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

by Claire Delacroix

  “But…”

  Dour shook his head. “Connor would never buy an ale for another, even if he had all the riches of Croesus.”

  “Do you think us fools?” Tarsuinn demanded. “Do you think us so dim of wit that we cannot recognize our own friends?”

  “But the horse…”

  “Never seen the nag,” Dour insisted. “But I shall tell you this—whatever you paid for him, it was too much.”

  “The lady bade us watch for strangers,” Niall murmured, his words menacing. “And that if a blond man appeared alone, we should feign knowledge of him. It appears that she was expecting you.”

  Once again, Evangeline had outwitted me, and now that I knew the reason for her deceit, I doubted I would survive for a third chance at being outwitted.

  I surveyed the men, then the room itself. There was no visible path of escape, the door to the corridor being blocked by two of them.

  I smiled, as if untroubled. “I suppose that was not the sum of her request.”

  “She does not wish you killed, more’s the pity,” Niall confided as he pushed up his sleeves. “Otherwise, you are ours.”

  My heart quailed. One against three is not odds I prefer.

  “Be reasonable!” I urged with false cheer. “You have no complaint with me. If the lady wishes me gone, I shall leave and you can consider your task complete.” I smiled as engagingly as I was able. “There is no need for violence.”

  “Ah, but there is,” Tarsuinn said softly. “You are a man in need of a lesson.”

  “Consider it learned,” I said amiably, even as I took a step back. “I can be away from Inverfyre in a matter of moments. We can forget this entire exchange.”

  They followed, not so readily dissuaded as that.

  “You aimed to trick us,” Tarsuinn said, with a sad shake of his head.

  “You took us for fools,” Dour added.

  “You mean ill to the lady,” Niall said.

  “Not I.”

  “Indeed?” Niall’s gaze was hard. “Why then were you in her chambers at this hour and unchaperoned? She cannot have invited you, for to do so would bring scandal and the weight of her husband’s hand upon her.” He smiled coldly as his voice dropped. “We cannot permit some vermin to sully our lady’s name.”

  “How fascinating this all is. Unfortunately, I have just recalled a critical appointment in London, on the morrow, in fact…”

  “Indeed you will depart immediately.” Niall stepped forward. “But not without a few bruises to remind you never to return. Count yourself fortunate, friend, that your chausses are laced, for otherwise the lady’s insistence that your life be spared would have been forgotten.”

  They closed in and I knew that this would not be a pretty incident. I shall spare you the gruesome details, save that I was given a hearty thumping, with little chance to defend myself. I am good with my fists and fast upon my feet, but to face three bent upon pummeling me was a losing proposition.

  Indeed, I found myself wondering whether the lady, with her laird heaving atop her in the adjacent chamber, could hear what transpired.

  Then I wondered whether the sound gave her pleasure.

  That was a most troubling prospect.

  I finally collapsed, certain Niall had lied about not intending to kill me, for surely my every bone was shattered. I could not open one eye at all, so quickly had it swelled shut after the first blow landed there. My jaw ached, my knuckles bled, and I was fairly certain that at least one of my ribs was shattered.

  A boot poked my gut and I groaned but did not roll away. It would have hurt too much to do so. My pride too was sorely injured, not so much by the beating as by the fact that I had miscalculated the intellect of these barbarians.

  Not to mention the lady’s affection for me.

  These were mistakes I would not make again, if I had the fortune to live long enough to learn from them.

  Someone grabbed my ankle and I did not care. A quick command and the other ankle was seized, then I was hauled to the far wall. Dirty rushes dragged beneath my tabard, an indignity beyond belief, but I did not care. If I was meant to die, I hoped it would happen soon—at least then the pain would stop.

  I felt a sudden breath of chill air, then my wrists were seized as well. I swung helplessly as they lifted me off the floor, only fighting once I realized what they meant to do. A door or window had been opened in the exterior wall, and I was about to be cast through it.

