Time Travel Romances Boxed Set

by Claire Delacroix

  The archbishop pointed to the advancing masses, their murmuring already audible, with every vestige of righteous indignation he could summon. “Intruders come to assault the keep! Go forth and slaughter them all!”

  The captain of the guard moved to one window, tipped his visor and frowned. “But my lord, this is no army. ’Tis the people of Cantlecroft!”

  “Aye! They rebel against my authority. They are sinners, one and all! We have no need of prisoners. I have no obligation to feed and shelter them all in my dungeons at considerable expense. Kill them!”

  Gaultier hesitated most tellingly.

  The archbishop leaned closer. “Fear not,” he said smoothly, “for God will recognize his own.”

  Gaultier frowned. “But my lord, with respect, there was some trouble in the village after Aaron Goldsmith’s demise and it would seem wise…”

  The archbishop drew himself to his full height. “And you would question my wisdom.”

  The captain of the guard looked down. “Nay, my lord. Of course not, my lord, but still…”

  “If you choose to defy me, then you may be the first to die,” the archbishop amended with a smile, letting threat slide into his tone. “’Tis unhealthy to foster disobedience within one’s guard.”

  Gaultier’s lips thinned and he closed his visor with a snap. “Your will shall be done, my lord.” His voice hardened. “As always.” He gestured to Niall of Malloy. “What of this one?”

  The archbishop settled back in his favored chair, flicked his robes and smiled. “Truly I tire of this digression. Divest him of his blade and kill him.”

  ’Twould be perfect, truly. The archbishop had little doubt that his daughter would return. Aye, those ensnared by love’s sweet lie oft made foolish choices at their own expense. She would return for Niall of Malloy.

  And his bleeding body would distract her sufficiently long enough for the archbishop to retrieve his moonstone. As an added advantage, Niall of Malloy would interfere with the archbishop’s plans no longer.

  Perhaps he would ‘forgive’ Majella, once her brother was dead.

  “My lord?”

  “You heard my command, Gaultier,” the archbishop snapped. “I will see him dead by your own hand and immediately.” He inclined a hand toward the window and the sound of the approaching hordes. “You have other labor at hand.”

  One of the guards divested Niall of his sword, though that man released his blade reluctantly. A nick on the wrist persuaded him to surrender it, and he was quickly divested of his other, smaller, blade.

  Still Niall stood with defiance, his gaze unswerving from the archbishop’s. “You take naught from me,” he said in a low voice. “Viviane, who was innocent of your charges, is free.”

  The archbishop saw the guards turn to look at him, questioningly. “For the moment. ’Tis of no matter.” He gestured impatiently to Gaultier.

  “Is it not?” Niall demanded, the command in his tone apparently compelling the captain of the guard to pause. “All of these men witnessed her departure, inexplicable by any other than magical means.”

  He turned to the guards as he pointed to the archbishop. “’Twas this man who devised those magical means, this man who has the power of sorcery beneath his hand.” Niall fixed the archbishop with a telling glance. “Would you have all these guards killed - as you swore to have me killed - simply for knowing of the truth?”

  The archbishop clenched his hands on the arms of his chair. He could nigh feel the doubt sliding through the ranks of his own men. Such impertinence!

  “He lies! And he lies so well because he is beneath the spell of that convicted witch. Kill him now, before you are bewitched in turn!”

  “How long have you stood in this chamber, Gaultier?” Niall asked crisply. “Do you recall my arrival here? ’Twas you who were enchanted when I arrived and it could not have been by Viviane, who was imprisoned in the dungeons at that time.”

  Gaultier pushed up his visor again, glancing over his shoulder to the archbishop. His gaze fell tellingly to the bowl, which still exuded the mist necessary for such minor spells.

  “Lies!” the archbishop cried, desperate to see his will done. “Can you not see how he undermines your thoughts? ’Tis the way of sorcerors and witches, to make their twisted thoughts seem as your own. Kill him while you can! Kill him afore ’tis too late for all of us!”

