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

by Claire Delacroix

  “And there are others who occupy your lands, others who are not creatures of the forest.”

  Michael had expected as much. His mother had told him a hundred times of the avarice of the MacLaren clan and their lust for Inverfyre. “Do you come to curse me or to warn me?”

  Her smile softened, as did her voice. “Not I, Magnus. Not I.”

  He shook his head, thinking her wits addled. “I am not Magnus, but Michael, as I just told you…”

  Adaira interrupted him. “You are Magnus Armstrong, just as you are the seventh son born in succession from him. Make no mistake, Michael Lammergeier, the spark of Magnus resides within you and his debts sit upon your shoulders.”

  “I do not think so.” Michael took a step back from this woman who was obviously mad.

  She granted him a look so quelling that he halted against his own will, then she beckoned.

  He found himself leaning closer, drawn by some compulsion he could not name, half-certain she would tell him something that would be of merit in his quest.

  Instead, she caught the back of his neck in her hand, her gesture quick and her grip strong. Before he could protest, she pressed her ancient lips to him in a parody of a kiss. Her tongue was between his teeth, its invasion as skillful and revolting as that of a snake slipping into a lair.

  He made to pull away but froze when a curious sense overcame him. He was remembering, remembering events that were not his to remember.

  The scene of a richly appointed hall unfurled in his own thoughts. He was within the hide of a man garbed like a king, a man who was him but not him, and a glorious maiden was seated at his left. Her hair was of chestnut hue, her complexion was creamy, her waist narrow and her eyes a fathomless blue. She turned to him, her gaze filled with adoration, and smiled so sweetly that his heart nigh broke. He saw himself raise a hand to her nape, felt the silk of her hair around his fingers as he pulled her closer, tasted the sweet honey of her lips as he kissed her deeply.

  That kiss melted into this kiss and Michael realized what he did.

  He tore his lips away from the crone’s and felt himself trembling.

  “What witchery is this you do?” he demanded, his words hoarse. To his horror, the crone’s smile was tinged with his recollection of the sweet smile of the maiden, the blue of her clouded eyes reminded him all too well of the maiden’s clear loving gaze.

  Michael wiped his lips with disgust, then spat out the taste of the crone. He made to step back, but her hands locked again around his neck. “Release me, witch!” he cried, even as he fought against her unholy grip.

  “Another,” Adaira whispered, her voice as low and velvety as a ripe maiden’s. Indeed, Michael knew that if he closed his eyes, he would err again, he would think this crone the maiden he remembered loving with all his heart and soul.

  But Michael had never loved a woman thus. He had never known a woman who looked like that maiden, he had certainly never loved a damsel with such vigor that his heart ached so at the very sight of her. This was some trick! He fought Adaira’s wickedly strong grasp, but her lips closed over his all the same.

  And the witchery worked its darkness again. He tasted the sweetness of honey and the tang of wine on the lips of his damsel, felt the ripeness of her naked breast beneath his hand. He saw that the demoiselle and he had retired to a richly draped bed, a bed unknown to him. Her hair was unbound, hanging thick to her waist, her flesh was fair, her nipples rosy. She was perfection, she was his love, she was his mate.

  “Magnus,” she whispered with awe as her playful fingers closed around his erection. She giggled when he caught his breath, as merry a sound as he had ever heard. Michael thought his heart would burst with the fullness of his love for her.

  For a woman he had never seen before.

  Sorcery!

  He broke the embrace with an effort and glared at the old woman. “You are a witch, bent on driving me to madness,” Michael accused in a low voice. “Why? What accusation would you make against me?”

  Adaira smiled. “You will remember all, Magnus, in time.”

  “I am not Magnus…”

  She turned then, her head lifting suddenly like a doe who hears the hunter. Then she seized his hand, her other hand fumbling beneath her cloak. Michael struggled to break free of her merciless grip, but she had an unholy strength.

