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

by Claire Delacroix

  Of course, I was not quite as lithe and agile as I had been in my youth. I studied the window, surprised to find such artistry in such a remote place, though it was common enough in the great cathedrals. These lairds had either been far wealthier than I had imagined or fools with their coin.

  They might be devout. I would have to remember that. This beleaguered Fergus might seek to quietly replace the Titulus with a greater treasure if his suzerainty rested upon such trinkets.

  Other than the window, now obstructed with glass, the sole access to the chapel was the door, which would surely be locked or watched or both.

  I peered through the haze of incense and smoke from the candles at the altar, seeking to confirm the relic’s location. I was disinterested in the richly embroidered cloth covering what appeared to be solely a table, and spared only a brief assessment for the chalice and charger wrought of pounded silver.

  They might be worth taking along, although there were not particularly remarkable. It would depend upon their weight and how much time I had.

  There was no sign of the relic upon the altar. The reliquary that I had once robbed no longer lurked there, nor was it in the hands of the monks standing solemnly behind the altar. The four monks began to chant as the two on either end swung the brass censers.

  “Let the festivities begin,” I muttered to none in particular.

  My eyes narrowed as the company of monks parted and moved to either side of the altar. A wooden door was revealed in the back wall of the chapel, directly below the stained glass window.

  It had not been there before.

  I almost smiled that my theft had prompted a more secure reliquary for the relic—or whatever they had shown in its stead. One monk held a great brass key, I saw now.

  I dearly love brass keys. They are so large and solid that they inspire confidence—yet their tumblers are clumsy and easily encouraged even without the key. The keys themselves are easily borrowed, hooked and dropped precisely where one wishes to drop them, because of their weight.

  I was much reassured. I scanned the company unobtrusively, seeking Evangeline, but she was not present. I must have been more overt than I thought, for I glanced up to find Niall’s assessing gaze upon me. He looked away as soon as I noted his perusal of me, leaving me wondering what conclusion he might have made.

  Or what suspicions he might have. Surely I had played their game well? The monks’ chanting grew in volume as I grew uneasy, and the chapel doors swung open once again.

  “The laird Fergus,” whispered Tarsuinn with either awe or reverence as the entire company turned. A cold gust of air swirled around my ankles, though my shiver halted when I saw the woman whose hand rested upon the laird’s elbow.

  Evangeline.

  But not Evangeline. This woman looked sufficiently like Evangeline to be her twin, but was so lifeless that she could not have been the Evangeline I knew.

  This woman did not radiate confidence, she did not glow or swagger, and her eyes did not sparkle. There was no flush in her cheeks and no swing to her hips. She was demure, her complexion pale, her eyes downcast. Her hair, which I knew to be dark and wild, was tightly secured beneath a veil and demurely fastened with a circlet.

  She looked so severe and bloodless that she might have been wrought of ice. Her gaze was fixed upon the floor before her feet and even when peasants bowed before her, she did not smile. Still, that curious awareness tingled within me, the same that had made me note her entry into the alehouse.

  I knew a moment’s doubt. Was this my Evangeline? Did she have a sister? A twin? Or had I seen a side of her she preferred to hide from others? I was doubly intrigued.

  There was, of course, only one way to be certain of the lady’s identity. I awaited my chance.

  The laird was far older than I had expected, given that he had held his position for only five years. His hair was gray, his features careworn. He was not a handsome man and never had been. He was solidly wrought and so richly dressed that he seemed to have stolen the garb of another, more noble, man. The tightness of his lips and the rapid flicking of his gaze revealed his uncertainties all too well.

  He wore a falconer’s glove upon his right hand and surrendered the hooded bird to a servant at the chapel door with evident reluctance. He was momentarily uncertain what to do with his hand then, until Evangeline gently laid his right hand atop her own. He nodded before beginning their procession down the aisle.

  As he walked, he looked neither to the left nor to the right. Here was a man who knew he was challenged by his followers. Here was a man who knew this night to be the test of his suzerainty. Here was a man who was not the leader his predecessor had hoped he might be.

