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

by Claire Delacroix

  “Were you all together?”

  Niall shook his head again. “We parted ways, for we were near the lowlands and feared he would ride directly into the marsh.”

  Fergus had done as much once before, so ardently did he follow his falcon’s course. He gave not a glance to the land below his own feet and his steed, in a most uncommon fashion, was scarcely better. The beast was loyal to the point of stupidity—it would run wherever it was bidden to run, despite nigh fatal missteps in the past.

  I looked down at Fergus, and my heart clenched that his life should end so ignobly as this. To be mistaken for a boar or a buck charging through the woods was no dignified way for a man to pass from this world. Fergus’ pale blue eyes were open, bulging slightly now, as if he too was incredulous of his own fate.

  A bird cried in the distance and I was certain that it was his falcon, mourning the loss of its master. Though he had not been as fond of this peregrine as of Aphrodite, still the bird was much indulged.

  “He must have seen the bowman,” Niall said gently, his hand falling upon my shoulder in a familiar fashion that made Fiona inhale sharply.

  I was startled by this assertion. My shock must have shown when I looked up, for Niall shook his head.

  He spoke softly but with resolve. “The arrows could not have gone so deep, not unless fired from close range. Half a dozen paces, at most. He must have seen the bowman.”

  I stared in horror at the arrows lodged in the front of Fergus’ throat, then stumbled to my feet. No man could err in identifying the soul before him at such close range, and certainly could not do so thrice.

  “But that means Fergus was killed deliberately,” I said. “You cannot mean that he was murdered!” My gaze danced from one grim face to the other and I saw now that the men had long ago reached this conclusion.

  I gaped at my fallen husband. That Fergus had let an armed man come so close to him could mean only one thing—he had felt no threat.

  Because he knew the bowman.

  Again, I feared I would swoon, though it was uncommon for me to do so. I realized that there was dissent in our hall, but I had never guessed that it might come to such treachery as this.

  But if everyone had returned, as indeed they had, then I must be in the company of Fergus’ killer! I retreated again beneath Niall’s watchful gaze and fought against my rising bile.

  Of the six men surrounding me, I knew three quite well, for they had served my own father. Niall, Tarsuinn, and Malachy had sworn to support Fergus and had served him since my father’s death—though they also had undertaken the occasional favor for me. All three men had been at my father’s court for at least a decade before his demise.

  The others were Fergus’ own kin—his younger brother, Alasdair; his cousin, Ranald; his nephew, Dubhglas—and I did not know them well. They were of an age with me, save for Dubhglas who was yet a youth. They were quiet, gruff, and disinclined to speak of much at all, sturdily built, their hair ranging in hue from Alasdair’s dark auburn to Dubhglas’ brilliant red.

  And what did I know of them? Always fastest, tallest, boldest, and most outspoken. Niall stood with his eyes narrowed, his posture sure. He had been filled with bold ambitions for as long as I recalled and frequently expressed discontent with Fergus’ lairdship. He was the most obvious choice of a killer, though he returned my gaze so steadily that I was ashamed to suspect a man I had known so long—a man who had once asked my father for my hand in marriage—of any ignoble deed.

  There was dour Malachy, a man prone to venting discontent at the world but one I had not thought inclined to do much about the matter.

  Doughty Tarsuinn was not his usual merry self, for his eyes were filled with some shadow. I wondered whether the loss of the customary twinkle in his eye was due to something he had witnessed, then he flicked an accusing glance at me.

  Of what was I guilty? Of not loving the man I was compelled to take to husband? If that was a sin, eight of ten women in Christendom were destined for hellfire. Every maiden wed the first time for duty and only the second—if she was sufficiently fortunate to have the chance—for love.

  “And so we stand in the company of a murderer,” Niall said, voicing the thought we all must hold. “The question is not who of us would have found Fergus’ demise convenient, but who was bold enough to do something about the matter.”

  “Or sufficiently wicked,” I retorted, not liking his tone. No one had done a good deed in this.

