The Rose Red Bride JK2

by Claire Delacroix

  It was the conviction of Ruari Macleod that women were naught but trouble, and worse, that beauteous women were trouble beyond belief. He had thought that Erik’s scheme to claim Vivienne had been a misbegotten one from his first hearing of it, but the deed had been done by the time he had found the lad. He had also believed that it was folly to discount the talents of any woman kin with those at Ravensmuir, particularly her ability to speak with the ravens of that keep. He was not in the least bit surprised to find his suspicions proven right on all counts.

  Nor was he happy about the result. He watched the large party ride back toward that cursed keep, their manner merry now that they had captured their prey. He had crept closer and listened keenly, disliking every morsel that reached his ears. The lad had treated the maiden with honor and she had rewarded him with treachery.

  Her sole favor to Erik had been her insistence that her maidenhead was intact. Ruari did not doubt that this claim was for her own advantage alone, for she could still be wed well if none believed she had been sampled already, but her vow might have the benefit of ensuring that Erik would not be unmanned.

  Though it was clear that he was to be roughly treated all the same. Perhaps the brother of the maiden had not truly believed her words.

  It mattered little. Ruari trailed the company, its triumphant members not in the least bit cautious about the noise they made. A pair of dark birds circled over the front of the group, where the lass rode with her kin, and Ruari could have readily guessed what manner of birds they were.

  He kept his hood raised, and loitered so far behind the company that he might have lost them, if he had not known their destination.

  Ravensmuir. Dread rose in Ruari’s throat like black bile, but he could not abandon the pledge he had made to William Sinclair. The lad was his responsibility and he dared not fail him.

  The sun set like livid red eye over the highlands, the sky grew thick with clouds. The clouds darkened ominously as they rode ever eastward, the darkness enfolding the last rays of the sun as if extinguishing it. A cold wind stung Ruari’s face, and he found no good portent in the fact that it came from the sea.

  There was trouble ahead, and foul weather as well. Ruari had no taste for either, and he wondered now why he, as a youth, had not been content to remain by his mother’s fire at night, herding goats by day. He could yet be there, content and a little plump, perhaps with a wife of his own who could make a pot of ale now and again. It would not have been so bad of a life.

  Then Ruari remembered William Sinclair, a great man far beyond any he might have encountered in their small village, a man who had taught him much, and he knew why he had left.

  All too quickly, Ravensmuir itself loomed ahead, a massive shadow against the roil of sea and sky. Ruari shivered at the very sight of it, even as he halted his steed. He was relieved when those birds disappeared behind the high curtain wall and did not fly skyward again.

  There was no village at Ravensmuir, just empty moor for the last half mile or so before the gates. Those gates opened to admit the company, then swallowed them, like a demon devouring men in its greedy maw. Ruari paused down behind the last thorny hedge that offered a meager shadow and considered his course. The first heavy drops of rain began to splatter on and around him.

  Ruari wrapped his cloak around himself and straightened his tabard. He squinted at the brooding face of Ravensmuir and shook at what he was compelled to do to keep the pledge he had made.

  But he knew William Sinclair well enough to know that his late lord would not be one to accept excuses. William had never been one to flinch before a deed that needed doing, however unsavory the task might have been.

  Ruari was not so bold as to guess whether his destination when he left this earth was to be heaven or hell, but he knew that whichever it was, William Sinclair would be awaiting him there. Ruari knew that any omissions he might have made in seeing that man’s last demand fulfilled would not be forgotten by him for all eternity.

  Ruari lifted his hood, squared his shoulders, and began to ride toward Ravensmuir’s gates. He might well die in the attempt to aid the lad this time, but there was no honor in walking away from one’s pledge. He kept his head high, though he feared that he stepped squarely into folly.

  He might meet William sooner than either of them had anticipated.

  After all, Ruari could not juggle and he could not sing. The Laird of Ravensmuir did not appear to be in need of mercenaries, nor would he be desirous of information about his neighbors with a hoard of spying birds to do his bidding. To be sure, Ruari knew no such news, but he could have fabricated some if so doing had offered some prospect of success. Ruari could recount a tale, though he knew only one and it was hardly whimsy.

  He could only hope it would suffice.

  Doubts assailed him with every step closer to those dark gates, as if a shadow fell ever longer over his heart. Ruari hoped with sudden vigor that Medusa had neglected to mention his presence when the bird had told the laird where to find Vivienne and Erik.

  Otherwise, his arrival - and his intent - might be anticipated.

  Ruari swallowed but did not slow his pace, even at that daunting prospect. He might be stepping into a trap - he would not put as much past the sorcerers of Ravensmuir - but a man who swore a pledge at the deathbed of another did not truly have any choice.

  Ruari hoped that this choice would not be his last one.

  He also hoped that William Sinclair would grant him credit for trying to fulfill his pledge, even if he failed in so doing.

  * * *

  Tynan called for ale to be poured in Ravensmuir’s hall when the party returned. Their arrival had clearly been anticipated - perhaps by some earlier command of Tynan’s - for the trestle tables were at ready in the hall and the tantalizing smell of roast meat carried from the kitchens.

  Vivienne was in no mood to tell Alexander how wondrous he was, though he clearly was proud of his feat. He seized her hand and held it high, acknowledging the applause of Tynan’s household. “Vivienne is returned, hale and untouched!” he cried. The entire company, as well as those in Tynan’s household, cheered.

  Vivienne smiled, though her thoughts churned with the problem before her. How would she manage to set Erik free? Every gate that clanged shut behind them seemed to make the feat more impossible.

  What if it was impossible?

  What if she could not aid Erik?

  Malcolm, who had once been her ally in many a prank, now hovered so close to Tynan and echoed that man’s grim manner so well that his alliance could not be in doubt. There would be no aid for Erik from him.

  “Let me tend the prisoner,” Vivienne said on impulse to her brother. “He was injured by your men and it is the responsible of a good laird to see his prisoners tended.”

  “Then Uncle Tynan will see the deed done by another, you can be certain,” Alexander said dismissively. “Come to the board, so all can see that you are hale.”

  “I would offer to do aid him.” Vivienne had thought this might grant her a chance to see Erik, but Alexander shook his head.

  “You have need of a bath, a hot meal and a long sleep,” he said with affection. “Not more responsibilities.”

  “But...”

  “You will not do this, Vivienne,” Alexander said with resolve. “I forbid it.” Vivienne glared at her brother, who had never spoken to her with such a harsh tone, and he glared back at her, clearly unapologetic.

  “It is common,” Tynan interjected, “for one who has undergone an ordeal to feel fondness for the party responsible for that ordeal.”

  “That makes no sense,” Alexander said.

  “Nonetheless, it is true.” Tynan watched Vivienne with his wise eyes and she wondered again how much he saw of her inclinations. He shook his head, then cupped her elbow in his hand. He was so calm, so certain of himself, that it was easy to be let him lead her along. “Come to the board, Vivienne, and revive yourself with ale and meat. You will forget what you have exp
erienced by the morrow.”

  Such was Vivienne’s attitude toward her kin that his words made her wonder whether rumor contained a germ of truth. Had Ruari uttered a truth in naming her uncle as a sorcerer? Would Tynan ensure that she forgot Erik, by slipping some herb into her ale? There could be no greater travesty, to her thinking, for she was possessive of her memories of their time together.

  And she would make more such memories.

  “I am not hungry, in truth,” she protested. “Nor do I have any thirst.”

  Alexander laughed. “I wager that you will be hungry beyond belief once you let a morsel cross your tongue. The fare at Ravensmuir is most fine, and you look to be pale for lack of food, Vivienne.”

  “Nonetheless, I have no desire to eat.”

  “What did you eat this past day?” Alexander asked.

  Vivienne glanced downward. “Some cheese and bread. An apple or two. Simple fare but sufficient of it.”

  Alexander snorted.

  “You must sit at the board for a while,” Tynan urged smoothly. “The better for all to see that you are well. Without doubt, you have had an ordeal and the merriment will ease your mood.”

  It seemed that what Vivienne desired was not to be. She followed their lead to the board and lifted a cup to the company with false cheer, hoping against hope that she could escape her brother and uncle soon.

  It was the sight of her youngest sister that eased Vivienne’s mood. Elizabeth pushed her way through the crowd in the hall, her eyes dancing with pleasure.

  “Vivienne!” Elizabeth cried as she made the high table. Vivienne darted down from the dais, uncaring what her brother had to say about that.

  Elizabeth caught her in a tight hug and spun her around joyously. Her greeting was more to Vivienne’s liking. “We were all so fearful for you. Are you hale?”

  “Hale enough.” Vivienne heard Erik’s influence in her short reply but she did not have the heart to say more.

  “Perhaps she has greater need of a sister’s companionship than a meal at the board,” Alexander suggested to Tynan, who smiled with affection at the pair. As always, Elizabeth had a talent for persuading Alexander to soften his stance, sometimes not even by trying to do so. For once, though, Vivienne did not find this vexing.

  Elizabeth pulled back and studied Vivienne. “You do not seem that hale.”

  “I am tired, no more than that.” Vivienne forced a smile. “Where are Annelise and Isabella? Did they not accompany you here?”

  Elizabeth grimaced, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “They were forbidden to accompany us. I was only allowed to come this far because of Darg.”

  “Darg?”

  “That fairy aided our quest for you,” Alexander said. He ruffled Elizabeth’s hair, though she ducked from beneath the weight of his hand, then rolled her eyes.

  “You will tangle my hair!”

  “While you would prefer to tempt a suitor?” Alexander teased.

  Elizabeth flushed and folded her arms across her chest, failing completely in her attempt to disguise the fullness of her breasts. She had been embarrassed about her new curves since their sudden and recent appearance, though was more uncertain of the attention men now granted to her. She cast a wary glance over her shoulder at the mostly male company, then turned to Vivienne alone.

  “Darg said you would be found this night. Indeed, she granted me a verse specifically for Alexander. Ride west, ride west with main and might; a maid will be saved this very night. Between the river and the sea, a dozen strides from the chestnut tree; near the vale of Elphinstone, there you will find the one wanted home.”

  “And you were there in truth!” Alexander said, hoisting his chalice high.

  As the company cheered, Elizabeth dropped her voice so that Vivienne alone could hear her. “I did not tell them the rest, for Alexander would have been furious. Do not trust Malcolm with any morsel you wish to keep secret,” she advised, casting a disparaging glance at their brother. “He is as Tynan’s left hand since coming here.”

  It could have been argued that there was no small advantage in Malcolm’s choice, for he stood to inherit Ravensmuir if he served Tynan well and allowed himself to be so groomed. Two years Vivienne’s junior, Malcolm had the wits to know that he had been graced with a rare opportunity. She did not doubt that he would never jeopardize it and would have readily told Elizabeth as much.

  But it was impossible for the sisters to speak further. The company erupted into noise at the sight of the prisoner. The company bellowed, stamped and spat as Erik was carried into the hall. Vivienne turned away, so unable was she to look upon him so beaten and bruised. He was as yet unaware of his circumstance and Vivienne blamed herself for the many injuries he had sustained.

  “That is Nicholas Sinclair?” Elizabeth whispered in shock. “And he was once so handsome a man. Look at the scar upon his face!” She cast a sharp glance at Vivienne. “Has his charm diminished as well as his looks?” She wrinkled her nose. “I never liked him, though it might solely have been because he stole your attention away from our games. I always thought he had too much charm, that he was too certain of his own merit.”

  Erik was taken to the dungeon and the men settled contentedly to their meal. They were excited after their successful capture of the supposed villain and anxious to share their tales. A song began even as Erik was carried away and Tynan repeated his call for ale.

  Vivienne did not want to spend time in their company.

  “Can we not eat alone in the solar, as we used to?” she asked, granting their brother a glance. “I should love to have a chance to talk with you, Elizabeth, without Alexander listening to our every word.”

  “I do not listen to every word!” Alexander protested.

  “You try to do as much,” Elizabeth retorted. “And you are much less amusing about the matter since you have become laird,” she informed him with the honesty of youth. “Once you jested with us and were an amiable companion, now you demand this and that more sternly than ever Papa did. No wonder Vivienne did not miss your company.”

  Vivienne saw how the casually uttered words stung Alexander, for he looked suddenly stricken, but Elizabeth seemed oblivious. She turned a smile upon Tynan, obviously certain that she could win her way from him. “Uncle Tynan, you cannot make Vivienne remain here with all of you men after what she had endured. I shall ensure her welfare, you can be certain of that.”

  “Then, go,” Tynan said with amusement. He laid a hand upon Alexander’s shoulder. “And may God judge us more kindly than bold maidens do, especially when we have ceased to be amusing.”

  Alexander smiled at his uncle’s comment, but Vivienne saw that no merriment reached his eyes. She felt torn then, for she guessed that her brother had a more difficult time with the burden of Kinfairlie than she had understood.

  She and Alexander had always had a certain camaraderie, and it stung that he had not confided the truth in her even as she felt a desire to ask him for it now.

  On the other hand, he was disinclined to even listen to her side of matters and that was disappointing indeed. It was clear that whatever bond they had shared was now severed, though Vivienne wondered if she alone was saddened by that.

  It mattered little, for she meant to fulfill her pledge to Erik. Thus, she followed Elizabeth from the hall, only half heeding her sister’s merry chatter.

  How would she escape this doughty fortress without detection? That Madeline had managed as much should have been more encouraging than it was, but Vivienne knew she could not match her elder sister’s merit.

  All the same, she would have to try.

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Elizabeth tugged at Vivienne’s hand and led her toward the stairs. “I can do better than this noisy hall, to be sure. The castellan’s wife likes me, because Darg has taken a fancy to her and she likes to hear Darg’s verses. I could be Lady of Ravensmuir with such influence!”

  “I thought that position was yet held for A
unt Rosamunde.”

  Elizabeth shook her head vehemently at that, then glanced back at their uncle in dismay. “Do not so much as utter her name,” she counseled in a whisper. “Uncle Tynan becomes most angry at the very mention of her.”

  “Why? He was the one who sent her away,” Vivienne was disinclined to grant understanding to her brother and uncle in this moment. “I heard the cruel things he said to her and I do not blame her for leaving.”

  Elizabeth winced. “I think he loves her yet. And Darg says that their ribbons are entwined, for the moment at least.”

  Vivienne remembered now this curious matter of ribbons. When their elder sister Madeline had been courted by Rhys, Darg had shown Elizabeth the ribbons that unfurled from each person in the hall. The ribbons of those souls destined to live and love together, according to Elizabeth, were entwined together.

  The spriggan Darg could make a great deal of mischief, again according to Elizabeth, by knotting ribbons or shredding them, a feat which created obstacles for the lovers in question. Elizabeth claimed that Darg had attacked the ribbons of Tynan and Rosamunde with a vengeance, a result of her dislike of Rosamunde, and certainly that mortal pair had argued beyond expectation.

  “That sounds ominous,” Vivienne said.

  Elizabeth nodded. “I do not like how Darg says it. She still holds malice against, Rosamunde, of that I am certain.”

  Vivienne could not keep herself from being skeptical. “Darg could be lying.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I suspect not in this matter. She wants dearly to avenge herself upon Aunt Rosamunde and awaits her return so keenly that I cannot bear to hear more of it. She is most excited to be at Ravensmuir, I can assure you, and her wild antics have kept me from sleeping at all.” Elizabeth yawned widely. “Though, of course, it was fear for your welfare that kept me awake in truth.”

  “I was hale enough.”

  Elizabeth granted Vivienne a long glance but said nothing more on the matter. “Darg is utterly convinced that Rosamunde will arrive at Ravensmuir at any moment, despite the fact that I have told her that Rosamunde herself swore never to return. We have argued about the matter so much that my head hurts, but still Darg insists.”