The snake twisted in his grip, as elusive as a fish, but Padraig held tightly. He reminded himself of Rosamunde’s valor, how she had challenged more than one aristocrat in the wrong, like the cheating bishop he had once served, and that gave him the strength to persevere in his challenge to the fey.
The water of the lake drew ever more near and he wondered what the horse would do. He thought to direct it around the body of water, then Rosamunde changed shape again.
*
“’And last I will become a flame,
As hot and fierce as ever came.
A Beltane fire, orange and hot
My love, my love, release me not.’”
*
In the blink of an eye, Rosamunde became a fire in his embrace. The brilliant light of the flames nearly blinded Padraig and surprise almost loosened his grip.
He cried out and tightened his grasp upon her. The fire burned his skin, the flames licking at his flesh. He closed his eyes to the sight of his own body burning, to the smell of his destruction. He held fast to the column of flame, even as he feared he could not have the strength to endure against the fey.
Padraig thought of the way Rosamunde’s hair looked in the sunlight.
He recalled her bold stance on the ship as they sailed to adventure. He thought of the light in her eyes when first they had met. He thought of her determination, even when the spriggan Darg had stolen her charts and trapped the ship in a calm.
He recalled her pride in her nieces and her joy in seeing them well wed. He thought of her passion and her pride and he fortified himself with the truth of why he loved this woman with all his heart. Padraig squeezed his eyes shut as the pain built to a crescendo.
He could not lose his love.
He recited the Paternoster, on impulse, recalling his mother’s counsel. Tears stung his cheeks as he said the familiar prayer. Our father…
The horse halted abruptly, reared, then it ducked its head. Padraig was thrown over its neck and gasped aloud when he landed in the lake with a splash.
He sank low, still holding fast to Rosamunde, and the cold dark water of the lake embraced him. He felt the flame in his embrace turn to a woman again.
A naked woman.
A naked woman he loved more than life itself.
And Padraig knew he had triumphed. They broke the surface together, Rosamunde’s smile enough to light Padraig’s nights forevermore.
When they might have spoken each to the other, a man cleared his throat at close proximity.
Finvarra stood on the shore, holding the bridle of the stamping black stallion. “And so the contest goes to you,” the High King of the Faerie said. He stroked the horse’s nose with affection and the beast nuzzled him. Finvarra smiled and his eyes glinted. “I shall take this horse into my care, seeing as it was once stolen from us and is rightfully returned.”
Padraig understood why the horse had not been startled by the fey, why it had been so at ease joining the host. Recognition was possibly why it had been allowed to join the company in the first place.
He understood then why it had thrown him and saved Rosamunde. Padraig fancied that the horse had intended to reward him for bringing it back to Finvarra.
“You are a man of more cunning than most.” Finvarra smiled. “I should have liked to have played chess with you.”
“With respect, my lord, I have little to my name and nothing I would choose to lose.” Padraig kept his arm around Rosamunde, noting how the king’s gaze flicked between the two of them.
“Should his devotion falter,” Finvarra said to Rosamunde. “You are always welcome at my court.”
“I thank you, my lord, and thank you also for your hospitality,” Rosamunde said with a bow.
“You and your fellows will always find welcome at our home,” Padraig added with a bow of his own.
Finvarra smiled, his gaze trailing to his wife, who remained upon her steed and at a distance. “It is no crime to covet a beauteous gem,” he said softly, “but a rare triumph to possess one. I salute you, Padraig Deane. May your love never be tarnished.”
With that Finvarra turned and led the prancing horse back to the company. Padraig felt the chill of the night air on his wet skin as he stood with Rosamunde fast at his side, but he could not tear his gaze away from the departing company. He doubted he would ever see them again. They rode forth, passing over the hills like a vision, leaving only the echo of their silvery laughter behind.
And Rosamunde.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him.
“You are welcome. I am glad to see you hale again.” Padraig stared down at her, knowing his desire but afraid to speak of it too soon.
Rosamunde, as was typical of her, showed no such restraint. She twined her arms around his neck, sliding her fingers into his hair. “I am sorry, Padraig, that I erred so badly. I love you, I think I have always loved you, but I wish I had seen the truth of it sooner.”
Padraig bent to touch his lips to hers, his heart swelling that his dream should be his own. “I know that I have always loved you,” he murmured against her mouth.
Rosamunde laughed. “Then I shall have to spend the rest of our lives atoning for my error.”
“I do not think it will be so onerous.”
“Nor do I!”
Padraig laughed at the prospect, then he sobered. Rosamunde’s eyes were richest green, filled with a conviction that stole his breath away. “Marry me, Rosamunde. Marry me and seal our bond for all to see. I have little to offer you but myself.”
“Your ship.”
“Your ship, and the contents yours as well. I have only myself.”
“And it is more than enough. I will wed you, Padraig, and I will honor your love every day and night of my life.