  “No one could wish my brother dead,” Alasdair said. “He was a good and kindly man.”

  “An incompetent ruler,” Niall added.

  “And the sole obstacle to your own ambitions, Alasdair,” Tarsuinn said.

  “What of Niall’s ambitions?” The three men of Fergus’ clan stepped forward as one, bristling for a fight.

  The two I knew stepped behind Niall supportively. As the men glared at each other, I watched the household divide ranks behind them, each soul allying with either the newcomers of Fergus’ family or the old guard of mine.

  I had never realized the animosity between the two families had such deep roots.

  I had never realized how outnumbered we had become by the MacLaren’s, Fergus’ own kin.

  “I suppose you think that you should be laird in your brother’s place,” Niall said, as if the idea was folly.

  “I have a greater claim than any of you,” Alasdair insisted.

  Niall fixed his gaze upon me and I knew a moment’s dread at what he might say. “It is the lady who carries the blood of the lairds of Inverfyre, thus whosoever takes her hand should be the new laird. Fergus held the title of laird solely because he wed Evangeline, after all.”

  I guessed immediately what Niall implied, for I recalled my father denying the younger man’s offer for me. I straightened then, fearing that once again I would become a trophy to lend dynastic credibility to a man’s ambitions.

  Alasdair laughed. “You can cherish your petty traditions all you like. I have no care for them, or for my brother’s barren wife. If she were not so cold, Fergus would have had two or three heirs by this time. I need not indulge your desires at any rate. Look at you pathetic lot! You could not defend Inverfyre from us if we were to claim it.”

  “What we lack in numbers, we make up in boldness,” Malachy said grimly.

  “There are far more of us, and no less bold,” Dubhglas observed.

  “Aye, you would over-run Inverfyre with MacLarens, given half the chance,” Niall sneered. “What manner of men find themselves bereft of their ancestral lands?”

  “The king claimed the title.” Alasdair stepped forward, his brow dark.

  “Because you are weak and worthless, unfit to rule.” Niall clenched his fists. I was certain that a fight would erupt over Fergus’ body.

  Fiona’s cackle of laughter halted the men. “While those the Armstrong clan is so untouched by sin?” she demanded, then flung out a hand toward me. “What of your fine lady herself? Was she not outside the keep this very morning?”

  I felt the company’s attention land again upon me. “I had an errand, no more than that.”

  “Where? With whom?” Alasdair demanded.

  I lifted my chin, tired of lies and demanding men. “I visited Adaira, as is the custom of the women of this abode.”

  Fiona snorted. “An old mad woman said to reside in the woods since time out of mind. An old woman who does not truly exist.” She spat into the rushes. “Spare us your lies. You went to rut with your lover, the same lover with whom you rutted on the feast of Saint Paul’s conversion, the same lover you savored before welcoming your legal laird to the same bed.” The company gasped. Fiona stepped forward, eyes gleaming. “The same lover who brought you a trinket this very morning.”

  The crucifix suddenly burned in my palm and the missive that was still balled in my fist prompted a dozen whispers. “I…” I began to protest, even as the men who had aided me in encouraging Gawain to depart regarded me with dawning suspicion.
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br />   “Lover?” Niall asked softly and to my shame, I could not hold his gaze.

  “I have done nothing wrong!” I cried. “You would simply be rid of me that you might seize claim to Inverfyre.”

  “Your fine lady of Inverfyre is no more than a whore!” Fiona declared. “No doubt, she conspired with her lover to be rid of her husband. Is it not convenient that he arrived on the very day that Fergus was struck down in the forest?”

  “You have no proof of this,” Niall protested, though his words seemed fed more by duty than conviction.

  “No?” Fiona’s smile turned sly. “Then why did the lady return to the keep with blood upon her hands? And why did she cast something from her own window in the hope that I would not see it?”

  All eyes turned upon me, condemnation in most of them. “I did not kill Fergus! This accusation is outrageous!”