  I looked to the lady, then back to the laird, and supposed that there was something noble about showing loyalty to one’s own father. I had done it myself, for all the good that had come of it. If this was my Evangeline, I could appreciate that she had fetched the relic that might make her father’s title more secure.

  Three men who were younger than the laird yet showed some resemblance to him in their features strode behind him, their countenances as hard as stone. Their hair was ruddy, their faces tanned, their eyes narrowed. Two were men fully, while one was yet a youth. These, clearly, were his relatives and allies, perhaps Evangeline’s brothers.

  But Fergus was outnumbered and he knew as much. His color rose with every step. His gaze was fixed upon the altar ahead as if all his woes would cease once he reached that haven. More than one warrior shifted his weight, flicked his glance away from his laird or murmured his greeting so low as to be inaudible. Niall turned slightly away as his lord drew alongside, checking the buckle of his scabbard with undue care so that he would not have to even incline his head.

  The laird’s daughter stood steadfast beside him, her spine as straight as a well-wrought blade. I noticed that she squeezed his fingers once, a subtle sign of support that none would have noted who were not watching her as avidly as I. The laird seemed to lean upon his straight and determined daughter, a woman who resembled my Evangeline only in her resolve.

  The pair reached the aisle beside me and I had my chance. The lady was on my side, though Tarsuinn was on the aisle between us.

  “My lord. My lady, you look more splendid than could be imagined,” Tarsuinn murmured. She spared him the thinnest smile of acknowledgment, her gaze flicking past him.

  I smiled boldly as she glanced into the shadows cast by my hood, and winked when her eyes widened ever so slightly. She took a quick breath, a spark lit in the depths of her sapphire gaze and color blossomed suddenly upon her cheeks.

  My own heart skipped. This was Evangeline, my Evangeline.

  She was not entirely surprised to find me here, that much I knew, nor was she disappointed. A flame kindled in the depths of her eyes as she held my gaze, one answered by the fire she awakened in my loins. I felt warm from head to toe, warm as I had not been since we lay entwined abed.

  Before any others could note her response, she abruptly averted her face. I noted the line of her shoulders, the sweet curve of her cheek, the indent of her waist beneath her kirtle and knew that night could not come soon enough. I felt the weight of Niall’s disapproval without even looking his way, and understood that his ambitions were extensive.

  Not that any such nuptial matters concerned me. Niall was welcome to wed the laird’s daughter—just one more night in her bed would sate me, and then I would be gone from this foul land forever.

  Indeed, I understood so much of the lady now, though it changed nothing. Evangeline had stolen the relic so that her father could prove that the grace of God blessed his suzerainty. Fair enough. There was, however, no reason for the Titulus to remain here after its showing upon this night. It would be a waste to lock such a prize away.

  Just as the lady was wasted in this remote citadel. No doubt, her father could not find a fitting suitor for her here. I understood suddenly why she had left such a telling clue of her identity and location—p
erhaps she contrived to resolve the matter of nuptials herself.

  I swallowed my smile, for I have never had an inclination to do what is honorable, or what is expected of me. I had no need for a wife and even less desire for one.

  Evangeline could drive the heat from my bones afore she knew that detail.

  The trick would be to slip between her thighs without her father guessing my intent. The prize was sufficient to risk far more than I might have risked otherwise. This, after all, would be my last theft.

  I had best make the night worthy of remembrance.

  IV

  Evangeline was so quiet and still that she might have been a statue, some pagan goddess wrought of stone, had she not been so modestly attired. Her father lifted the Titulus high to the sound of prayers, but I watched Evangeline. Her gaze came to me seemingly of its own accord, perhaps because I alone knew that her small smile was less for her father’s triumph than her own.

  Her smile warmed and color touched her pale cheeks anew as our gazes locked. A song of desire began within me, heating me as naught else had done in this land.

