“Of course, I am lettered!” Niall crossed the room, his eyes lighting with curiosity as he lifted the volume and fanned through it.
Viviane felt a pang of worry now that her work was out of her hands. “So, you see, it would be a really good way for you to get to understand me, to know what I’m thinking, what I want, what I expect from love and marriage and everything.”
Her words faltered when it became apparent that Niall wasn’t listening.
Because he was reading.
Her book.
A frown furrowed Niall’s brow as he turned the first page. “This is not the tale of Gawain as I recall it.”
“No, I changed it.” Viviane knotted her hands together nervously. “It’s my story of Gawain. That’s what people do here, they start with a story and make it their own, embellishing it and blending it, making it into something different. They don’t just copy as we had to. People expect each book to be different.”
Niall pinned her to the spot with a glance. “And you would trust me with the first reading of your labor?” he demanded with that intensity that stole her breath away. “Viviane!” he whispered and took a step closer, his eyes gleaming.
Oh, it didn’t help that he knew she was trusting him with something important!
Or that he knew it.
She shook a finger at him and backed away. “Just read it, please! And tell me what you think.”
Niall bowed. “Your wish is my command,” he murmured in a way that made her want to take back the book and do something entirely different. But Niall perched on the edge of the bed, his gaze apparently snared by what she had written, and read.
“I guess I’ll go to work,” Viviane said pointedly.
Niall nodded and made a murmur of assent, turning another page and laying it aside. He pursed his lips and leaned back in to the bed, bracing one foot against the mattress, clearly unaware of how magnificently masculine he looked.
Viviane took one lingering glance, knew she should be glad he was interested in her work, and trudged down the stairs.
She hoped he liked it.
She hoped even more that it convinced him of the merit of love.
*
Niall had a difficult time putting his lady’s book aside, though indeed, he knew there were other matters he must resolve. Aye, he had to think, as well as make a plan to not only prove Viviane’s innocence but win her agreement to return to Cantlecroft and set all to rights.
Then he had to figure out how to manage the deed. If all that did not persuade her that he would be a worthy spouse, then Niall could not imagine what would.
Indeed, he trusted in his own ultimate success.
Though, still, Niall wondered at the power of Viviane’s pendant. How did it work? Would it work again? Were there other objects here possessing the same power? He did not know and could not fathom a guess.
And how had Viviane come by such a token in the first place? She said ’twas a gift from her father - had he been of this time?
Niall shook his head, unable to solve such problems so early in the day. With reluctance, he put her book aside, knowing that he had much to do this day before he read at leisure.
After all, he must show his lady that he was responsible. That was the greater obligation before him.
Niall scrubbed himself in the washing room, a whistle on his lips, taking great satisfaction in how the water ceased its flow completely as he turned the spigot. The looking glass over the sink was one of incomparable quality, and Niall considered the new growth gracing his chin.
He should look his best if he meant to persuade Viviane of his case. A good man should be fastidiously groomed, ’twas what his own mother had oft declared. Indeed, she had always spared a kiss for her own spouse and Niall’s father when that man arrived at the board with a clean-shaven face.
Niall fetched his dagger to scrape the whiskers from his chin and began to whistle as he worked. Aye, he would prove his eligibility to Viviane, convince her of the good sense of wedding him, persuade her that there were pleasures aplenty to be had, and ensure that her innocence was proven to the archbishop. And he would read her book, as well, thereby fulfilling the lady’s own demand.
Viviane would not be able to resist such persuasiveness.
’Twas then Niall spied the tiny brush hung above the sink. He fingered its bristles and examined its small size. A useful tool, of that there could be no doubt, and one particularly suited to cleaning small nooks and crannies.
Which reminded him of one particular task which could not be avoided. His gaze drifted across the chamber to the staircase, at the bottom of which reposed the bag Derek had returned to him. It contained the jumble of his discarded mail, a considerable investment that must be protected.
Niall retrieved it, then squatted beside it, pulling the sodden mess of his tabard free. He examined the garment for tears, then hung it in the washroom to drip. His cloak was similarly spread to dry, his chausses and aketon wrung out to the best of his ability before they also were left to drip.
He hunkered down beside the array of remaining metal, scanning the links and disliking the damage already wrought by that salted water. The greaves were well enough - a buff from Viviane’s incomparable “towel” put them back to rights. Yet the mail was in sorry shape. Without a squire, there was none to tend it but Niall himself, and were it not tended, his considerable investment would be worth less than naught.
And he did desire to look his best. Perhaps he should have proposed in all his finery, instead of nude before her.
Perhaps that was part of her quibble with matters. Women, Niall knew, were oft fond of a little ceremony. And this red chemise looked increasingly disreputable. He thought of the coin that was now his own and considered that he should acquire new garb. Aye, a man bent on courting would do well to ensure his lady’s approval.
But where and how, and what to buy?
Niall shook his head, unprepared for the challenge of a day at the mercy of shopkeepers. Nay, here was a task to keep him occupied while he awaited Viviane’s return, a sensible labor and one that would leave him more ready to court affection when ’twas done.
