“And now,” Dritta said, “you may kiss the bride.”
Mitch did exactly that.
When Lilith opened her eyes, they were standing alone in her living room. Although there was no sign of Sebastian, the sky was the same hue of early-morning gray.
It was as though they had never been gone at all.
Except that there was an envelope on the mantle that hadn’t been there before. Lilith crossed the room, and tore open the envelope, smiling when she saw its contents.
It was the last card of the higher arcane.
“Mitch, they’ve given us The World!”
He grinned and strode in pursuit, taking the card from her hands and flicking it back on to her table. “No,” Mitch said, his eyes bright and his voice low. “They’re telling us that we already have it.”
And this time, without an audience, he really kissed her.
Lilith was only too happy to kiss him back.
* * *
21
The World
New Year’s Eve
It was going to be a beautiful wedding.
Andrea had clearly spared no expense on the black tie fête planned to mark her fourth taking of marital vows. Nigel, to his credit, insisted that this would be Andrea’s last trip to the altar and Lilith loved how the older woman giggled at that.
In fact, they were quite the couple, obviously completely taken with each other and bent on making each other happy. Nigel was a perfect gentleman, dapper and diplomatic, always ready with a word to make everyone smile. He could dance like a dream and Andrea just glowed in his presence. This shipboard romance showed no signs of limping back to port.
Even Mitch conceded that he couldn’t have picked a better man for Andrea himself.
To the astonishment of everyone - except Mitch and Lilith - Kurt and the intern Isabel from Mitch’s paper had become a devoted couple. They were so smitten with each other that Andrea had invited them to the wedding, making more than one comment about Kurt finally finding his match. There were rumors of a ring being in the offing for Valentine’s Day.
Jen would be the only flower girl for her Nana’s wedding, a role that delighted her no end. Lilith had picked up the rose petals after three practice sessions, then declared enough was enough and stored the basket high. Jason had marched up and down the living room with the lacey pillow for the rings until Lilith pronounced his pacing was right, although he had yet to be trusted with the jewelry itself. Mitch had the rings in safekeeping.
Jen looked like a little angel in her pink taffeta dress. There were clusters of silk ribbon roses in myriad shades of pink stitched along the bodice, chosen to match the real flowers ordered for the wedding. A lace-edged petticoat held out the full skirt and Jen was so smitten with that frilly petticoat that she willingly showed it to anyone.
Mitch had rolled his eyes the first time Jen did this and called it a bad omen of the future.
Jason was less thrilled with his miniature tuxedo with its emerald jacquard vest. He made a great show of sticking out his tongue as though he were asphyxiating when Mitch knotted the tie. They both looked cute as could be, though, and ought to be able to stay that way at least until the end of the ceremony.
The wind was sending snowflakes against the windows and the children were downstairs, when Mitch’s reflection loomed behind Lilith’s own in their bedroom mirror. He was perfectly turned out in his tux, his wavy hair combed to some sort of order, a smile curving his firm lips.
Lilith’s heart made the little flutter at the sight of Mitch that she sincerely hoped would never stop. “Need help with that zipper?” he asked, and Lilith nodded mutely. The black and white of his tux complemented the deep ruby red of her evening dress, the garnet rose on Mitch’s lapel marking them as a couple.
Lilith liked that.
“You’ll outshine the bride,” Mitch teased in a low voice, taking his time with the zipper, then running a leisurely fingertip across her bare shoulders. His golden eyes gleamed when Lilith caught her breath, the warmth of his fingertip meandered down her spine. “Have I mentioned that this is a very sexy dress, Mrs. Davison?”
“About forty times,” Lilith admitted with a smile. “Today.”
“Then, let’s make it forty-one,” Mitch breathed. “I like your hair up - it leaves lots of neck free for nibbling.” He caught her shoulders in the strength of his hands and as Lilith watched in the mirror, bent to kiss her nape.
His breath and the gentleness of his touch made Lilith shiver, but she straightened deliberately. “If you’re going to do that all night, I’ll have to wear a jacket.”
“Mmm, then I’ll have to behave,” Mitch murmured, showing no immediate intention of doing so. His hands slid around her waist, his kisses ambled closer to her earlobe. Lilith was trapped between his hips and the dresser and didn’t really want to escape. “Is it all right with you if I fantasize about the matron of honor during the ceremonies?”
Lilith laughed. “Fair enough. I’ll be thinking about taking off the best man’s tux.”
Mitch’s eyes glinted with mischief as he met her gaze in the mirror. “With your teeth?”
Lilith pivoted in his embrace and looped her arms around his neck. “It could be arranged,” she whispered, then stretched to kiss him.
Mitch was every bit as delicious as he had been that very first time. Lilith loved the taste of him and the smell of him; she loved going to sleep in his arms and waking up with their legs tangled together. She liked living together and laughing together, cooking together and raising the kids together. They had sold her house, Lilith more than ready for the challenge of rescuing another, and Mitch good naturedly lugged paint and stripped ancient wallpaper at her command.
Maybe one day they’d have more children, or maybe that wasn’t destined to be. Lilith didn’t care. She was happy and she knew from the light in his eyes that Mitch was happy, too.
It was more than enough. All that good stuff, Mitch had once called it - and this certainly was good.
Long moments later, Mitch lifted his head and stepped away. “Ready?”
“This is as good as it gets,” Lilith said with a smile. She touched up her lipstick and dropped it into her evening bag, then turned to find that Mitch had conjured a small blue gift box tied with a white satin ribbon.
“Maybe you need just one more thing,” he suggested softly.
Lilith looked from the box to him. “What’s that?”
Mitch shrugged. “You’ll have to open it to find out.”
Clearly he wasn’t going to give her any hints. Curious, Lilith accepted the box and untied the ribbon. She opened the lid to find two matched gold rings - one big, one smaller - nestled in the deep blue velvet lining.
“They look like wedding rings, old ones.” Lilith looked questioningly to Mitch, who stepped closer.
With gentle fingers, he lifted the pair of rings from the box and his smile faded. “They were my parents’ rings,” he admitted, his voice unusually husky. “Andrea gave them to me the other day.”
“She must have thought you’d want them as a memento,” Lilith suggested, not expecting Mitch to look up so quickly.
“I do,” he affirmed, then lifted the smaller one between his finger and thumb. “But I don’t want to tuck this box away somewhere, as though they’re just more things to store.” Mitch took a deep breath and Lilith knew whatever he was going to say was important to him. “And I thought that this might be the perfect night to show them to you.”
“Since we’re going to a wedding?” Lilith asked with a smile.
“Exactly.” Mitch returned her smile, then frowned down at the ring he was rolling between his finger and thumb. “I’d like these to be our wedding rings, Lilith,” he said quietly. “I’m not superstitious, but I think it would be good luck.”
Mitch glanced up, his expression somber, a question lurking in his eyes. “Lilith, would you wear my mother’s ring?”
Lilith saw the memory of his parents’ love
shining in those golden eyes, as well as that tiny reflection of herself waving back. “Are you sure? They’re quite precious to have. I wouldn’t want them to be damaged.”
Mitch nodded firmly. “They’d be pleased, both that we’ve found each other and that we’re wearing their rings. And they’re already broken in.”
Lilith could only smile. “You sound as though you don’t think your parents know about us.”
Mitch’s gaze flicked to hers, then his lips curved in a slow smile. “Maybe they do,” he conceded, clearly liking that possibility.
Lilith put her hand on his. “I’d be honored to wear your mother’s ring, Mitch. Andrea told me that they had a wonderful marriage.”
“A love for all time,” Mitch said as he slipped the smaller ring onto her finger and Lilith wasn’t sure whether that was an agreement or a pledge.
It suited her either way.
When the ring was at the base of Lilith’s finger, Mitch looked into her eyes. “Perfect fit,” he mused.
Lilith picked up the other ring and slid it onto Mitch’s ring finger. It also fit as though it had been made for him. She stretched up to brush her lips across his.
“Kismet,” she whispered, her heart singing when Mitch kissed her soundly.
Because that was exactly what it was.
* * *
If you enjoyed LOVE POTION #9 and you post a review online, you could win a free book from Claire!
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* * *
Ready for more time travel romance?
Please read on for a taste of THE MOONSTONE,
now available in new digital and print editions.
* * *
THE MOONSTONE ©1999, 2011 Claire Delacroix, Inc.
North Britain - September 1390
Sir Niall of Malloy was not in a good mood.
’Twas the kind of rainy winter morning that made his knee ache in memory of a battle wound he would prefer to forget. His belly growled in mighty protest of the fact that he had not had even the time the break his fast before he had been summoned. ’Twas only made worse by the reason why he had been summoned so early this morn.
Because Niall sorely disliked executing prisoners.
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..”
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