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

by Claire Delacroix

  Did no souls manage to attain Heaven’s tranquility? It seemed all the dead were with this company of demons, all in torment and anguish.

  To Rafael’s relief, he did not see Ursula. One soul had escaped at least.

  “I have hours yet to erode your resistance,” Franz reminded him and Rafael knew his stubborn former comrade would not abandon his quest readily. “You know I like to triumph.”

  Rafael did.

  But Rafael also liked to win, especially over one whose intent was as dark as this. He steeled himself and held his ground, determined to survive this night now that he had evaded the tithe.

  Franz pinched Rafael and exhaled in his face. He ran his hand over Rafael, clearly trying to tempt him to move. He put his fingers into the slash on Rafael’s arm, and Rafael dared not think of what pestilence he left in the wound. Franz taunted him, making accusations in an attempt to make him speak. Rafael realized all too well what his former comrade did, and though he knew his own guilt, he did not wish to join Franz in this Hell just yet. Worse, the others came to touch Rafael, to poke him and hiss at him, to make accusations and promises of vengeance. The maidens who must be his sisters wept at his feet and the mother he had never known wailed at what he had become.

  Rafael struggled to ignore his tormentors, just as he had learned to ignore an empty belly or a wound that could not be tended until the battle was done. He could not understand—not any more than Franz—why the king of the dead had passed him over when he had chosen the darkest mortal heart.

  It could not be that Elizabeth was right, and that there was some merit in his being. Rafael knew the full list of his sins, as she did not, and he recognized that Franz was closer to the truth than she. He had never believed in Hell—a man in his occupation could not—and had always been convinced that there was life and then silence.

  On this night, Rafael had to consider that he had been mistaken.

  And that changed much in his view. Indeed, the question that plagued him on this night, and plagued him as surely as his former comrade, was whether there was any deed he could do to ensure that he never joined Franz in this place.

  An eternity of his former comrade’s company would be too much for any soul to bear.

  During that long moonlit night, a crimson ribbon grew across the ground. Elizabeth watched it avidly, for it emanated from Rafael.

  Who had possessed no ribbon, or no visible one, before this.

  It was one of Elizabeth’s gifts, along with the ability to see the Fae, that she often could see the mark of destined matches. Not only did she see ribbons emanating from those she loved, but those ribbons oft became entwined with others, designating that a couple should be happily wed together. She had first seen a ribbon unfurl from her sister, Madeline, and that had been on the arrival of the warrior Rhys FitzHenry at Ravensmuir. His ribbon and that of her sister had twined around each other in a strange fashion, though no others had been able to discern them. Elizabeth had not understood the meaning of what she had seen, not at first, but Madeline and Rhys had been happily wedded these seven years.

  Elizabeth had since seen the ribbons of all of her sisters and seen them twist with the ribbons of the men they wed. She had seen Alexander’s ribbon knot with Eleanor’s and witnessed Isabella’s entwine with Murdoch’s ribbon. She had seen how tightly knotted the ribbons of Annelise and Gareth were when they had visited Kinfairlie and upon her arrival at Ravensmuir this very week, had seen Malcolm’s ribbon securely fashioned to Catriona’s.

  Elizabeth had seen her own ribbon shredded and broken short by Finvarra years before and had feared that to be an import that she would find no mortal man to love her. But as she stood in the moor outside Ravensmuir’s hedge, motionless with Catriona and Rafael as they awaited the dawn, Elizabeth saw her own damaged ribbon become a more vivid blue than it had been. It seemed to heal before her very eyes, and she marveled at the change.

  More, the ribbon emanating from Rafael grew steadily and with purpose. It was as red as blood and edged with gold. As the night progressed, the ribbon inched closer to her own with a determination she believed characteristic of that warrior.

  His ribbon grew deliberately, not in a rush, as if distrustful of its own abilities, or as if doubtful of the merit of extending itself. Elizabeth watched it transfixed, silently offering the encouragement of her own heart.