  “No!” I hollered with sudden vigor.

  “One!” intoned Niall as I was swung backward.

  “Two!” I was swung higher, gaining momentum.

  “No! Halt this madness!” I was not quite ready to die, especially now that my demise seemed imminent. I struggled madly, but to no avail. Their grasp was merciless. I had a glimpse of a starlit sky before I swung back into the darkness of the keep again.

  “Three!” the barbarians cried in unison, then flung me into the night. I roared, determined to not go quietly to my death. No doubt I made an inelegant sight as I flailed through the air, but I had little time to fret about the matter.

  I fell like a rock.

  VI

  My heart nigh stopped when I shattered a thin layer of ice and plunged into the black lake below the keep. The water was cold and I sank so low that I thought I might never find the surface again.

  But I am a strong swimmer and instinct did not fail me. I lunged for the surface, straining for air and life. I broke the surface with a gasp, then took a deep gulp of air so cold that a thousand knives seemed to stab from the inside of my chest.

  The laughter of rough men carried through the darkness, but I ignored their petty glee. There was the more critical matter of survival before me. The shore was not far, though the shadows of the forest came directly to the edge of the lake.

  I shook back my hair, then broke the ice between myself and the shore with my fist. It shattered easily around me, but got thicker as I progressed toward the shore. Finally, it did not break so easily and I dared to hope it might support my weight. The difficulty lay in getting a grip upon it. I was already shivering, the winter air fairly turning my flesh blue.

  I thought resolutely of Sicily, of heat and sunbaked tiles and the languor wrought by a merciless sun, and tried again. After no success and three or four plunges back into the icy water, I glanced around for a way to pull myself out of the lake.

  The end of a rope was not far beyond my reach.

  I blinked but it did not disappear, as incongruous as it was. I followed its snaking trail into the forest on the shore.

  Was this another trick? I looked further and spied the alewife. She bent and wiggled the rope so that end nudged toward me.

  “It is tied to the tree,” she said. “I have not the strength to pull a man of your size from the water, but you can save yourself.”

  I eyed her warily. “Do you trick me?”

  “You were kind with coin, Connor MacDoughall, as few have been kind to me. I owe you some debt.”

  In truth, I had not the option of entertaining suspicions. I knew I had to get out of the lake before my marrow froze. I seized the rope and hauled myself onto the surface of the ice. I took a deep breath, wincing at the aches that awakened in my body, then crawled toward the shore.

  “There is a fire here, and some garb,” the alewife said, her tone flat. “It is not so fine as that you wear, but it is dry.”

  In other circumstance, I might have been astonished by her generosity. For the moment, I was simply grateful. And who knew what grievances she had against those who had assaulted me? “I thank you for your kindness.”

  She busied herself hauling in the rope as I quickly peeled off my clothes and dried my flesh. I struggled into chausses that were somewhat too short for me, then hauled a coarse peasant chemise and tabard over my chest. The wool cloak was roughly wrought, but warm, as were the thick socks. I hunkered down beside the small fire, my teeth chattering, as I wrung water from my hair and tried to empty
the water from my boots. There was no sign of the rope by this point, no hint that any had aided me.

  “You were prepared for me.” I smiled encouragingly at the alewife. “How did you know?”

  She shrugged. “When I was a child, we came to this place to watch the laird’s whores cast into the lake.”

  “The laird who died five years past?”

  “No, the one before him. That laird, he was a lusty man. His wife was cold as the fishes, but still she did not like him sharing his affections with others. She had that chamber and that portal built, sent her men to seize the damsels who shared the laird’s bed, then had them cast into the lake. ’Twould cool their ardor, she said.”

  “This is a cruel country you inhabit.”

  The alewife smiled secretively. “There is no cruelty in seeing those who believe themselves better than others face a reckoning.” Her tone was so odd that I was not entirely certain she spoke only of the whores.

  “I have no coin with which to compensate for your trouble,” I said. “They cut away my purse.”

