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

by Claire Delacroix

  “I love you,” she murmured instead. She spoke so sleepily that she might have been unaware that the words had crossed her lips.

  But Erik’s eyes flew open and sleep proved impossible for him after that. He looked at her, incredulous, but she drifted into sleep. He frowned at the timbered walls of the cabin, listening to the rain and the echo of those three words in his thoughts.

  Did Vivienne lie to further ensnare him?

  Or did he owe this lady far more than he had offered her thus far? Erik could not be certain, though the question plagued him all the night long.

  With three murmured words, Vivienne had changed all.

  Fourteen

  Something was amiss.

  Vivienne did not know what it was, but she awakened alone in that chamber on the morning afterward. She climbed to the deck that first morning in search of Erik and found the ship surrounded by dense white fog. The sails hung damply from the masts and the sea was as still as a mirror. A sailor rang a bell at steady intervals, clearly at Rosamunde’s command, but there was not so much as a breath of wind, let alone any hint of another soul.

  They might have sailed off the edge of the world. Worse, Erik seemed determined to avoid her. Each time she reached his side, he departed with haste, barely sparing her a glance.

  Erik appeared to take pains to avoid Vivienne, which was no small feat on a ship of this size. She felt bereft without his touch, without the merest sign of affection from him, and she wondered at the import of his manner.

  What had she done?

  Vivienne feared that the change in his manner had less to do with her and more to do with the prospect of his returning home. Doubtless the memory of Beatrice was stronger for him. Vivienne imagined that Erik turned away because he refused to taint the love he had pledged to the mother of his two beloved daughters.

  This was not the reward granted to the stalwart lover in all the tales that Vivienne knew! They had made a handfast and she, for one, did not intend to forget as much.

  Rosamunde shrugged off the weather and the sailors seemed to take it in stride. By the second day, several of the seamen were muttering, and by the third, there was a distinct hum of discontent.

  The weather did not stir, and Erik took to pacing the deck. Doubtless, he was anxious to see matters resolved at Blackleith.

  Worse, Rosamunde could not find her lodestone, though she swore that she always kept it in the same locale. None of the men on the ship confessed to moving it, and Rosamunde hunted for it in increasingly foul temper.

  She found it, on the fifth day, precisely where it should have been all along.

  The lodestone, though, was useless. It seemed charmed. Vivienne watched in amazement as Rosamunde held it aloft and it spun ceaselessly in a circle. The stone was unable to find true north.

  The sailors began to whisper of sorcery and, for once, Ruari held his tongue. Erik paced with greater vigor, his uneven stride echoing through the deck long into the night.

  No sooner had the lodestone been found than Rosamunde could not find her ledger. Unwilling to rely upon the observations of other seamen, she had made a compilation of her own considerable experience, noting the direction of winds in certain locales and sketching the shape of the land. She had journeyed often between Ravensmuir and Sicily, and the ledger contained the sum of her own observations, the better that she might orient herself after a storm such as the one they had experienced.

  But the ledger was not to be found. Again, no man on the crew admitted to touching it, much less moving it from its secured place in Rosamunde’s cabin. Ruari helped Rosamunde search the entire ship for it, and that with dogged persistence, but to no avail.

  On the eighth day, the ledger appeared in precisely the spot it should have occupied all along.

  All notes regarding the North Sea, however, had been removed.

  No tempest had ever raged to match Rosamunde’s fury at this development. Even Padraig, ever bold in her presence, clearly avoided her for that day. Rosamunde tore through every corner of that ship, she had cartons unpacked and barrels overturned, she dumped the drawers in her cabin, she declared it within her rights to examine every man’s possessions. She interrogated every living soul on that ship.

  All to no avail.

  Vivienne began to fear that they would never see land again.

  Of course, Rosamunde missed one small fey individual in her interrogation. The spriggan Darg knew where the ledger pages were, for she had hidden them. She had also charmed the lodestone. That spriggan laughed heartily over the success of her deed.

