The Rose Red Bride JK2

by Claire Delacroix

  Ruari continued with quiet resolve. “He charged me with delivering this talisman to his son, along with his heartfelt apology.”

  “No!” the younger man shouted and turned away, marching to the lip of the cliff. “It cannot be thus.”

  Vivienne clutched her own hands tightly together, disliking Ruari’s tidings herself. She had lost her own parents less than a year before and knew it was a wound that did not heal readily. She felt a sudden sympathy for her captor as well as an urge to console him. How horrific to have lost his father, to not have been present at his father’s end, to have been estranged from his father when that man died. There was a chasm that could never be healed.

  “It is thus,” Ruari said, his tone leaving no space for doubt. “As surely as I stand before you, William Sinclair has breathed his last. As surely as I offer you the legacy that is your own to claim, William Sinclair decreed that you should possess Blackleith once more for all the days and nights of your life. As surely as my name is Ruari Macleod, your father charged me with aiding you in this quest, with seeing his disservice undone.”

  Vivienne’s captor did not turn. “I thank you for your trouble and your tidings, Ruari, but you will not remain with me. Godspeed and farewell.”

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  Ruari dropped the reins, left his steed and took a step toward the younger man. “Your father knew he erred! He knew he owed you better than what you had been granted, he knew in the end that he should never have believed the tales told against you. It would have killed him to know that you had been compelled to beg a favor from the Earl of Sutherland.”

  “So you say. The shadow of those days is long and a dead man’s testament serves me far less than that of a live one.” Vivienne’s captor turned then to confront Ruari and she wished she could have seen his expression. “If my father repented of his judgment in truth, then he might have done it sooner. His forgiveness serves me little now.”

  “You have more than grown harsh, lad. You have lost your heart!”

  “Whatsoever I have lost has been stolen. Farewell, Ruari.” And Vivienne’s captor marched to Ruari’s steed, gathered the reins and offered them to the other man.

  Ruari’s lips set grimly. He shoved the sheathed blade into his belt and strode after the other man, eyes flashing and voice rising. “How dare you speak to me thus! I have spent a month seeking your sorry hide, lad! I have been in every hovel and every inn between Blackleith and York, I have slept in places with rats so large the white meat could have been carved from the dark, I have gone days without decent food and spent nights battling fleas as big as my fist. And why, why did I do this deed?”

  His voice rose to a roar. “I did this for love of your father, no more and no less! I did this because I could not bear to see him so distraught, because it was so unfitting for a man of his ilk to be begging me - me! - to ensure that he could find eternal peace.”

  Vivienne’s captor did not respond, nor did his stance soften.

  Undeterred, Ruari stalked the younger man and seized his arm. “I did this because your father demanded more than my word, more than my promise. He demanded that I pledge my own soul’s salvation upon the relic in this blade’s hilt, that I cut my finger and shed my own blood upon the blade known to hold every oath every wrought by any man in your family. This blade!”

  He shoved the sheathed knife at the younger man again, who reluctantly accepted its burden. Vivienne could see her captor’s reverence for the weapon in the way he handled it, and knew the token did not mean so little to him as he would have had Ruari believe.

  “I did this because the blood of kings courses through your veins, lad, and I swore that if you were too dispirited to fight for your due, then I would do it for you. And what reward do I receive?”

  Ruari smartly snapped the reins of his steed from the younger man’s grip. “Not so much as a word of gratitude. Not so much as a greeting. Not so much as a handshake between men. Oh, the world has become a sorry place when men cannot even allow courtesy between each other.”

  The younger man glanced up. “All well said, Ruari, though I do not recall being offered a great deal of courtesy when all went awry at Blackleith.”

  Ruari swallowed, then nodded his head slowly. “Fair enough, but you must forgive the past, lad, to see yourself bereft of its burden.”

