Claire Delacroix (38 page)

She had died a fortnight later, before Viviane could ask the reason why.

Now, she knew. Her mother had recognized the father of her child. He could not have been the archbishop in the days of Viviane’s conception. Perhaps her mother had not known where he had gone.

Viviane wished that they had never found out.

“Viviane is your daughter?” Niall demanded, his outrage clear. “And you condemned your own blood to die? What manner of man is so faithless as that?”

The archbishop folded his arms across his chest and looked impatient. “Truly, ’tis hard to believe that I once thought you keen of wit, Niall of Malloy. Do you know what ’twould do to my reputation to be found responsible for the birth of a bastard?”

“’Twould seem most clever then to refrain from indulging earthly pleasures,” Niall retorted, his eyes flashing. Viviane assumed he was thinking of Majella.

“Deny myself?” The archbishop laughed. “I think not.” He gestured broadly to the room. “Indeed, I pursued this path to ensure my own comfort, and see no reason to abandon the pleasures of the flesh.” He arched a brow. “As indeed, I see no reason to make all aware of my indiscretions. Nay, the moonstone served the purpose ’twas wrought to serve.”

“But what of the stone’s powers?” Viviane demanded. “Why grant such a gift to a child?”

The archbishop frowned and glanced to the table that the bowl rested upon. Viviane caught a glimpse of the winking stone and knew it still lay there. “I did not know,” he confessed in a low voice. “I never guessed it had such power, though indeed the revelation is most useful.”

“Grant the stone to Viviane again,” Niall urged, stepping forward to make his appeal. “Let her flee Cantlecroft forever. ’Twould be the same to you as if she died.”

“Nay, Niall, I could not go alone...” Viviane protested, but the archbishop ignored her.

“But she could return at any moment. ’Twould be folly to give another such power over me!”

“She would pledge to not do so! She would swear it, I know it well!”

The archbishop laughed. “And I am to accept a sworn pledge as ample guarantee. ’Tis mockable! And you would have me sacrifice this marvel?” The archbishop scoffed. “I think not. ’Tis far, far preferable that you die and this marvel of mine own creation remains safely here. Indeed, I have a temptation to visit these other centuries and learn their secrets.”

“’Tis abominable!” Niall muttered. “How could a man send his own child to die?”

But the archbishop glanced at Viviane. “Nay, ’twas
convenient
. I knew as soon as word came of your arrival, and that you showed such a stone, that you were the fruit of my loins. And that, dear daughter, was why you had to die.”

He stepped back and lifted his hands. “’Tis why you still will die.”

The archbishop clapped his hands and the guards came to life as one. “Guards!” he cried as they bristled to attention. There were so many of them, even more than Viviane had first glimpsed, a good two dozen ringing the room. “The witch has freed herself and must be killed!”

And he pointed one finger directly at Viviane. The guards brandished their swords, gave a cry and closed in on Viviane as one.

“Nay!” Niall roared and lunged forward. Viviane’s hand was still grasped in his and he hauled her across the room. He cut down the first attacker with a single blow, his course unswerving and Viviane knew exactly what he was trying to do.

He was going to get that stone.

And she was going to do all she could to help him!

Viviane pulled out her dagger and jabbed at the face of the man who snatched at her cloak. His visor was up and she caught the end of his nose, the sharpness of her blade surprising her. It nicked off the end of his nose and he bled profusely, crying out and grabbing at the wound.

Niall roared and slashed down another, releasing Viviane’s hand to grip his hilt and wield it like a scythe. He cut a path through their attackers, while Viviane jabbed at all of those who might have fallen on his back.

They were closer, almost within reach of the table. But they were losing the battle, even Viviane could see.

“Kill her, kill him,
kill them
!” shrieked the archbishop.

The guards closed in, Viviane’s small blade no match for their heavy swords. She fought as well as she could, trying to be unpredictable and nick whoever came within range.

“Niall,” she whispered desperately when four closed ranks against her. They would never make it to that little table in time.

“Duck,” he muttered and Viviane had only a heartbeat to follow his bidding before he straightened with a bellow. He pivoted, swinging the sword low and scattered their opponents. One fell, the others danced back.

And Viviane could see the moonstone. She tried to reach it, but Niall roared. Viviane glanced up in time to see a blade glance off his shoulder. She stabbed upright into the neck of the man who dealt Niall the blow, her dagger slipping between his hauberk and helm. He screamed and fell away, Niall straightened and cast her a grateful glance.

The stone winked. Two more guards were closing fast and Viviane had to take the only chance she had. She darted under Niall’s arm when he raised his sword again and barely managed to reach the pendant.