So, Niall fetched what he did not realize was Viviane’s toothbrush and set to work on his mail.
It hurt naught that such a tedious labor gave him ample opportunity to relive the delightful flash of a certain lady’s lovely hazel eyes, or the little sound she made before the pleasure rushed through her, or the wondrous curve of her lips when she smiled for him alone.
Or to plan precisely how he would win those responses from her once more. Niall whistled tunelessly at the prospect of being persuasive.
Aye, there were worse fates than to take a woman to wife who was beauteous, alluring and charming, if occasionally unpredictable. Niall was newly glad that he had won sentry duty on that fateful day and had the good fortune to make the lady’s acquaintance.
Viviane would have said ’twas because of her birth under a blue moon, the very idea making Niall grin. Aye, he could grow accustomed to such harmless whimsy, especially when espoused by such a charming woman as his Viviane.
Niall’s belly growled as he set to work, its volume growing with every passing moment. He began to wonder whether Viviane had skill in the kitchen, as well.
That would be uncommon fortune indeed.
*
Barb was plugging in the kettle when Viviane entered the shop.
“Let me guess - he came back?” she asked dryly.
Viviane laughed. She dropped into her chair at the table and propped her chin on her hands. “Oh, yes!”
Barb shook her head as she put teabags into the pot. “Judging by the sound effects, you didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” she mused, much to Viviane’s confusion. Her boss’s quick glance though made everything clear.
And Viviane felt her cheeks heat. “Well…”
Barb studied the teapot as though it was a lot more interesting than it was. “A little trouble in paradise th
is morning?” she mused, and Viviane realized their argument had been overheard.
“Oh, just a misunderstanding.” She grinned sunnily as she accepted a mug of tea. “Everything will work out, I’m sure of it.”
“Is that right.” Barb shook her head and took the other seat, looking the younger woman right in the eye. “Viviane, you do know that men have commitment disease, don’t you? They fight like tigers whenever they think they might get snared, and lie like the devil to get loose. Men don’t want to settle down, get hitched, tie the knot. They avoid it like the plague - if you’ll forgive the medieval reference - and would rather jump off the Golden Gate bridge than propose.”
Barb shrugged and pushed to her feet, heading back to the kettle. “It’s just the way they are and if your particular catch is trying to bolt into the blue, well, you can’t be too surprised. The really good looking ones never stick around.”
Viviane shook her head vigorously, both impressed by Barb’s protectiveness and anxious to defend Niall. “No, no, you don’t understand, Barb. Niall’s not like that at all. Niall wants to get married.”
Barb pivoted, her eyes wide. “Married? Is that some kind of a joke?”
“He seems very serious about it. In fact, he was pretty annoyed when I turned him down.”
Barb frowned at the whistling kettle as though she didn’t know what to do about it, then unplugged it and crossed the small room with quick steps.
She folded her arms across her chest and stared down at Viviane. “So, let me get this straight. He followed you, you’re glad to see him, and now he wants to marry you? And that’s a problem?”
“Well, yes.” Viviane smiled. “Obviously.”
“Obviously? Viviane! It’s pretty remarkable that he’s so ready to get married - I mean this was the guy who said he wasn’t staying long - and you did keep saying that everything is perfect, never mind that he was your knight and all that jazz.”
Viviane rolled her eyes. “Well, it would be perfect, if Niall could stop talking about duty and responsibility and partnership.” She stuck out her tongue. “It’s not very romantic, is it?”
“Uh huh. Fate worse than death.” Barb leaned back, her assessing gaze fixed on Viviane, and Viviane tried to explain.
“Well, it isn’t! You see, he just doesn’t even talk about love and how could I marry a man who didn’t love me? He says he doesn’t even believe in love, and well, I can’t even imagine thinking anything like that!”
“Love.” Barb sounded a lot like Niall.
“Love.” Viviane sighed at the very thought. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he at least mentioned love, but he keeps saying that it’s his duty to marry me. He goes on and on about responsibilities and children needing a father and -” she grimaced then appealed to Barb “- he’s just so practical about it all!”
“Duty!” Barb raised her brows. “He sounds pretty medieval.” She studied Viviane for a long moment. “Maybe he’s the perfect guy for you,” she said mildly.
“Not unless he changes his thinking! He only wants to marry me so that people don’t question where he’s a man of honor. It’s all about him and his reputation and the fathering of his children. That’s not nearly romantic enough for me.”
Viviane waved one hand. “But don’t worry, it’s all solved now. You said that men didn’t read romances, so I gave him mine and he’s agreed to read it. And once he does that, well, everything will be perfectly obvious and he’ll act like the knight in the story does.”
Barb seemed to be trying not to laugh, although Viviane couldn’t imagine why. “Viviane,” she said and shook her head, her lips quirking. “You are a treat.”
Viviane frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“No, I know.” Barb shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. “You see, real live guys can’t even say the L-word.”
“What L-word?”
“Love. The word tangles up on their tongues and they just can’t spit it out. It gets all knotted up in there, maybe it’s stuck in their teeth. They know what it is and they feel it, but they’d rather die than admit it.”