  Vivienne’s captor closed the distance between the two men with quick steps, his posture menacing, then deliberately flicked back his hood. His scar seemed more cruel in the afternoon sunlight, and the hardness of his expression did little to soften its effect. “I will never be bereft of this mark of the past.”

  The older man winced, looked away, then met the younger man’s gaze again with an obvious effort. “I did not know,” he said quietly.

  “The past will be forgiven when it has been avenged, Ruari. You need not linger to know it will be so.”

  Ruari’s expression brightened at this grim pronouncement. “You do mean to fight, then? You have not surrendered fully?”

  “I never meant to leave injustice be. Such a wound as this, though, must heal, and it was not the sum of my injuries. Praise be the Earl of Sutherland took me into his own abode, or I should be bleeding in ditch yet with no aid from my own kin.”

  Vivienne’s captor walked away, turning the blade in his hands. The older man’s lips tightened grimly as he obviously noted her captor’s limp.

  Vivienne could not fully believe what she had heard. Her captor had been cheated of his holding somehow and his family had done nothing to aid him! It was outrageous treachery and she could not blame him for being bitter and angry. Indeed, she was prepared to argue with this Ruari on his behalf, for no man should be so poorly served by his own kin.

  But wait. Her captor’s brother was named Nicholas. Vivienne paused to reconsider what she had heard. And the holding in question was named Blackleith. Why was that name familiar?

  Her captor’s father had been William Sinclair.

  Vivienne gasped in sudden realization of how her captor and Ruari Macleod could have heard her name before. Nicholas Sinclair had had an older brother, an older brother who was to inherit their family holding of Blackleith.

  Could her captor be Erik Sinclair?

  That man paused and glanced toward the half-fallen structure where she supposedly slumbered, perhaps having heard her gasp of dismay. Vivienne instinctively tried to make herself smaller, but Ruari must have spied her.

  “There is someone there,” he declared. “Is it the laird’s sister in truth?”

  Vivienne huddled lower into her cloak, hoping she appeared as if she still slept. She heard the crunch of booted feet approaching, and, knowing as she did who walked with such an uneven pace, her pulse began to flutter. She still feigned sleep, hoping against hope that she would not be caught eavesdropping.

  She heard him halt before her, smelled his skin, knew he was but an arm’s length away from her. She resolutely kept her eyes closed.

  “Vivienne,” her captor said, a thread of humor in his words. “You fool no one when your breath comes so quickly as that.”

  She opened her eyes to find him offering his gloved hand to her. She could not read the expression in his eyes.

  “Vivienne,” Ruari breathed. He peered more closely at Vivienne. “It is no marvel that Nicholas was so vexed that she denied him. She is indeed a beauty.”

  “You are Erik Sinclair,” Vivienne said to her captor, and he had the grace to not deny her conclusion. He merely bowed his head in acknowledgement, his gaze bright as he watched her. “Why me? Why ride all the length of Scotland to claim me?” she asked softly. “There must be maidens aplenty betwixt here and Blackleith.” To her astonishment, it was Ruari who answered her.

  “But you are the sole maiden who ever denied Nicholas Sinclair,” that man said. “And oh, it irked him mightily, though I must say that he did not do justice to your fair features in his account of his failure.”

  “It was a mar
vel that he even admitted as much,” Erik said.

  Ruari snorted. “He was neither the first nor the last man to admit more than was prudent after consuming too much ale. I do not doubt that he would have preferred to keep the tale to himself, but the ale loosened his tongue and he made the error of speaking in public company so the tale traveled far.” The older man smiled at Vivienne. “He was soundly mocked for his inability to seduce you, of that you can be certain.”

  “But still, I do not understand...” Vivienne paused and stared at Erik in dawning horror. “You chose me, purely to irk your brother, purely to claim what he had been unable to possess? You chose me for vengeance?”

  A muscle twitched in Erik’s jaw and his expression turned yet more grim. He met her outraged gaze without blinking, however, and nodded but once. “That would be the simple explanation.”

