Then he smirked. “Though it was a lesson you took so long to learn that I confess I never thought you would heed it.”
“It is less wicked to think well of one’s own kin than to think poorly of them,” Erik said and lifted his blade in challenge.
Nicholas slashed at him with sudden fury and the blades clanged against each other. Nicholas’ blade glanced off of Erik’s, so quickly did Erik raise his sword in defense.
“You were ever cursed quick,” Nicholas said and thrust his blade again.
This time, though he struck at Erik’s horse. Erik swore and strove to deflect his brother’s blade, but it was beyond his reach and struck the beast’s neck.
The horse whinnied in fear and Nicholas laughed. The wound was slight, but the horse was frightened and there was a deadly intent in Nicholas’ eyes. Erik swung out of the saddle and barely had to touch the palfrey’s flanks for the beast to flee.
Nicholas’ smile broadened. “Now we are better matched,” he said and swung at Erik in turn. Their blades rang as they struck, then stuck again and again. The destrier danced sideways and snorted, even as Nicholas compelled it to run in a circle around Erik. Nicholas stabbed downward, from behind Erik, and cut him across the back of his shoulders.
Erik swung and nearly dismounted his brother with sheer force, which granted him an idea. He dared not swing with all his power lest he injure the horse. He waited until Nicholas slashed at him again, then stabbed upward with sudden vigor.
Nicholas cried out in pain as the sword cut the inside of his upper arm. His eyes flashed in anger and he immediately swung downward with dangerous force. Erik ducked beneath the massive steed and pushed his brother’s foot up and out of the stirrup from the opposite side. That, combined with Nicholas’ own swing, sent that man tumbling to the ground.
Nicholas swore. He rolled as he fell, coming up on his feet, eyes narrowed. The destrier fled, reins snapping behind it as it raced downhill to safety.
And Erik erred in looking after the beast. In that heartbeat that he glanced away, Nicholas stabbed at him. Erik saw the flash of the blade from the periphery of his vision and leapt backward.
The steel cut across his arm, the wound deep and clean. It bled with fury but he ignored its sting. He held his blade high once again. “You might at least fight one battle honorably,” he said.
Nicholas smiled. “My tactics have served me well enough thus far,” he said, then arched a brow. “Not a soul missed you in these parts, Erik, to be sure. Your wife is more merry in my bed, your daughters call me Father, and Blackleith has never prospered more. Our own father knew the truth of it when he called you the shame of our mother’s womb.”
“Did you bury him with honor? Or did it not suit your convenience to do so?”
Their blades met with a resounding ring of steel on steel. The brothers backed away and circled each other warily.
Nicholas chuckled. “The dead tell no tales, Erik, and I shall not breach that silence. The old man is gone, on my side at the last. At least I finally persuaded him of my merit.”
“Did you then?”
“Can you not imagine how vexing it was to always be compared with you? You! You who could not summon a lie to your lips, no less a glib tale, you who could not charm a woman already besotted with you, you who never showed a care for your appearance. Yet always did our father remind me of your merit, no less note my deficiencies. It was tedious, at best.” Nicholas smiled. “I loved that he was in thrall to me at the end, that he had to beg my favor to be granted his meals thrice a day.”
“You did not so dishonor him!”
Nicholas only smiled.
Then he gasped in horror at the vigor of Erik’s assault. Erik swung with all his might, driving Nicholas back against a stone. His blade tucked neatly under his brother’s chin and Nicholas caught his breath as a thin trickle of blood mingled with the rainwater on the blade.
“You will rot in hell for such treachery,” Erik growled. “You will burn, and rightly so, for so dishonoring the man who granted you life.”
Nicholas’ gaze hardened. He pursed his lips and then he spat in Erik’s eye.
Erik blinked and that was all the opportunity his brother needed to slip from beneath the weight of his blade. They pursued each other around the stones, blades clashing, feet slipping in the mud, then Erik lost track of his brother.
He turned slowly, listening carefully. He heard nothing but the patter of the rain, saw nothing but the heather bowing beneath its assault.
