A cold hand clenched around Niall’s heart. “Aye.”
“Well, ’twas not recently. ’Tis true that I knew Richard afore, some years ago.”
“Nay, Majella. Not Elizabeth.”
’Twas indicative of that child’s exhaustion that she did not even glance up at her name. Monty, Niall noted with approval, eased Elizabeth slightly further away from her mother that there might be no danger of her overhearing what was said.
The two men’s gazes held for a significant moment and Niall saw a new seriousness in the man he assumed to never be serious.
Perhaps ’twould serve Majella well to know a man with midwifery skills.
“Aye, Niall, ’tis not a pretty tale. Richard came to the funeral, indeed he read the mass, and he was such an elegant man. He was so very charming to me.”
“I recall his presence,” Niall acknowledged, though at the time, he had assumed grieving Majella unaware of such details.
Majella heaved a sigh. “Truly I had never seen a man so finely wrought and he was such endearing company. And you know, that match was not a good one. ’Twas difficult to mourn its passing. And Richard was so marvelous. He visited me numerous times…”
“Spare me the detail,” Niall interjected.
“Well, there was a child, you might as well know it all. From the marriage. I was carrying it at the funeral. But I lost it and was so upset. A babe lost! ’Twas devastating - yet Richard came and was so compassionate, and well, I suppose ’twas not within me to refuse a little affection when so much had gone so recently awry…”
“And then you conceived again.”
Majella bit her lip and nodded. “I could not see the harm in insisting ’twas the same child come late. Indeed, ’twas how I preferred to think of it.”
And no doubt how the archbishop preferred to think of it, knowing now his distaste for bastards. Niall could not help but look back at the girl.
Elizabeth was the archbishop’s child.
She was Viviane’s half-sister, which was a most curious thought.
Niall halted suddenly and seized Majella’s elbow. “Did he ever grant the child a gift?”
Majella looked flustered as the babe in Niall’s arms began to stir at his abrupt move. “Well, he did, but ’twas no large thing and certainly not appropriate for a small child…”
“A pendant. He gave her a pendant.” Niall’s voice rose in his excitement. “’Tis mounted with a moonstone.”
Majella stared up at him, her confusion clear. “How could you know that?” she demanded and his heart began to pound. If Viviane could not come to him, then Niall would go to her! It could be done! “Niall, what is this about? You look most fevered, which is not like you in the least.”
“Did he or did he not give the child a pendant?”
“You sound as Richard did,” Majella said crossly. “He insisted on knowing what had happened to that cursed stone and I lied to him, for I did not like the look in his eyes. And I did not like how he looked at Elizabeth. But how could you know of her pendant? The child has not even seen it herself…”
“Where is it, Majella? Where is the stone?”
She huffed and glared at him as the baby fussed, then plucked the child out of his arms. “I left it at our lodgings when we came to wish you well. ’Tis in the care of the keeper…”
“Do you trust this man fully?”
Majella smiled ruefully, then cooed for the baby. “As much as any. What ails you so? Why is this of such import?”
“We must retrieve it, Majella.”
“We cannot. ’Tis too far. And indeed, it belongs to Elizabeth,” Majella insisted with a stubborn heft of her chin. “’Tis hers by right and it shall remain hers for as long as I have anything to say of the matter.”
Niall halted and pulled his sister around to face him, letting her see his determination. “Zounds, Majella, it cannot be too far! I shall carry each and every one of you upon my shoulders, if needs demand it. We must retrieve the pendant with all haste!”
“This is of great import to you.”
“’Tis all to me,” Niall acknowledged. “But you speak aright in that it belongs to Elizabeth. Truth be told, this pendant could win her much, far more than her father ever believed when he granted it.” Niall smiled encouragement when his sister looked astonished. “Let me tell you a tale, Majella, and at the end, you shall make the choice of what is to be done.” He squeezed her shoulders once. “I swear it to you.”
*
Chapter Twenty-One
The third rejection letter was the last straw.