  “As it is truth, there is no need for another more elaborate!” Vivienne’s thoughts flew. “You must have told Alexander that you were Nicholas. Then he would have thought he arranged a match that would please me.”

  Erik shrugged. “I knew only that Nicholas had courted you and that you had spurned him. When I heard that you were yet unwed, I thought it likely that your family had found greater favor with the match than you had done.”

  “Nicholas proposed a mating, not a match,” Vivienne retorted.

  Erik shrugged again.

  “But then, you have done no different! And I was fool enough to accept your advances!”

  Erik merely watched her, letting her make her own conclusions. His complacence infuriated Vivienne as little else could have done. Erik had chosen her, he would use her, he would cast her aside when he had his son of her, and he did not even have the grace to be ashamed of his deeds.

  It was difficult to be certain which brother was the less honorable!

  “Then it is true that no good deed goes unpunished,” Vivienne said, not troubling to hide her anger. “I did not tell my family of the base manners of Nicholas Sinclair, for I saw no reason to defame a man when he was unlikely to return. And what reward is mine for such courtesy? My brother, out of ignorance of the Sinclair brothers and their dark schemes, believed that Nicholas might come court my hand. Worse, he thought that I might welcome that suit!”

  Ruari clicked his tongue in disapproval and ran a hand over his brow. The older man sat down heavily, as if burdened overmuch by what he had learned.

  Vivienne glared at Erik. “And what will be my fate in this? You have already despoiled me and kidnapped me. Do you mean to leave me for dead in some forgotten corner of Christendom once I have served your purpose? Will I be left to earn my keep as a harlot in some distant hall once you have had your child of me? Or will you return me to Kinfairlie to collect my brother’s offered ransom? It is you who have called me chattel, after all!”

  “I have already told you,” Erik said curtly. “I mean to conceive a son with you, a son whose paternity cannot be questioned, and I meant to raise that son as my own. The Earl of Sutherland will ensure your safety while you ripen, thus he and I have already agreed. You will rewarded more richly than any courtesan has ever been paid for her trouble, and whatsoever you do after that is entirely your concern.”

  He managed to say no more, for Vivienne slapped his face with all her might. “Wretch!” she cried. “No man of honor treats a woman thus!” Her words plus her blow wrought silence between the three of them.

  Then Ruari whistled between his teeth. “She is far from biddable, this wench.”

  “I am no wench!” Vivienne cried, then granted Erik her most ferocious glare. “You will have to tie me down to get a child upon me, and murder me to tear it from my arms. I will surrender nothing to the likes of you, no matter what the cost to myself.”

  Erik’s eyes were an unholy blue as he regarded her, his words uttered with soft menace. “If that is what is required, then so be it,” he said, then turned upon his heel and left her fuming.

  “You will never best a Sinclair, lass, upon that you can rely,” Ruari counseled in an undertone. “Better grant him his desire easily and be done with it.”

  “On the contrary, I have bested a Sinclair before,” Vivienne retorted, turning upon the older man. “And I shall do it again, Ruari Macleod, upon that you can rely.”

  * * *

  Erik stared at the swelling of the sea, fighting his desire to soothe Vivienne. She was enraged, as any reasonable woman would be. It was true that he had chosen her because she had spurned Nicholas, though not for vengeance alone. She had been the sole person he knew who had an immunity to Nicholas’ charm. Given all that he had endured at Nicholas’ instigation, that had seemed a compelling enough reason to choose her for his own.

  The lady, however, might see matters otherwise. It was better to say less, in his opinion, than to cast fuel on the flames of her fury. Beatrice had been able to turn his own words against him so adroitly that he had learned long ago to say less to an angry woman rather than more.

  Erik cast a sidelong glance in Vivienne’s direction, her posture making it clear that she was still livid. She stood with her chin high and her arms folded across her chest as she stared back toward Kinfairlie. The setting sun danced in her hair, the loose tendrils waving on the rising wind.

