“In time, and with much labor, they wrought a home for themselves, albeit one far more humble than either had known before. And in time, the woman bore a son to her husband, a boy with hair as fair as his mother’s own. And because the boy so favored his mother’s kin, they gave him a bold Norse name. Erik means ‘ruler forever’ and invokes the great champion Erik the Red.”
Elizabeth watched Vivienne ease forward on her seat, the meal forgotten. Did she know some man named Erik? Elizabeth did not. Where might her sister have met such a man?
Meanwhile, the storyteller continued. “So it was that in time, God granted this couple another son, another boy as golden and healthy as the first. But as God gives with one hand, so does he take away with the other, and the woman died in the birthing of her second son. And the husband knew not how he would raise these boys without his wife by his side and he feared his sons would need greater protection than he could grant them. So, he named the boy Nicholas, in honor of the saint known to have had affection for children, and he entreated that saint to show favor to both of his sons.”
But wait. Elizabeth frowned. Alexander had pledged Vivienne’s hand to Nicholas Sinclair, who had an elder brother named Erik. The Sinclairs were an old Highland family. Nicholas cooled in the dungeon, captured for breaking his pledge to Alexander.
And most intriguingly, Vivienne had spent two nights and days in the company of Nicholas, unchaperoned. Elizabeth eyed her sister and was not at all convinced that Vivienne did not care for the man in Ravensmuir’s dungeon. She was also unpersuaded that her sister truly bled as she insisted.
It had not been Annelise a few weeks past, Elizabeth knew it.
Could the arrival of this storyteller, known to Vivienne against all expectation, be coincidence? Elizabeth thought not. She listened more closely as the storyteller continued.
“Though the father taught the boys as well as he could, both of them felt often that their father was merely biding his time before he too slipped away to join their mother. It seemed that as the boys grew, their vitality was gained at the cost of their father’s vigor. By the time they were men, tall and strong and triumphant in battle, he never left his bed.
“The older son, fearing that his father missed the plenty of his youth—for both boys had heard the tale of their parents’ simple beginnings time and again—began to expand their humble abode. He fought avaricious neighbors on every side, he secured his borders, he built a stone keep, and he did it all in his father’s name. He took no credit for himself, but swore it was his father’s plan, his father’s training, and his father’s inspiration that granted him the fortitude to conjure affluence from nothing at all. He was valiant in battle, his word could be relied upon in treaty, and he was trusted for his honor by all.
“The younger son, meanwhile, had no care for labor. He preferred to savor what he could charm from others, or what he could trick them into granting to him, for he believed that only fools toiled, sweat and shed blood. He was fair to look upon and used that to his advantage in gaining his desires.”
This was consistent with Elizabeth’s memory of Nicholas Sinclair. She glanced to Vivienne in time to see her sister nod grim agreement. She tapped her on the shoulder. “Then how can you care for Nicholas?” she whispered.
Vivienne started in surprise. “I do not.”
“But he is in the dungeon and you clearly fret for him…”
Vivienne shook her head, then heaved a sigh. “It is Erik Sinclair who is in the dungeon,” she confessed quietly. “It is Erik Sinclair who captured me.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth at this revelation then closed it again. Vivienne turned her attention back to the storyteller. Elizabeth scarcely breathed, for she knew now that she heard the tale of which Vivienne was a part. She put her meal aside and even ignored the splash of Darg leaping joyously into their half-empty cup of ale.
Ruari continued. “The brothers argued on occasion, as two wrought so differently only could, but they hid their quarrels from their father—the younger one had no desire to appear poorly in his father’s eyes, and the older one had no yearning to tax his father’s strength. Perhaps the father did not fully understand the nature of Nicholas until it was too late. Perhaps he did not wish to know. I do not know the truth of it, save that it was.”
Elizabeth was snared by the injustice of the father’s error. Darg belched, then climbed from the empty cup of ale, staggering slightly in her course toward the pitcher. The fairy swung up on the handle of the pitcher, landed atop the handkerchief, and began to gnaw a hole in the cloth.