Viviane opened the package from New York with shaking fingers, hoping that it held better news than the last two had, then sighed with disappointment.
Maybe she wasn’t a good writer, after all. In fact, these publishers had taken three pages to enumerate all the things they disliked about her tale. Viviane shoved the letter back into the envelope with the dog-eared manuscript and left the store, feeling Barb’s sympathetic gaze follow her. Viviane was glad Barb didn’t say anything because she probably would have just started to cry.
In the end, it didn’t seem that she was such a lucky person after all.
Maybe she just couldn’t believe in her father’s good will any more, not after having met the nasty person in question. Maybe the moonstone had been her good luck talisman, despite her father’s malice, and losing it had ended Viviane’s marathon streak of good fortune. Maybe it was really about attitude - as so many books insisted - but Viviane couldn’t summon the energy to care.
It had been six weeks since her return and she missed Niall every bit as much as that first day. Maybe more. It certainly wasn’t getting any easier to be without him, despite what some of the books in Barb’s shop insisted.
It was being without Niall, without her one true love, that ate away at her and Viviane knew it.
Just as she knew there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
She didn’t have to like it.
Viviane lay awake at night, wondering whether Niall had even survived that night and hating that she would never know. His armor taunted her from the floor where he had left it, tormenting her with the fact that its presence here could have been responsible for his death there.
She had finally worked up the gumption to check one of the books in the history section, which only referred to Cantlecroft as a footnote in the peasant rebellions of the fourteenth century. Cantlecroft had ceased to be in 1390, as Monty had once said, though pertinent details were unavailable.
Nothing was going right for Viviane any more.
She turned away from the glow spilling from Joe’s bakery, she avoided what little bustle there was in Ganges’ sleepy core. The last thing she wanted was company. Viviane returned Ryan’s nod as that increasingly familiar man passed her on his way to Barb’s, a tube beneath his arm that Viviane knew contained yet more drawings for Barb’s garden.
The amazing Mouats held no fascination for Viviane these days - in fact, going there just reminded her of Niall and the glow in his eyes when she tried on those rubbers. The green rubbers themselves had been consigned to the darkest corner of her room, a room that trumpeted memories of Niall from all sides. She couldn’t bear to part with his armor, let alone his array of pristinely packaged toothbrushes.
It began to rain, a lazy soft sort of rain which suited Viviane’s mood perfectly. It seemed to her that the sky was weeping sympathetically for her plight.
Her dragging footsteps turned of their own accord to the beach and soon she found herself standing on the very spot where she had returned to Ganges. The sea lapped at her toes, its surface shimmering silver and pewter as far as she could see.
If this had been a tale of any merit at all, Viviane concluded with annoyance, the sea would have returned what it had stolen from her. Right now. A mermaid would have appeared from the mist to grant her a gift, or a clamshell would have opened at her feet to display her shattered moonstone pendant, magically repaired.
She was confusing fanciful tales with the truth again. Viviane couldn’t help that she found such tales much more appealing. She heaved a sigh and folded her arms across her chest, watching a little crab scurry out of the way of the gentle roll of the waves.
She supposed she should figure out a way to get on with things, to make a new start, to put the past behind. She couldn’t summon a lot of enthusiasm for the idea and looked for a helpful mermaid one more time.
The crab started at a sudden flash of blue light, then darted in the opposite direction. The light came from behind Viviane, but before she could look, a familiar voice carried down the beach.
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Kowabunga - it worked!”
Viviane spun around to find Monty dancing a wild jig on the sand behind her. Monty!
Just Monty.
He punched his fists at the sky, then fell on his hands and knees. “Man, oh man, I can like relate to the Pope,” he muttered inexplicably, then noisily kissed the beach. He did it twice more then bounced to his feet, hailing Viviane with a wave. “Viviane, babe, how are you?”
She didn’t want to hurt his feelings by pointing out that sand clung to his whiskers. He looked even more disreputable than the first time she had met him but she was glad to see him all the same.
