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

by Claire Delacroix

  He bent over her hand then, brushing his lips across her knuckles so slowly that she shivered to her very marrow. Elizabeth felt warm, as she had not felt warm in years. Indeed, her blood might have been simmering in her veins, a sensation that was most wondrous.

  “We might make a bargain of our own,” Rafael whispered, his lips moving against her flesh as he held her gaze, and Elizabeth sensed she wagered with the Devil himself. “The question is, of course, what would you offer in exchange for Malcolm’s life?”

  Elizabeth felt her mouth open in surprise but nary a sound came out. Rafael was taunting her and she knew it, but when his gaze clung to her lips, she licked them without meaning to do so.

  He caught his breath and his eyes flashed, then she saw him swallow. If anything, he was even more intent then.

  “Is everything an exchange for you?” she demanded breathlessly.

  “Everything is an exchange for all men, no matter what they say of it. All favors must be repaid and all gifts must one day be reciprocated.”

  It was a harsh view of the world, but one Elizabeth supposed was characteristic of a man in his trade.

  “People with their wits about them do well to understand the terms of the exchange with complete clarity before making agreement.”

  “That sounds like a guideline to live by.”

  “And so it is, and so I share it with you, for it is not only my kind who expect something in exchange for whatsoever they would give.”

  He was utterly serious and Elizabeth understood that he was warning her, though she did not know from whom or from what.

  “Take care in what invitations you offer, my lady,” Rafael continued and his gaze burned into hers. “If I choose to accept any exchange you suggest, there is not a man alive who will be able to stop me.”

  “What of the Fae?”

  Rafael’s manner turned harsh. “There are no Fae, as you people insist on calling them. It is the dead who haunt Ravensmuir, and a portal to Hell itself that will be opened on Midsummer’s Eve.” He arched a brow, looking diabolical. “The question is who will enter it willingly. I tell you now that it will not be me.” He smiled seductively again. “Unless of course you offer an exchange to me that no man with blood in his veins could refuse.”

  Elizabeth was shocked, but tried to hide it, wanting to appear less innocent in this man’s view than she knew she did.

  “Would you trade a seduction for Malcolm’s life?” Again, bold words she should never have uttered crossed her lips, shocking Elizabeth. She sensed that she played with fire, but she did not care—she had not felt so vibrantly alive in years. And truly, being in Rafael’s presence tempted her to take risks she normally would not.

  His brows shot up, his interest snared. “There is but one way for you to find out.”

  With that, Rafael abruptly turned and strode away, abandoning her as if he had lost interest in her company. Elizabeth watched him go, wondering what had possessed her to say such a thing.

  Yet he had walked away.

  Was she so lacking in allure as that?

  The air was cool in his absence and Elizabeth shivered. She felt the heat leave her flesh and saw the mortal world dim around her, as it had since Finvarra’s first pledge to make her his own. The Fae danced closer to her, chanting in anticipation of her surrender to Finvarra. One whispered to her of infidelity to the Fae king, but Elizabeth ignored both taunt and Fae determinedly.

  What was it about Rafael that dispersed Finvarra’s glamour? Why was it that she felt so vital in his presence? Was it because of his trade or his familiarity with death? Was it because there was no shadow of death upon him? Elizabeth nibbled her lip as she watched him and wondered.

  “Be wary of Rafael,” someone counseled and she jumped to find Catriona close beside her. That woman shook her head with disapproval. “He is not to be trusted in the least. Of all these former comrades of Malcolm’s, he is the one who sees solely his own advantage.”

  Rafael cast a censorious glance in the direction of Malcolm’s new wife, again as if he had heard her words though he was too distant to have done so. He then strode out of the hall. With his departure, Elizabeth felt as if another layer of fog had been placed between herself and the mortal realm around her.

  Then Catriona curtseyed before her. “I welcome you to Ravensmuir, as well, Elizabeth, but must ask of you a favor. Would you make such a potion for me, as well?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Of course, Catriona. ’Tis why I brought it.”