  “She is struck mad,” someone whispered in the assembly though I could not discern who uttered the words. “Look at the wildness in her eyes.”

  “Who speaks?” I demanded, glaring at each of them in turn, to no avail. “I am no killer and you should all know the truth of it.” They did not recognize the outspoken woman I had become as the cool and demure lady who usually graced their hall.

  And they condemned me for the change.

  Alasdair raised a finger toward his cousin Ranald. “Go and look beneath the lady’s window.”

  “I will go with him,” Niall said, and I appreciated that none should be able to contrive evidence against me.

  I looked down at Fergus and saw only now that the arrow shafts had been broken off. Had Fergus tried to remove them from his wounds? Or had his assailant snapped them off to remove the mark of their owner?

  An ominous weight claimed my belly and I feared as I had never feared before. We stood silently, straining for the sound of the two men’s return, my ears filled with the pulse of my blood.

  Niall looked grim when they reappeared, Ranald triumphant. They carried the two arrow shafts that Adaira had forced upon me and I nigh fainted that they had found them so readily.

  Niall bent, all eyes upon him, and held the broken shafts against the arrows still jutting from Fergus’ flesh. It seemed that none breathed in the hall.

  Niall looked up at me, his expression woeful. I knew he did not like what he had found, just as I knew he would not lie for me or any other.

  “I am sorry, Evangeline. Two of them match,” he said quietly.

  It was absurd. It was madness. It could not be true, and even if it was true, there had to be a reasonable explanation. Niall must be mistaken! I had no time to express the thousand arguments that jumbled my thoughts.

  I was seized before I could take a single step, let alone flee. Alasdair roared that justice would be served and I fought then in terror, fearing for my very survival.

  I demanded a chance to explain, I demanded that Adaira be brought to the hall. I shouted that I was the daughter of the sixth son of Inverfyre and the last of my lineage, that such treatment of my person was unacceptable.

  My words fell upon deaf ears.

  Indeed, I was flung, despite my struggles, into the black abyss of the dungeon. I flailed as the darkness swallowed me and I screamed outrage as I fell. It is a goodly drop into the prison that my grandsire named The Hole. The floor is the height of two men below the threshold of the door and there has never been a single soul who managed to crawl out.

  I knew the distance, yet it seemed I took an eternity to hit the dirt floor. They laughed, the wretches, when they heard the crunch of my bones and my grunt of pain.

  I was mightily bruised, but too angry to care. I bounced to my feet, more than prepared to fight for what was mine own. “This is not justice! You cannot steal my legacy so readily as this!”

  “No one can murder without repercussions,” Fiona said, smacking her lips with satisfaction. “Not even the lofty Lady of Inverfyre.”

  “But someone has escaped justice! I did not kill Fergus! His killer still stands among you.”

  Niall stepped forward, his familiar silhouette making me hope for leniency. “I cannot blame you for your anger, Evangeline, but the evidence is irrefutable.”

  “It must be refuted, for it is wrong!”

  “Do not compound your sins with lies,” counseled Niall. Had he been within reach, I would have boxed his ears. How could someone who had known me so long believe me capable of such a foul deed?

  But he evidently did believe it, they all did, and I was infuriated by their low estimation of me.

  “You will pay for this!” I shouted, shaking my fist at their silhouettes far above my head. “I am the heiress of Inverfyre!”

  “Sleep well, Evangeline,” Alasdair said smoothly. It was significant that he called me by name, not by title, for we were not old friends and he had no right to use such a casual address. What would have been impolite just this morn was now a sign of my fallen status. There was more than one snort from the watchful company above, then the door was closed with finality.

  The damp shadows folded around me and I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering. I stared hopefully at the faint sliver of golden light, outlining the door far above me, my heart sinking to my toes when the key turned resolutely in the lock. I refused to consider how long they would leave me here.

  Or what they would do to me once they plucked whatever remained of me out of this place.

