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

by Claire Delacroix

  “Like?”

  “A more doughty prison, one which cannot be so readily conquered when the time is right.”

  I shivered despite myself, though more from the antics of his tongue than the import of his words. “My grandfather used to execute criminals who survived a fortnight in the Hole.”

  “Ah,” Gawain breathed, kissing me in a most satisfying way. He was thorough about his kisses, as if there was naught else of any import in all of Christendom. He did not hasten, he savored each kiss as if it might be the very last he ever tasted.

  Indeed, when he finished his languid kiss, I was persuaded to his perspective. I felt rumpled and sampled, awakened and not nearly sated.

  I dared in the darkness to caress him. Gawain caught his breath and I chuckled, even more delighted with my effect upon him when he spoke in a strained voice.

  “In my experience,” he said carefully, “a public execution is quite difficult to escape.”

  I unlaced his chausses slowly, teasing him all the while. He was neither shocked by my audacity or disapproving of it. He merely let me do as I would with him. It was exhilarating. “But you have escaped one?”

  “Only once.” I could see the shadow of his features and guessed that his eyes were twinkling with mischief. “I have learned caution since my younger days.”

  “Indeed?” I lifted my skirts and pressed myself against his nakedness. He caught my buttocks in his hands and lifted me against him, backing me again into the wall.

  “Indeed.” Gawain kissed me soundly then, surprising me with his ardor. I found myself arching closer, knotting my hands in the golden silk of his hair. The darkness gave me license to unleash my desire.

  “Indeed,” he whispered. “For example, I do not, in general, seduce married women.”

  “You seduced me.”

  “No.” Gawain chuckled as his wicked fingers worked the laces loose on the sides of my kirtle. One hand slipped beneath the wool and I gasped as his hand closed over my breast. “You seduced me, Evangeline. Twice, and most satisfactorily on both occasions.” He teased my nipple to a peak with ease.

  I arched my back toward him. “You clearly intend to seduce me now,” I teased.

  His smile flashed. “But you are a widow now, Evangeline, not a wife,” he murmured, his lips hovering the breadth of a finger above mine.

  “Suddenly, you are a man of principle?”

  “I have always been a man of principle.” Again, the breath of his laughter touched my cheek. “My principles, however, are not always those shared by other men.”

  I was seized by an abrupt curiosity about his life and his principles, his loves—beyond sunbaked Sicily—and his deepest desires, but Gawain kissed me with such expertise that I said nothing. I could do nothing, nothing but gasp into his kiss, nothing but surrender to the ardor between us.

  “We must do something to pass the time until they are sleepy with confidence and ale.” Gawain murmured against my throat, then his lips closed over my nipple. I moaned at the caress of his tongue and gathered his hair into my fists. He halted, tormenting me, and I heard the teasing laughter in his voice. “Unless you have another suggestion?”

  “A game of chess, perhaps?” I suggested mischievously.

  He seemed to ponder the prospect, then I felt him shake his head. “Too dark. And I suspect I would lose. I could not bear to lose a game on what might be my last night alive.”

  “Then we should choose some deed in which we both shall win.”

  “Precisely. As I was suggesting…” He caught me closer and kissed me so soundly that I fair forgot my name.

  When he lifted his lips from mine, I held him close, suddenly fearful. “We could fail to escape, despite your confidence, or their plans could be other than you anticipate,” I said, wishing he would argue but knowing he would not. “We could be caught while escaping and killed immediately.”

  “We could indeed. Our scheme is not without danger.”

  I was not as cavalier about this as he sounded. “This truly might be the last night that ever we face, Gawain.” I caressed his cheek as he had so oft touched mine, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertip. “What better way to spend it than in pleasure?”

  “I knew you were a lady in pursuit of my own heart,” Gawain said with approval. He kissed me deeply again and I responded in kind, welcoming all he had to share.

  XI

  I awakened to the sound of rushing water. I was disoriented for a moment, so lost in a haze of pleasure that I did not remember where I was. The darkness did little to aid my orientation.

  Then Gawain swore close by my ear and I remembered everything. It was the silky fur lining of his cloak that cosseted me, the strength of his arm that surrounded me.

  “There is water pouring into this cursed place!” he cried, then I felt him shift beside me. He leaped to his feet, then scooped me up into his arms, his cloak still wrapped around me. My feet were wet, as were my hips and the wool of my kirtle that had lain beneath me. I could smell the dank water gathering on the stone floor, hear it running, and feel its chill.

  “It must be raining,” I said as calmly as I could. My heart was racing, for I knew very well what fate lay ahead. Panic would serve us poorly, for only our wits could save us now.

  “Raining?”

  “The keep is wrought so that the rainwater from the roofs and from the courtyards is led to the Hole. It acts as a drain for all of Inverfyre’s rain.”

  “How?”

  “There are two walls in this dungeon.” I warmed to my theme, having been coached in the marvels of Inverfyre’s construction since I could toddle. “The outer is of fitted stone, smooth and without pores. The inner wall, which is what we see, is made of stones fitted with tiny gaps between them. No one can grip the wall with any success, for the spaces are too small. But the water sluices over the lip of the outer wall from all sides…”

  “And filters through the inner wall, filling the dungeon from the bottom.” His tone was sour.

