Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (96 page)

Viviane was standing at the end of a dirt
road, surrounded by wondrously tall pine trees and facing a
marvelous span of sparkling blue water. The sky was perfectly
clear, the air was warm and she could hear the birds calling. She
spun in place just to be certain, but the archbishop and his palace
was not to be seen.

Gone was the foul smell of the dungeons, the
tang of smoke. Instead her nostrils filled with the smell of
flowers, the tang of a salt sea. The air was warm, the breeze
gentle, the countryside etched in glorious hues. Viviane took a
deep breath and smiled.

This might have been paradise, but the great
handsome knight with compassion shining in his green eyes was gone
as well.

That realization made Viviane’s smile
disappear. Oh, to be sure, he was gruff, but there was a heart of
gold secreted beneath that man’s mail, Viviane knew it well. He was
like one of the great knights in the tales she copied over and over
again, a tawny lion, both bold and gentle, a knight worthy of
serving at King Arthur’s own court.

Aye, Viviane could readily imagine him atop
a stomping charger, his standard held aloft, while he departed in
search of the Grail itself. He would ride with deft strength, she
knew it well, he would lead with authority. She wondered how he
would smile.

Slowly, to be sure, with a deliberation that
would heat a woman’s blood.

Indeed, Viviane wished she might have had
the chance to know more of this man. Aye, it could not be an easy
labor her knight had in the archbishop’s dungeons, and he must have
a good reason to take it on, for a woman could tell with a glance
that he was a knight of fearsome ability.

Viviane sighed and glanced about herself one
more time, just to be completely he had not been flung from that
foul space along with her.

’
Twas then she saw the
orchard.

Off to one side of the road and continuing
over the rolling land, ’twas filled with trees hanging with ruddy
fruit. And this was no orchard such as those Viviane knew from
home. Nay, these trees were young and vibrant, not twisted and
old.

The fruit was larger than she knew possible,
easily three or four times the size of the apples she regularly saw
in the markets of Cantlecroft. It was redder than red and Viviane
could nearly smell the sweetness of that fruit, even from this
distance. She knew she had never seen trees so heavy with
bounty.

And she knew that no earthly tree could bear
as a single one of the dozens before her did.

Which could only mean they were
enchanted.

Or unearthly.

Viviane looked to the blue water, the sky,
took a breath of the perfumed air and suddenly guessed where she
had come.

As far from the court as possible.

From earthly hell to unearthly paradise. Her
gaze strayed to the apples one more time and the answer came to her
with perfect clarity. Nay, ’twas not Paradise in the Christian
sense.

This must be Avalon.

Viviane smiled and breathed the name in
wonder. Avalon! The hidden island of the ancient Celtic gods, the
refuge secreted in the mists to the west of Ireland, the home to
all immortal beings weary of the world and its ways. Avalon, where
all was possible; Avalon, as far from the false justice and worldly
wealth of the archbishop’s court as anyone could ever hope to
be.

Avalon, the isle of magical apples.

Viviane’s pulse quickened. Though she was no
bold knight herself, ’twas clear that she had found herself an
adventure fitting of a grand tale. She had fallen right into one of
the old stories she so loved! Could anything be more perfect? Oh,
Viviane had always wanted to visit foreign lands and exotic
horizons, and Avalon was the most exotic of them all.

She was indeed a most fortunate woman! ’Twas
just as she had told her knight - she was luckier than lucky and
none could contest the truth of it.

Well, her mother had taught her to use her
wits to make the best of what she was granted, and Viviane was not
going to discard that good advice now. Indeed, she had grown adept
at providing for herself these past two years since her mother’s
death - she considered it to be a fitting tribute to her mother’s
memory.

The rope her knight had knotted around
Viviane’s wrists was not tight enough to hurt - there was a hint of
his noble character! - and some sustained wriggling let her work
one hand free. ’Twas easy then to free the other, a deed she
managed just before a man appeared from the woods on one side.

