “She is.”

But the lady said no more and her shoulders
sagged slightly. Niall’s footsteps echoed too loudly in the silent
corridor as they walked. ’Twas only the fact that she was to die
that troubled him, he knew it well.

“
Mind your head here,”
Niall instructed, touching her shoulder so that she did not bump
her forehead on a low doorway. To his delight and surprise, she
smiled at him once more.

“
You are so very kind,” she
said in a low voice that made something melt within Niall’s gut.
“’Tis uncommon in a man so handsomely wrought as you.”

“
Hardly that,” he retorted
briskly, hating anew his role in all of this, refusing to take
pleasure in her compliment. “Down this way.”

Viviane stepped lightly along the way
indicated, her footsteps whispering against the stone. “My mother
sent me here, you know.” His ward tilted her chin proudly as though
she feared Niall would challenge her word. “That is how I know that
no ill can come to me here.”

“
That is scanty
guarantee.”

“
And what kind of a mother
would send her child to their demise?” the lady demanded brightly.
She slanted a sharp glance in Niall’s direction. “Would your mother
have sent you into any place that might have proven a threat to
your welfare?”

“
Nay,” Niall was forced to
concede, recalling all too well his mother’s distress when he
learned to handle a broadsword.