“Ha!” Nicholas cried from his immediate right. Erik spun but too late, Nicholas had hooked his blade beneath the hilt of Erik’s sword. Slick with rain, Erik’s grip was loose enough that his brother managed to dislodge his blade and sent it scuttling across the ground.
“How sad that you cannot fight honestly, like a man of merit,” Erik mused.
“I win, howsoever I can,” Nicholas said.
“You win by cheating, for it is the only way you can.” Erik met his brother’s gaze. “Vivienne Lammergeier said as much, and it is clear that she knows you far better than I.”
Nicholas froze. “Vivienne? You have met Vivienne?”
Erik pulled his dagger as he nodded. “Indeed, I have, and you spoke aright. The lady is a marvel.”
Nicholas stood, shocked. “You did not bed her?”
Erik only smiled.
Nicholas lunged at him. Sword and dagger met with fury, the clash of blades dangerously close to Erik’s face. He fought back, grunting with the effort, and managed to nick Nicholas’ cheek.
That man cried out as he leapt backward, his hand rising to his face. “Do not disfigure me!”
“Surely he owes you no less,” Ruari interjected, appearing suddenly from behind a stone. Nicholas pivoted and swung his blade at Ruari. His sword was large and weighty, however, and Erik took advantage of the moment. He leapt upon his brother and slashed at his hand.
The sword fell to the ground, Nicholas’ blood streaming after it. He backed into a stone, his gaze flicking between Ruari and Erik. “So, this will be the end of it, will it? You will kill your own brother like a dog and leave me unmourned upon this hill?”
Erik hesitated.
“You tried to do the same to your own brother,” Ruari noted. “And you had no cause to do so.”
“Cease your prattle!” Nicholas spat, then spared a covert glance to the space beyond the circle of stones.
“Your squire is dead,” Ruari said, his tone matter-of-fact. “I would have let the boy live, but he was determined to ensure my end. There was little else I could do but guarantee his instead. What manner are you to train a boy so young as that to fight to the death, even when he is out-matched?”
Nicholas’ lips tightened, though he did not spare Ruari a reply. He turned an intent gaze upon Erik. “Will you kill me in truth, brother mine? We could reconcile, administer Blackleith as one. Beatrice would return to you with pleasure, at least if I commanded as much, I am certain.”
Ruari snorted.
Erik had no urge to kill the last of his own kin, not unless he were certain of Nicholas’ intent. The rain beat upon them, the thunder rumbled. Nicholas licked his lips, his breath coming quickly in his fear, and memory stirred.
A horrible truth filled Erik’s thoughts, a conviction that allowed no excuses for his sibling. Filled with new resolve, Erik gestured impatiently to Ruari that that man should retreat.
Ruari did his bidding, with obvious reluctance.
Erik passed his dagger to his left hand beneath his brother’s avid gaze. He then slowly turned his hand palm up, loosed his fingers and cast the blade away.
Nicholas did not waste a moment. He lunged for Erik, fingers outstretched.
But Erik was prepared. He reached behind himself with lightning speed. He pulled his father’s blade from the back of his belt even as Nicholas’ fingers locked around his throat. He raised the blade and drove it down between Nicholas’ shoulder blades, watching his brother’s eyes wi
den as the blade sank home.
Nicholas’ grip loosened within their deadly embrace, and his eyes glazed with pain.
“It rains this day,” Erik whispered. “Just as it rained on the day that I was granted these scars.”
Nicholas stared at him, and Erik did not know whether he comprehended his words or not.
Still they had to be uttered.
“In times of peril, a man’s senses become more keen. I remember the sound of my last assailant’s breath, I remember the sound of his boots upon the road, the rhythm of his step. And I remember his smell.” Erik lifted his brother’s limp fingers from his neck and for a moment, he held Nicholas’ weight in his hands. “I smell it again on this day. Surely you did not imagine that I would forget.”
“You were never to know,” Nicholas whispered. “You were never to live that you might remember.”
Erik let his brother plummet to the ground, let him die mired and alone. He stepped over him, pulled his father’s blade from Nicholas’ back, and walked out of the stone circle.