  “Fear not, I shall have my compense.” She laughed then, a throaty chuckle that put me in mind of the ravens at my family abode of Ravensmuir.

  I frowned, uncertain what she meant, but she rose to her feet with surprising speed. Perhaps it was payment enough that she foiled their plan. I could not say.

  She abruptly kicked snow over the flames and extinguished the fire, much to my disappointment. “They will be seeking you,” she said. “You had best be leaving.” She pointed further down the lake. “Follow the shore to the great cedar that hangs over the water. It is as tall as three men. Turn there and take ten paces through the woods, and you will find the road. A day’s hard riding will take you to the lands of the Comyn and the first of their villages.”

  “A day’s riding upon what?” I asked. “My horse is yet in Inverfyre’s stables.”

  “Is it?” The alewife pointed into the shadows of the trees ahead and I dared to hope. “Begone quickly, if you mean to survive.”

  “I thank you for your unexpected aid,” I said.

  “Oh, I shall have fair compense, Connor MacDoughall,” the alewife said with unexpected intensity. “For I shall not have to watch another woman die as my daughter did.”

  I frowned in confusion.

  She seized my sleeve in her bony grip and shook it. “I heard nothing from her until the very end, nothing but how fine her man was, nothing but how he would keep his promise to return for her.” Her tone was bitter. “But fine Connor MacDoughall never did come for my bonny lass, even though she was ripe with his child. She died, heartbroken and without you. For this sin, you will have to face your maker, Connor MacDoughall. But I, I will not watch the light fade in the eyes of another girl.”

  I had no chance to ask what she meant by her last comment before she disappeared into the darkness under the trees. Did she have another daughter, one she would save from the lusty eye of Connor MacDoughall?

  I strained my ears but could hear no hint of the old woman’s passage. I peered about myself but all signs of the fire were gone, and the rope had vanished. It was almost as if the alewife had not truly been by my side.

  This land, as I have told you, plays tricks with a man’s thoughts.

  The distant echo of men’s voices told me that she had been right about one matter—I had not the luxury of lingering, even to sate my curiosity. I fled through the woods as she had indicated.

  To my profound relief, my saddlebag was still fat and lashed to the saddle of my horse, just as I had left it. The sole difference was that I had left horse and bag in the village. I flung my wet clothes over the bag, then led the beast along the shore as the woman had instructed. I reached the tall cedar and turned into the woods, finding the road just as she had foretold.

  Much reassured, I swung into the saddle. A clatter of hoof beats and a shout far behind me hinted that Evangeline’s thugs had found me out. I gave the horse my spurs, anxious to be away, and leaned over the beast’s neck just as a baby cried.

  A baby?

  I pulled the horse up short and stared at my saddlebag. The child cried again, its location obvious, and my heart sank to my toes. I threw open the bag to find a baby nestled there, its face twisted as it cried lustily.

  My innards tightened with the certainty that this child was not only the same child I had heard crying in the alewife’s hut, but that it was a girl.

  The alewife’s daughter had died in the delivery of Connor MacDoughall’s child—and her mother had seen fit that the father himself be blessed with the result of his seduction. Only now I saw the logic of her thinking, and the reason why she saw fit to ensure that I lived.

  Except, of course, that I was not Connor MacDoughall.

  I glanced back at the thunder of hoof beats and knew there could be no chance to plead my case. Perhaps that had been the old alewife’s intent.

  I had no more time to ponder the matter.

  Horses galloped around a distant curve in the road, Niall leading the trio. He stood in his stirrups when he spied me and waved a blade over his head, the others fast behind.

  I lifted the child to my chest, slapped my horse’s rump and rode away from Inverfyre as if the demons of hell themselves were at my heels. The child bellowed in protest, eliminating any possibility of a covert escape. Any fool could have followed and found me, unless he had also been deaf.

  Fortunately, my pursuers fell back, clearly having been instructed not to follow me further than the perimeter of their laird’s lands.