  Catriona smiled and urged Elizabeth toward the solar. They were almost of an age, and Elizabeth had a strong sense that she was going to like her brother’s new wife. She wanted to see the newly arrived babe, Avery, as well, to verify that he was as healthy and perfect as Eleanor had said.

  It would probably be healthy to deny her impulse to pursue Rafael, at least for the moment.

  Rafael could think of naught but Elizabeth after he left the hall. He had intended only to provoke her a little, to give her a glimpse of the world beyond what she knew, but her unexpected reactions had left him fascinated. He resolutely stayed away, both from the hall and from her, but still she filled his thoughts.

  It was Elizabeth’s combination of innocence and boldness that snared his attention, to be sure. Rafael liked that she was keen of wit. He liked that she could surprise him, and undermined his assumptions about maidens of her ilk. He admired that even when he provoked her, expecting her to retreat demurely, she lifted her chin with a sparkle of determination in her eye and challenged him in her turn.

  He could become enamored of provoking this maiden, though Rafael knew that to be a dangerous impulse.

  Indeed, Elizabeth had a ridiculous trust in her own safety, a trust that all her kin shared. It was a sign of having grown to adulthood in a region of peace, a situation so strange to Rafael that he dreaded the moment she learned the truth of men.

  Nay, it was how she would be taught the inevitable lesson that concerned him. Something about this alluring maiden made Rafael feel protective of her. Did she not know that many a man would have accepted her impulsive offer and sampled her fully by now? Most of the men in this hall would have taken her forcibly, if it came to that, seeing that as the price for her uttering her invitation so boldly.

  He could not believe that she was such a fool that she failed to understand the price of what she offered. Nay, she simply cared more for Malcolm’s survival. Rafael had known few who would sacrifice anything of their own for the welfare of another, and her impulse only increased both his urge to defend her.

  And to know more of her.

  Was it not angelic to bring out the best in a man? Rafael was amazed to realize that there was any merit lurking in his heart, much less that he could be trusted to defend the innocent.

  If he spent much time with Elizabeth, he might forget all he knew to be true!

  It did not help his resolve that Rafael could see her in every shadow and when he closed his eyes, he saw again her alluring smile. He was enchanted by the mischief that had danced in her eyes at Jeanne’s expense, and plagued by a fleeting sense that they two had more in common than he might ever have imagined.

  Rafael had no illusions as to his nature. He knew that in other circumstance, in another hall, he might have acted upon Elizabeth’s suggestion. Indeed, he might have accepted her wager so quickly that she had no chance to reconsider it. But Rafael knew that he had been alone in Elizabeth’s presence because Malcolm trusted him, and he would not betray his comrade’s confidence.

  Rafael did not, however, fully trust himself. After all, as Elizabeth had noted twice, he was prepared to let Malcolm die in his stead. He was a poor friend, to be sure, yet he found himself remarkably reluctant to prove himself more so.

  With any luck, Elizabeth would be dispatched to Kinfairlie in short order, and the distraction she offered would be removed.

  Rafael prayed that he would not be entrusted with the task of escorting her home.

  No di
vinity could be so cruel, even to a sinner like himself.

  Three

  Rafael was in the stables when he heard Bertrand and Louis jesting about Elizabeth. He was tending his destrier, Rayo, who was not in need of any tending. He froze at the sound of his comrade’s voices, unable to keep himself from listening. It was clear to him that they were unaware of his presence. It seemed deceptive to listen to his fellows thus, but Rafael heard Elizabeth’s name and wanted to know what they would say.

  What he heard only confirmed his every doubt.

  Bertrand whistled. “Were she not Malcolm’s sister, I could be tempted by Lady Elizabeth and her charms.”

  “What man would not be so?” Louis retorted. “Hers is a rare beauty, and an innocence beyond compare.”

  “Did you see her smile?” Bertrand gave another whistle of admiration.