Though he knew he had done what was right, Erik felt no pride in his deed. He wiped the ancient Sinclair weapon in the heather, cleaning the blood of a Sinclair from its blade. He felt tears slide down his face, mingling with the rain, and was aware of Ruari close by his side.
He would never climb to this hill again, for he would never forget that he had spilled the blood that stained it.
The older man laid a hand on Erik’s shoulder and heaved a sigh. “It is a man of merit who can complete an unpleasant task, no less one that needs to be done. Your father would be proud of you, Erik Sinclair, upon that you can rely.”
“My father would weep with me this day, Ruari,” Erik said softly. “There can be no doubt of that.”
* * *
In that same moment, Rosamunde and Tynan were assaulted by a high-pitched scream in Ravensmuir’s caverns.
“Circle of kings wrought of silver fine; Pledge your troth but that ring is MINE!”
A wild swirl of orange erupted in the middle of the cavern, so fiery a hue that Rosamunde thought it had come from the torches. It was no flame, though, but an angry cloud.
“What in the name of God is that?” Tynan cried.
“I fear it is the spriggan,” Rosamunde had time enough to say before the cloud exploded upward. Stone broke from the high arch of the cavern’s ceiling and chunks fell to the ground around them.
“Treacherous thief who would break a vow; I want my ring, I want it NOW!”
But there was no time to respond to the spriggan’s demands. Tynan swore and pushed the ring all the way onto Rosamunde’s finger. She did not know whether he did as much by instinct or choice. He spun and drew his blade. Rosamunde drew her own, though she guessed it was useless against this foe.
Meanwhile, Darg screamed in ear-piercing fury. The cloud that must be her manifestation grew half again as large and fairly boiled against the stone walls. To Rosamunde’s dismay, rock began to fall from the tunnel walls with vigor then, crashing around them and falling into the chasm. A veil of dust rose, but still the cloud grew bigger.
The rock began to groan, as if it could not contain the volume of Darg’s fury. Cracks appeared and spread wildly across the stone surfacing, gaping wider with every scream the spriggan uttered.
“The caverns will collapse!” Tynan shouted over the din. He seized Rosamunde’s hand and they ran together toward the corridor that led upward to Ravensmuir’s solar.
The cloud screamed more sharply and a crack gaped wide in the rock above the door. Rosamunde knew they would not make the portal in time, but both she and Tynan ran more quickly all the same. Right in front of their toes, a massive chunk of stone loosed itself and fell squarely into the corridor, blocking the passage and enfolding them in a cloud of dust.
Tynan did not hesitate. He turned to another portal, one that led to the stables. Lightning seemed to flash over their heads as they turned their steps. It snaked through the dust-filled air, striking the stone with a flash. The stone walls roared and vibrated, and another piece of stone fell to block their course.
“We shall be trapped!” Rosamunde said. She pivoted, even as more stones fell into the other portals, then looked up a fierce snap echoed through the chamber. The very floor shifted with its rumble and Rosamunde feared the worst.
A fissure opened in the high arching ceiling of stone overhead, then gaped wide with alarming speed. Tynan followed her gaze and swore. Far overhead, there was the sound of stone creaking and walls buckling.
It was more than the labyrinth falling in, Rosamunde realized. All of Ravensmuir collapsed around them, the tunnels sealing as the mighty keep was brought to its knees.
And not a single soul knew that she and Tynan were trapped beneath the stone.
“We are lost!” Tynan whispered, making to draw her into his embrace.
Rosamunde was not so prepared to surrender. She knew what the spriggan wanted of her, and the fairy had loosed her ship from the fog. The debt had to be paid. She pulled the ring from her finger that Tynan had just place there, and cast it into the midst of the angry orange cloud that assaulted them.
“What is this madness that you do?” Tynan cried and dove after the silver ring. “That is my mother’s ring!”
“Leave it!” Rosamunde cried over the cracking of stone, but he did not heed her. She saw him fall to his knees, desperately seeking the ring in the rubble. She glanced upward at the crumbling stone, then about herself. “Look there, Tynan!” she cried in sudden relief. “We missed one portal!”
