All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances

by Claire Delacroix

  Evangeline wiped her tears and might have said something, but Elspeth hastened to tell her tale while she could. “I have waited five years for the right moment to share a tale, but this moment shall have to suffice. Promise me that you will share this revelation with Fergus when the moment is right, that he may act upon it.”

  “Of course.”

  “In all your lessons of birds of prey, did you learn of the lammergeier?

  Evangeline shook her head.

  “It is a sheep vulture. It is not a noble hunter like the peregrine, the falcon, or the gyrfalcon. It is not even of the lesser predators like hawks. The lammergeier is a scavenger.”

  Elspeth could not help but sneer. A lifetime at Inverfyre had made her as discriminating about birds of prey as Gilchrist had been. “The lammergeier feeds upon plunder and carrion. It will not kill its own prey—it prefers to steal a kill from another, or to consume what has been discarded. They are to be reviled.”

  “I have never seen one.”

  Elspeth smiled, for she knew this was not quite true even if her daughter did not. “Do you know how your father died?”

  Evangeline patted her mother’s hand, clearly certain that Elspeth’s thoughts flitted from one subject to another. “He took a fit and fell down the stairs. It is five years in the past, Mother.”

  “And what caused his fit?”

  Evangeline shook her head. “It is not of import. Do not excite yourself with this matter now, Mother…”

  Elspeth held her daughter’s hand more tightly. “A man by the name of Lammergeier—an apt choice on the part of his forebears—sent a missive, offering the Titulus Croce for purchase.”

  Evangeline’s flicking gaze revealed that she did not know what to say. “But the relic is in the chapel,” she began cautiously.

  “No, it is not. We lied to you, your father and I lied to all of Inverfyre.”

  Evangeline sat back, but Elspeth would not be halted now. “The Titulus was stolen years ago. Your father knew that he had failed his people and his forebears in allowing such a theft to occur.”

  Evangeline was curiously aloof, but no one liked to learn that she had been deceived.

  “What choice had we had but to guard our secret closely?”

  Evangeline arched a brow. “Then, surely Father would have paid any price to retrieve the Titulus.”

  “So thought Avery Lammergeier.” Elspeth swallowed. “And the price he set was more, far more, than your father ever could have paid. It infuriated Gilchrist beyond belief, for as a matter of principle he believed he should not reward a pirate to return his own birthright.”

  “Yet still he desired the Titulus.”

  “He believed its return was the sole thing that could save Inverfyre.” Elspeth held her daughter’s gaze steadily. “It is far more cruel to be offered a solution to your failure at a price you cannot pay, than simply to have failed in the first place. Your father’s fury overcame him when Avery wrote that another nobleman would pay double the price he had initially asked.”

  They watched each other in silence for a long moment, Evangeline’s grip tight upon her mother’s hand. “And his fury prompted his misstep, and thus his fall,” Evangeline said quietly. Elspeth nodded. “You never said as much.”

  Elspeth frowned. “Further, it is the responsibility of your father’s successor to avenge his death.”

  “You will wait long for Fergus to do as much.”

  “I have waited as long as I can. The burden now lies with you. You are the bough, Evangeline, the bough that will bear the prophesied fruit of the seventh son. You must ensure that your son has his due—that the Titulus Croce is here to legitimize that son’s suzerainty and bring prosperity to Inverfyre.”

  “These are the workings of men, Mother. A relic, however holy, will do little to aid in such a goal.”

  “Is that so, daughter mine?” Elspeth spoke sharply as seldom she did. “Tell me then—why are the falcons barren? Nary an egg is there to be found since the Titulus was stolen. The Titulus was granted to your forebear, Magnus Armstrong, by divine favor and brought with him to establish this keep. His holding prospered, because he kept his bargain with God. The relic must be here, the grace of God must be upon us, or Inverfyre is doomed forevermore.”

  She fell back against the pillows, exhausted by this tirade. Evangeline looked down at her hands, her expression solemn. Fergus’ laughter rose from the hall below, the cries of the gyrfalcon tied to his wrist making both women wince.

