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

by Claire Delacroix

  “Because they were likely reared in Ravensmuir and Inverfyre, and raised to endure such an unholy alliance!” Ruari contributed, galloping from behind them.

  Vivienne granted him a scornful glance. “Every nobleman in Christendom hunts with hawks, and does so from his horse’s saddle. There is nothing uncommon in this, much less any alliance unholy.”

  “Then Fafnir’s experience has been limited by my own deeds,” Erik said. “For it is not the lot of outlaws to hunt with hawks and hounds.”

  He glanced at the bird and was astounded at its size, for he had never seen a raven so close. Its plumage gleamed black, except for a tuft of white feathers over its left eye which gave it a querulous air.

  He was even more unsettled by its manner, for what might have been intellect gleamed in its dark eyes. The raven tilted its head and regarded Erik with such an eerie stare that it seemed to know his very thoughts. Indeed, the creature did not so much as blink, its eyes shining as it regarded him steadily.

  “Madness and folly!” Ruari cried, gesturing to the bird. “Men may hunt with hawks, but a peregrine is a far cry from a raven so willing to land on a woman’s fist. Have you taken a sorceress to your bed, lad? What price will she demand of us if she can summon a wild bird? Doubtless she can whistle up a wind, or strike a man dead with a glance. Woe will come of this choice, of that you can be certain!”

  “Such tales of witches are nonsense, Ruari,” Erik said, forcing his voice to sound more calm than he felt.

  Did he imagine that the bird smirked at him?

  “Indeed, Erik is convinced that the only truth is what a man can hold within his own hands,” Vivienne said sweetly. “It surely must be coincidence and no more that brought Medusa to my fist when I summoned her.”

  Perhaps Vivienne meant to provoke him in return for his uttering Beatrice’s name. Erik chose to not let her perceive the effectiveness of her ploy. “It is only good sense to be skeptical of such unseen and unproven abilities.”

  “Good sense!” Ruari snorted his skepticism. “It is no more than folly! Indeed, lad, you leave half the forces of Christendom out of that accounting, and to your own disadvantage at that. What of the miracles wrought by saints and their relics? What of the marvel of the mass itself? Do common bread and wine turn themselves to the body and blood of Christ? Why, if there was no more in this world than what a man might see for himself, then there would be much left unexplained, to be sure.”

  Erik was very aware that the raven looked between them, as if listening to their conversation.

  As if it might recall and recount that conversation to another, perhaps the lady’s uncle at Ravensmuir.

  But that was nonsense!

  “You are overly certain, Ruari, of these forces for which you have no evidence,” Erik said.

  Ruari flung out a hand. “No evidence? What of the eyes in your own head, lad? What of your own fate in these moments? Can you deny that wickedness—a force unseen, to be sure—is not responsible?”

  “My brother is scarce a force unseen,” Erik said, with no small measure of humor. To avoid lingering upon the details of his situation, he indicated the bird and deliberately changed the subject. “This then would be a bird from Ravensmuir?”

  “It is Medusa,” Vivienne said. The bird seemed to arch that white-feathered brow in silent acknowledgment. “And what will you tell my uncle of this, when next you fly through the high windows of Ravensmuir?” Vivienne asked of the bird. It cocked its head, seemingly considering her question. “And what will he ask of what you have seen this night?”

  “Sorcery and madness!” Ruari fumed. “You allow wickedness to ride in your own saddle, lad, and it will be to your own detriment. Do not let her send a missive with the bird!”

  “Ruari, it is but a bird. It cannot talk to any man.”

  “Fool! It is more than that!” Ruari drew his steed closer. He tried to shoo the bird away to no avail.

  Vivienne leaned down to whisper to the bird. “I confide in you, Medusa, that our likely destination is Blackleith.” The raven tilted its head, as if absorbing this morsel of information, then looked to Erik, appearing to seek confirmation.

  Was he so transparent as this? Erik had said nothing of his intent, yet Vivienne had guessed it so readily that he felt exposed.

