Claire Delacroix (46 page)

Authors: The Last Highlander

A kernel of dread took up residence in his gut, though he could not account for its presence. Niall was afraid of no odd stone! He knew as well as he knew his own name that there was no such thing as magic. Indeed, Niall found himself unduly disappointed by the sign that this woman was as mad as he had originally feared.

A quick glance to the stone she proudly wore sent a most uncharacteristic shiver down Niall’s spine, however, and he scowled at the illogic of his response.

Magic was a whimsy for fools. The woman addled his wits. Too late, Niall recalled that Odo had warned him against this one’s copious charms.

“And that would be your witching stone,” he asked with all the skepticism he could summon.

His companion rolled her eyes. “What nonsense! I told you already that I am not a witch! I am but a woman, admittedly in a bit of a muddle, but ’tis a muddle that will come clear quickly enough. I have absolutely no doubt.”

And strangely enough, a goodly part of Niall wanted to believe her.

His gaze fell on the pendant once more, that uneasiness raising gooseflesh over his skin. Viviane followed his gaze and smiled as she toyed with the jewel.

“’Twas a gift from my father, on my birth,” she confessed, then flashed that disconcerting smile towards the knight once more. “My mother said he captured the blue of the moon within the stone just for me. Is that not a most wondrous tale? It could almost make up the difference for never having knowing him.” She shrugged again. “But ’tis a token of good fortune, if naught else, and never have I been parted from it.”

She was a whimsical one, that much was for certain. And dangerously beguiling. Niall harrumphed, thinking it poor timing to question her illusions.

“My mother told me once that if ever I had a wish to be made, I could wish upon this stone from my sire’s hand and all would come right for me.” The dimple danced engagingly when Niall dared to glance her way. “Is that not a wondrous gift?”

Niall could not keep his lips from twisting wryly. “One might think your current circumstance would well suit such an appeal.”

But Viviane laughed merrily again, the sound making Niall think of a brook splashing through an emerald glade. He was becoming overly fanciful, there could be little doubt of that.

“There is no need to waste its power. Indeed, I have only to tell my tale to the archbishop,” she insisted. “There is naught to worry about, for once I have had my hearing...”

In that moment, they reached the threshold of the prisoner’s gate to the courtyard. Niall caught a glimpse of the archbishop, his hands braced on the arms of the high seat, his expression grimly exultant, the black and red of his garb a striking sight. Thousands gathered in the courtyard, pennants snapped against the azure sky, the smell of smoke was in the air.

The sunlight glistened off the executioner’s gruesome arsenal, arrayed for public view, and Niall found a lump rising in his throat.

Then the crowd caught a glimpse of the prisoner and roared for blood.

Viviane jumped back against Niall in alarm. She breathed quickly, her gaze dancing over the sliver of view accorded to them from here.

And when she turned to Niall, her smile was banished. A fearful light claimed her eyes and the tint of roses that had colored her cheeks faded to naught. There was no longer any merriment to be found in her hazel eyes.

“He does not mean to hear me,” she whispered, as though she could not believe it.

Niall could not lie to her in this moment. He shook his head heavily, wishing he could tell her otherwise. “Nay.”

“They said he would give me a final audience,” she said wildly. “They said I would have a chance to plea my case. They said...” Viviane’s eyes filled with helpless tears and she stared up at Niall, searching his visage for the truth.

He did not have the heart to keep it from her. He held her gaze and let her see the truth in his own.

“They lied to me,” she whispered hoarsely.

Niall looked to his toes, wishing he could tear the archbishop’s insignia from his back and run. ’Twas always thus, but usually the prisoners were either deserving of their fate or driven mad by their time in the dungeons. Niall cleared his throat, knowing that this time the archbishop had erred.

Not only was this woman no witch, but Viviane was too delightfully alive to die this day. Indeed, the sparkle of her company had briefly made Niall forget how his knee ached, how far his life had fallen from his own dreams.

Yet there was naught he could do about the matter. Niall hated the powerlessness of his situation, such marked contrast to what his life had been before. His task it was to fulfill his duty, no more than that.

Yet, against every rule he knew, against every pledge of loyalty he had sworn, Niall hesitated to lead the woman out into the screaming throng of people. ’Twould be an ugly confrontation, it always was, rotten fruit and vulgar language taking the air. ’Twas a humiliating way to die and one this woman far from deserved.