  “It was not my intent to betray you, Magnus, never that,” she declared in a low voice. “Still I love you, with all my heart and soul, as I did centuries past, as I loved you on the night that you betrayed me.”

  “I have never…”

  “We must seize this chance to make matters come aright…”

  “The chance for what? What is this nonsense you utter?”

  “Still I love you,” she insisted, then lifted an ancient dagger high in her hand.

  “No!” Michael cried out and took a step back, certain the madwoman meant him ill. He heard the consternation of his men behind him. He fought her with renewed vigor, but to no avail. She held fast, her grip as strong as a demon’s.

  “What do you fear of me?” she whispered, hurt in her tone. “I offer you aid, no more than that. You will need this.”

  She turned her hand, offering him the blade, even as two arrows soared past Michael’s shoulder and tore violently into her chest. Her body jerked as she fell back, her grip upon him loosing only now.

  “No!” Michael shouted, appalled that he had misunderstood her, shocked that he had been responsible for such an error. He caught her in his arms as she collapsed and watched helplessly as the blood flowed from her.

  He glanced back to find the members of his party pale-faced, their expressions shocked. Sebastien and Fernando both held their bows at the ready.

  “She meant me no ill!” Michael shouted in dismay. Later he would marvel at the root of his certainty, but in that moment, he knew without doubt.

  He heard footsteps approaching, saw Sebastien lean down beside him. “I am sorry, my lord. I thought…”

  “I know, I know. The error was mine,” Michael whispered, unable to explain his sorrow. Sebastien stepped away. Michael saw him raise a hand to halt the others, but he cared solely for Adaira.

  Adaira’s wounds were fatal, that much was clear. She knew it, as well, for there was resignation in the set of her lips.

  The dagger tumbled from her feeble grip and she raised a trembling hand to his face. Her odd gaze seemed fixed upon him, nay, it seemed she could see directly to his soul.

  “Another betrayal,” she murmured with a shake of her head. “Beware, my love, for the treachery wrought must all be repaid.”

  “It was an accident…” Michael began, but she shook her head.

  “There are no accidents in truth. And in a sense, I am relieved. This life has been long and arduous, each day painful in your absence.” She sighed and smiled, her fingertip shaking as she touched his face. “I have missed you, love.”

  Michael did not know what to say. He could not explain the deep well of grief that opened within him.

  “Remember me well, Magnus Armstrong,” she whispered. “Remember that it was not my intent to betray you on this day, though I feared matters come to this. I had to see you one last time, despite the price.” She shook her head. “The gods will have their jest, after all.”

  Tears began to run from her eyes as Michael watched helplessly. Her fingers traced the lines of his face as if she would know the look of him despite her blindness.

  She was mad, that much was clear, and an utter stranger, but still his heart tightened. It seemed to him that he had had many painful partings like this, though he knew he had not.

  “I love you, Magnus,” she said, her voice no stronger than a breath. “I love you with all my heart for all time.”

  Michael saw her die, he witnessed the moment that life left her being. Indeed, he could have had no doubt of it. Just as the old woman’s eyes closed and her lips stilled, a light seemed to flood her face and he saw again the features of th
at young beautiful maiden.

  On impulse, he bent, compelled by some nameless urge to press his lips to the maiden’s lips one last time. The vision abruptly faded and he found only the dead crone’s lips beneath his own.

  Shaken, Michael laid her on the ground and took an unsteady step back. As he stared at her, memories loosed in his mind that he was certain were not his own. Throughout them all rode that maiden, her smile tightening his chausses and making his heart pound.

  He glanced back to his companions, seeking some hint that he was not the only one affected, but they regarded him with uncertainty.

  As rightly they should. He did not know what had possessed him. Michael bent and impulsively claimed the unusual dagger, shoving it into his belt, as he sought the words that would return matters to how they had been.

  He did not have long to think. The silence of the forest was rent suddenly with shouts. A tattered army of vagabonds leaped out of the shadows, blades flashing. His party was assaulted on all sides by a nameless and innumerable foe.