  “It may be too late,” Evangeline said quietly.

  “You are the vessel!” Elspeth said fiercely. “You cannot lose faith or fail in your responsibility!”

  Evangeline shook her head. “It has been five years, Mother. Even if I told Fergus of it now, even if he departed this very night, the relic could have traveled to any place in Christendom.”

  “No. No, this is not true.” Elspeth mustered the last of her strength and sat up, despite her daughter’s attempt to urge her back against the pillows. “Avery Lammergeier died, not long after your sire. Murdered, he was, murdered by his own son, this I heard, and a more fitting fate could not have been found for that wretch. There have been no tales of such a relic being transported, and one would hear of it for it is a prize worth the bragging. The relic is still there, still at the Lammergeier abode of Ravensmuir.”

  “Ravensmuir.” Evangeline rolled the name across her tongue.

  “Ravens are carrion-pickers and foragers.” Elspeth fell back again, exhausted. “This felon named his eyrie well. The son must not know what he has, or he would have sold it by this time. Perhaps God favors our cause, I cannot say. But Fergus must go to Ravensmuir to retrieve the Titulus, and you must persuade him to do so.”

  “You have seen how he heeds my counsel—not at all!”

  “Promise me!” Elspeth felt the pain rise anew and feared the end came too soon. She seized Evangeline’s hands and her tears rose, so fearful was she that she would fail Gilchrist. “Promise me that you will find a way!”

  Evangeline’s lips set to a firm line. She looked not unlike a peregrine now, her carriage proud, her gaze intensely blue. Even her pupils dilated and her lips thinned almost to naught. Her black hair gleamed like a bird’s plumage and she held her chin proudly.

  The similarity to between daughter and father was startling. Gilchrist had taken this pose when he would not be swayed from his course, and the sight reminded Elspeth of an old legend. It had been whispered through the years that there was a curious kinship betwixt Magnus Armstrong, the forebear of the lairds of Inverfyre, and the falcons. Indeed, it was rumored that he had taken flight with them on moonlit nights, that he was one of them, that they had prospered in his holding because they were among kin.

  Certainly, Elspeth had seen an echo of the bird’s savage determination in her husband, though this was the first time she had glimpsed it in her daughter.

  “I promise that the Titulus shall be returned to Inverfyre,” Evangeline vowed. “No matter what I must do to see it so.”

  Elspeth had no time to reply. The pain redoubled and seized her innards with sharp talons. She writhed, parted her lips to scream, and then saw the silver shimmer of Gilchrist’s proffered hand. She seized the shadow, welcoming whatever he offered.

  A coolness like a spring stream flowed over and through her flesh, filling her with quicksilver, sweeping all earthly sensation away. It was like walking into the shade or dipping into a cool river, effortless and soothing. She saw a thousand shades of gray and silver that she had never imagined before, then drank of the gleaming sapphire of Gilchrist’s gaze. She slipped from her flesh as easily as she might have shed a garment in her mortal days, shaking off her pain like an old chemise.

  One touch and all she had known, Elspeth abandoned. Her earthly life became no more than a distant dream. Inverfyre, Fergus, even her beloved Evangeline, was forgotten. Deaf to her daughter’s sobs, blind to the watchful presence of an old woman in the woods below the keep,
Elspeth surrendered her past to embrace her future.

  She held fast to Gilchrist’s hand, watched the wings unfurl from his back, and then took flight at his side, as free as any falcon to ride the mists forevermore.

  An Unwitting Pawn

  Gawain

  I

  December 29, 1371

  Only a fool rides at night in these times, especially with a burden as precious as mine. The sky was darkening as the shadowed walls of a burg rose beside of the road. It was York, not far enough from Ravensmuir to my thinking, but the darkness gave me pause.

  It seemed that Ravensmuir breathed at my very back. Though my brother was dead, I had stolen from him. I half-expected his specter to demand some grisly compense of me. Though I am not a superstitious man, I would have preferred to have all of England and half the continent betwixt Merlyn’s corpse and I. The ominous shadows lurking on either side did little to ease my trepidation.