  “I cannot kill an unarmed man,” the captain of the guard said slowly.

  “He is not unarmed! He casts spells even as you hesitate to do what is right!”

  “I know naught of spells and sorcery,” Niall insisted softly. “I am but a man of honor, deceived by the man who had the least right to serve me poorly.” He arched a brow. “Do not believe for a moment, Gaultier, that you are any less disposable to this one. He would have killed Viviane simply because she was his own child and he wished none to know he had spawned a bastard.”

  Gaultier’s eyes widened in alarm, but the archbishop leapt off his chair. “Nay! You infect their thoughts with lies!” He snatched the blade of one of the sentries and drove it toward Niall’s throat.

  That man did not step away, his gaze did not waver. Insolence! He deserved to die!

  But ’twas not Niall of Malloy who felt the bite of a blade at his throat. The archbishop choked on the cold bite of steel. He looked up the length of the blade, even as his grip on his own faltered, to find disappointment in Gaultier’s dark eyes.

  “No man of honor kills an unarmed man,” he declared quietly. “And no man kills his own blood.” He flicked a glance to Niall. “’Tis telling indeed that I do not recall this man’s arrival in these chambers, nor do I recall the sun fading from the sky this day.” Gaultier smiled thinly. “As you well recall, my lord, I have a fine memory. And I have never liked that bowl.”

  With that, his lips tightened and the archbishop felt the blade bite deeper.

  He knew no more after that, which in the end was good. ’Twould have nigh killed him to see his magical bowl dropped from that window to shatter on the stones below.

  He would have been troubled to know that shortly thereafter, peasants flowed freely through his halls and partook of their bounty. He would not have appreciated seeing prisoners released en masse, or Aaron Goldsmith’s sons granted many of the gold coins locked safely in his treasury as compense for their parents’ untimely death. He would have been sorely distressed to witness those same peasants set fire to his keep and stand back silently to watch it burn.

  He certainly would not have been pleased to see Niall of Malloy turn his back on Cantlecroft virtually unscathed, though he might well have savored the shadows in that man’s eyes.

  *

  Contrary to his own expectation, Niall of Malloy was not dead.

  And contrary to a small stubborn hope, Viviane had not returned to seek him out. Niall could not help but be disappointed, despite his own good health. He tended his duties, retrieved his sister, her children and Monty from the dungeon, then led them away from the chaos that had seized Cantlecroft.

  “Wowsers,” Monty declared as they walked away from the burning of the keep. “This is like some kind of Senso-round experience. How does this work? Where are the projectors? It’s like almost real. No wonder you people get so hooked on it!”

  Majella chuckled and shook her head at his manner, but Niall frowned. “’Tis real, Monty.”

  The other man blinked, then hastened to match his step to Niall’s. “What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean real?”

  “’Tis truly happening. The archbishop is truly dead, his keep truly burns, those peasants so glad to see the end of him will likely have another unworthy overlord before the year is out.” Niall sighed, feeling the world had no promise at all. He could have used a measure of Viviane’s cheer, but ’twas clear he was not to have it.

  Perhaps she did not truly love him after all.

  Or perhaps, love was a fleeting thing for his Viviane. Niall’s heart ached with the certainty tha
t his love would not be fleeting. Nay, he would cherish her memory until his dying day.

  Alone.

  But Viviane was not faithless. Viviane had pledged her love to him. Indeed, Niall’s heart still sang a little in recollection of her words. Her ardor had shone in her eyes so that he could not doubt her sincerity.

  And Viviane was one who held her course. Nay, if she did not return, then ’twas because she could not return.

  Though that did little to improve Niall’s mood. Six centuries were still lodged firmly between they two and the prospect of matters remaining that way did naught to bolster his spirits.

  Aye, he could live decades.

  “But, but, but,” Monty’s words and steps faltered. He looked over his shoulder, staring back at the keep as Niall trudged onward. “But that would mean that this really is 1390 in Cantlecroft!”

  “Oh course ’tis that,” Majella retorted, rolling her eyes and twitching her skirts as she passed him. She was tired and Niall could see the truth of it. He took her elbow and she smiled for him, letting him carry the new babe still wrapped in Monty’s chemise. “And what of Viviane?” she asked pertly.

  Niall shrugged. “She is gone.”

  “Not dead?”

  “Nay, she fled to another place.” Niall had a sense he should not speak overmuch of where he had been and what had happened.

  “Is she coming back?” Matthew demanded as he came to hang on to Niall’s scabbard.

  “I do not think so.”

  “So, she’s just like gone! And I’m just like stuck! What is that all about?”

  “There is naught to be done about the matter, Monty,” Niall said tiredly. “We shall all have to become accustomed to the change.”

  “’Twill no easier for you than for her, Niall,” Majella murmured. “That woman did not leave by her own choice, or at least ’tis something of import keeping her from your side. I know a smitten woman when I see one -” she shook a finger under his nose with affection “- not to mention a smitten man.”

  Niall could not smile, even at his sister’s teasing. He wanted only to leave this place behind them. His knee ached with vigor and it seemed that Dame Fortune had not smiled overmuch on him this day.

  “But this is all impossible!” Monty cried. “It’s nuts. It can’t be 1390…”

  “’Tis not impossible if ’tis obviously so,” Majella snapped. She rolled her eyes and gave Niall’s elbow a squeeze. Monty muttered behind them, but neither spared him much notice.

  He would come to terms with his fate, Niall guessed. ’Twas regrettable that Monty had not been able to return to his own time with Viviane, but what was done was done.

  And there was naught he could do about it. Aye, his life was a failure from one end to the other.

  “Where is it we are going?” Majella asked.

  “I do not know. Away. As far as possible.”

  “Hmm. If we continue on to Ledworth, which is just along the way a bit, there is a friend of mine who might see his way to lending us a chamber or two.”

  “A friend?” Niall could not help but ask, his tone chilly. “What manner of friend?”

  “Exactly the manner of friend you are thinking,” his sister declared, her tone so surprisingly sharp that he glanced her way. Her eyes were snapping. “In all honesty, Niall, how many choices do you believe that I have had?”

  “You did wed twice..”

  “Aye, and had five children as a result. How many men do you believe would willingly take on such a number of babes that were not his own?” Majella held up an impatient hand. “You have not to answer that, for I know the answer. None! Not a one and ’twas not for a lack of trying on my part! I am not even plain!” she cried. “but it mattered not. Any man who professed his interest changed his thinking when he saw my babes.” She flicked a glance Niall’s way and her voice softened. “And what was I to do? Abandon my own blood?”

  Niall slipped her hand from the crook of his arm, capturing it within the warmth of his own. “Nay, Majella, but you had my aid.”

  “Oh, Niall, ’twas good of you and I knew it well, just as I knew it could not last. However fond you are of my children, they are not your children. And you can be certain that even if you felt an obligation, many a wife would not have looked kindly upon your support of me.”

  She reached up and patted his cheek. “’Twas only a matter of time before you had babes of your own and a man’s coin can only stretch so far. Nay, I did what I had need of doing. For my babes.” She lifted her chin proudly and Niall felt a surge of admiration for her resolve.

  He had under-estimated Majella, for she was indeed driven by a kind of practicality. ’Twas unexpected and noble, though still he was not enamored of her means. The children could learn that a family should be thus, that a woman should whore to feed her babes, that a father need not take responsibility for the planting of his seed. ’Twas a dangerous example that could color their own futures.

  “But Majella…”

  “Oh, but naught! Do not lecture me upon right and wrong in this moment, Niall of Malloy, after the day we have had.” Majella granted him a scathing glance. “’Tis true enough that these deeds won me three more babes and I know it well enough, but all of them ate well and slept in warm beds at night. A man tends to be indulgent of his mistress, as he would not be of a wife.”

  “We had fine suppers at Ledworth,” Matthew contributed and Niall was horrified that at least he understood much of what his mother did.