  Louis chuckled. “Indeed. It fairly lit the hall. It was good that she turned that smile upon Rafael, for he is not one to forget his place.”

  “Nay, nor will he be seduced to be any woman’s pet.”

  Pet? Rafael frowned at this choice of word and listened more closely.

  Louis seemed to be surprised. “Do you not believe her to be a maiden?”

  “Of course, but that situation will not last.” Bertrand spoke with easy confidence, and Rafael trusted his assessment. The youngest son of a baron, Bertrand knew the habits of the aristocrats better than most. “She arrived with the earl, did she not? Doubtless there is some match in the making, for she is not so young as that. Nay, she will be wedded to some nobleman, as befits her rank, but if she is like her brother, she will see her desires fulfilled all the same.”

  “What is that to mean?”

  “That any man who would be seen as fit to take her hand is likely so old as to have one foot in the grave, and be more like to sleep abed than to pleasure his lady.”

  Louis gave a hoot of laughter. “And a lady so young will want a lover of her own. Once her virginity is claimed, she will have the freedom to do as she will while her husband slumbers.”

  “Keep your wits about you and she might insist her husband hire men-at-arms, including one or two of her particular choice.”

  “One or two upon whom she can bestow her favor! Who better for a lover and pet than a mercenary, who can come to her defense as well?”

  Rafael straightened in distaste at this notion and barely kept from revealing his presence.

  Bertrand’s next words made him glad he had not done so.

  “Perhaps that lover might even dispense of her tedious spouse.” Bernard’s tone was dour. “Though any man so foolish would be dispatched in short order to the executioner’s block.”

  Now it was Louis who whistled in appreciation. “So, she would be rid of both spouse and lover.”

  “Plus heir to a holding and some fortune, much like her brother. What better situation for a lady who would shape her our future? This family is not a company of fools.”

  “Ah, Bertrand, you know too much of noblewomen and their ways.”

  “I speak only from experience. My own sister rid herself of a spouse in this way and rules that man’s holding now in her own right. It was she who saw her lover charged with his crime, too, and she who watched his execution.”

  “Women can be cruel. ’Tis good for all of us that they seldom have power.” Louis frowned, then asked the question in Rafael’s mind. “But truly, do you see Lady Elizabeth’s heart as so dark?”

  “Even if she does not have such a dark plan, taking a lover after she is wed to some baron in his dotage would see her future secure.”

  “How so?”

  “She will have need of a son to prove her merit to any spouse who takes her hand. I would wager Lady Elizabeth is sufficiently clever to ensure that her womb will be fruitful, regardless what her wedded spouse chooses to do or not do.”

  Louis chuckled anew. “I confess, Bertrand, that your tales make me find greater favor with my hounds. They are not so complicated as noblewomen.”

  “They have that advantage, at least, though I would like to believe that you do not find the same pleasures with them as I have found with noblewomen.”

  The pair laughed together, well pleased with Bertrand’s jest. “How many supposedly legitimate heirs do you believe you have fathered, then?”

  “At least a dozen, over the years.”

  “Nay! It cannot be so! Not you, so rough and unmannered that no one would guess your lineage!”

  “There are ladies who savor a taste of our kind,” Bertrand said. “Perhaps it is a yearning for adventure and peril.”

  “Or paying too much heed to the troubadour’s tales.”

  “I cannot say, but I have no quibbles with sating a lady’s desire.” Bertrand coughed. “You may be sure that if Lady Elizabeth beckoned to me, I would fall to one knee with all speed and serve her every whim with ardor.” Bertrand laughed. “I would fall into her bed, with the merest crook of her finger in invitation, and make her cry with pleasure all the night long.”

  Louis laughed. “And do you call that witless, then? You would be used by her.”

  “And she by me. The exchange of pleasure is a fair one, Louis, and understood to come with no pledges from either side. My heart and my life are never part of the wager. To risk either would be witless and a folly beside. We must know our places and our prospects. ’Tis as simple as that.”