Elizabeth was too transfixed by the tale to care.
“The elder son wed happily, to a local beauty name of Beatrice, and an alliance was sealed with the love match. Two daughters were born to Beatrice, and Erik was proud as ever a father could be. And so it seemed that all was well, though the younger brother had a fierce jealousy of the elder.”
“This tale will turn from bad to worse,” Elizabeth whispered in trepidation. Vivienne but nodded once, her attention fully fixed on the older man’s voice.
Ten
“And so it came to pass that one dark day, Erik was summoned without warning by an ally, one Thomas Gunn, who professed need of his aid. Erik left his wife and his children and his home well defended, though it became clear that he had not prepared for treachery from within. Erik arrived at the abode of Thomas to find those lands at peace, and to learn that his neighbor had sent no summons to him.”
“Nicholas deceived him!” hissed someone in the company, and Elizabeth was certain that man had named the culprit aright.
“Aye, Nicholas indeed, though none dared make such a bold accusation then. Once Erik had left his home, Nicholas asserted himself as laird, though most thought the claim a temporary one.”
“The cur!” shouted one man in the assembly. “I will wager that he had a scheme to see the change wrought permanent!”
Ruari lifted a hand. “Who can say with certainty, save Nicholas himself? I will tell you, though, that Erik was assaulted upon the road while returning to his own abode, that he was attacked where he least expected such a deed—for, as you will recall, he knew nothing of the changes at his home. He knew only that the message he had received from Thomas Gunn had been an error.
“And so it was that Erik was surprised upon his own road, he was beaten senseless, he was cast from a cliff. He was believed to be lost to this world forevermore and, indeed, they held a funeral mass for him when he did not return to Blackleith and mourned his passing for a fortnight. It was said that his horse returned home without him, and Nicholas let it be known that he searched endlessly for his brother, without success.”
“While he had been the one to see to his disappearance,” muttered one man to assent from the hall.
“This explains his scars,” Elizabeth said quietly, though her sister did not reply.
Ruari paused and Elizabeth eased to the lip of the stair, so anxious was she to hear the next increment of the tale.
Vivienne, she noted, listened just as intently, though she did not seem as horrified by the tale. Did Vivienne know it already?
“He cannot have been dead in truth!” roared a man in encouragement. “That would be the end of your tale.”
Ruari shook his head. “Erik was close to dead, to be sure, but Fortune finally smiled upon him. A powerful neighbor gone hunting found Erik some days after that man’s own funeral. He recognized Erik and thought to grant him an honorable burial. Imagine his surprise when the supposed corpse began to speak!”
The company laughed, though Vivienne did not. Elizabeth watched her sister fold the fullness of her kirtle repeatedly between her fingers, utterly unaware of her own fretful gesture, and guessed that Vivienne had lost her heart to this wronged Erik.
“And so it was from this neighbor that Erik learned of doings at his abode. He learned that it was said that he had been assailed upon the road by bandits and that a funeral mass had been sung in his honor. Erik, though,
could not fully credit the rumor of his brother’s deception. In the end, the neighbor—who was the Earl of Sutherland—made Erik a wager which would prove the truth of his claim. The Earl of Sutherland offered to make a visit to Erik’s abode and to secret Erik within his company, so that man could see the truth for himself.”
Elizabeth stood and took Vivienne’s hand in her own. Her sister’s fingers were chilly. Vivienne returned Elizabeth’s squeeze, though she did not glance in her direction.
“And so it was done, though Erik was certain that the earl must be mistaken. It had long been said that the Earl of Sutherland was overly suspicious, after all. But just as the earl had foretold, Nicholas called himself Laird of Blackleith. Nicholas was not, however, content with mere suzerainty over what he had stolen from his brother: he not only claimed authority over the family holding, but insisted that his brother’s children were of his very own seed.”
“No!” someone in the company roared.