  Then his blood chilled. Who else might have guessed his scheme? Did Nicholas still think him dead? Or had some soul confided the truth in him? Had his daughters met some dire fate in his absence, due to his own folly?

  “You cannot know as much!” Ruari protested. “How can you scry the future so readily? I tell you, Erik, the maid is a witch in truth.”

  “It merely makes good sense,” Vivienne replied tartly. “How else would a man regain the holding he had lost, save by returning to it? How else would a man win back his daughters, save by returning to the hall where they could be found?”

  “You told her of your daughters?” Ruari demanded in obvious disbelief. “What madness has seized you, lad, that you confide your secrets to every soul who sees fit to cross your path? Do you court failure? I thought you sought triumph! Your own insistence upon trusting others, to your detriment, will see you fail again!”

  Erik swore then, swore with vigor as he swung his gloved fist toward the bird. Medusa cried outrage and took flight, the raven’s heavy wings beating the air with power.

  Fafnir whinnied with no small outrage of his own. Erik had but a heartbeat’s warning before the horse shied and bolted hard to the right, away from the flutter of the bird’s wings.

  And Erik and Vivienne were tossed to the left, right out of the saddle, so abruptly did the horse move. Erik shouted in annoyance as they were thrown, but the horse did not slow. He caught Vivienne in his arms and took the burden of the fall himself.

  He landed upon his injured hip and grimaced in pain, even before Vivienne’s slight weight landed atop him.

  Medusa circled their small party once, screaming in avian disgust as Fafnir’s racing hoof beats faded into the distance. Ruari shouted and gave chase to the horse, a feat that would only make a spooked Fafnir gallop further before he halted. There was little point in shouting after Ruari, though, for he likely would not hear Erik’s warning. And truly, the ruckus Ruari raised would have every monk and peasant rising from his bed.

  Erik leaned his head back on the hard cold moor, closed his eyes, and sighed. His hip throbbed; he was exhausted. What had seemed a simple plan to ensure his daughters’ survival was not proving to be either simple or successful thus far.

  Seven

  “Are you injured?” Vivienne asked and Erik felt her leaning over him. Whether her solicitude was genuine or not, it was welcome. Indeed, the press of her breasts against his chest and the tickle of her hair on his face—no less his body’s response to both—persuaded him that he was not as near death as he might have thought.

  He opened his eyes and regarded her, noting that she was disheveled and pale. He was immediately concerned. “Are you?”

  She shook her head, loosing that cloud of hair over him. “Of course not, for you took the brunt of the fall.”

  “But?”

  “But I was surprised. I have ridden horses all my life and never have I been thrown from the saddle.” She grimaced as she sat up, then rubbed one knee. “It is not a new experience to be welcomed.”

  Erik realized then how fully Vivienne had had a life of privilege and security. She had known no fear, she had faced no danger. She had been cosseted by a large affluent family, one which ensured that she rode no horse that was not utterly tame, one which saw that no peril touched her life.

  He wanted fiercely to give the same gift to his daughters. That desire had him sitting up, reinvigorated once more.

  “You did not answer me,” Vivienne said, glancing over him with a wince that might have been born of guilt or sympathy or both.

  “I am no more injured than I have been before,” Erik said, hoping it was true. Vivienne eyed him anxiously as he stood a
nd subtly tested whether his leg would support his weight. “It was a surprise, no more than that.”

  “I did not know that your steed did not like birds.”

  “Nor, actually, did I.”

  “I am sorry,” Vivienne said, her cheeks staining with becoming color. “I have never known any horse unfamiliar with birds. I see now the folly of assuming all horses would be indifferent to their presence.”

  Erik liked that Vivienne was unafraid to acknowledge her guilt, that she apologized for her error with such ease. Though she flushed with embarrassment, still she met his gaze steadily. Her sheltered upbringing had given her a confidence that would serve her well in any circumstance.

  “How could you have anticipated what you have never known before?” he asked, unwilling to condemn her for a miscalculation, even one that had roused a clamor in his hip. “Your family’s abode is hardly typical of what mine was, even in its finest hour.”