  Save Evangeline.

  The procession filed out but I lingered, shaken by my response. I hovered in the chapel’s shadows while countless peasants filed past the altar to brush their fingertips across the relic. I was protective, concerned that one would be so bold as to touch it too hard or even try to steal it. Only when it was safely locked away and the key hung from the monk’s belt did I follow the company to the hall.

  The mood in the hall was raucous and celebratory. Fergus had proven the legitimacy of his suzerainty with the presence of the relic, and his subjects seemed intent upon drinking themselves into a stupor in their relief.

  I could barely glimpse Evangeline, let alone draw near to her, for she sat demurely beside her garrulous father. That man held his prized gyrfalcon again upon his fist and fed it morsels from his own trencher, more interested in it than his own daughter.

  My three companions hailed me and summoned me to their corner. They were so besotted that there was little risk that they would question my identity now. The ale flowed, the meat was plentiful, the peasants and warriors fell upon the meal ravenously.

  “Such a plentitude of eggs,” I muttered. I have never had a fondness for them and it seemed each dish passed to me was wrought of them. Eggs in mustard sauce, poached eggs, scrambled eggs and stuffed eggs—who would have guessed they could be prepared so many ways!

  “Fergus favors them so we are blessed with many at the board,” Tarsuinn confided, helping himself to an ample measure of civet of eggs. “Do you not recall that he installed his own cook here at Inverfyre, solely because of that man’s gift with an egg?”

  I shook my head as if I had forgotten this detail. Tarsuinn passed the dish to me and I passed it on—if the ale was as foul as it was, then the wine could not be worthy of crossing a conscious man’s palate. It would be no better with eggs in it.

  “He has even filled the old falcon mews with chickens, so great is his lust for eggs,” Niall added with evident disapproval.

  Dour nudged me and winked. “Though it is said that eggs preserve a man’s potency. Perhaps that is why he favors them!”

  He and Tarsuinn laughed heartily together, though Niall spared a dark glance to the head table and said nothing. To my relief, there was a haunch of venison that managed to make its way to our table and I served myself amply.

  The meat was good, as were the noodles with gravy that followed. The hall filled with laughter that grew progressively louder, smoke and much merrymaking. It was not unpleasant.

  And the monk with the key was becoming soundly drunk.

  When the trenchers were cast to the dogs, I glanced through the high windows and spied a clear night sky beyond, the stars glimmering brightly. The storm had ended then, the snowfall halted.

  Were my mission accomplished, I could depart this night while all slumbered drunkenly. Indeed, there would not likely be such a prime opportunity to be away without questions as this night offered.

  Which meant that I had several matters to resolve.

  I took a pause, purportedly to relieve myself outside. En route, I “tripped” over the robe of the drunken monk and claimed the brass key to the reliquary in the process of getting up. How dreadful that I was so drunk to lose my balance time and again! The monks were amused then—if not later.

  After an interval, I returned to the hall to discover that the lady had retired from the company. The laird had removed the hood from his gyrfalcon, a particularly large and fine bird. He spoke to it and stroked it with all the tenderness of a lover, though it seemed to me that the bird was skittish.

  I sat at another table, joining the men there in a hearty toast to the laird’s good health, scanning the hall all the while. Stairs wound upward at the other end of the hall, the sole flight obviously leading to the laird’s solar and lady’s chamber.

  I understood Evangeline’s retirement as both an invitation and a challenge. The invitation was obvious. The challenge lay in climbing those open stairs unobserved by such an enormous company. Any could witness me and cry an alarm—if they were not sufficiently distracted.

  There is nothing more readily done than beginning a fight within a company of drunken warriors. I carry a few tools for precisely this purpose. Do you know the herb angelica? It has a sweet scent, pleasant enough, and thus is unremarkable to carry among one’s possessions. Indeed, many men chew upon it when a rich meal gives their innards distress. I carry a dried length of stem, about the width of my hand, as well as a handful of dried peas.