It was everything he had ever wanted, and yet more.
Rosamunde’s kiss sent a welcome heat through Padraig, a heat that her presence would never fail to kindle. Padraig knew that whatever he had suffered had been worthwhile, for he had gained his heart’s desire.
When he lifted his head, her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were flushed. She glanced about herself and shivered. “Tell me, though, that we can sail to warmer climes.”
“I thought Sicily,” Padraig said, smiling as pleasure lit her expression. “With the morning tide. All is prepared.”
Rosamunde laughed. “A man of confidence, and one in pursuit of my own heart.”
“I thought I possessed that prize already,” he teased, loving the sound of her answering laughter.
“You do, you do.” Then Rosamunde raised a hand to his cheek, as solemn as he had ever seen her. Her voice dropped to a fervent whisper. “Oh, Padraig, never doubt that I am yours.” A tear glistened in her eye, a tear that he knew was rare for this bold woman. “I may have been late to see the truth, but I shall never forget it now.”
“I shall never let you forget it,” he retorted, then winked. Rosamunde smiled and he swung her into his arms, then strode from the lake. He had an idea of how they might warm themselves before the walk back to town.
One glance at his lady told him that their thoughts were as one. Yet again, they would challenge convention. Yet again they would follow their hearts. But from this day forth, they would do so together.
It was as close to heaven as Padraig Deane ever expected to be.
*
“Padraig gained his lady’s heart,
She vowed they’d never be apart.
Rosamunde was a pirate queen
With hair red gold and eyes of green.
Her lover true did hold her fast,
Showed all the fey his love would last.
They ne’er forgot those of Faerie,
And lived out their days most happily.”
*
Dear Reader –
As you might have guessed in reading this short story, I’ve written about both Rosamunde and Padraig before. The story of Rosamunde is linked to my Kinfairlie trilogy - in fact, we first met Rosam
unde as a child in the Ravensmuir series. Those books are:
The Rogues of Ravensmuir Trilogy
The Rogue
The Scoundrel The Warrior
The Jewels of Kinfairlie Trilogy
The Beauty Bride The Rose Red Bride The Snow White Bride
Rosamunde was left in limbo when the subsequent four books that I had planned for the Kinfairlie series were not acquired by the publisher. I was very excited to have the opportunity to tell her story – and give her an H.E.A.! – and am even more excited to be able to offer the story in its entirety to you here. (It was shortened considerably for including in the Mammoth book.)
Recently, I have been writing the books for the other siblings at Kinfairlie. The Renegade’s Heart is the first book in the new series - which is called The True Love Brides - and there’s an excerpt from that book included in this edition. It’s Isabella’s story and I hope you enjoy the teaser. Next up will be Annelise’s story, which is called The Highlander’s Curse.
Until next time, happy reading!
Claire
*
Ready for more of Kinfairlie?
Read on for a taste of THE RENEGADE’S HEART
Book #1 of the True Love Brides series.
*
Excerpt from The Renegade’s Heart Copyright 2012 Claire Delacroix, Inc.
Kinfairlie, Scotland - January 1424
Isabella had not managed a reply to her sister when the sound of hoof beats carried through the window.
“Destriers!” Elizabeth said. She raced past Isabella and flung open the shutter, admitting the chill of the morning. “Knights!” she breathed in awe. She grinned at Isabella and lowered her voice, her eyes sparkling with new merriment. “Husbands!”
“You think of only one thing!” Isabella teased.
“Alexander must have summoned them. Or they come to beg his favor. I must be in the hall to greet them!” Elizabeth hastened out of the chamber, her footsteps pounding on the stairs as she descended to the great hall.
Isabella, always cursed by curiosity, went to the window to look.
Two horses galloped along the road to Kinfairlie’s gates, their manes and tails flying in the wind. They were magnificent steeds, so large and muscled that Isabella knew them to be destriers. Elizabeth had doubtless been right about knights, for the warhorses were richly caparisoned. Isabella saw the gleam of sunlight on armor.
The lead horse was so pale a silver as to be nearly white. Its mane and tale were as dark as pewter. Its trappings were deep blue, and the tabard of the knight riding it was of that same deep blue. He wore chain mail and a long full cape as dark as midnight flowed from his shoulders. As he drew nearer, Isabella saw that his tabard bore no insignia. His hair was black and long enough to curl over his ears.
The second horse was a chestnut with a white star on its brow and white socks. It was no less handsome than the first. The man riding it was older and garbed in the plaid favored by the highlanders. He wore a leather jerkin and a white shirt, and his hair was both short and grey. A seasoned warrior, Isabella sensed that he was aware of all that surrounded them, but kept his expression impassive.
Her gaze returned to the younger man.
They galloped directly to the gates, the horses stamping and snorting when they were compelled to halt before the gatekeeper. Their breath sent plumes of white into the air.