Viviane blinked. Now, there was a thought. Maybe Niall really did love her but couldn’t say the word. That was an interesting possibility! “Really?”
“Really. Wild horses couldn’t drag it out of them.” Barb shook a finger across the table at Viviane. “They usually can’t manage to say marriage either, so count yourself lucky.” She grinned unexpectedly and pushed her glasses further up her nose. “Maybe you shouldn’t give up on him just yet. Sounds like he has some unexpected promise.”
“Oh, I think so!” Viviane smiled. “Thanks for your advice. You are so wise.”
“Mmm.” Barb flicked a glance across the table. “Well, here’s another bit of advice for free. Do yourself a favor and get some rubbers. I have a feeling you’ll be sharing your bed while you decide about this one. Better safe than sorry.”
Viviane frowned. “Rubbers?”
“No babies, no std’s. They’re cheap and effective.” Barb nodded firmly. “Trust me on this, Viviane, you don’t want to get pregnant before you know exactly where you stand.”
“Pregnant? No, that would only make things worse!” Viviane nodded hastily. If she got pregnant, she knew Niall definitely wouldn’t take no for an answer - he’d toss her over his shoulder and go looking for that priest, whether she was persuaded or not.
And Viviane wanted to be sure before she pledged to remain by a man’s side for all her days and nights.
“Rubbers,” she repeated carefully, so she wouldn’t forget the word, then smiled for Barb. “I’ll find some today.”
*
“I have to go and get rubbers,” the lady occupying Niall’s thoughts announced from the doorway. He glanced up in surprise, not having heard her on the stairs, and wondered how he could have forgotten how alluring she was.
She was wearing another of those short kirtles that drove him mad, this one adorned with yellow flowers on a black ground. Her arms were bare and her hair loose, that cursed pendant fairly glowing against her fair skin. She reached for a jacket hung inside the door, hauled it on and shoved her hands into its deep pockets. “Maybe we could get something to eat on the way.”
“I have coin now so there is no need for you to pay,” Niall agreed, getting quickly to his feet and brushing off his hands. He laid his tools carefully aside, well aware that kissing Derek’s chemise and short chausses were in need of a wash.
And return.
He would have asked Viviane for guidance on acquiring new garb, but she suddenly gasped. She strode across the floor to snatch up the brush he had been using. “What are you doing with this?”
“I clean my mail. ’Tis a most useful implement indeed, for the taint of the salt water is fiercely difficult to work from the links…”
Viviane shook it at him. “Do you know what this is?”
He guessed, despite the dawning sense that he was wrong. “A useful implement for cleaning mail?”
“A toothbrush. It’s a toothbrush, my toothbrush.”
Niall’s eyes narrowed. “Teeth have no hair to be brushed.”
Viviane laughed and shook the brush at him. “That’s what I thought. People clean them here, with this.” She leaned closer. “So their breath smells sweeter.” And she exhaled slightly, the scent of mint filling Niall’s nostrils.
He did not dare imagine how his breath smelled, for he had never conceived of brushing his teeth with mint. He kept his mouth resolutely closed. “I shall return it to you, duly cleaned.”
Viviane grimaced at the state of the brush he had used, her expression and the twinkle in her eyes making her look most appealing. “No. I’ll just buy another one. And one for you too.”
Niall, as always, was concerned about frugality. “Are such tools of great expense?”
“No. A dollar or so.”
Niall considered this, reviewed the money reputedly entrusted to the bankers in his name, then decided to sto
ck up. “’Tis a paltry expense for such usefulness. I shall acquire a quantity for future use.”
After all, he wanted to ensure he looked his best at all times for Viviane. Though ’twas curious that a time with no use for mail developed the perfect tool for its maintenance.
“And what are these rubbers?” he demanded. “Are they of small expense as well? What purpose do they serve?”
“I don’t know how much they cost, but I have to have them.” Viviane turned to the door once more, as though avoiding Niall’s gaze. “Barb said they would keep me from getting pregnant.”
Niall started and stared, unable to hide his astonishment. “Why should you avoid that?”
His lady tossed her hair in a way that did not bode well for the presence of good sense. “That way you won’t have to worry about planting your seed, which means you won’t have to marry me after all.”
Niall was appalled by the very suggestion. “Viviane, what is done is done and my obligation to you unchanged, regardless of whether you acquire these rubbers or not. ’Tis unnatural to tamper with the course of God.”
She folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin, her eyes snapping with defiance. “Well, I’m not persuaded that we should be married.”
Niall smiled slowly, infinitely reassured by her choice of words. He reached out and captured her hand, tracing a circle on its back with his thumb. “Then I shall have to be more persuasive.” He bent and brushed his lips across her knuckles, smiling against her skin when she shivered. “Perhaps, there is no need for haste in seeking a meal,” he murmured.
The lady snatched her hand away, but not quickly enough to hide her response from Niall. “Did you read my book?”
“Nay, Viviane, a responsible man does not mark his leisure before his labor is done.”
Instead of being impressed by this, Viviane’s eyes flashed. “Leisure? Learning about love isn’t leisure!”
Time Travel Romances Boxed Set Page 89