Her fingers brushed against it and she scrabbled for a grip. Her heart leapt as she snatched it up. Viviane pulled her hand back just as a wicked blade sliced down like a guillotine. She backed into Niall, clutching the moonstone over her heart and more than ready to wish.

But Niall wasn’t there.

Viviane spun in dismay, only to find that they had been separated. Half a dozen men surrounding Niall, drawing his strikes to one side then another. Viviane saw that they were deliberately easing him away from her and that there was nothing he could do about it.

The beleaguered Niall glanced up and she knew immediately that he had reached same conclusion.

“Go!” he cried.

Viviane was appalled. “I cannot!”

“You must,” Niall insisted through gritted teeth. He fended off another blow, the near miss making Viviane gasp in fear for his survival.

“But I love you!” she cried, fearing she might never have another chance to tell him so.

“I know,” Niall muttered, his low voice audible despite the din. He fired a burning glance her way. “I beg of you, Viviane, do not let me die for naught.”

Steel clashed on steel and Niall swore as his hand was nicked. They set upon him with purpose and Viviane could only watch in horror.

“How touching,” the archbishop mused at startling proximity.

Viviane jumped, she turned, she found him closing upon her with malice gleaming in his eyes. Two guards were right behind him, another three cutting off Viviane’s escape.

And even her tiny blade was gone. Niall still valiantly battled for his freedom off to her right. As much as Viviane wanted to see the outcome of that, she forced herself to watch this most dangerous opponent as he drew near. A lump rose in her throat.

The archbishop halted and stretched out his hand. “Give me the moonstone,” he urged, his eyes narrowed. “Give it to me now and I might let you live.”

“Liar!” Viviane cried in outrage. His eyes flashed, telling her she had guessed the truth and he stepped forward with no good intent for her.

“Viviane!” Niall roared. “Flee!”

With no other choice remaining, Viviane tightened her hand around the moonstone and wished. Her last sight of Cantlecroft was of the archbishop, his features contorted with fury as he leapt to grab her.

He missed.

Barely.

His anguished cry echoed in Viviane’s ears long after the blinding light had surrounded her. She was chilled right to the bone this time, quaking to the depths of her soul. She cried as she had never cried before, knowing that Niall was too heavily beset to survive that battle.

And there was nothing she could do about it now.

She opened her eyes to the blinding glint of sunlight on azure seas, turned and saw the familiar pines and wept anew. It was the beach beside Ganges harbor, Viviane would have known it anywhere.

She was back and she was alone.

But surely she could fix that. Surely she could go back right now and do something, distract the guards or call for reinforcements or somehow save Niall. Surely!

Viviane took a deep breath and fumbled with the pendant as she tried to figure out what exactly to wish. But her fingers were so cold that the pendant slipped from her grip.

And before her horrified gaze, it fell.

She snatched after it, but to no avail. The moonstone hurtled to the earth, struck a stone and shattered to a thousand shards of cold blue light.

No! Viviane fell on her knees, desperate to sweep up the bits. She was close enough to see that eerie light wink out of each and every shard. Even knowing it was useless, she tried to catch the pieces before the next wave swept in from the sea.

But the shards were almost immediately swallowed by the water. They danced before Viviane’s eyes and she wept, knowing she couldn’t catch them all but still having to try.

In the end, the sea took all of the broken moonstone and Viviane was left shaking on Salt Spring’s beach, a heavy piece of silver in her hand and nothing but an ache in her heart.

She sat down on the beach, oblivious to the chill and the incoming waves and cried like a child. For there could be no turning back time again.

Niall of Malloy was lost to Viviane forever.

* * *

Chapter Twenty

What Viviane did not linger long enough to see in Cantlecroft was the procession of torches heading toward the palace. They flickered in the darkness beyond the windows of the archbishop’s chamber, drawing that man’s attention away from Viviane’s abrupt disappearance.

He stared at the wavering line of fire, the orange flames licking at the blackness of the night and knew a shadow of dread. Indeed, he had not honed his abilities all these years for naught - though this portent was impossible to miss.

His reign was to be challenged.

The archbishop’s lip curled at these peasants having the audacity to defy him. He would see their insurrection brought low! He would see them all executed, slowly and painfully.

“Guards!” he cried and spun to face the room, pleased with the way his robes flared out behind him. The men halted as one, more than one blade held at Niall of Malloy’s throat. That man glared back at the archbishop with a rare insolence that irked beyond all.

Later. He would save this one for later and make him writhe. It was Niall of Malloy, after all, who had retrieved the witch who was at the root of it all. And it was Niall of Malloy who had compelled the archbishop to condemn a very sweet bit of temptation, taking Majella from his bed just when she was at her most luscious.

Truth be told, the archbishop had a fondness for women ripe with child.

No matter how he viewed it, Niall of Malloy had cheated him.

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?”