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

by Claire Delacroix

  Vivienne pushed her trencher toward her sister. “Consider it your own.” Isabella attacked the fish with such enthusiasm that she might not have eaten for a week.

  “Did you not like it?” quiet Annelise asked, her concern evident. Annelise was the next youngest sister after Vivienne, the two absent brothers between them in age. “I suggested to the cook that she use dill in the sauce, as it would be a change. It was not my intent to displease you.”

  “The sauce is delicious, as Isabella said,” Vivienne said with a smile. “I am not hungry this evening, that is all.”

  “Are you ill?” Elizabeth, the youngest of them all, asked.

  Vivienne fought her frustration as every soul in the hall turned a compassionate gaze upon her. Nothing escaped comment in this household! “I am well enough.” She shrugged, knowing they would not look away until she granted a reason for her mood. “I simply miss Madeline.”

  The sisters sighed as one and stared down at their trenchers. Even Isabella ceased to eat for a moment.

  “Perhaps you have need of a tale,” Alexander said with such heartiness that Vivienne was immediately suspicious. Their eldest brother, now Laird of Kinfairlie, had played so many pranks upon his sisters over the years that any gesture of goodwill from him prompted wariness.

  “He will tell you of the sad fate of a maiden who refused to wed at her brother’s dictate,” Elizabeth said darkly.

  “At least Malcolm and Ross are not here to aid in whatever jest Alexander might plan,” Isabella said. The maid that the girls shared clucked her tongue, as Isabella had spoken around a mouthful of fish.

  “Ross will be home from Inverfyre at Christmas,” Alexander said heartily. “Doubtless he will bring greetings from our uncle’s abode.”

  “Malcolm is too studious to venture the short distance from Ravensmuir, even to visit us,” Elizabeth complained.

  “Uncle Tynan is a demanding tutor,” Alexander said quietly. “You may be certain that Malcolm is too exhausted each night to think of much beyond better pleasing his lord on the morrow.”

  Vivienne stole a glance at Alexander, for he seldom spoke of his experience in earning his spurs beneath Tynan’s hand. He snared her gaze and granted her such a winning smile that she blinked. “What do you desire of me, that you would so court my favor?” she asked abruptly.

  Alexander laughed. “I desire only to see you smile again, Vivienne. I am not the only one who has noted your sadness in recent weeks.”

  “Doubtless though you are the only one who thinks a babe in Vivienne’s belly and a ring upon her finger would see the matter resolved,” Isabella said. The younger sisters rolled their eyes at this notion, their response only making Vivienne feel more alone.

  “He will tell a tale of a maiden made joyous by the arrival of her first child,” Elizabeth suggested and the sisters giggled at the absurdity of that.

  Vivienne did not laugh. She was, after all, the only one who thought Alexander’s scheme had some merit.

  “You know how much I love a tale,” she said to Alexander, sensing that perhaps their motives were as one. “Though I cannot imagine that you know one I do not.”

  “Ah, but I do, and it is a tale about Kinfairlie itself.”

  “What is this? And you never told it afore?” Vivienne cried in mock outrage.

  Alexander laughed anew. “I but heard it this week, in the village, and have awaited the right moment to share it.” He cleared his throat and pushed away his trencher.

  He was a finely wrought man, this brother of theirs, and already Vivienne saw the effect of his recent responsibility upon his manner. Alexander thought now before he spoke, and he spoke with new care, considering his words before he cast them among the company. He treated the servants fairly, and his authority was respected. His courts were reputed to be among the most just in the area, his reputation already rivaling that of their father. He stood taller and was more of a man than he had been merely a year past when their parents had died.

  Her younger sisters, however, were less enamored of the change in him. Once Alexander had been the favored playmate of all, and Vivienne knew that her youngest sister Elizabeth, in particular, resented Alexander’s new role, no less his demands that they all comport themselves with decorum. It was a remarkable change in the one who had been least concerned with proper behavior of all eight siblings.