He liked her, regardless of the addled state of her convictions.

Viviane bit her lip and blinked back her tears, glancing once through the doorway before impaling Niall with a luminous glance. “Could I wish upon my father’s stone? Would it trouble you overmuch?” Her words faltered and she seemed suddenly very young. She did not stand so tall now that her optimism had deserted her. “I...I might never have the chance again.”

She most certainly would not. And Niall could not see what damage it would do to indulge her. ’Twould only take a heartbeat and the archbishop need never know.

But he could not risk untying her hands, lest someone unexpectedly appear. Without a word, Niall reached for her chain, noting how heavy his hands looked against the finely worked silver, against the flawless cream of her throat.

There was no time to seek a clasp, he simply took the chain within his hands and lifted it over her head. Her glossy hair caressed his hands like the finest silk, the faint scent of her reminding him of sunshine in dancing meadows of wildflowers. Niall slipped the gem into the waiting cradle of her slender fingers and his mouth went dry as their hands brushed in the transaction.

She took a deep breath and tipped her head back, squared her shoulders and squeezed her eyes closed. Her pose was a curious blend of vulnerability and strength that tore at Niall’s hardened heart and for an impetuous moment, he wished he might have had the opportunity to know more of this Viviane.

“I wish,” she said softly but with passion. “I wish that I were as far away from here as ever a person could be.”

And no one could have been more surprised than Sir Niall of Malloy when the lady shimmered right before his eyes, shimmered with the same strange blue light as was trapped in the gemstone. A flash blinded him and he heard a tinkle as he instinctively closed his eyes.

When Niall looked a mere heartbeat later, there was naught before him but a single moonstone, tangled in its silver chain, lying on the floor before him.

And the crowd beyond, baying for the spectacle of execution.

The knight spun but there was no one behind him, not a sound in the corridor. Niall bent to retrieve the glowing pendant, a shiver dancing over his flesh when he touched the fragile chain. The odd sensation made him draw his fingers briefly away, for ’twas unnatural beyond all else.

’Twas witchery.

Against all odds.

’Twas then Niall knew that he had been wrong. He cautiously picked up the pendant and considered anew its eerie light. There were such creatures as witches for he had just seen the truth of it. Niall had been not only in the company of one, but had been lulled into granting her the chance for freedom.

’Twas clear that he had made a grievous error in doubting his patron’s knowledge.

Niall lifted his head and surveyed the roaring crowd, inadvertently catching a glimpse of the archbishop’s impatient expression. The sight made his blood run cold, his hand closing instinctively over the wicked gem.

’Twas equally clear that this particular mistake would cost him dearly.

* * *

Claire Delacroix sold her first romance novel in 1992 – that book,
The Romance of the Rose
, was published by Harlequin Historicals in 1993. Since then, she has published more than forty romances, including historical romances, contemporary romances, time travel romances, fantasy romances and paranormal romances. She has also written under the name Claire Cross
. The Beauty
, part of her successful Bride Quest series, was her first novel to land on the New York Times list of Bestselling books. In 2009, she was the writer in residence at the Toronto Public Library, the first time they have hosted a residency focused on the romance genre.

Recently, Claire has published a future-set urban fantasy romance trilogy (post-nuclear, pre-Apocalyptic, featuring fallen angel heroes). She currently writes the Dragonfire series of contemporary paranormal romances which feature dragon shape shifter heroes, as well as a linked YA series called the Dragon Diaries. Both dragon series are published under the name Deborah Cooke.

In May 2012, Claire will publish a new medieval romance.
The Renegade’s Heart
is the first book in a new series, The True Love Brides, which is linked to The Jewels of Kinfairlie series. Visit her website for more details.

Learn more about her books at her websites:

www.delacroix.net

www.deborahcooke.com

Or visit her blog, Alive & Knitting at:

www.delacroix.net/blog

You can keep up with her news with the monthly newsletter on her Yahoo listserve:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/chestwick

As well as on her Facebook FanPage:

www.facebook.com/AuthorClaireDelacroix

* * *

Books by Claire Delacroix

Time Travel Romances: