Elizabeth stood and took Vivienne’s hand in her own. Her sister’s fingers were chilly. Vivienne returned Elizabeth’s squeeze, though she did not glance in her direction.
“And so it was done, though Erik was certain that the Earl must be mistaken. It had long been said that the Earl of Sutherland was overly suspicious, after all. But just as the Earl had foretold, Nicholas called himself Laird of Blackleith. Nicholas was not, however, content with mere suzerainty over what he had stolen from his brother: he not only claimed authority over the family holding, but insisted that his brother’s children were of his very own seed.”
“No!” someone in the company roared.
“Aye!” Ruari retorted. “Nicholas said that he had been compelled to render the marital debt to his brother’s wife, for Erik had been incapable of so doing. No man would have believed that he was not desirous of union with Beatrice, for the woman was a beauty beyond compare.”
“And what did she say of it?” demanded a man.
Ruari shrugged. “No one knew, for of Erik’s beauteous and loyal wife, there was no sign. The Earl believed that she had defended her spouse and been killed for that deed. After all, Nicholas claimed he had seduced Beatrice in lieu of her rightful spouse, which must have shamed her. This time, Erik put credence in the Earl’s suspicions, though he mourned his loyal wife in truth.”
“Such treachery must see its due!” shouted another man. The company began to growl in discontent, so fully were they upon Erik’s side.
“But surely the father protested,” argued one man.
Ruari shook his head sadly. “Beguiled by Nicholas’ silvered tongue, the father denounced Erik, he called his eldest son the shame of his beloved wife’s womb. And he retired, shaking, to his bed, leaving Nicholas uncontested as Laird of Blackleith.”
“It will be a feat to wring a happy ending to this story,” Elizabeth whispered.
“That it will,” Vivienne agreed.
“What happened?” prompted one of the men, his words quick with impatience.
Ruari lifted his head and spread his hands as he addressed the company in a bold voice once more. “It took a long time to heal Erik’s wounds, though I would wager that some of them never did heal. He always limped. He always was scarred. Once hale, choices were before him. He might have left his homeland forever, he might have earned his way as a mercenary in a far country, but fear for his daughters made him desire to remain close. There was little he could do alone, though, and he had no men he could summon to his side. His brother had fortified Blackleith and few even knew of Erik’s survival who might have aided him.
“Just when he despaired utterly of success, fickle Fortune smiled upon him again, as so oft she will. The Earl of Sutherland, who was disinclined to enter his neighbor’s squabbles but also hated to see injustice pass unpunished, offered Erik a wager. The Earl had been troubled by that visit to Blackleith, nigh as troubled as Erik had been. The Earl was much concerned with stability and the clear passage of inheritance. Many woes come of daughters, such was oft declared by him, and I believe it was a matter of concern to him that only two daughters were the progeny of the Sinclairs. He saw trouble ahead, did the Earl, and he thought to resolve both that and the trouble at hand.
“And so it was that the Earl of Sutherland pledged to Erik Sinclair that if Erik could conceive a son, a son whose paternity was beyond doubt, then he, the Earl of Sutherland, would not only defend that son, but that he would muster an army to retrieve Erik’s holding of Blackleith from his brother Nicholas.”
“Erik took the wager,” Elizabeth whispered.
“What else might he do?” Vivienne murmured in return. The sisters’ hands entwined and locked together, their knuckles white with the vigor of their grip.
“And so it was that Erik sought the one maiden in all of Christendom who had perceived his brother to be the viper he was when first she met him, the one woman who had spied the darkness of Nicholas’ heart with a single glance, the one woman whom he believed could grant to him not only the son he needed but grant that son the discernment he would need to survive and to succeed.”
Elizabeth watched Vivienne and knew who that woman was.
“What will you do?” she asked.
Vivienne shook her head. “He must escape, this very night, before Alexander condemns him.” She flicked a glance at Elizabeth. “I beg you not to betray me to Alexander.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the very prospect. “Of course not! But how will you do it?”
Vivienne met Elizabeth’s gaze. “I had thought that our sole chance might be through the caverns.”
“You mean to leave with him.”
Vivienne nodded. “I promised him that son. I pledged to do my best to conceive and we have a handfast for a year and a day, as well. My path lies with him.”
Elizabeth hurried to grant her sister a hug, hearing all the unspoken nuances in those few words. This quest might not end well, for great odds were stacked against Erik Sinclair. It frightened her to think of Vivienne in the midst of it, yet she could well imagine her sister making a difference in the end result.
Elizabeth wanted to do her part. “I will persuade Darg to show us through the caverns. We can ensure your escape with her aid.”
“You would do this for me?”
“Of course!”
“But Alexander will be angry with you, of that I am certain.”
Elizabeth waved away that concern. “Alexander has his own way far too often these days. I shall savor the chance to ruin one of his schemes.”
Darg gave a cry then as she fell through the hole she had gnawed in the handkerchief. There was a splash as the spriggan fell into the pitcher of ale. The fairy made a gurgling sound and Elizabeth swore. She plunged her hand through the hole in the cloth and seized the wriggling fairy by her breeches, then gave her a stern shake.
Darg coughed with gusto, then released a belch sweet with the scent of ale.
“Immortality has not sharpened your wits,” Elizabeth said, tapping the fairy’s back with more vigor than was strictly necessary. “We have need of your aid this night, and you might see fit to be sufficiently sober to grant it.”
Darg opened one eye slyly, then sat up instead of making some comment. She sniffed the air, as hungrily as a hound on the hunt, and her smile turned malicious. “The thief returns on the storm’s tide; she thinks her lust cannot be denied.” Darg began to cackle as if her merriment could not be contained. She rolled to her back, laughing and laughing, her feet kicking in the air helplessly.
Elizabeth could make no sense of her chatter and had no patience for it. Clearly the spriggan was drunk and that at a most inconvenient time.
“Enough about Rosamunde,” Elizabeth said with disgust. “I have told you time and again that she will not return. I ask you only to guide us through the caverns this night.” Darg glanced this way and that, murmuring to herself and granting Elizabeth no reply. Elizabeth looked to Vivienne, who watched her with care. “I am sorry, but I cannot warrant what Darg will do this night.”
“Then we shall have to do our best,” Vivienne said, turning to watch the company with rare resolve. “There will be no other choice so good as this one and we dare not sacrifice it.”
Even if it meant sacrificing herself. Vivienne’s resolve could mean nothing less. This was love, Elizabeth thought, and found herself thrilled in its very presence.
It was only right that success be theirs this night.
* * *
Vivienne inched forward to peer around the corner at the foot of the stairs. She watched as Ruari shrugged and paced the hall slowly, apparently deep in thought. The hall was silent as all waited for the next increment of the tale.
“Tell us!” cried a bold man in the crowd. “Tell us how he regained all he had lost!” The men roared and thumped their cups on the tables, many of them stamping their feet with enthusiasm. Alexander and Tynan exchanged a smile, Alexander clearly pleased with himself for seeing f
it to hire the storyteller this night.
He might not remain so pleased for long.
Ruari sighed and straightened, letting his gaze trail over the company as if he dreaded what he must say. “I wish I could tell you as much, but the Earl of Sutherland’s daring scheme came to naught. The chosen maiden betrayed Erik, as had every soul in all of his life. Erik died, nameless, forgotten and unavenged in a sorry pit of a dungeon. As to the fate of his daughters, I dare not guess.”
The men in the hall stared incredulously at the storyteller for a long moment of silence. Vivienne rose to her feet, knowing that this tale had been recounted for her ears, knowing that she alone had the power to change its ending.
Erik had need of her.
“No!” cried one man in the hall. “That is not fair!”
“No!” cried another. “He cannot have died afore his quest was won!”
Alexander stood and raised his hands, clearly hoping that he could calm the company. “I suggest you find a better ending for your tale, old man,” he said, but Ruari stood proudly.
“I have recounted the tale as it was,” he said. “This is the sole ending that I know, for it is the truth.”
“That is no tale!” a man roared and threw his pottery cup with vigor at Ruari. Ruari ducked, the cup smashed against the high table, and was quickly followed by another.
A tempest erupted in the hall. Crockery shattered against the floor and a roaring tide of discontented men surged toward the unrepentant storyteller. Tynan bellowed for order to no avail, Alexander shouted in dismay, and Vivienne knew what she had to do.
“Now!” she cried to Elizabeth and the two young women plunged into the chaos of Ravensmuir’s hall. Vivienne pulled Erik’s dagger from its sheath, and hoped against hope that she would not have to use it against her own kin.
“Bring Darg!” she shouted to Elizabeth.
“She runs ahead of us, using the heads and shoulders of the company as stepping stones!” Elizabeth replied.
The sisters dodged the crockery that flew through the air and tried not to slip on the ale spilled across the stone floor. Vivienne lunged for the door to the dungeon and collided heavily with a man.
It was Ruari, a bulging saddlebag cast over his shoulder.
He considered her sternly, then heaved a sigh. “There is no portent more fearsome than the attentions of a beauteous woman, upon that any man of good sense can rely.”
“I mean to aid him,” Vivienne said, certain he was referring to Beatrice. “My sister can help us escape.”
Ruari looked skeptical. His gaze flicked away, then he nudged Vivienne roughly out of the path of a pair of men locked in combat. He apologized, then put out his hand for Erik’s blade. “You have wrought quite enough trouble, lass. Let me at least save the lad’s life.”
“You cannot give him a son.”
“And you will never persuade the guard to surrender the key to you,” Elizabeth interjected. “You have need of us.”
Ruari’s eyes narrowed and his mouth worked in rare silence.
“This is my sister, Elizabeth. She can see fairies, including the one that will guide us out of Ravensmuir by a hidden passage.” Vivienne heartily hoped that was true.
Ruari thought for a mere moment, his expression troubled. “Sorcerers!” he muttered. “No less an entire family of them.” He cast a glance back at the disordered company, then abruptly opened the wooden portal. He bowed with the grace of a courtier. “After you, my ladies,” he said, behaving for all the world as if it had been his suggestion that they join him.
Vivienne hastened down the steps, holding her skirts high. She feigned delight when the man granted the duty of guarding Erik glanced up from his post. “Hamish! I am so glad to find you here.”
“My lady Vivienne! And my lady Elizabeth. What trouble is at work in the hall?” Hamish was silver of hair and doughty in battle, his face creased with the lines of experience. He was trim and muscular, a formidable opponent despite his years of experience at warfare. His impatience to join the fray was most evident. “We sound besieged.”
“We are!” Elizabeth cried. “The battle is dreadful!”
Hamish’s eyes brightened at the prospect.
“Uncle Tynan has need of every man to come to the defense of Kinfairlie,” Vivienne added.
“Aye, I can hear the ruckus, but I cannot abandon my task.” Hamish spared a dark glance to the door to the cell in the dungeon. “No man assails one of the ladies of my laird’s family and is left free to escape justice.”
“Amen to that,” Ruari said gruffly. “I will watch the prisoner in your stead.”
“Indeed!” Vivienne declared. “Hamish, your blade is needed in the battle above!”
Hamish flicked a suspicious glance at Ruari. “And who is this?”
“Oh, you must know Ruari.” Elizabeth waved dismissively at the older man, to Vivienne’s pleasure. Her sister, it was clear, was more adept with a falsehood than she. “He has been in Alexander’s employ for at least a fortnight.” Elizabeth leaned closer to Hamish to whisper. “But he is more sturdy than bold, what with his age, if you know understand my import.”
Hamish nodded at this, his gaze unswerving from Ruari.
Vivienne added to the tale. “Alexander has made Ruari my escort and he is stalwart. Trust him with the key to the dungeon and no one living or dead shall loose it from his grip.”
Hamish looked lingeringly toward the stairs, but he shook his head. “I should wait for my laird’s command.”
Ruari laughed shortly. “Even one so ancient as I can ensure that a prisoner remains in his cell in this formidable keep.” He glanced upwards. “And the laird will have no chance to grant you direct orders soon, my friend. He has need of every ally!”
A bellow carried from the hall above, followed by a resounding crash. Tynan roared for order with perfect timing.
Hamish hastily untied the key from his belt and offered it to the other man. “Mind you are not tricked.”
Ruari nodded. “I am accustomed to the silver tongue of Nicholas Sinclair and the wickedness it can unleash. You can be certain that I shall not be beguiled.”
Hamish raced up the stairs, then halted just before the portal. “Swear to me, as well, that you will defend Lady Vivienne and Lady Elizabeth.”
Ruari nodded. “Never has a woman come to harm beneath my care.” He pulled his own blade, as if to show his preparedness. “The ladies will be safe with me, safer here, by far, than in the hall above. Go, man! Go and aid the laird!”
The men’s gazes met and held, then Hamish burst into the hall with a battle cry. The heavy portal closed behind him as blades clashed overhead.
“Finally!” Vivienne made to pluck the key from Ruari’s hand, the better to hasten to Erik’s aid, but the older man shook his head.
“Let me. All may not be as you anticipate.”
Vivienne’s hand dropped away in trepidation. “Is Darg here?” she whispered and Elizabeth glanced to a high corner of the chamber, then nodded.
Ruari sheathed his blade silently, then squinted as he fitted the brass key into the lock. There was no sound from behind the portal, a poor portent indeed.
Perhaps Erik had been beaten to a stupor.
Perhaps he was dead. Vivienne clenched her hands together and prayed silently. Elizabeth eased closer, her own eyes wide.
The tumblers rolled and Ruari granted them a solemn glance.
Vivienne nodded that she was prepared for the worst, and the older man began to open the massive door. The hinges creaked in protest.
Then the door slammed back with vigor. Ruari fell backward with a cry as Erik leapt from his prison. In the twinkling of an eye, Ruari was on his back on the floor and Erik knelt atop him, his hands locked around the older man’s neck.
“No!” Vivienne shouted, forgetting for the moment that she might be overhead.
“No!” Elizabeth cried.
Apparently deaf to the sisters, Erik squeezed tighter. Ruari red
dened and choked.
“Fool!” Vivienne kicked Erik in the leg with all her might. “Do not kill Ruari! We have come to aid you!”
* * *
Erik blinked repeatedly, struggling to adjust his vision to the sudden light. He had been able to see little beyond the silhouette in the doorway when he launched from the cell.
He was prepared to fight his way out of Ravensmuir. He had been so certain that the door would only be opened by someone charged with leading him to some foul fate, that he had been prepared to kill that messenger.
He had not been prepared for a woman to shout at him, much less for her to kick him with savage might. She leapt on to his back and locked her arms around his neck. The bone of her forearm pressed across his throat and impeded the passage of air.
He tightened his grip, intent upon completing what he had begun while he could. The chamber dimmed around him and his head began to throb with increased vigor.
Then he heard the name “Ruari” being screamed into his ear.
Indeed, the face reddening within his grasp was familiar.
Erik had not imagined that anyone would help him escape. He had certainly not imagined that Ruari would attempt to even enter Ravensmuir, much less gain an opportunity to release him in a timely fashion. The odds were rather against such fortuitous intervention.
Yet here was Ruari, choking for air within his grip.
“Ruari!” Erik loosed his hands and the older man took a shaking gasp of air. Erik helped the older man sit up and patted his back while that man laboriously caught his breath. Ruari coughed and spat, choked and rubbed his throat. He granted Erik a foul look, which was not undeserved.
It was Vivienne who slipped from Erik’s back, against all expectation, Vivienne who had kept him from making a grievous error.
If anything she gave him a darker glance than Ruari had.
It defied belief that Vivienne had ensured his escape. Yet Erik’s shin ached so mightily where she had kicked him that she could be no figment of his fancy.
The Rose Red Bride JK2 Page 19