  I had little chance to fret over this prospect, for a voice cleared at close proximity. I nigh jumped out of my own flesh.

  “Well met, my lady fair,” Gawain said as calmly as if we met at the king’s own board.

  “You!” I peered into the darkness in the direction of Gawain’s voice and could faintly discern his silhouette. He seemed to be leaning against the far wall and my heart thumped in a most painful way that I shared this imprisonment with him.

  “I meant to compliment you, by the way, not only on your cleverness in retaining the Titulus, but for the burden of the child,” he said, confusing me utterly. “It was a masterful touch, a grace note if you will, to redouble the insult. You must indeed be a formidable chess player.”

  That he should mock me now with riddles, in this moment when all had gone awry, was too much. “What child?”

  “The child forced upon me at your command.”

  I was prepared to argue the matter with him, for I had decreed no such thing, when the words of his missive filled my thoughts.

  Never let it be said that I failed to understand

  the secret desire of a lady’s heart.

  I gasped in sudden understanding. Gawain had insisted when last we met that my secret desire was to be free of Fergus.

  “God in heaven! It was you who killed my husband!” I retreated hastily, flattened myself against the cold wall and screamed. “I am trapped in this dungeon with a murderer! Release me!”

  X

  Perhaps it had been unwise to make such an accusation when trapped with the criminal in question. I clapped my hands over my mouth, cursing my own newly impulsive tongue.

  But Gawain, far from stalking me and choking the life from me, began to laugh. His laugh was merry and deep, the kind of infectious and hearty laugh that rolls effortlessly from a man’s gut and sets all other lips to twitching.

  I straightened. “There is nothing amusing about a man’s death.”

  “There is much amusing about the thought of me killing another.” A thrum of amusement echoed beneath Gawain’s words, then his tone sobered. “No, not any other, but your husband.”

  The word hung betwixt us, heavy with accusation. I fidgeted, though I knew I owed this scoundrel nothing. “I did not intend for you to know.”

  “Clearly.”

  “I could not see that it mattered, not to you…”

  “How could such a detail not be of import, even to me?”

  I stood straight. “How was I to guess that a thief would have some concern for his immortal soul?”

  “I have no care fo
r my immortal soul.” Gawain dismissed the very thought. “But it is well known that in this corner of Christendom, a husband who finds another man abed with his wife may exact whatever punishment he sees fit…and that, contrary to custom elsewhere, the due is oft exacted of the man, not the woman.”

  “But Fergus is not vengeful…”

  “You assume much of your deceased spouse. All men are vengeful, Evangeline, when they discover they have shared through no choice of their own. I would not be so foolish as to bed the wife of any man in this land, not if I had the benefit of knowing her true circumstance.”

  “Indeed? You did not ask any questions when we met afore.”

  “The onus was not upon me to mention such a significant detail! Had I been wed, I would have told you.”

  “I heartily doubt that!” I propped my hands upon my hips and glared in his direction, vexed that he blamed me for all. “Who could I have been, other than the laird’s wife? What did you imagine was my circumstance?”

  “That Fergus was your father!” Gawain was irked by the pitch of his voice. I should have liked to have seen the look of him when he was agitated for I imagined it was a rare sight. “Fergus was sufficiently aged to be your sire, was he not?”

  “That is no uncommon situation! Even so, how could you believe that seducing the unwed daughter of the laird would bring no such repercussions?” I scoffed. “You know less of men than I if you believed such folly!”

  “You deceived me, Evangeline, and I could have paid for our deeds with my hide. That may be of no merit to you, but I am rather fond of ensuring my own survival.” Gawain took a breath as if steadying himself. “I have risked my life a thousand times and more, but always, always by my own choice.” He cleared his throat slightly. “And for the prospect of reward, of course.”

  “Of course.” Coupling with me was apparently not such a reward, and I had no qualms about revealing that I was insulted. My back straightened and my chin rose. “Did you kill Fergus, then, to save your sorry life?”