  But Vivienne knew that it had been no small challenge Alexander had faced since the sudden demise of their parents, and she felt a sudden fierce pride in her brother’s achievement. She did not doubt that there was much he had resolved or shouldered without ever sharing the fullness of the truth with his siblings.

  “You all know of the chamber at the summit of Kinfairlie’s tower,” Alexander began, at ease with every eye in the hall upon him. “Though you may not know the reason why it stands empty, save for the cobwebs and the wind.”

  “The door has always been barred,” Vivienne said. “Maman refused to cross its threshold.”

  “It was Papa who had the portal barred,” Alexander agreed. “I have only the barest recollection of ever seeing that door open in my childhood. I fancy, given the details of this tale, that it was secured after Madeline’s birth, when I was only two summers of age.”

  The sisters leaned toward Alexander as one. Elizabeth’s eyes were shining, for she loved a tale nigh as well as Vivienne. Isabella, who had made short work of the second piece of fish, wiped her lips upon her napkin and laid the linen aside. Annelise sat with her hands folded in her lap, characteristically still, though her avid gaze revealed her interest. Even the servants hovered in the shadows, heeding Alexander’s tale.

  Alexander propped his elbows on the table, and surveyed his sisters, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Perhaps I should not share the tale with you. It concerns a threat to innocent maidens…”

  “You must tell us!” Isabella cried.

  “Do not tease us with a part of the tale!” Vivienne said.

  “What manner of threat, Alexander?” Elizabeth asked. “Surely it is our right to know?”

  Alexander feigned concern and frowned sternly at them. “Perhaps you demand the tale because you are not all such innocent maidens as I believe…”

  “Oh!” The sisters shouted in unison and Alexander grinned with the wickedness they all knew so well. Annelise, who sat on one side of him, swatted him repeatedly on one arm. Elizabeth, on his other side, struck him in the shoulder with such force that he winced. Isabella cast a chunk of bread at him, and it hit him in the brow. Alexander cried out for mercy, laughing all the while.

  Vivienne could not help but laugh. “You should know better than to cast such aspersions upon us!” She wagged a finger at him. “And you should know better than to tease us with the promise of a tale.”

  “I cede. I cede!” Alexander shouted. He straightened his tabard and shoved a hand through his hair, then took a restorative sip of wine.

  “You linger overlong in beginning,” Elizabeth accused.

  “Impatient wenches,” Alexander teased, then he began. “You all know that Kinfairlie was razed to the ground in our great-grandmother’s youth.” He pinched Elizabeth’s cheek and that sister blushed crimson. “You were named for our intrepid forebear, Mary Elise of Kinfairlie.”

  “And the holding was returned by the crown to Ysabella, who had wed Merlyn Lammergeier, Laird of Ravensmuir,” Vivienne prompted, for she knew this bit of their history. “Roland, our father, was the son of Merlyn and Ysabella, and the brother of Tynan, their elder son who now rules Ravensmuir where Malcolm labors to earn his spurs. Our grandfather Merlyn rebuilt Kinfairlie from the very ground, so that Roland could become its laird when he was of age.” She rolled her eyes. “Tell us some detail we do not know!”

  “And so Kinfairlie’s seal passed to Alexander, Roland’s eldest son, when Roland and his wife, our mother Catherine, abandoned this earth,” Annelise added quietly. The siblings and the servants all crossed themselves in silence and more than one so
ul studied the floor in recollection of their recent grief.

  “My tale concerns happier times,” Alexander said with forced cheer. “For it seems that when Roland and Catherine came to Kinfairlie newly wedded, there were already tales told about this holding and about that chamber.”

  “What manner of tales?” Vivienne demanded.

  Alexander smiled. “It has long been whispered that Kinfairlie kisses the lip of the realm of fairy.”

  Elizabeth shivered with delight and nudged Vivienne.

  “Nonsense,” Isabella muttered, but the sisters elbowed her to silence.

  Alexander continued, ignoring them all. “Though Merlyn and Ysabella had not lived overmuch in this hall, there were servants within the walls and a castellan who saw to its administration in their absence.