  The pair carried on then, their voices fading, though their words gave Rafael much to consider.

  Was Bertrand right? Did Elizabeth seek to beguile him so that he could serve her whim and secure her future? Did she think to summon him—or a man like him—to serve her husband by day and herself by night when she was wedded?

  Would she demand that he kill her husband to prove his affection, then see him executed for murder?

  Rafael found the very notion abhorrent. To be mischievous was one matter, but such scheming was quite another.

  On the other hand, Malcolm had been heir to Ravensmuir and had never given any hint of it in the six years Rafael had known him. That man had kept his assets to himself, until he could act upon them and secure his place in the world. Perhaps he had learned to ensure his own status from his family. Perhaps Elizabeth had learned similar lessons. There were fewer options available to women to ensure that they were secure, but Rafael wondered now if there might be rumors about Elizabeth. There might be a reason she was unwed, if other men in the vicinity knew the tendencies of her kin.

  It mattered little, for Rafael would never accept such a role. He was no pet, and he would be no married woman’s lover. He would not be the adulterer who was found out and punished, nor would he play the executioner in exchange for a lady’s favors abed. He considered himself warned by Bertrand’s tale.

  Rafael brushed Rayo with new purpose. He knew his place. He knew his prospects. He would not be tempted by a maiden’s smile to wish for what could never be his own.

  He would give her the benefit of the doubt, rather than assuming her to be so cunning as Bertrand’s sister. Lady Elizabeth was young and had only known safety and security.

  She did not know what she did in offering him so much.

  She wished only to save her brother, which was a noble impulse.

  The sooner they two were parted, the better, to Rafael’s thinking. He did not doubt that Elizabeth would forget him soon, and that was for the best. Rafael would never be the pawn of any noblewoman, kept as a pet to please her abed in secret.

  There were, after all, some pleasures not worth their price.

  After entrusting the wild thyme to Catriona, Elizabeth was left with little to do. Rafael was still absent, and she debated the merit of seeking him out. There was not much time left to persuade him to her view, though it would be beyond bold for her to go in search of him.

  She rather liked the idea of being beyond bold.

  She expected that impulse was Rafael’s fault. Indeed, there had been a quickening within her when he spoke to her,
and one taste of that excitement was far from sufficient.

  Elizabeth was resolved to find him but had no chance to act upon her impulse.

  “My lady!” Vera exclaimed from close proximity.

  Elizabeth turned to find the older serving maid scowling at her. Elizabeth dropped her gaze, ruing the fact that Vera had known her from birth. No one else could have elicited such a strong response in her.

  “I would expect you to know better how to conduct yourself,” Vera huffed, her tone chastising. “Consorting with the likes of Rafael! Do not imagine that I did not see your conversation with that man. Others might have missed the truth, but I have eyes in my head, that much is for certain.” She heaved a sigh. “To think of what your mother would have said, had she had the misfortune to see you in such company!” Vera marched to Elizabeth’s side, without taking a breath, and deposited Avery in the younger woman’s arms.

  He was the perfect distraction. Elizabeth could do naught other than catch the infant close, then naught else but admire him. He was a handsome babe already, his eyes a clear blue and his lips pursing in anticipation of a meal. He shook a small fist at her and Elizabeth smiled as she cuddled him.

  She was struck again by that yearning to have a husband and a babe of her own, but as she gazed down at Avery, Elizabeth feared such a fate was not to be hers. She grew no younger and Finvarra’s claim, which had seemed dangerous but distant, appeared increasingly close at hand. She had thought the choice would be hers to join him in Fae, and it was, but his curse had ensured that the mortal realm appeared at disadvantage.

  Save when she was with Rafael. Elizabeth blinked at the truth in that. How could that be? Why was that so? Why did he, of all men, not appear to be shadowed by death?

  “Is he not the most beautiful child that ever you have seen?” Vera cooed.