“Aye!” Ruari retorted. “Nicholas said that he had been compelled to render the marital debt to his brother’s wife, for Erik had been incapable of so doing. No man would have believed that he was not desirous of union with Beatrice, for the woman was a beauty beyond compare.”
“And what did she say of it?” demanded a man.
Ruari shrugged. “No one knew, for of Erik’s beauteous and loyal wife, there was no sign. The earl believed that she had defended her spouse and been killed for that deed. After all, Nicholas claimed he had seduced Beatrice in lieu of her rightful spouse, which must have shamed her. This time, Erik put credence in the earl’s suspicions, though he mourned his loyal wife in truth.”
“Such treachery must see its due!” shouted another man. The company began to growl in discontent, so fully were they upon Erik’s side.
“But surely the father protested,” argued one man.
Ruari shook his head sadly. “Beguiled by Nicholas’ silvered tongue, the father denounced Erik, he called his eldest son the shame of his beloved wife’s womb. And he retired, shaking, to his bed, leaving Nicholas uncontested as Laird of Blackleith.”
“It will be a feat to wring a happy ending to this story,” Elizabeth whispered.
“That it will,” Vivienne agreed.
“What happened?” prompted one of the men, his words quick with impatience.
Ruari lifted his head and spread his hands as he addressed the company in a bold voice once more. “It took a long time to heal Erik’s wounds, though I would wager that some of them never did heal. He always limped. He always was scarred. Once hale, choices were before him. He might have left his homeland forever, he might have earned his way as a mercenary in a far country, but fear for his daughters made him desire to remain close. There was little he could do alone, though, and he had no men he could summon to his side. His brother had fortified Blackleith and few even knew of Erik’s survival who might have aided him.
“Just when he despaired utterly of success, fickle Fortune smiled upon him again, as so oft she will. The Earl of Sutherland, who was disinclined to enter his neighbor’s squabbles but also hated to see injustice pass unpunished, offered Erik a wager. The earl had been troubled by that visit to Blackleith, nigh as troubled as Erik had been. The earl was much concerned with stability and the clear passage of inheritance. Many woes come of daughters, such was oft declared by him, and I believe it was a matter of concern to him that only two daughters were the progeny of the Sinclairs. He saw trouble ahead, did the earl, and he thought to resolve both that and the trouble at hand.
“And so it was that the Earl of Sutherland pledged to Erik Sinclair that if Erik could conceive a son, a son whose paternity was beyond doubt, then he, the Earl of Sutherland, would not only defend that son, but that he would muster an army to retrieve Erik’s holding of Blackleith from his brother Nicholas.”
“Erik took the wager,” Elizabeth whispered.
“What else might he do?” Vivienne murmured in return. The sisters’ hands entwined and locked together, their knuckles white with the vigor of their grip.
“And so it was that Erik sought the one maiden in all of Christendom who had perceived his brother to be the viper he was when first she met him, the one woman who had spied the darkness of Nicholas’ heart with a single glance, the one woman whom he believed could grant to him not only the son he needed but grant that son the discernment he would need to survive and to succeed.”
Elizabeth watched Vivienne and knew who that woman was.
“What will you do?” she asked.
Vivienne shook her head. “He must escape, this very night, before Alexander condemns him.” She flicked a glance at Elizabeth. “I beg you not to betray me to Alexander.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the very prospect. “Of course not! But how will you do it?”
Vivienne met Elizabeth’s gaze. “I had thought that our sole chance might be through the caverns.”
“You mean to leave with him.”
Vivienne nodded. “I promised him that son. I pledged to do my best to conceive and we have a handfast for a year and a day, as well. My path lies with him.”
Elizabeth hurried to grant her sister a hug, hearing all the unspoken nuances in those few words. This quest might not end well, for great odds were stacked against Erik Sinclair. It frightened her to think of Vivienne in the midst of it, yet she could well imagine her sister making a difference in the end result.
Elizabeth wanted to do her part. “I will persuade Darg to show us through the caverns. We can ensure your escape with her aid.”
“You would do this for me?”
“Of course!”
“But Alexander will be angry with you, of that I am certain.”