  She nodded, so contrite that he felt a cur for having been irked with her even momentarily. “I never even guessed,” she said quietly, then sighed. “And my mother used to tell me that I was keen of wit.”

  There was little Erik could say to that. Vivienne rose then, and fetched the spilled contents of one saddlebag, which had evidently not been fully fastened. The provisions had been in that bag, though he did not tell her to leave the bread and the cheese in the dust. They might find themselves hungry enough to want it all the same.

  He wondered whether Vivienne’s ability to accept radical changes in her situation would extend to eating food adorned with dirt. He hoped they did not have to find out.

  Erik took advantage of her averted gaze to stretch his leg cautiously. He winced at the vigorous stab of pain which resulted.

  “You are injured!” Vivienne said, glancing over her shoulder in precisely the wrong moment.

  “No more than a bruise.”

  She looked skeptical in her turn, propping one hand upon her hip as she surveyed him sternly. “Then it will be a large one, I would wager.”

  “You will find no one to wager the opposite in this company,” he muttered.

  “You should not have taken the brunt of our fall, not upon that hip.”

  It had been quite some time since a woman had cared sufficiently about Erik to scold him, and he found himself enjoying their exchange. “In truth, I had no plan to do as much, just as I had no plan to leave the saddle in such a manner,” he said and was rewarded by Vivienne’s laughter. “That was no jest.” He granted her a grim look, and she merely smiled, so undaunted was she by his expression.

  “There is no need to glower at me,” she said. “You cannot disguise from me that you have noble impulses, much less that gallantry had you ensuring I felt no injury as a result of my own folly. No woman of sense condemns a man for his chivalry, though she might remind such a man that a body can bear only so much.” With that, she returned to her task of gathering the scattered goods.

  Erik blinked. It had been long indeed since anyone had thought him chivalrous, longer still since he had been credited with noble impulses. He watched Vivienne, discomfited that she had glimpsed secrets he thought hidden, and wary of her expectations all the same.

  Mercifully, he heard a horse’s hoof beats approaching in that very moment and was spared the need to consider the matter further. He pivoted to find Fafnir trotting back toward him. The horse had run in a large circle and now returned from the opposite direction, albeit at a much slower pace. The destrier halted half a dozen steps away and regarded Erik with seeming puzzlement, then lowered his head as if in apology as he slowly came closer.

  “He looks so surprised!” Vivienne said.

  “As if he had naught to do with our not being in the saddle any longer,” Erik grumbled.

  Fafnir sniffed Erik, seeming confused that he was no longer sprawled upon the ground. Apparently reassured to have found his errant rider, the destrier nibbled on Erik’s hair. Fafnir nosed in Erik’s collar with shameless enthusiasm, as if Erik were inclined to carry apples in his chemise.

  Vivienne laughed. She buffed an apple retrieved from the ground, then came closer to offer it to the horse.

  “He needs no reward for throwing us,” Erik said.

  Vivienne was undeterred by his gruff manner. “He deserves one for returning to us.” She rubbed the beast’s nose while it devoured the fruit, then turned that sparkling gaze upon Erik again.

  Before she could ask him some question, Erik spoke.

  “It was but a bird,” he told the horse with affectionate disgust, then rubbed its nose in turn. He flexed his leg while he stood there, assessing the damage from the fall. His hip was stiff and sore, it would undoubtedly be black and blue, but he would survive. He bent his leg once or twice and was relieved as it became more agile.

  “You must think me no more keen of wit than a child,” Vivienne said. She watched him, though he had not realized as much, her eyes narrowed.

  “I think you a woman who has lived in privilege,” Erik said, not wanting to chastise her when she was clearly judging herself harshly. “I also think your mother named it rightly, and that you are a woman keen of wit, though that does not mean you can know all.”

  “I am sorry. I never intended that you should be injured.”

  “Nor did I.” Erik felt immediately contrite, for she looked so crestfallen. He reached out and touched her cheek with a fingertip, coaxing her to meet his gaze. “If I confess to believing that you can summon a raven, though it defies reason that such an ability should be so, will you pledge to not do so again?”