  The rain began while I tried to recall how far it was to another settlement, let alone one I might find hospitable to my tastes. Certainly, I could not reach London in less than several days and my horse needed a respite. Night fell, swallowing what little light there is with that northern haste I find both astonishing and daunting.

  The rain began to fall in gusts, a surly kind of weather and one to which this hostile land seems inclined. That made my decision for me. To be dry and cold was far better than being wet and cold. I conjured some tale of being a merchant on the road for the complacent gatekeeper and he waved me onward with indifference.

  York is a muddy burg, and the dirt hides whatever charm it might possess. I suppose it is large enough and prosperous enough for those who choose to inhabit it, but one glimpse of its churning river, filled with mire, and its dingy streets, thick with another manner of mire, and I was repulsed.

  I chose the tavern simply because I saw it first. It was no meaner and no cleaner than any of the others that were its neighbors.

  The demanded price was exorbitant, but both steed and I would be sheltered from the rain that now drove against the shutters. I grit my teeth and paid, then tended my own horse as they seemed disinclined to offer any service in exchange for my coin.

  The meat served to the guests was sinewy, the gravy thin, the bread tough enough to break a tooth. That the stew was the same hue as the muck in the streets did little to encourage a man to clean his bowl. It is oft said that hunger is the best sauce. As I was nigh starved, I ate the swill and called for more ale to rinse the taste of it from my mouth.

  Ale, I say, for I know no other word to use. They make a brew in these lands that they ambitiously call ale, but which bears no resemblance to any ale of my acquaintance. By the third cup, the taste of the brew improves considerably, and so it did that night. Even the cold, which was enough to freeze a man’s marrow, began to retreat from my flesh.

  It could be no coincidence that she appeared at that very moment, just as I might have taken interest in a comely wench, if only to prove I still lived.

  She ducked through the portal and shook back her hood, scattering raindrops to the floor. Every soul glanced up at the gust of wind and rain she admitted, every complaint was silenced afore it was uttered.

  She was a beauty, of that there could be no mistake. The sight of her fairly stopped my heart, and it certainly stopped the chatter in the common room. She shone, like a polished gem, all the glorious for the humble setting.

  Her hair was as black as ebony and hung in loose waves over her shoulders. It was long and thick and tempted one’s fingers to tangle within it. Her eyes were a sparkling clear blue, her lashes and brows as dark as soot. Her face was heart-shaped and her fairness gave her the appearance of being carved of alabaster. I had the sense that a fine sculpture drew breath, pinkened slightly, then stepped daintily from her pedestal.

  She was finely boned and tiny, but there was a fire in her eyes when she lifted her chin to survey her surroundings. A slight smile curved her ripe lips, the glint in her eyes telling every man there that she would choose her companion.

  Ah yes, there could have been no doubt of her trade. More than one man in that hole caught his breath hopefully. The keeper frowned and might have made his way toward her, but she spied me and her smile broadened in a most inviting way.

  I smiled in my turn, not adverse to a little companionship. She waved her hand, as if we were acquaintances well met, and called something I could not hear.

  The keeper stepped back to his place by the ale with a shrug. Most of the men returned to their cups, but I did not care.

  There was solely the demoiselle for me. She cast her hair over her shoulder and loosened the neck of her cloak, easing her way through the crowd to my side. The man beside me nudged me and muttered some manner of congratulations beneath his breath, but I had eyes only for her.

  Every graceful step she took made my blood heat yet more. Every pace fed my desire—I fairly simmered when she finally halted before me.

  I thought it Providence at the time that she chose me so readily, or perhaps her ability to assess masculine potential. I was the best dressed of the sorry lot gathered there and certainly the most handsome. No doubt I also had the heaviest purse. In my experience, whores are quick to assess such practicalities.

  She tipped her head back to meet my gaze, her secretive smile tempting me to taste her lips. Her eyes twinkled, as if she had just heard a particularly amusing jest.