  It was Erik who heard the faint echo of fairy laughter, Erik who knew better than to believe in matters unseen, Erik who could not fathom who was bold enough to snicker at Rosamunde’s expense. He heard the echo of merriment in the midst of the night, when all others slumbered, when he alone paced the deck.

  He feared that he lost his wits, and in that surrendered the last of his meager assets.

  On the tenth morning, a distraught Rosamunde summoned them all to her chamber. Erik ensured that there was distance between himself and Vivienne. She looked at him with confusion, uncertain at his reserved manner.

  Erik certainly did not wish to explain himself. Proximity to Vivienne would scatter his thoughts, would ensure lust decimated his ability to fairly consider all that he knew. He dared not risk even a fleeting touch. He wished there was a way to be certain now whether his seed had taken root within her, for then his obligations would be clear—if not the truth.

  Vivienne had changed her garb, probably due to a gift from Rosamunde and Erik did not doubt that it was intended to tempt him. It nigh did so. The ochre kirtle was fitted to accent her considerable curves and perhaps displayed them more boldly than her previous kirtle had done. Its hems and cuffs were rich with embroidery in hues of blue and green, and her new chemise appeared to be a saffron yellow. Her hair was combed out over her shoulders, its auburn curls glinting in the cabin’s light.

  Desire lit in Erik’s belly like a flame and he was compelled to look away. He heard again her sleepy pledge of love and his innards churned.

  “I do not know what to do,” Rosamunde confessed to the small group gathered in her chamber. “Without my ledger, I cannot be certain of our locale. Without knowing our locale, I cannot chart a course. We cannot remain adrift forever and we dare not alight upon unfriendly shores.”

  “Are there so many unfriendly ports as that?” Erik asked, and won a hard look for his query.

  “I have pursued a dangerous trade for decades,” Rosamunde said shortly. “There are thus more unfriendly ports than amiable ones, at least for me.” She paced the chamber in agitation. “Never has something like this happened to me,” she muttered, her vexation more than clear. “Some fool plays a jest upon me, some fool who will pay dearly for such audacity.”

  “Could one of your enemies be hidden upon this ship?” Erik asked.

  “Where?” Rosamunde flung out her hands. “There is no place to hide!”

  But Erik was not so certain of that, given what he had learned of treachery himself. “Could one of your men have been tempted to serve another, with coin or other reward?”

  Rosamunde mused. “It is possible, though unlikely. Padraig and I are known to both reward our men well and to ensure that any unpaid debts are rendered in full.”

  “And then some,” Padraig amended, looking grim. “There are few who would dare to deceive us in these days.”

  Rosamunde and Padraig exchanged a glance and Erik guessed that they had seen a good measure of vengeance served in their time.

  He, for one, would not have defied them. Indeed, he knew better than to ask for details and chose to take them at their word.

  Vivienne bit her lip, as if knowing her suggestion would be unwelcome. “Perhaps the spriggan Darg accompanied us. She alone holds a grudge against you.”

  “And an unjust one at that!” Rosamunde’s eyes flashed. “I told Elizabeth to command her fairy. I cannot return the
hoard to Ravensmuir, not now, so there is no wager to be made.”

  “But what of your ring?” Erik asked, noting Rosamunde’s barren finger. “The silver ring that the spriggan demanded as her due? Surely if you have surrendered it to her, this fairy has no cause for complaint?”

  Rosamunde’s eyes narrowed but before she could reply, Vivienne turned upon Erik in astonishment. “You acknowledge the existence of the spriggan?”

  Erik had felt the spriggan, when she had been tangled in the seaweed, and he was fairly certain of the source of the malicious laughter he had heard since. He was not prepared to admit as much openly, however, so ignored Vivienne’s query.

  Rosamunde, to his surprise, flushed like a maiden and dropped her gaze. “The ring is gone. I hold it no longer.”

  “But if you surrendered it to the spriggan, then there should remain no issue,” Erik said carefully.

  Ruari snorted. “Fairies are a capricious lot. There is naught to say that this Darg would stand by her wager even if it was accepted immediately, let alone days after it was made.”