“I am Murdoch Seton,” cried the man with the dark hair. He was handsome enough to make Elizabeth’s heart flutter, Isabella was certain of it. His voice was so rich and deep, his confidence so beguiling that Isabella herself thought to shiver. His manner was audacious, which snared Isabella’s interest. “I am come to deliver a message to the Laird of Kinfairlie.”
The gatekeeper, a doughty man who seldom smiled, barred the entry with his spear. Isabella heard the rumble of his voice but could not discern his words.
The pale horse pranced in impatience. “My brother’s request will not be surrendered to the gatekeeper and forgotten,” Murdoch Seton said, a surprising hostility in his tone. “I will speak to the laird and tell him of it myself.” His gaze danced over the tower and Isabella withdrew slightly, fearing that he would spot her.
There was something about him that held her gaze, though, a vitality that was uncommon among men.
“I will send word to my laird and you will wait.”
“I will not be deterred from this mission,” the knight said with a determination that was surprising. “I have but a message to deliver, and no man of integrity would turn such a missive aside.”
“But…” It was clear to Isabella that the gatekeeper did not trust this Murdoch Seton.
Why? Did he know of him? Or did he simply dislike the man’s imperious manner? Isabella drew back the shutter a little more. It seemed almost that the knight expected to be refused or turned aside. Why?
“I see you do not send word and perhaps you do not mean to,” the knight said with impatience. “I will take word of my arrival to the laird myself.”
The gatekeeper obviously protested, but this Murdoch Seton dismounted, casting the reins of his steed to his partner. He made to push past the gatekeeper’s spear, and Isabella saw that he was both tall and muscular. There must have been purpose in his gaze, for the gatekeeper took a step back. He kept the spear lowered, though.
“You will not enter this hall armed!” he declared.
Murdoch cast a wry smile at his companion, then unbuckled his belt and scabbard. Instead of surrendering it to the gatekeeper, he handed it to his companion, then stepped close to the gatekeeper.
Isabella leaned out the window to hear his words.
“I leave both steed and sword in the custody of my companion. Should he be divested of them in my absence, or should he not be here when I return, I shall take word to the king of the treachery that has claimed Kinfairlie.” Then he pushed aside the spear with a gloved fingertip and marched toward the portal.
Isabella’s mouth dropped open. He threatened the gatekeeper? But he was the one who sought admission. Why was he so resolved?
The gatekeeper turned and looked after the knight, his astonishment clear. The older man, the companion of the knight, appeared to be amused.
Why did the knight assume his message would be refused?
Isabella had to know.
She spun and ran for the door, thinking she would listen in the great hall as the knight made his argument. She flung open the door, but there was no sign of Elizabeth. Isabella had no sooner concluded that her sister must have descended to the great hall when she heard boots on the stairs, approaching quickly. It sounded as if a man took the stairs two or even three at a time. She might have retreated but the dark–haired knight crested the top of the stairs.
He slowed his pace to consider her. His eyes, Isabella could now see, were a clear and deep blue and he was ruggedly handsome.
Even though she was tall, he was taller. He strode toward her with such care that she thought of a wolf hunting its prey. His gaze was unswerving and a crooked smile lifted one corner of his mouth.
Isabella felt hot, right to her toes.
“The maiden from the window,” he murmured and the appreciation in his low voice made Isabella flush. “Yet more curious than I imagined.”
“While you, sir, are more bold than might be expected.”
He smiled outright then, the expression softening his features in a most attractive way. Isabella could not avert her gaze. Indeed, it seemed she could not breathe.
*
THE RENEGADE’S HEART
is now available in a print and digital edition.
*
Win A Book!
You could win a book from Deborah or Claire by entering the monthly contest on her blog. There are two contests - and two prizes - each month.
For the Reviewer Contest, you need to post a review of one of her books somewhere online - Goodreads, Amazon, B&N, you name it. It just has to appear on a public site.
For the Re
ader Contest, all you have to do is enter for a chance to win.
To learn more - and enter! - use the links above to see this month’s contest posts. You can also visit the Alive & Knitting blog, then choose either Reviewer Contest or Reader Contest from the category sidebar.
Good luck!
*
About the Author
Deborah Cooke sold her first book in 1992, a medieval romance that was published in 1993 under her pseudonym Claire Delacroix. Since then, she has published more than fifty romance novels and numerous short stories. As Claire Delacroix, she has written historical romance, romance with fantasy elements, fantasy with romantic elements and future-set urban fantasy romance. As Deborah Cooke, she has written paranormal romance and paranormal young adult fiction. She also wrote briefly as Claire Cross - the time travel and paranormal romances originally published under that name have been re-released as Claire Delacroix books, while the contemporary romances have been re-published as Deborah Cooke books. She tends to include fantasy and paranormal elements in her stories and likes to write linked series of books. Her stories include a blend of action, adventure, romance, humor and deep emotion.
The Ballad of Rosamunde Page 5