  The Fae were gone so far as she could see, and the mortals around her seemed to have lost the shadow of doom on their brows. Had Finvarra revoked one of her Fae gifts? It would not have troubled Elizabeth to lose the power to see either death or the Fae, and the sight of Rafael’s growing ribbon encouraged her that her own destiny might have changed.

  Perhaps there was a chance that she could destroy Finvarra’s claim upon her, even though she had spoken aloud in the circle. Perhaps love could conquer all, as it did in all the best tales, and winning Rafael’s heart was the key to her every happiness.

  Elizabeth did not know, but she ardently wished to find out.

  Just before the dawn, the tip of Rafael’s ribbon touched the end of her own. Elizabeth felt the contact as surely as a caress upon her hand. Her heart leapt, just as it had when he had claimed her lips with his own, and heat shot through her body, from temples to toes.

  Elizabeth caught her breath at the tingling sensation that filled her, and it seemed to her that the sun rose on a world made new. She had lived in chilly shadows since Finvarra had first staked his claim upon her, but as the mist rose from the field of Ravensmuir that morn, burned away by the sun’s first light, Elizabeth felt Finvarra’s spell lift from her own eyes and a new hope dawn within her.

  Because of Rafael.

  Wednesday, June 23, 1428

  Feast Day of Saint John the Baptist. Midsummer.

  Seven

  Elizabeth’s back was to the sea and the east, but she knew when the sun rose. Not only did its rosy light begin to touch Kinfairlie’s forest ahead of her, but the last signs of the Fae’s presence faded. The frost circle upon the ground melted at the touch of the sun and the lilt of their music, which had faded, was silenced. The earl’s men stirred, like men waking from a dream, many of them with new holes in their boots. It seemed that Finvarra claimed no additional prizes on this night beyond the one man’s soul that would be the tithe to Hell.

  She waited until the last stars of the night were banished from the sky, then she took a deep breath and moved. She walked backward with steady steps, retracing their entry into the Fae circle. Catriona followed her lead, clearly understanding her choice, and Rafael watched before he echoed their moves.

  When they reached the edge of the circle, where their knives were plunged into the earth, Elizabeth led the other two in a circle that marked the periphery of the frost circle that had thawed. After they had walked the circle nine times, Elizabeth heard the cry of a bird.

  She looked up as three black ravens descended directly toward them. One landed on the corpse of the beheaded man and began to peck at the raw flesh on his neck.

  The second scooped up some small item near Ravensmuir’s gates and carried it to Malcolm.

  The third raven landed on a stone that had appeared where the Elphine Queen’s golden chalice had fallen. With the light of day, the glamour had fallen away, revealing the chalice as the rock it truly was. That bird turned its gaze upon Rafael, its manner expectant.

  Elizabeth wondered if Rafael would know what to do. He glanced at her and lifted a brow, even as he reached for the stone. Elizabeth nodded and Rafael picked up the stone formed of the goblet.

  Elizabeth paused beside the knives and pulled out her blade. It seemed to shiver in her hand, then looked as always it had. Catriona followed her gesture, then Rafael, who grimaced at the state of the blades. He turned then and hurled the rock across the moor, his eyes narrowing when it made a loud crack upon impact.

  Elizabeth felt the air shimmer and change, fairly crackling around them, and knew the night’s spell had been erased. She heave
d a sigh, knowing they had safely left the Fae court and circle.

  Catriona, undoubtedly sensing the same, ran to Malcolm, falling to her knees beside him. He stirred, but did not awaken until she kissed him soundly.

  When he reached for his new wife with a smile, Elizabeth exhaled with relief.

  It was done.

  Malcolm was saved and Rafael had survived. Better yet, Rafael had accepted her challenge, as sure a sign that she was right about him as there could be. Elizabeth spun to Rafael, wanting to share her celebratory mood, but that warrior scowled at her, then pivoted and marched away.

  Elizabeth was momentarily astonished.

  Then that crimson ribbon trailed behind him, flicking at her as if in invitation. Elizabeth did not need any more excuse than that to follow.