He was garbed oddly and she had the
impression that he was a minstrel, though she could not have
identified why. Perhaps because there was a disreputable air about
him. He had not troubled to scrape the dark stubble from his jaw,
his hair hung lank and dark, his gaze was pixie-bright.

Viviane straightened, uncertain what
language might fall from his lips and wondering who the first
occupant of this blessed realm to cross her path might be. His face
brightened at the sight of her, though, and he looked amiable
enough. He quickly strode in her direction and waved.

He wore a strange manner of chausses wrought
of a dark green cloth and cropped above the knees, and a chemise
that looked like purple sheepskin with teeth lining its front.
Beneath he wore another chemise of some fine cloth dyed a vivid
yellow hue and inscribed with script that insisted “
Just do
it.
”

This Viviane could not fathom. Do what? And
why?

Or considered another way, what precisely
did the Just do? Just deeds, she supposed, though that was hardly
worthy of such acclamation.

But then, she could not be surprised to be
greeted by mystery in Avalon. Wisdom was oft shrouded in riddles
such as these. She knew this from the old tales.

’
Twas another proof of
where she was, no more than that.

“
Hey, are you with that
historical recreation group?” he called by way of welcome. “Cause
if you are, you’re like
way
lost, honey. They’re on the
other side of the island today.”

Island
! She was right! Avalon was an
island as any fool knew. Viviane’s flush of victory was quickly
followed by confusion. She supposed they spoke the same tongue,
though his words and his accent made it difficult to be sure.

And what did he mean?

Was his query a test of her eligibility to
remain? Viviane caught her breath. Aye, ’twas said that the
immortals dearly loved to play games of wit and ’twas not uncommon
for them to test those whom they might indulge.

But Viviane could not risk failure. Indeed,
to be returned from whence she had come would only mean certain
death. She squared her shoulders, determined to prove herself as
clever as could be.

There was too much at stake to even consider
the alternative.

“
I do not understand,”
Viviane said carefully.

The man grinned, revealing an array of
remarkably white teeth, then cocked a finger at her. “Right, I get
it, you’re like staying in character.” He nodded with what might
have been appreciation. “Cool.”

Viviane perceived naught intemperate about
the weather. The air here was, in fact, delightfully warm and the
sun was lovely. ’Twas quite unlike the damp overcast days so
typical of Cantlecroft.

Viviane eyed her companion and wondered
whether she should question his conclusion. ’Twas important, she
knew, to not let magical beings and sorcerors underestimate one’s
wits.

But before she could decide, the man
continued, his gaze as bright as a cat’s. “So, like where are you
supposed to be from, anyhow?”

Honesty also was key, as any child knew, for
the magical ones could see directly through the most artful lie. “I
was raised in the midlands of England,” Viviane supplied, “and
’twas 1395 when last I was told the Lord’s date.”

“
Really?” He pushed a hand
through his hair and left it yet more disheveled. Viviane supposed
’twould be easy to lose track of the years when one was immortal
and living in a timeless realm.

“
I had no idea you people
were, like, so
specific
.” He scanned Viviane from head to
toe while she again tried to make sense of his words. Surely he
knew that all mortals kept track of years from the Lord’s birth? Or
knew from whence they came?

His gaze was more forthright than she
appreciated and Viviane stiffened. “I guess your costume is
authentic, but it’s like a bit dull, don’t you think?”

Oh!

“
My mother wrought this
kirtle with her own hands!” Viviane declared indignantly before she
could consider the wisdom of speaking her mind. “And we dyed the
cloth together. ’Twas woven by the old woman in Kiltyre who knows
best to spin the wool and the woad was plucked from the hills not
far from town, where ’tis said to grow best. ’Twas the last labor
we completed together and a fine piece of workmanship for mortal
hands, and I will thank you to not belittle the result.”

The man flung up his hands in surrender and
took a step back. “Hey,
easy
. It was just like constructive
criticism. How would I know you had so much baggage with it?”

Viviane kept her mouth closed, for ’twas
clear she had no baggage at all.

Were there madmen in Avalon? She could not
recall such a detail, though in this moment she most assuredly
tried.

He leaned closer and his manner became
confidential. “Really, though, you should like work on that accent.
I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but it sounds really, really
fake. I’d ease up on the ’
twas
action. It’s just a bit over
the top, you know? “

Viviane folded her arms across her chest,
more than done with this man’s manners and his mysterious
allusions. “Nay, I do
not
know,” she said as crisply as she
dared. “You speak most oddly yourself and make little enough sense,
sir, in addition to the strange manner of your own garb.”

“
This, strange?” He laughed
as though she had made a fulsome jest, though Viviane found naught
amusing about her comment.

“
Aye, strange ’tis and
there can be no doubt of that.” Viviane pointed to his outer
chemise, annoyed that he would pretend otherwise. “What need has a
chemise of teeth? And what whimsy turns the fleece of sheep to such
a violet hue?”

He visibly preened and she wondered if his
garb was some fanciful invention of his own.

Could he be one who shifted shapes?

“
Hey, this is polar fleece,
the good heavy duty stuff.” He lifted a fistful and shook it at
her. “No sheep died for this, honey, just a few polyesters.” He
fiddled with the front of his chemise as Viviane wondered precisely
what a polyester might be.

“
Teeth,” he echoed with a
grin and a shake of his head. He then meshed both sides of his
chemise together by means of a little bar, clearly proving the
extent of his magical powers. Viviane gasped when the two edges
fastened and remained together. Then she narrowed her eyes,
glancing about herself cautiously.

He was not mad. He was a
sorceror
!
She would do well to not cause offense, lest he cast a spell upon
her. Too late Viviane wished she had not been so quick to speak her
thoughts, but then, she ought to be used to such sensation. She was
not known for her silence.

She had best bide her tongue. Severely.

“
Zipper,” he informed her
archly. “Like, hey, we may be out in the sticks, but you can’t be
that amazed.”

Viviane was indeed amazed, but considered it
unwise to say as much. Her chattering had gotten her into
considerable difficulties in places much less wondrous than
this.

Perhaps he - remarkably - did not realize
that she was a stranger here. Perhaps ’twould not be clever to draw
attention to that fact. Perhaps if she could merely blend in, no
one would think to evict her from Avalon.

Or send her back to the archbishop’s
court.

’
Twas worth a
try.

Her companion seemed to be waiting for her
to say something, so she chose what she deemed the safest topic
possible.

“
My name is Viviane,” she
said with a smile. “I do not believe I have made your
acquaintance.”

“
Monty Sullivan,” the man
asserted and stuck out his hand in the manner of knights pledging
no harm to the other. It could not be a bad import. Viviane took
his hand and shook it, as she had seen the knights do at home. “And
spare me the Monty Python jokes, okay? And no, just to get it out
of the way, I don’t do the full Monty either.”

Viviane was only too happy to nod agreement,
since she could not fathom a guess as to his meaning. He seemed
well disposed toward her, despite the oddities of his manner.

And her mother had always said to take
fortune wherever ’twas found.

Viviane smiled her best smile. “Could you
possibly aid me in finding accommodation on your enchanted isle,
Monty?”

“
Just arrived?”

Viviane demurred. “I seek a change.”

Monty grinned. “Oh yeah, you were like
probably camping out with those re-enactment types. Sure, there are
B&B’s out here or a hotel back in town. What’s your price
range?” Viviane must have looked blank, because Monty leaned closer
and frowned. “You know, your
budget
. Like how much cash do
you have to spend every night?”

“
Oh.” That could be a
problem. Viviane knotted her hands together. She had naught in her
pockets and no purse any longer - hers had been seized when she was
cast to the dungeons.

’
Twould undoubtedly be
better to not mention her incarceration, the charge against her, or
indeed her sentence. Convicted criminals, however innocent they
claimed themselves to be, were seldom welcome arrivals in any
realm.