  Angelica stem, you see, is hollow. I can hide this piece within my cupped hand and discretely create trouble.

  I targeted Niall with the first pea, for he seemed inclined to be volatile. Thrice he was struck, and each time he turned more angrily to the man at the table behind him. Niall’s flush rose as the man protested innocence again and again.

  I embellished matters by striking Niall’s supposed assailant twice, once in the temple and once in the corner of his eye. Another missile was fired at Niall and the battle began.

  Niall rose to his feet and roared, while the other man took advantage of the moment to punch Niall in the nose. Men immediately took sides and made wagers, their shouts rising from all corners of the hall. A trestle table was kicked over, lanterns spilled, crockery shattered, meat and ale fell to the floor. The hounds were there in a heartbeat, devouring scraps even as they dodged feet. Niall and his assailant began to fight in earnest, grappling with each other as they shouted insults.

  I slipped back into the shadows, launched a dozen more peas into the melée, and watched with satisfaction as more fights broke out. Tables fell and the seneschal called vainly for order. The gutted candles plunged the hall into greater shadows.

  Fergus stood on the high table and cried out for discipline. He looked like an old woman, and more impotent than most elderly women of my experience. His gyrfalcon screeched and flapped its wings helplessly—it was, of course, held by tethers, so could not flee the chaos.

  A few more peas and the high table itself set to fighting. Food was flung from one corner at the laird, then some hardy soul pushed the head table over as well. Fergus screamed as he fell headlong into the throng of men. He loosed his grip upon the tethers as he fell and the freed bird flew upward with incredible speed.

  “Aphrodite!” Fergus cried plaintively.

  His courtiers nigh stepped upon each other to retrieve the bird, which circled the upper reaches of the hall, its jesses trailing behind it. When it found a hole near the rafters large enough to accommodate its wingspan, it swooped through the opening and disappeared into the night.

  A cry of anguish rose from all assembled, the distraught laird himself nigh screaming. The tinkle of the bell tied to the bird’s ankle grew fainter and fainter. The eyes of all who were not fighting fixed upon the dark gap through which the bird had disappeared.

  “It is your fault!” Fergus cried,
then pointed a finger at the seneschal. That man paled as Fergus’ kin stepped forward to have compense from his hide. A trio of men stepped forward to intervene—including Tarsuinn—and the lot of them fell to fighting with renewed vigor.

  I deemed my work to be done. I darted up the stairs on silent feet. I was, of course, completely unobserved.

  Or so I thought at the time.

  There was a door at the top of the stairs, but to my relief, it was not locked. I slipped around it as noiselessly as a shadow, closed it and leaned back against it, muting the sounds from below. There was a marked contrast between this silent darkened corridor and the chaotic great hall.

  Here I could be discovered.

  I stilled my breathing so it was nigh silent and willed my heartbeat to slow. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness and listened—a moment taken to observe is never wasted.

  A pair of crude torches flickered upon the wall to my right, but the corridor was irregular, creating far too many dark corners for my taste. I lingered, listening for the breath of another, fearing that my flight had been too easy to not have been facilitated.

  Who, truly, would have left two torches burning unobserved on the timber upper walls of a hall? Were these barbarians as witless as I suspected—or had some clever soul set a trap for me?

  There were three portals, each tucked back into an elaborate niche, two on the left wall and one on the right. At the end of the hall was a window, framing a square of night sky. The snow had stopped falling, though a bit of it graced the lip of the window, for I could see the glimmer of stars. The air was crisp.

  I eased to the door upon my right, hesitating there for only a moment. No candle or lantern burned within, for I could not smell a flame. The wooden floor did not creak and betray the presence of another beyond this portal. I could hear no man’s breath as he lay in wait for me.

  The second door opposite seemed similarly quiet. I considered this, waiting for any assailant to reveal himself. It has long been said that I have uncommon patience and can outwait any foe. None revealed himself—which meant either that there was no foe, or that he was as skilled as me.