And indeed there was one, gleaming with a strange golden light as if it would beckon them closer.
Tynan glanced up. “That is no passage I know.”
“Nonetheless it is there.”
“You know not where it leads.”
“It scarce matters!”
“I do not like the look of it,” he insisted.
“I do not like the look of that!” Rosamunde pointed upward as the ceiling of the grotto began to shift. A hail of small stones scattered over them and she saw blood on Tynan’s temple.
“Tynan, hurry!” Rosamunde shouted and lunged for the gleaming portal, assuming he would follow. She just barely made it through the portal, barely had time to note the curious golden light shining ahead of her, before there was another crack.
A deafening roar filled the cavern she had just left as stone fell with gusto. She choked on the dust and saw that she was alone. Rosamunde peered through the portal, but there was no sign of Tynan, and she knew what she had feared to learn here.
Tynan had, once again, chosen Ravensmuir first.
Rosamunde pivoted, her tears rising with uncharacteristic vigor. Another tumble of stone collapsed in Ravensmuir’s caverns with such vigor that a vengeful deity might be sealing the labyrinth for all eternity. She had no chance to choose her course: a chance chunk of stone struck her brow and Rosamunde Lammergeier knew no more.
* * *
Vivienne was not certain how she would escape with Erik’s daughters. The girls were so young that they could not run or fight: Vivienne would have to defend all three of them as well as ensure their escape. She was not certain that they trusted her - why would they, indeed? - or that they would follow her bidding. She also did not know how she would ensure their safety once she left this party.
Perhaps she could wait until they rode closer to Ravensmuir, or Kinfairlie, then abduct the girls and flee to her family’s care. Of course, that was predicated upon Henry and Arabella riding as far as Kinfairlie.
It seemed that once again she had believed her abilities to be greater than they might prove to be.
Against her every aspiration, Arabella and Henry had taken to arguing over the merits of pausing at the Earl of Sutherland’s abode this night. As the Earl was the sole person of whom Vivienne knew who might recognize Erik’s daughters - though truly, he might not have paid any heed to young girls, given his interest in ensuring succession - this decision was o
f considerable concern to Vivienne.
She eavesdropped shamelessly, and tried to think of a way to affect the choice they ultimately made. Astrid dozed against her chest, thumb securely in her mouth, while Mairi sat behind her sister, facing Vivienne as well. Vivienne thought the older girl dozed, too, though her fingers still caressed the smooth lines of the silver pin.
“I cannot see the merit of halting at so late an hour,” Henry repeated for at least the sixth time. “It is unseemly to awaken a host late and demand hospitality.”
“Surely you cannot imagine that I will ride in such weather, without so much as a hot meal, a warm bath, and a plump mattress?” Arabella retorted. “The hour is of little import. How are we to affect the distance between abodes? If you had not insisted upon taking these children in our company, we could have been miles further by now.”
“If you had not insisted upon visiting Beatrice of Blackleith, we should not even be in these cold lands.”
“And what was I to do? Rumor abounded about her and her rich domain in the north, and truly, the tales I heard made it sound to be a veritable paradise. I had no choice but to come, especially after I lost that wager with the Countess. Believe me, Henry, I should have dearly loved to have won. It would have done me good to imagine her in this wretched country instead of me. Doubtless she will make merry at my expense. You must ensure that she hears only good about this journey. Perhaps we should tell her that Beatrice’s riches are so great that they cannot be described.” Arabella chuckled at the prospect. “Then she will feel compelled to ride here to see for herself.”
“Tell her whatsoever you feel the need to tell her, my dear. I need only know what I am supposed to say.”
“Henry, you are the most gallant man,” Arabella said, drumming her fingers upon his arm. She lowered her voice to a lusty warble. “Perhaps we should stop at the Earl’s abode and demand his very best bed for our pleasure.”
The squires rolled their eyes and bit back smiles.
The Rose Red Bride JK2 Page 32