  I was only to be chased away.

  As I rode, the wind in my hair, my spirits lifted. My bruises would heal, my ribs would mend. I would find some haven for the child. I was free and alive, which was more than I might have hoped just hours ago.

  More, Evangeline would have a surprise of her own. She had not had the last victory in this matter, for there was weight in my saddlebag beyond that of the babe.

  The lady might have skill at chess, but I had the Titulus Croce.

  And that, despite the squalling baby in my arms and the swelling of my eye, made me smile.

  My triumphant mood did not last long. I know nothing about children, nothing beyond the fact that they are not overly interesting. This child, however, was clearly a demon in human guise. She looked soft and sweet, but her demands were ceaseless.

  And they were loud.

  I had previously had no idea that babes wept so much. Indeed, I could have happily lived out my days without learning of my error. My teeth were on edge from the babe’s relentless wails. I did not know what she wanted, if indeed she wanted anything, or whether she howled simply to torment me.

  That possibility seemed more and more likely the longer her protests continued. The woods and rocks echoed with her lament. The snow had melted a bit, so the horse found his footing more readily. The sky was clear and the wind biting.

  I thought—foolishly!—that the babe might exhaust herself in time, that I had only to outwait her, but this small girl had the strength of a hundred men. I had no respite, but this creature did not care.

  Remarkably, I was in the company of a soul more selfish than me.

  I halted to let the horse rest just before the dawn, and the babe cried with greater vigor. I rocked her, thinking she perhaps missed the rhythm of the horse’s gait.

  But no. The babe gathered her small hands into fists, strained backward and hollered until her face was crimson. I whispered nonsense to her, I bounced her vigilantly, I even danced. I made a blessed fool of myself and I did not care.

  If it would silence her, I would do it. Suddenly, I recalled that lullabies were sung to children. I cleared my throat and sang with gusto a song created on the spot.

  There was a maid of Inverfyre

  With blue blue eyes and golden hair.

  So fair was the maid of Inverfyre

  That knights came courting from afar.

  It was a poor rhyme, as those made under duress could oft be, b
ut she did not seem overly critical.

  Indeed, she halted her crying. The horse snorted, but I had no care for his approval. The babe hiccupped, studied me, and sniffled. She cried again, but less vigilantly, her bleary gaze fixed expectantly upon me.

  I am not unused to young maidens being intrigued with me, so I found her response reassuring. I composed another verse, contorting my features as I acted out the parts.

  There came courting to her abode

  A man with a wart on his nose.

  Other suitors laughed at this node

  They told the maid this was no rose.

  To my astonishment, the baby smiled. Relief nearly took me to my knees, then she reached toward me. Her dimpled hand wavered in the air, uncertain, and I lifted one hand to steady her. A tumble would only make matters worse, and she seemed to have no more bones that a sack of wriggling kittens.

  She grasped my finger in a surprisingly strong grip, then put its tip in her mouth. Her gums did not hurt as she clamped on to my finger and sucked, though I thought I could feel a tooth emerging.

  But she was quiet. I heaved a sigh and sat down for a moment’s reprieve beneath her adoring gaze.

  Truly, she was an attractive child when she ceased to scream. She might have been called angelic. It was hard to reconcile the demon who had tormented me all night with this adorable creature.

  Her eyes were as blue as the Mediterranean, her lashes long and dark and thick. Her cheeks were plump and rosy, her brows fair. Her hair was short and fine, golden curls that were softer than the finest down. She released my finger to smile and I was smitten.

  But what should I do with her? I could not keep her, I knew that. She was not my blood, so I supposed I had no obligation to her. I could leave her on the porch of a church, or outside the door of some wealthy merchant.

  She sucked on my finger with greater vigor, her tiny nails digging into my flesh, and I felt fear for her. What if no one claimed her? What if she was left to die? What if some hungered dog assaulted her before she was found?