  “And so it was that the castellan had a daughter, a lovely maiden who was most curious. Since there were only servants in the keep, since it was resolved that she could not find much mischief in a place so newly wrought, and since—it must be said—she was possessed of no small measure of charm which she used to win her way—unlike any maidens of my acquaintance—” The sisters roared protest, but a grinning Alexander held up a finger for silence. “—this damsel was permitted to wander wheresoever she desired within the walls.

  “And so it was that she explored the chamber at the top of the tower. There are three windows in that chamber, from what I have been told, and all of them look toward the sea.”

  “You can see three windows from the sentry post below,” Vivienne said.

  Alexander nodded. “Though the view is fine, the chamber is cursed cold, for the openings were wrought too large for glass and the wooden shutters pose no barrier to the wind, especially when a storm is rising. That was why no one had spent much time in the room. This maiden, however, had done so and she had noted that one window did not grant the view that it should have done.

  “Clouds crossed the sky in that window, but never were framed by the others. Uncommon birds could be spied only in the one window, and the sea never quite seemed to be the same viewed through that window as through the others. The difference was subtle, and a passing glance would not reveal any discrepancy, but the maiden became convinced that this third window was magical. She wondered whether it looked into the past, or into the future, or into the realm of fairy, or into some other place altogether.

  “And so she resolved that she would discover the truth.”

  “It was the portal to the fairy realm!” Elizabeth said with excitement.

  “There is no such place,” Isabella said with a roll of her eyes.

  “It is but a tale, Isabella,” Annelise chided. “Can you not savor it for what it is?”

  Vivienne eased forward on the bench, enthralled by Alexander’s tale and impatient to hear more. “What happened?”

  “No one knows for certain. The maiden slept in the chamber for several nights and when she was asked what she had seen, she only smiled. She insisted that she had seen nothing, but her smile, her smile hinted at a thousand mysteries.”

  Vivienne’s attention was captured utterly then, for she suspected she knew how that maiden had smiled.

  Alexander continued. “And on the morning after she had slept in that chamber for three nights, the damsel could not be found.”

  “What is this?” Isabella asked.

  “She did not come to the board.” Alexander shrugged. “The castellan’s wife was certain that the girl lingered overlong abed, so she marched up the stairs to chastise her daughter. She found the portal to the chamber closed, and when she opened it, the wind was bitterly cold. She feared then that the girl had become too cold, but she was not in the chamber. The mother went to each window in turn and peered down, fearing that her daughter had fallen to her death, but there was no sign of the girl.”

  “Someone stole her away,” Isabella said, ever pragmatic.

  Alexander shook his head. “She was never seen again. But on the sill of one window—I suspect I know which one it was—on the morning of the maiden’s disappearance, the castellan’s wife found a single rose. It appeared to be red, as red as blood, but as soon as she lifted it in her hands, it began to pale. By the time she carried it to the hall, the rose was white, and no sooner had the castellan seen it, than it began to melt. It was wrought of ice, and in a matter of moments, it was no more than a puddle of water upon the floor.”

  Alexander rose from his seat and strode to the middle of the hall. He pointed to a spot on the floor, a mark that Vivienne had not noted before. It shimmered, as if stained by some substance that none could have named.

  “It was here that the water fell,” Alexander said softly. “And when an old woman working in the kitchens spied the mark and heard the tale of the rose, she cried out in dismay. It seems that there is an old tale of fairy lovers claiming mortal brides, that the portal between their world and ours is at Kinfairlie. A fairy suitor can peer through the portal, though they all know they should not, and he could fall in love with a mortal maiden he glimpses there.”

  Alexander smiled at his sisters. “And the bride price a smitten fairy suitor leaves when he claims that bride for his own is a single red, red rose, a rose that is not truly a rose, but a fairy rose wrought of ice.” He scuffed the floor with his toe. “Though its form does not endure, the mark of its magic is never truly lost.”

  Silence reigned in the hall for a moment, the light from the candles making the mark on the floor seem to glimmer more brightly.