  “Precisely.”

  “And why is it not always filled with water?”

  “There are several small holes at the bottom of the outer wall, so the water flows out gradually.”

  “But it flows in far more quickly than it can drain?”

  I nodded, though he could not see my gesture. “Especially when the rain falls with vigor.”

  Gawain considered the matter as the sound of rushing water brought goose pimples to my flesh. It was turning colder in the Hole by the moment. Mercifully, we had not completely disrobed, merely eased aside whatever garments obstructed our lovemaking. We were yet garbed, if unlaced and disheveled.

  Gawain’s tone was wry when he spoke. “I assume that no one will aid us?”

  “It seldom rains enough that a man standing upright will drown in the Hole.” I heard my father’s words being uttered in my voice, a most curious circumstance. “A prisoner will, however, be chilled and wet and inclined to develop any manner of illness, which will ultimately shorten his confinement. Prisoners generally are left here for a fortnight before any soul looks in upon them.”

  “And if they survive, an execution in the square awaits.”

  “It was my grandfather’s contribution to local justice.”

  “How charmingly barbaric.” Gawain moved and I heard the water splash around his boots. I guessed from the sound that it had risen nearly to his knees. “This would seem to be a most opportune moment for our departure.”

  His easy tone made it sound as if we planned a court’s journey to Edinburgh, complete with servants and carts. I laughed despite myself, but then he put me upon my feet and the cold of the water nigh stopped my heart. It was past my knees and swirling as it flowed into the space. I had to grip his upper arms for a moment to find my balance. He had caught his cloak from my shoulders and held it above the water.

  “I apologize for my lack of gallantry, Evangeline, but there is no other way to accomplish our escape. I would not have the clo
ak get wet, for it may be the only source of warmth we have after escape. I shall need your aid, if you will.”

  I guessed his intent immediately. “You need me to hold you up that you might foil the lock.”

  He leaned closer, his hand resting upon my shoulder. “Can you do it?” His concern warmed me. “I am not a small man.”

  “Nor am I a delicate woman.” I spoke with resolve. “I can do any deed, if it means my survival.”

  “Good!” I caught a glimpse of his smile, then he seized my elbow and guided me to the wall beneath the door. “I will be as quick as possible. Fit your hands together as if to boost me into a saddle.”

  I did as bidden, bracing myself against the wall to bear his weight. Gawain put his wet boot in my locked hands and moved with lithe grace.

  One boot landed on my shoulder, then the other. I braced my back against the wall and closed my eyes as I held the ankles of his boots, locking my knees and gritting my teeth. I was determined to hold his weight for as long as was necessary, though I felt as if I grew shorter with each breath.

  Stabbing pains erupted all too quickly in my knees, and it was too soon to say whether the cold of the water was a boon or a bane. The water roiled around my hips now, chilly and—I imagined—filled with vile, sucking creatures.

  The weight of Gawain was suddenly diminished and I looked up even as a scattering of small rocks fell upon me. He apologized for the scree which splashed into the pool, though I did not imagine what else he could have done.

  “I have found a toe hold,” he whispered. “It is not as solid as I would like, but it will do.”

  And it took much of his weight from my shoulders. I was disproportionately pleased that he had shown concern for me while focused on his task. I heard the tinkling of metal tickling metal and held my breath.

  Something fell, metal landing against metal. Gawain muttered something grim beneath his breath that I was glad to not fully hear, then the tinkling began again. Again came the sound of metal falling, but the sound was deeper and I heard Gawain blow a kiss.

  To me?

  To the lock?

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, his choice of word confirming neither option.

  Before I could ask—or decide whether I wanted to—the door swung open far above me, letting a pale wedge of light fall into the Hole. Gawain’s weight was suddenly gone. I looked up to see his hands braced on the threshold, his boots swinging above my head. He hefted himself up and through the door with more agility and grace than I had ever witnessed. He landed as silently as a cat, if out of the range of my sight.

  I was so delighted that I could have laughed aloud or applauded, but instead, I stretched to my toes. I reached up, straining for the hand I knew would be there, and fought for some toehold upon the submerged wall.

  Nothing.

  There was no strong male hand reaching to grasp mine. I peered upward, but there was no shadow, no silhouette, no rope coiling down from the threshold.

  Had Gawain been discovered?

  Assaulted?

  Killed?

  But it was so quiet above. It was impossible to believe that any struggle could have ensued with no noise whatsoever.

  “Gawain?” I whispered, but there was no response.

  The Hole was abruptly plunged into blackness again. The lock set with a clatter as I stared upward, aghast in sudden understanding.

  Gawain was leaving me here.

  The cur had used my aid to ensure his own escape, then abandoned me to my fate! This was the merit of his pledge to tell no lies?

  Too late I realized that he had warned me that his word was worthless, but still I had trusted him.

  How could I have been such a fool?

  I had just tipped back my head to shout every foul name I had ever heard after Gawain—having no care whether it foiled his escape—when the door opened suddenly above me again.