  But Erik was intrigued by Rosamunde’s discomfiture.

  “It was not mine to surrender,” she said gruffly, her gaze flicking as if she would look anywhere rather than meet the gazes of the others. “It is returned to its rightful owner, and thus beyond the reach of both myself and this spriggan.”

  Erik heard a small scream, seemingly wrought of frustration. He considered that Darg might argue the rightful ownership of that ring.

  “Which means,” he concluded, “that there is no way to sate the spriggan for her terms cannot be met.” A weight landed on his shoulder then and he heard a small cackle close to his ear. It seemed that the spriggan chattered agreement, though he could not fully discern her words.

  Perhaps she spoke another language than the ones he knew.

  “The ring is at Ravensmuir,” Rosamunde admitted. “For it is Ravensmuir’s ring and rightly belongs there.”

  “Why did you leave it there?” Padraig demanded. “We could be lost at sea for all time, if you have not the ring with which to wager!”

  Rosamunde’s cheeks stayed ruddy and Erik guessed that she told but half the tale. “I thought this spriggan would remain with the ring, and we would be readily rid of her.”

  Padraig shook his head and rubbed his brow. “But instead we are doomed, doomed to be lost at sea for the sprite cannot have her due.” He granted Rosamunde a stern glance. “Unless you can make another wager that will please the demon.”

  Rosamunde pursed her lips. She paced, she frowned, she folded her arms across her chest. She surveyed the chamber with a bright eye, clearly seeking some sign that the spriggan was amongst them.

  Erik felt that slight weight upon his shoulder ease closer to his neck. He dared not move, for he knew not what the creature meant to do. A tiny claw clutched at his earlobe, then words resonated in his ear. They were words not carried on anything so mortal as a breath, but words he heard all the same.

  When he realized their import, he repeated them aloud.

  “Debts must be paid or they stay due, the fey have far less patience than you. The ring of kings is my sole demand, and I will have it from any hand. Be Rosamunde dead or alive, still she will render my prize.”

  “So, you would talk in verse, lad?” Ruari asked in evident surprise. “What madness is this? You have no need for this ring.”

  Erik felt the back of his neck heat. “It is the spriggan. I can hear her and these words are her own. I but repeat them.”

  Vivienne’s lips parted with awe. “You can even hear the spriggan?”

  “Evidently so.” Erik felt no small measure of embarrassment to be proven so wrong and before the company as well. The little claw tugged at his earlobe, then the whisper sounded again.

  “Debts can be rendered in many a way, though the price grows higher with each day. Tell her then to make me an offer: I may be fey but I will barter.”

  Erik repeated this as well and the company exchanged glances. Rosamunde sighed and stared at her boots for a long moment before she spoke. “If I return to Ravensmuir, which would be a breach of my own pledge to never cross that threshold again—”

  “A pledge you have already willingly broken,” Padraig interjected, earning a dark glance for his trouble. Rosamunde folded her arms across her chest, looking fully discontent with what she meant to say.

  “If I so do, and if I pledge to try to retrieve the ring while there, will the spriggan aid us?” she asked, her manner revealing her own opinion of this course. “There is no way to claim the ring while we are at sea.”

  All looked expectantly at Erik, but he could hear no whisper. The grip upon his ear was gone, as seemingly was the weight upon his shoulder. He turned, looking about himself for some hint that the spriggan still remained in their company. He could not see Darg, nor could he hear any sound from her.

  But he saw the ledger, fat with parchment once again. “Are your observations returned?”

  Rosamunde pivoted, gasped, and fairly fell upon the ledger, her features lighting as she turned the pages within it. “They are all returned!” she said with amazement. “And as neatly as if they had never been gone.”

  The bell rang with greater vigor from the deck and the sailors above gave a shout. “The fog clears!” one shouted. “It blows away with uncommon speed! Come and see!”

  Padraig hastened out of the chamber, then the ladder creaked as he climbed to the deck. “Ha!” he shouted, only half out the hatch. “He speaks the truth! I can see the blue of the sky.”