  Sebastien shouted and loosed another arrow into the throng of attackers. Tynan roared and unsheathed his blade, the horses neighed and reared. Roland’s blade rang out as it met that of one attacker. Rosamunde drove her dagger into the face of another assailant.

  Michael was the last to draw his blade, Adaira’s whimsy like cobwebs in his thoughts. He had no doubt that this was but the first of many battles, part of the greater war that would be required to reclaim what was his own.

  He bellowed commands and his men formed a circle around him. Blades swung and blood flowed, the watchful peace of the forest shattered by the warfare of men. They were upon the soil of Inverfyre, Michael could feel it in his very feet, and he would either die or triumph upon these lands.

  His fate coursed through his very veins.

  And through the years ahead, a maiden smiled benignly in Michael’s newfound memories, encouraging him, loving him, welcoming him home. She buoyed him when his spirit might have faltered and each time he unsheathed his blade, he swore to serve her proudly. He knew he would never forget this beauty, a conjured dream who had claimed his heart without saying a word.

  Indeed, had he listened to his heart, he would have recalled that she was his destiny.

  It would be more than eighteen years before Michael glimpsed her again, eighteen years of memories and yearning, eighteen years in which he measured each damsel against her memory. She would be wrought taller, more fair, but with the same blue eyes and the same mysterious smile. He would be older, with silver at his temples and experience on his blade. He would be known as the Hawk of Inverfyre by then for his talent in seizing a moment of opportunity to claim a victory.

  And the Hawk would steal the sole prize he desired, a deed that befitted the son of a thief he had always been and the ruthless predator he had become.

  It would be a long eighteen years.

  The Warrior

  Book #2 of the Rogues of Ravensmuir

  Available Now!

  The Rose Red Bride

  The Jewels of Kinfairlie #2

  More cherished than gold are the Jewels of Kinfairlie, and only the worthiest may fight for their love…The Laird of Kinfairlie has unmarried sisters, each a gem in her own right. And he has no choice but to see them all wed in haste.

  Like a heroine in an ancient tale, Vivienne waited in the highest chamber of Kinfairlie’s tower for her fated lover. In the darkness he came for her, cloaked and hooded so that she would not see his face. He loved her sweetly, thoroughly…and Vivienne knew she had met her destiny.

  But in the morning light, her dream is shattered. Erik Sinclair of Blackleith is no romantic hero but a disinherited warrior who arranged her abduction to regain his own legacy. Outraged by Erik’s insistence that he needs her solely to beget a son, yet ensnared by the passion he awakens, Vivienne realizes that there is more merit in her taciturn spouse than he would admit. Erik is skeptical of her growing faith in his honor and her desire to recapture his stolen birthright…

  Little does he suspect that his rare gem of a bride intends to capture his barricaded heart as well.

  The Jewels of Kinfairlie

  Medieval Scottish Romance

  The Jewels of Kinfairlie series of medieval Scottish romances features three of the eight siblings at Kinfairlie.

  1. The Beauty Bride

  (Madeline and Rhys)

  2. The Rose Red Bride

  (Vivienne and Erik)

  3. The Snow White Bride

  (Alexander and Eleanor)

  4. The Ballad of Rosamunde

  (Rosamunde and Padraig)

  Dear Reader

  The Rose Red Bride is the second book in my Jewels of Kinfairlie trilogy, in which Alexander faces the challenge of seeing his sisters wed. Madeline was married in book #1, The Beauty Bride, and now it’s Vivienne’s turn—the trick is that Vivienne is determined to marry for love. She’s a romantic and a dreamer, our Vivienne, and I always liked how she let her passion drive her choices.

  She’s exactly the kind of woman Erik needs, given that he’s been cheated so many times. Vivienne’s faith in him is precisely the balm that heals Erik and makes their Happily Ever After possible. This trilogy continues with the sisters getting even with Alexander in The Snow White Bride.