  Vivienne smiled then, her smile as radiant as the first rays of the dawn. Indeed, the sight warmed Erik to his very toes. “Such a pledge should be sealed with a kiss, do you not think?” she said, then stepped around the horse and rose to kiss him on the mouth.

  Her spontaneous embrace was a rare pleasure. Indeed, no man of sense could argue with her reasoning, so Erik returned her kiss.

  Vivienne marveled that Erik’s kiss grew more beguiling with familiarity, not less so. She leaned her hands upon his chest and stretched to the tips of her toes, wanting only to kiss him fully.

  And truly, a kiss seemed the most fitting apology for what she had so foolishly done. What had begun as the manner of jest she would have played on one of her siblings had gone awry beyond her expectations. In hindsight, Vivienne felt like a fool.

  It had been easy to conclude from her experience that all horses were accustomed to birds, for example, whereas she now realized that all of the horses she had ridden had been trained with care beforehand. Only in hindsight did she see and appreciate the many hands that had ensured she and her siblings had met with no harm.

  It was not thus for every woman, nor indeed for every man. Vivienne understood that it certainly had not been thus for Erik. As a result, he had a keener ability to anticipate peril, for he held fewer assumptions than she.

  So, even though she had endangered them unwittingly, he had not only ensured that they did not pay a higher price, but he had forgiven her. Once his anger had passed, he had not held her error against her, and Vivienne wished to reward him for his trust.

  She kissed him with ardor and felt his response against her belly. She smiled as he pulled her more resolutely against him, savored the passion of his embrace. She wondered whether they might seal this agreement with more than a mere kiss.

  Then Ruari exhaled with obvious disgust from close proximity. Erik muttered a curse as he lifted his lips from hers and Vivienne hid her smile.

  Ruari glared at them, hands propped upon his hips. “And here I am, riding the very breadth of Scotland in pursuit of a steed, a steed which has returned to you of its own volition, and the two of you are so consumed with each other alone that you could not trouble to summon me with tidings of that horse’s return?”

  “I knew, Ruari, that you would not be far behind Fafnir, since you have such a talent for pursuit,” Erik said, still holding Vivienne fast against his chest. She leane
d her brow upon him and hid her amusement in his cloak.

  Ruari harrumphed. He did not dismount, merely peered pointedly at the sky, then back at the embracing pair. “Do you mean to ride further this night? Or shall I make myself absent again while you labor to create a male heir for Blackleith?”

  It was clear from his tone that Ruari was yet disgruntled, though he did not grant Erik a chance to protest.

  “I should have thought that you would have a desire for haste in this journey,” Ruari huffed and puffed. “Seeing as no man knows what occurs beneath Nicholas’ hand, but I may have misunderstood your enthusiasm for the pursuit of justice.”

  “Your counsel is uncommonly wise, Ruari, and indeed I mean to ride north with all haste,” Erik said mildly.

  Ruari pursed his lips and might have argued further, but Erik moved to depart immediately. He locked his hands around Vivienne’s waist and lifted her to Fafnir’s saddle.

  She noticed that Erik put his good leg in the saddle to swing himself up behind her, no less that he still moved stiffly, and feared that he was more injured than he would have had her believe. He turned the horse, though, and urged the beast to his former speed, as if untroubled.

  He appeared so untroubled that Vivienne understood otherwise. She already knew that Erik appeared more impassive when matters were less to his liking.

  She was concerned that their riding would injure his hip further, but dared not suggest as much outright in Ruari’s presence. She could feel how Erik braced himself, how he periodically caught his breath in pain, and she nibbled her lip in consternation. Not only was she responsible for his injury, but she could do little to ensure that it did not become worse.

  “And time enough it is too,” Ruari grumbled, his steed cantering beside Fafnir with easy grace. “The night is half gone and Ravensmuir yet on the horizon. We shall be fortunate indeed if we put enough distance between ourselves and the lady’s kin before that cursed bird rouses their suspicions.”