Elizabeth waved away that concern. “Alexander has his own way far too often these days. I shall savor the chance to ruin one of his schemes.”
Darg gave a cry then as she fell through the hole she had gnawed in the handkerchief. There was a splash as the spriggan fell into the pitcher of ale. The fairy made a gurgling sound and Elizabeth swore. She plunged her hand through the hole in the cloth and seized the wriggling fairy by her breeches, then gave her a stern shake.
Darg coughed with gusto, then released a belch sweet with the scent of ale.
“Immortality has not sharpened your wits,” Elizabeth said, tapping the fairy’s back with more vigor than was strictly necessary. “We have need of your aid this night, and you might see fit to be sufficiently sober to grant it.”
Darg opened one eye slyly, then sat up instead of making some comment. She sniffed the air, as hungrily as a hound on the hunt, and her smile turned malicious. “The thief returns on the storm’s tide; she thinks her lust cannot be denied.” Darg began to cackle as if her merriment could not be contained. She rolled to her back, laughing and laughing, her feet kicking in the air helplessly.
Elizabeth could make no sense of her chatter and had no patience for it. Clearly the spriggan was drunk and that at a most inconvenient time.
“Enough about Rosamunde,” Elizabeth said with disgust. “I have told you time and again that she will not return. I ask you only to guide us through the caverns this night.” Darg glanced this way and that, murmuring to herself and granting Elizabeth no reply. Elizabeth looked to Vivienne, who watched her with care. “I am sorry, but I cannot warrant what Darg will do this night.”
“Then we shall have to do our best,” Vivienne said, turning to watch the company with rare resolve. “There will be no other chance so good as this one and we dare not sacrifice it.”
Even if it meant sacrificing herself. Vivienne’s resolve could mean nothing less. This was love, Elizabeth thought, and found herself thrilled in its very presence.
It was only right that success be theirs this night.
Vivienne inched forward to peer around the corner at the foot of the stairs. She watched as Ruari shrugged and paced the hall slowly, apparently deep in thought. The hall was silent as all waited for the next increment of the t
ale.
“Tell us!” cried a bold man in the crowd. “Tell us how he regained all he had lost!” The men roared and thumped their cups on the tables, many of them stamping their feet with enthusiasm. Alexander and Tynan exchanged a smile, Alexander clearly pleased with himself for seeing fit to hire the storyteller this night.
He might not remain so pleased for long.
Ruari sighed and straightened, letting his gaze trail over the company as if he dreaded what he must say. “I wish I could tell you as much, but the Earl of Sutherland’s daring scheme came to naught. The chosen maiden betrayed Erik, as had every soul in all of his life. Erik died, nameless, forgotten and unavenged in a sorry pit of a dungeon. As to the fate of his daughters, I dare not guess.”
The men in the hall stared incredulously at the storyteller for a long moment of silence. Vivienne rose to her feet, knowing that this tale had been recounted for her ears, knowing that she alone had the power to change its ending.
Erik had need of her.
“No!” cried one man in the hall. “That is not fair!”
“No!” cried another. “He cannot have died afore his quest was won!”
Alexander stood and raised his hands, clearly hoping that he could calm the company. “I suggest you find a better ending for your tale, old man,” he said, but Ruari stood proudly.
“I have recounted the tale as it was,” he said. “This is the sole ending that I know, for it is the truth.”
“That is no tale!” a man roared and threw his pottery cup with vigor at Ruari. Ruari ducked, the cup smashed against the high table, and was quickly followed by another.
A tempest erupted in the hall. Crockery shattered against the floor and a roaring tide of discontented men surged toward the unrepentant storyteller. Tynan bellowed for order to no avail, Alexander shouted in dismay, and Vivienne knew what she had to do.
“Now!” she cried to Elizabeth and the two young women plunged into the chaos of Ravensmuir’s hall. Vivienne pulled Erik’s dagger from its sheath, and hoped against hope that she would not have to use it against her own kin.
All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances Page 83