  “Good evening, my lord,” she murmured, her voice low and luscious, then drew her cloak open with a fingertip.

  I inhaled sharply at the view she covertly offered me. She wore nothing beneath the garment. I could see her creamy throat and the pale curve of her breasts. Her nipples stood erect against the shadows of the cloak, and at my reaction, she chuckled.

  “You rode with such haste that I thought you lost to me forever,” she said, then winked.

  I realized that she meant to let others believe that we were acquainted. Her manner was so intriguing that I decided to support her ruse, if only to see what she desired of me.

  I had my hopes.

  I took her hand in mine, then kissed her knuckles. “It was never my intent, my lady, to lose such a prize as you.” Her skin was surprisingly soft, considering how difficult her life must be. Perhaps whores fared particularly well in this burg. I met her gaze, noting again how she seemed to be amused, and considered that a good portent.

  She smiled, then plucked the cup of ale from my hand, ensuring our fingers brushed leisurely in the transaction. She stood so close that I could smell her skin, some sweet perfume mingled with her own scent and the smell of the rain.

  And I lusted for this bold beauty, as I have seldom lusted for a woman before.

  I watched hungrily as she ran the tip of her tongue around the rim of the cup, then paused where I had placed my mouth. Her gaze darkened as she licked there, and the thought that she savored the taste of me made me adjust my stance. It was cursedly warm in this place, to my thinking, and there were too many curious souls in proximity.

  Mischief danced in her eyes as she raised her voice. “I feared that you tired of my company, my lord,” she said, her words carrying to the attentive men surrounding us.

  “Never.”

  She eased closer, her hand landing companionably upon my upper arm. “I feared to slumber in a cold bed this night.”

  I smiled and slipped my arm around her waist. “I can ensure that you do not.” She was finely wrought, small and light, and I knew that I could easily lift her against me.

  But I had no need to do so. The bold wench stretched up and brushed her lips across mine, her touch so achingly sweet that I closed my eyes.

  Her next words I felt as well as heard, her breath falling against my lips. “I miss you too greatly when we are apart, my lord.”

  I should have guessed what she intended to do, but I was beguiled.

  She pressed the cup back into my hand, locked her hand behind my neck and, stretching to her toes, kissed me
boldly upon the lips. She tasted of ale and her own sweet nectar. Her breasts pressed against me, the knowledge that she was nude beneath her cloak enflaming me. I caught her more tightly around the waist, drawing her closer and drinking deeply of her kiss.

  She purred, a gorgeous deep purr that had my tongue easing between her teeth. Her fingers twined in my hair, her tongue danced with mine, the scent of her deluged me. I was lost, oblivious to the hoots of the other men, and might have taken her there if she had not pulled away.

  She was flushed and disheveled, her eyes sparkling so that I yearned only to finish what we had begun. I took a deep breath, wondering when I had ever come so close to losing command of myself.

  Her fingertip traced a seductive path around my ear and down my throat. I swallowed, tried to slow my racing heart, and smiled with all the gallantry I could summon.

  There was rather less of it than might have been hoped.

  “My lady, I meant no offense by my haste.”

  She chuckled, clearly unoffended.

  I ran my fingertips down her cheek in a caress I could not have forgone. She turned her face into my palm, pressing a hot kiss against my flesh even as she closed her eyes.

  My next words were uncommonly thick. “Perhaps you will allow me to compensate you for your disappointment on this night.”

  “Compensate?”

  I smiled. “With pleasure, of course.”

  “I shall be difficult to persuade,” she teased, fluttering her eyelashes playfully. Her eyes danced with merriment and fetching color touched her cheeks. The men hooted and elbowed each other as they watched us, doing so more overtly with every passing moment.

  “It is fortunate that I feel most persuasive this night.” I pulled her close and bent her backward as I claimed her lips. I kissed her, so possessively and thoroughly that she made a little growl of satisfaction. I felt her grip in my hair tighten to a fist, felt the wild flutter of her pulse against my fingertips, and knew she was as aroused as I.