  The story of the siblings continues in my True Love Brides series. These are medieval Scottish romances but have some paranormal elements in them—these members of the family are challenged in their pursuit of their happily-ever-afters because the portal to the realm of Fae is open at Ravensmuir. The Renegade’s Heart is Isabella's story; The Highlander's Curse is Annelise's story; The Frost Maiden's Kiss is Malcolm's story and The Warrior's Prize is Elizabeth's story. All four books are available now. You can download free family trees for Kinfairlie and Inverfyre on my website, right here.

  All of the Jewels of Kinfairlie and True Love Brides medieval Scottish romances are also available in audio.

  I’m currently writing the Brides of Inverfyre series, which continues the stores of the Lammergeier family at Ravensmuir, Kinfairlie and Inverfyre.

  You can sign up for my free guided tour of all the books set in the fictional realm of Ravensmuir. Each week you'll receive an email featuring the next book set in the world of Ravensmuir. You'll get a peek behind the scenes of that book’s creation, learn more about the historical details and my research for the book, and meet the characters. There will be discounts for you to buy books in my online store, too, and we’ll talk about my inspiration, too. Sign up today, right here.

  To learn about my new releases, sales and other news, please subscribe to my newsletter: Knights & Rogues.

  Until next time, I hope you are well and have plenty of good books to read.

  All my best,

  Claire

  http://delacroix.net

  This trilogy is dedicated to my readers, with heartfelt thanks for your loyalty and support.

  May you enjoy reading about the Jewels of Kinfairlie as much as I have enjoyed recounting their tales.

  One

  Kinfairlie, on the east coast of Scotland – August 1421

  Alexander congratulated himself upon a matter well concluded. Although the marriage of his eldest sister Madeline had not begun auspiciously, his solution had ultimately proven to be a good one. Just as he had predicted, Madeline was wedded and happily so, all the more content for the babe already rounding her belly. Though Alexander had not located Rhys FitzHenry by any conventional means of matchmaking, the man who had bought Madeline’s hand at auction had proven to be an excellent spouse.

  All had ended well, and Alexander was inclined to grant himself credit for that happy fact. A man had to find encouragement where he could. There was little else that stood to Alexander’s credit at Kinfairlie and he often felt overwhelmed by the burden of his hereditary holding.

  Alexander stared out the window at Kinfairlie’s fields, frowning that they were not more lushly green. The crop was sli
ghtly better than his castellan had predicted, but not sufficiently good enough. Though his sister Madeline was wedded, his brother Malcolm was training at Ravensmuir and his other brother Ross was training at Inverfyre, there remained four unwed sisters for whom Alexander was responsible. The castellan had been firm in his counsel that there must be fewer mouths at the board for the winter.

  The fields offered a telling reminder. Alexander would still have to see his sister Vivienne, the next eldest after Madeline, married before the snow flew.

  Sadly, Vivienne was not proving to be any easier to wed than her elder sister Madeline had been. Vivienne was willing to wed, but she wished to feel affection for her spouse before her nuptials were celebrated. Indeed, she wished to be in love. Alexander was certain they had visited every man in Christendom to no avail. He might well roar if Vivienne met his gaze and gave that minute shake of her head one more time.

  Though Alexander would prefer for Vivienne to be happy, August was already upon them. Soon he would be compelled to take matters into his own hands.

  Alexander sighed and buried himself in the accounts of the estate, hoping to discover that matters were slightly better than he knew them to be. He did not have sufficient time to become bored with the tedium of checking tallies before a rap sounded upon the wooden portal.

  Anthony, Kinfairlie’s elderly castellan, cleared his throat when Alexander did not immediately respond. “A gentleman to see you, my lord. He begs an audience in privacy at your earliest convenience.”

  Alexander was intrigued, for guests seldom arrived unbidden at Kinfairlie and even less frequently insisted upon privacy. “Has he a name?”