  Rosamunde laughed aloud. She clutched the book in both hands and raised it high. “We sail for Scotland!” she cried with evident delight. “We sail this very day, first for Helmsdale and thence to Ravensmuir.”

  Padraig ducked his head back into the hold and granted Rosamunde a grim glance before he met Erik’s gaze. “And you may tell your fairy that I shall ensure that there is no breach of this pledge.”

  “You?” Rosamunde asked with a smile. “Your word is worth precious little.”

  “I may have a fondness for the sea, but not to the point of being lost upon it,” Padraig retorted. “Indeed, I lose my taste for such adventures. I will complete this journey with you, Rosamunde, for I have agreed as much, and this despite the fact that my pledge is worth so little. But then I yearn for the sun of Sicily. I will sail forth from that isle no more.”

  He climbed fully to the deck then, leaving Rosamunde astonished behind him. She pursued him but a moment later. Ruari turned a merry eye upon Erik and Vivienne eased closer to his side, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

  “So the spriggan has chosen you,” Ruari said with no small measure of amusement.

  “Darg takes our side in persuading you of matters unseen,” Vivienne added.

  “It was but a verse or two,” Erik said gruffly, as if they made too much of too little, and they laughed at his manner.

  Ruari shook a finger at him. “You cannot fight the truth, lad, that much is certain. If you deny what is evident to all, then it shall be made evident to you, in one way or another.”

  “And you cannot trick a fairy,” Vivienne added. “Even Rosamunde has learned as much.”

  “He probably saw the fairy all along,” Ruari teased, then granted Vivienne a knowing glance. “But meant to share your bed for as many nights as possible. After all, you were determined to show him the power of the unseen.”

  Vivienne opened her mouth, then closed it again, her wondrous eyes filled with shadows when she glanced at Erik once more. Perhaps Ruari did not know that Erik and Vivienne did not meet abed any longer. Erik did not care. With that comment, with the lady’s disappointment, the moment had lost its camaraderie for him.

  “Only a knave would so inconvenience an entire company for his own pleasure,” he said and turned away from Vivienne.

  Only a knave despoiled a maiden and did not honorably wed her. It seemed that Erik not only heard the voice of the spriggan but that
of his father, as well.

  Perhaps it was not so surprising that both fairy and father so vehemently agreed.

  Darg appeared to have considerable influence with the weather. The winds changed as soon as Rosamunde struck her wager with the spriggan, and the ship was fairly driven back toward Scotland’s coast. They drew near the coast near the Firth of Forth and the entire crew cheered as one.

  The ship was turned north with many hands lending their weight to the rudder. They made uncommon speed and Vivienne knew that soon Erik would see his home again. He took to standing at the rail, pointing out this landmark and another to Ruari, his excitement a tangible thing.

  Erik did not so much as glance her way, though Vivienne awakened more than once in the night in the ship’s hold to find his heat beside her. He did not touch her, much less caress her, but the bite of the wind was cold and Vivienne was glad of his heat.

  She hoped she might gain more from him in time. She prayed that she bore his son already.

  But when Vivienne knew for certain, the truth was not what she had desired. On a night that the moon was just past full and riding high in a clear sky, she awakened in the midst of night to a warm trickle on her thighs. She eased aside the coverlets and let the moonlight fall upon her flesh. The red blood there made her heart plummet to her very toes. There could no longer be any doubt.

  She had failed to conceive Erik’s son.

  Vivienne’s tears fell then at her failure, for she had been so certain that their efforts would see the matter quickly resolved.

  She cleaned herself with haste and bound a length of linen around herself, then wrapped her cloak more tightly about herself. Erik still breathed with deep regularity and she was loathe to awaken him with such tidings. She eased closer to his heat, though, feeling the cold more keenly in her disappointment. She willed herself back to sleep, resolving to tell him the truth in the morning.

  A resolve grew within her in the darkness. Vivienne was far from prepared to abandon this quest. There were twelve more moons in their handfast, and that meant twelve more chances to conceive a son.