  Alexander shrugged. “I cannot imagine that Papa believed the tale, but doubtless once he had a daughter, he had no desire to have her traded for a rose wrought of ice.”

  “Someone should discover the truth,” Isabella said with resolve. “Doubtless some village mischief is behind it.”

  Annelise shivered. “But what if the tale is true? Who knows where the maiden went? Who would take such a risk as to follow her?”

  Vivienne clenched her hands together and held her tongue with an effort. She knew who would take such a risk. She knew, with eerie certainty, that this tale had come to light now because it was a message to her.

  Here was the moment she had awaited! A fairy spouse would suit her well, of that she had no doubt, no less the adventure of a life in another realm. Fairies, every sensible person knew, were an unruly and less-than-fastidiously groomed lot. She would fit into their ranks perfectly.

  So she resolved: Vivienne would sleep in the tower chamber on this night. She only had to figure out how the feat could be done without rousing the suspicions of her siblings.

  Two

  Vivienne’s task proved to be easier than she had feared.

  She sat with her sisters that evening, bending over her needlework and fighting to hide her impatience. They worked upon a large tapestry for the hall, each embroidering a single panel. The completed work would never be so fine as those embroideries brought from France and Belgium, but there was a charm in it being made by the family.

  Annelise had created the design, for she was the most deft with a piece of charcoal. Mythical creatures frolicked across the surface, each slowly taking shape with thread and color. Vivienne loved the design and enjoyed working upon it more than she usually enjoyed needlework, but this night she found no pleasure in the task. In fact, her threads seemed to tangle and knot with a will of their own.

  The time passed with such slowness that Vivienne thought she might scream, and for once, she envied Alexander the need to retire to review Kinfairlie’s ledgers. Vivienne’s toe seemed to tap of her own volition. She tucked her feet under her skirts, hoping no one noticed her restlessness.

  “You are making more of a mess of matters than usual, Vivienne,” Isabella noted, she who was as orderly as Madeline.

  “I have no talent for embroidery, it is clear,” Vivienne said.

  Isabella claimed the knot of wool thread from Vivienne’s restless fingers and set calmly to sorting it, strand by strand. “You have no patience for it,” she sai
d, without censure. “That is different.”

  “Still, you are usually more artful than this,” Annelise noted, studying Vivienne with some concern. “Are you unwell?”

  Vivienne yawned and rubbed her eyes in answer, as if too exhausted to remain awake, then pretended to struggle to focus on her needlework.

  “You do look tired, Vivienne,” Isabella said, sounding for all the world like their mother.

  “It is not like you to tire so early,” Annelise commented. “You are usually the last of us to come to bed.”

  Vivienne shrugged. “I was tired all this day.”

  “And you did not eat your dinner,” a sharp-eyed Elizabeth reminded them all.

  “Perhaps sleep would be best for you,” Isabella said. “And morning will find you hale again.”

  Vivienne set aside her work with apparent reluctance. “I admit the notion has an appeal.”

  “Go!” Annelise urged. “You can work upon your panel another day.”

  Isabella smiled. “Needlework awaits our attention most patiently.” The other sisters laughed and Vivienne did not require further urging to leave their company.

  She climbed the stairs slowly as long as they could see her, so slowly that she might have been having difficulty lifting the weight of her own feet. She heard Isabella tut-tut and smiled to herself, then darted across the floor above to fetch and light a candle. The moon was new, so there would be no light in the chambers above.

  Kinfairlie’s keep was no more and no less than a single square tower wrought of stone. It was tall, so tall that Vivienne’s father had once called it a finger pointing to the heavens, so tall that it could be seen from as far away as their uncle’s keep of Ravensmuir.

  Kinfairlie had not been rebuilt precisely to the former design after it had been razed to the ground. Curtain walls, for example, were now believed to be too difficult to defend, thus Kinfairlie’s surrounding walls had not been rebuilt. The remnants of the old walls yet marked the property, though they were tumbled in places, choked with thorns in others, and had vanished in still others.