Free Claire Delacroix by The Moonstone Page B

enormous relief, the big man almost immediately sputtered and shook his head. His eyes opened, then he turned to choke out all the seawater he had swallowed. Derek hung on grimly, one arm locked around the man’s chest, the other clutching the rope lashed to the sailboat’s side.
    The knight’s gaze swiveled back to meet Derek’s, that green stare surprisingly hostile. “What manner of man are you to lock your mouth upon mine?” he demanded hotly.
    Derek sagged with relief. The guy was going to be okay.
    “A man who doesn’t like drownings to happen on his boat.” Derek grinned, then turned the knight toward the boat. “Go ahead, haul yourself up, cowboy. You can tell us later where the hell you came from - and maybe explain your choice of bathing suit.”
    To Derek’s surprise, the knight did manage to haul himself up the side of the sailboat. It was no mean feat, given the weight of his mail and his wet clothing, which looked like it was made of really thick wool. That sweeping cape alone had to weigh more soaking wet than Derek did himself.
    Derek followed suit, glad that everyone was fussing over the knight and missed the fact that it took him two tries to pull himself up over the rails.
    He had to start doing those sit-ups again. A man looking at fifty couldn’t assume that the old body was going to take care of itself any longer. Derek had always been long and lean without worrying much about it, but - he surreptitiously pinched the flesh around his waist and grimaced - years of living well seemed to be finally catching up with him.
    He must have run out of credit for good behavior.
    The knight stood in the middle of the deck, his feet braced against the polished wood as he made a puddle of tremendous size. He had presence, you had to give him that, and Derek doubted he was the only one wondering at the breadth of his shoulders and chest. He looked as though he had stepped out of a Shakespearean play.
    This guy really worked out. Derek hoped that his wet t-shirt wasn’t showing the little ripple that had taken up residence around his middle to serious disadvantage. He plucked at the wet cloth, trying to keep it from clinging too tightly.
    Suddenly the knight fixed Derek with that piercing green glare. “You ask how I come to be here - “ he boomed, then looked about himself with obvious skepticism “- wherever this might truly be.” The knight arched one brow as he locked gazes with Derek again. “’Tis the doing of the witch harbored among you.”
    And he pointed one thick, wet-leather-encased finger at Monty’s new friend.
     
    * * *
     
    Matters were not proceeding precisely as Niall had expected, even after he had stepped away from Majella and her provisions.
    He supposed he had not fully expected the pendant to work its magic again. A lifetime of skepticism took more than even Viviane’s unexplained disappearance to be completely dispelled. But any lingering doubt had been dismissed when the eerie light enveloped him as the last word of his wish crossed his lips.
    That light was blue and chilly and altogether unnatural. Niall had been unable to see anything at all. ’Twas as though he had been struck blind and left on a windy hilltop in the same moment, a far from delightful sensation.
    Added to this was the very unusual sense of having been taken apart and put rather inexpertly back together again. Niall felt all jumbled and tousled even before he opened his eyes and glimpsed Viviane’s familiar features.
    Aha! His heart had leapt with painful enthusiasm at first glimpse of her smile - a triumphant skip, no more than that, for he could not be glad to see the woman otherwise. Aye, ’twas the portent of fulfilling his quest that sent pleasure searing through his veins.
    Was it not?
    Niall had little chance to consider the matter before his unexpected fall into the salty sea. The lean man’s unwelcome embrace was the next puzzling event in this rapid succession, followed by a complete lack of