“Monty!”
“Yeah, babe, it’s me!” He let out a hoot, then ran to her and scooped her up in a hug. “And man, it’s good to be back in ye olde Salt Spring.”
Viviane couldn’t help looking past his shoulder, but Monty was clearly alone. Her heart twisted and she remembered a little too vividly that Niall never had confessed to having any feelings for her.
Maybe she had been wrong about him.
“Hey, like why the long face?” Monty playfully jabbed his fingers into her cheeks and forced her lips into a curve of a smile. “Miss me?”
Viviane wrinkled her nose, seizing an excuse she knew he’d understand. “My tale of Gawain was rejected today, for the third time.”
“No kidding.” He gave her a quick hug. “That’s some bitch. Was it like a form letter? Those are the worst.” He affected a haughty tone and matching pose. “Dear Author. Unfortunately we find absolutely no merit in your work and find its presence in our offices singularly offensive. Good luck finding a sucker elsewhere. Sincerely, the Editors.”
Viviane smiled despite herself. “Not quite that bad.” She folded her arms across her chest, wondering how she would ask what she really wanted to know without sounding desperate. “Although they did take three pages to tell me everything they disliked about the book.”
Monty’s expression brightened. “No kidding? A real letter? You got like a real letter? And it was three pages long?”
Viviane nodded. “The letter made it clear that they didn’t want the book, Monty - let alone all the reasons why.”
“Viviane, babe, that’s like gold!” He grinned like a madman. “You’re in. People would kill for a letter like that. It’s good news, a good rejection. Make those changes, and you’ll have a sale.” Monty rubbed his hands gleefully together. “Do you want an introduction to my agent? He’s a shark at the negotiating table and with this kind of interest, you’ll need…”
Viviane put her hand on Monty’s arm as he showed no signs of stopping soon. “Monty, how did you get here?”
Monty fell silent mid-sentence. He studied her, his expression as serious as Viviane had ever seen.
She guessed that he saw more than she would have liked, because he tapped the end of her nose with a gentle finger. “Hey, you already know how I got here,” he said quietly. “And you’re right - ah, I saw you look! - I came alone.” He wrinkled his nose. “What can I say? Everyone wants a guinea pig and -” he deepened his voice in obvious mimicry “- ’tis only good sense to ensure…”
“But…”
Viviane’s question was cut short by a second shimmer of blue light. She winced even as her heart started to sing and peeked through her lashes as soon as she could stand the brightness.
But it was only Majella. She wavered on her feet, her arms full of young children at various levels of disorientation. Monty quickly stepped forward to help her, extracting children and setting them on their feet, sparing Majella a hearty buss.
“Hey, babe, like welcome to my world. You okay?”
Majella conjured a trembling smile. “Oh, Monty, I shall never become accustomed to your strange speech.”
“We’ll work on it,” Monty insisted and Majella flushed slightly beneath his intense gaze, looking suddenly like a young girl. They exchanged greetings and Viviane noticed that there were only four children with her. She dared to hope one more time.
Monty and Majella exchanged a smile, then Majella glanced over her shoulder expectantly. All of them closed their eyes against a brilliant shimmer of light. Viviane was running into the light even before she could see where she was going. She knew who was coming last, she knew who would ensure that everyone was safely departed before he followed, she knew that her luck was changing back to the good side one more time.
Viviane knew her hero was coming back to her, just like an old tale.
And she wasn’t disappointed. Niall appeared before her very eyes, looking as golden and as hale as she recalled. Matthew clung to his hand, Elizabeth held Matthew’s hand. Mark hung from his uncle’s shoulder and another wide-eyed toddler was nestled in the crook of Niall’s arm.
And in his left hand, a moonstone pendant remarkably like Viviane’s own reflected the shimmer of the sea and the rain. Its chain was knotted around his fingers, the pendant swinging free. Viviane immediately understood that they had each held it to make their wish, then Niall snatched it back in the nick of time.
“Niall!” Viviane cried and fell upon him. He divested himself of children and caught her against him with a chuckle, lifting her high in a bone-crushing hug.
“My Viviane,” he whispered against her throat, a thread of uncertainty in his tone. His cheek was pressed to hers and Viviane felt the anxious thunder of his heart.
He hadn’t been sure.
They might as well have been alone. Viviane pulled back and framed his face in her hands, needing to touch him to know for certain that he was here. “You came back,” she whispered, suddenly shy. She was painfully aware in this moment that there was no sweet pledge between them.
“Aye,” he whispered, his green gaze searching. “I had a confession and a question for you that could not be denied.”
Viviane parted her lips but no sound came out.
“I love you, Viviane,” Niall declared. “I love you as never a man has loved a woman before.” A vulnerability dawned in his expression, the sight tearing at Viviane’s heart. “Will you wed me now, knowing the truth of it?”
“Oh yes!” Viviane laughed, she cried, she rained kisses all over Niall’s face even as he began to chuckle.
“Tears,” he mused moments later, brushing one fingertip tenderly across her cheek. “You should know that I cannot bear to see a woman weep.” He arched one brow, mischief lighting his eyes as he tugged her even closer. “I shall have to coax your smile, my Viviane. Be warned that you may have need of your rubbers.”
“No,” she whispered. “Not any more.”
Niall’s eyes flashed, he laughed aloud for the first time in Viviane’s experience. He looked younger, yet more vital, a man filled with the promise of the future.
Her man and the promise of their future.
Viviane’s heart sang as Niall interlaced their fingers and lifted his hand high. The moonstone glinted as he swung it by the chain. He looked once to Majella who nodded emphatically, then he flung the stone far out to sea. It flashed once before it splashed in the distance, then it was gone, swallowed by the ocean forever.
Majella applauded, Monty gave a hoot of delight, and they two continued their course toward the town. The children trailed behind them, full of questions and earthy demands now that they were
recovered from the transition.
“We begin anew, my Viviane,” Niall declared, his intent gaze fixed upon her, his fingertips on her jaw. “The past can haunt you no longer.”
He brushed his lips across hers and Viviane shivered. Niall smiled down at her and she reached up to trace the curve of his firm lips. “I like when you smile,” she confided and his grin broadened.
“Then we shall have to ensure each other’s happiness,” he teased. “Aye, I shall pledge it to you.”
To seal that vow, Niall dipped his head and kissed Viviane so thoroughly that she thought her heart would burst. Her knight was a man of his word and she had no doubt he would keep his pledge.
In fact, the warm certainty of Niall’s love proved to Viviane that her luck had never falter despite her doubts. He had loved her all along. She knew now that she should have never doubted it, just as she knew she would be blessed with good fortune for all her days.
Not to mention her nights.
*
Epilogue
It was the Tuesday before Easter, on a misty April morning, that Ryan saw the electric blue flower.
He had just come up to tuck a few more plants into Barb’s new flower beds when she wasn’t looking - a columbine with three perfect blossoms, a lady’s mantle with its yellow blooms just in bud. He knew that Barb would like the shape of the columbine flowers - they were like fragile trumpets - and the ruffling on the edge of the lady’s mantle leaves.
Ryan was starting to have a pretty good idea of the kinds of things Barb liked. And he liked being able to make her smile once in a while. She looked as though she hadn’t done much of that in the last few years.
He could relate.
He could also relate to how surprised she was whenever anyone did something unexpected and nice for her. Ryan had a feeling that he and Barb were slowly going to get to know each other a whole lot better.
That was fine by him.
He felt as though he was walking through clouds as he climbed the hill to her place and the morning mist swirled around his ankles. Ryan paused more than once to look over the silent harbor, glad for a hundred reasons that he had come here. It was early. Even the birds weren’t up, but he had to catch the first ferry from Fulford to the mainland this morning.
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