  “I understand now why you did not wed her,” Ruari said from sudden proximity. “You cannot know that she will bring you a son until she does.”

  “And if so, and if she is willing, then I will wed her, but not before.”

  “And if not?”

  “Then I shall take another maiden to my bed. I have little choice, Ruari, for the Earl of Sutherland has decreed that he will aid me only if there is clear succession for Blackleith.”

  “He is not the only one who tires of war, then.” Ruari shook his head. “But it is a poor way for man and woman to be together, that is for certain.”

  “I handfasted to her,” Erik offered, wanting his father’s loyal servant to think somewhat better of him.

  “Did you then?” Ruari nodded approval. “’Tis better than naught and, in the circumstance, a wise choice.”

  The two men looked as one toward the lady, still standing as straight as a blade and appearing to ignore them utterly.

  “A handfasting is a scarce measure for most women these days, though,” Ruari acknowledged. “They want the blessing of a priest, as I expect this one does.”

  “If all is well in a year, then she will have it.” Erik spared another glance to Vivienne. He touched his cheek, which yet stung from her blow, and wondered how he would meet her abed this night. “Though it will take a measure of charm I may not possess to coax her abed again.”

  Ruari chuckled. “You might be surprised, lad. She could not be so angered with you if she did not have some fondness for you.” He clapped Erik on the shoulder. “And there are those fond of a woman who speaks her thoughts, no less one so prepared to demand that all meet a high moral code. She might well be a good partner for you in this quest.”

  Erik was not certain that the older man spoke rightly, but he was slightly encouraged. And there was but one way to create a son, so far as he knew, so he would have to mend matters with Vivienne this very night. If nothing else, he could ensure that they were without an audience for an interval.

  He pointed to the north. “If you ride along the coast, Ruari, you will find a copse of trees afore the sun sinks much lower. I will meet you there shortly.”

  “And what is this?” the older man demanded, clearly indignant that he was being dispatched. “You will not be rid of me so readily as that! I pledged to your own father...”

  “I do not mean to evade you, Ruari,” Erik said, interrupting what would likely become a long tirade. “In fact, I doubt it could be done.”

  “And there is the truth of it, to be sure! I am honorbound to aid you, lad...”

  “Then aid me now and ride ahead.” Erik took a coil of rope from his saddlebag and spared his companion a steady glance. “There is a deed I must
do afore we ride this night, and I would not have a witness.”

  The older man frowned. “You cannot mean to injure the lass. She may be outspoken but she is not wicked, and she does little in truth to injure you.” Ruari squinted at Erik. “Save speaking the truth when it might be unwelcome.”

  “I have need of a son, and she named the terms herself. My intent is to persuade her by less dire means. By the time darkness falls fully, I will meet you at that copse of trees.”

  “With the lady, of course.”

  “Of course, be she willing or nay.”

  Ruari appeared to be skeptical as he granted Vivienne another glance. Her pose had not eased a whit. “I shall pray for you, lad, that you do not sustain greater injury than already you have.”

  Erik inclined his head. “I thank you for that.”

  As Ruari nodded and strode away, Erik pivoted to find that Vivienne now faced him. She watched him with wary eyes, poised like a doe intending to flee, hair tossing in the wind. He hoped she would not make this difficult, then reminded himself not to care.

  One son was all he needed to set matters to rights.

  And he needed that son soon.

  * * *

  Vivienne swallowed as Erik began to stride toward her. His expression was grim and the rope he carried was no good portent of his intent. She took a step backward and realized that she stood upon the point itself, nothing but a tumble of rocks to the sea behind her. His pace toward her was relentless, and she noted with dread that his companion was leaving.

  The sorry fact was that Ruari had revealed a number of intriguing details, facts that could have made her more welcoming of Erik’s attentions if he had confessed some noble intent with regard to her. She was skeptical that Erik would confide any truth in her this night, given that length of rope.