  I blinked in the sudden light, half-convinced that the rope that dropped toward me could not be offered by Gawain. What trickery was this?

  “Hurry!” Gawain whispered.

  “You came back for me, after all.” I made no haste at all to grasp his offering, my ire undiminished by his apparent change of heart.

  “Evangeline, take my hand,” he said urgently. “There is not a moment to waste.”

  I sneezed, for the cold water touched the bottom of my breasts.

  “Evangeline, now!”

  Escape was too great a lure to resist. I seized the rope and was delighted to find knots in it which aided my grip. Though I am agile and strong, my wet wool skirts ensured that I could not pull myself from the water. I struggled and strained, but the weight pulled me backward as if the Hole would not willingly relinquish me.

  “Hurry!”

  Fortunately, my laces were not fastened securely. I held fast to the rope with one hand and tore out the loose laces with the other, then wriggled out of the sodden garment. Its cold weight fell from my back and I nimbly climbed the rope in no more than my chemise, pleased despite myself at Gawain’s smile.

  “A lady of resource,” he murmured with satisfaction as his hand closed over mine. He hauled me over the threshold of the door, cast his fur-lined cloak over my shoulders, and then seized my hand to flee.

  I resisted, my feet rooted to the floor. My husband’s nephew lay limply beside the doorway to the Hole, his blood running between the fitted stones of the floor. His eyes were open, cast to heaven, and he was still beyond still.

  “You killed Dubhglas,” I whispered in horror. My first thought was that if this had been the reason for Gawain’s delay, then I was a wretch to have doubted him.

  “He is not dead, though he will not stir for a while. He insisted that I choose betwixt the two of us, so I did.” Gawain’s manner was chilling, as if he had done nothing more troubling than rid the keep of a rat. In this moment, he looked as determined as the warriors I had known all my life, as resolute and as determined.

  And I, daughter of a warrior, lusted for him with a vigor that made my blood sing.

  Gawain arched a brow when I made no move, his usual light manner restored so suddenly that I doubted what I had glimpsed. “Do you mean to linger and mourn the injury of this boy? Or shall we seize this opportunity to depart Inverfyre?” He gallantly offered his hand, but I hesitated for a new reason.

  “Depart? I thought we would seek out Adaira.”

  “You thought incorrectly.”

  “But this is my home and my legacy…”

  “No longer.”

  I caught his sleeve in my hand, trying to make him understand. “If I could only explain, if I was only granted a moment to defend my actions, then my innocence could be proven to all.”

  Gawain visibly gritted his teeth, then glanced over his shoulder. “I have told you that none will listen, Evangeline.”

  “But Inverfyre is mine by right and by blood!”

  “You will not be granted any semblance of justice here.” Gawain seized my hands and stared into my eyes. “If you would win back Inverfyre, your best course is to ensure your own survival first.”

  I knew he spoke aright, just as my every instinct fought his advice. The keep slumbered around us, the light revealing that it was just before the dawn. Rain drummed steadily against the stone, dampness rising from the very floors, silvery light turning the old stones to pewter.

  I could smell the rushes in the hall, the meat that had been consumed the night before, the ale that had been spilled. I could smell the warmth of sleeping bodies, many of whom had not washed since Christmas, mingled with wood smoke and wet forest. A peregrine cried from a high perch and the river that fed the lake below the keep could be heard faintly gurgling.

  These were the smells and the sounds of home. It was the only home I had ever known and the only one I had ever desired.

  And it should be mine. It was obscene that the MacLarens would steal it from me, unspeakable that I should have to flee to save my own life.

  “Think of the ch
ild you bear,” he said quietly and I knew he spoke aright. There was more than my own life to preserve, though this child was owed more than what I could grant him from outside Inverfyre’s walls.

  Gawain’s hand was tanned and strong, the hand of a man unafraid to do what had to be done, unafraid to choose his own life even if it meant leaving what he loved. I supposed that if I had never known a home like this one, if I had been as rootless as he, then I might think such indecision as mine foolish.

  I met his gaze and saw both sympathy and conviction there. He knew my instincts warred within me, just as I recognized that in another heartbeat, he would abandon me here with those instincts without a backward glance.

  Had he not warned me as much?

  Gawain might not look back when our ways inevitably parted, but I understood that I would remember him for all my days and nights.

  And not with regret.

  When I took Gawain’s hand, I had a heavy heart, but more for knowing my import to him than the prospect of leaving my abode. And so, I tugged him in the opposing direction to the portal.

  “I cannot leave my mother’s crucifix,” I whispered, letting him think it was sentimentality for my family that prompted this choice. That was not my reason. I had to have the crucifix because Gawain had returned it to me, because the thief had defied his instincts and his own advantage.

  Gawain might never care for another, but he had made a concession to me. That gesture was one I would long cherish. Before he could protest further, I tugged his hand, releasing his grip when he resisted me, and strode back into Inverfyre’s hall.

  I would have one keepsake to show when I told our son of his father, Gawain Lammergeier.

  Fiona would have claimed the gem, of this I was certain. I had seen the greedy gleam in her eyes when the crucifix fell out of the package. She would have let no other lay a hand upon it.