  Zounds, would Matthew grow up believing that what Majella had done was right?

  “Look at this babe, Niall,” Majella urged, running a gentle finger along the cheek of her brood’s newest member. “Have you ever seen such innocence? Such sweetness? When I look at my children, it matters little from whence they have come. They are here, they are my joy -” her voice hardened “- and I will do anything to ensure their welfare.” She looked up at Niall, her eyes glittering with determination. “Anything.”

  And Niall realized that he and his sister shared this resolve. He recognized the power of the love that drove her, for he had also felt its bite. Indeed, he would have done anything to see Viviane safe, he had nigh done as much. He had shredded his own hopes to see her granted her own. He would not have regretted his own death, if it had seen her free.

  Perhaps he and Majella had more in common than he had oft believed.

  “Ledworth, then,” he conceded, giving her fingers a squeeze. “As Matthew so heartily recommends the fare.”

  They trudged in silence, each lost in their thoughts. Niall wondered whether he could find employ as a man at arms in Ledworth, or if he should wait and offer his services to whoever assumed suzerainty of Cantlecroft. Behind them, Monty muttered to himself, his soft swearing periodically interjected with the word ‘impossible’.

  “You are dying to know, I am certain,” Majella finally said and Niall thought it rude to confess his lack of comprehension. “And I suppose you should know sooner rather than later.” She smiled up at Niall, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “This friend in Ledworth is this one’s father. I suspect he would like to see the babe.”

  “But not take responsibility for it?” Niall asked stiffly.

  Majella laughed aloud. “Oh, his wife would not care for that!”

  And Niall was shocked to silence. He stared at the child who bore his own name and could not think of a thing to say.

  Except maybe one.

  “And the others?” he asked softly.

  Majella sighed. “Timothy is his fruit as well,” she admitted, referring to the three-year-old tottering ahead of them. “’Tis how I can so readily guess his response. He will want to see the child, he will grant me some coin and a kiss.” Majella’s smile faded. “Then he will return to his wife and the four babes of that match, who know him as their father in truth. I shall be expected to leave quietly, so that his wife is not disturbed by these hints of his indiscretions.”

  “To another friend.”
<
br />   Majella lifted her chin. “Aye.”

  Her ensuing silence was telling and Niall knew that she was not so pleased with her situation as she would have him believe.

  Before he could say anything, Monty stepped up beside Majella. He scooped up Timothy when the boy stumbled and the child nestled against his shoulder with a sigh. Monty held the next eldest Elizabeth by the hand. The other children trailed behind him sleepily, except Matthew who was yet fast by Niall’s side.

  Listening, no doubt.

  “Hey, babe, you have like sold yourself way short of the measure,” that man said, much to brother and sister’s surprise.

  “What do you know of it?” Majella demanded. “A man has no obligation to care for his children, he has no need to even look upon their faces when they come into the world.”

  Monty’s lips thinned. “Any man with a soul would be happy enough just to look at your face for the rest of his life.”

  “Oh!” Majella blushed, then glanced sidelong at Monty. “Oh!” Monty trudged along without looking at her, as though he was embarrassed by his own comment. “I have yet to thank you for your aid.”

  “Hey, it was nothing. You like did all the tough stuff.” He winked at her, his smile tired. “Came through like a trooper.”

  “Oh.” Majella’s cheeks stayed stubbornly pink, but Niall was not interested in their mutual admiration. He wanted all the truth laid bare now that opportunity presented itself.

  “And Elizabeth?” he asked gently.

  Majella bit her lip, her fingers tightening on his as Monty was evidently forgotten. “Oh, Niall, I lied to you and I am sorry.”

  But Niall had already suspected as much and had for a long time. He smiled at his sister. “That Elizabeth was born overly late of your second husband’s seed?”

  Majella blinked. “Oh, that as well! I have lied to you twice then. Will you forgive me?”

  Now Niall was surprised. “Tell me first of the lie.”

  Majella averted her gaze and her voice dropped low. “Remember when you asked me when I had joined the archbishop in his chamber?”