  There were men, in Rafael’s experience, who were perilous to know.

  Such individuals had been, to date, men whose position was always besieged in battle, no matter how apparently secure its location. They had been men whose tunnels always collapsed, against all expectation, or men whose gear failed them in the heat of battle in some freak accident. They were men who might have been struck by lightning had they been peasants instead of warriors. They had been men with bad luck, no more than that, some with such cursedly bad fortune that any friendship was doomed to be of short duration.

  He had never yet encountered a woman who was perilous to know, but after the night on the moor, tormented by Franz, Rafael began to think that Elizabeth might be of that ilk. He prided himself on his composure, after all, and his pragmatism, yet in less than two days, she had provoked him to impulsively risk his own life in an attempt to save Malcolm. She had addled his wits with her beauty and her challenges. She had tempted him and compelled him to reconsider his perspective of the world.

  She had consorted with the dead before his very eyes.

  Worse, she was reckless. What else could explain her challenge to the King of the Dead? She might be possessed of angelic beauty, but Elizabeth was one of those individuals who would not survive to old age.

  The sooner Rafael put distance between them, the better. Journeying south with all speed would be his best plan. His fellows would certainly be prepared to depart after the night they had endured, to head back to the familiarity of war on the Continent as soon as possible.

  Even war was better than facing the dead in Hell.

  Rafael followed Elizabeth’s lead in stepping back to the mortal realm and threw the stone as her glance indicated he should. He knew she would come after him, undoubtedly flush with success, but Rafael had to tend to Ranulf. That man had spent the night with his injury and though Rafael did not regret choosing to aid Malcolm first, he feared now for the extent of Ranulf’s injury. His own would have to wait yet longer.

  He was not surprised to hear a maiden’s footsteps in determined pursuit.

  Nor was Rafael surprised to pivot and discover Elizabeth’s face alight with pleasure. He folded his arms across his chest and awaited her, sure there would be no immediate escape. He knew he should not have been surprised by the wave of joy that swept through him, both at the sight of her and the surety that he was her target.

  Joy. There was another unreliable emotion that he could have done without, one that Elizabeth inflicted upon him. Still, Rafael held his ground and waited, savoring the sight of her.

  “You could have been killed!” she exclaimed by way of greeting, unable to hide her delight that he had not been. Rafael supposed he should have been troubled that she showed no fear of him, but he could not regret a thing when her eyes sparkled so merrily.

  “And the notion pleases you so much as that?” he teased.

  Elizabeth laughed. “That you thought more of Malcolm than yourself pleases me so much, and you know it well.”

  Rafael grimaced. “So I have become a man of honor in your view, which surely makes me tedious company.”

  She laughed again, and he was well pleased with his influence.

  “Never that,” she said, a flush staining her cheeks. “You could never be tedious, Rafael.”

  The sound of his name on her lips struck him like a blow once again, reminding him of his place as little else could have done. Rafael sobered, then frowned at her. “And I suppose you are proud of your disregard for your own welfare?”

  Her lips set stubbornly, her expression turning mutinous. “You will say again that I am impulsive and foolish.”

  “Why else would you dare the King of the Dead as you did?” Rafael flung out a hand, realizing she would see that he was concerned for her and not caring a whit for that if his warning changed her course. “You provoked him in his own court, and you are beyond fortunate that he did not take his vengeance immediately.”

  “You are protective of me.”

  “I speak only good sense. No one with their wits about them challenges a king when in that man’s court. I had thought you more sensible than that.”

  Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest and arched a brow. “I suspected he would not retaliate then. Finvarra prefers to wait for his moment.”

  Rafael felt his suspicion rise. “What is this?” Now that he recalled the exchange, it seemed that she had a familiarity with the King of the Dead. How and why?

  “The king, Finvarra, pledged years ago that he would have me, that I would come willingly to him.”

  The notion made Rafael’s innards cold. “We all go to the realm of the dead eventually,” he said with forced calm, wanting to be sure he understood her. “Though I cannot believe you to be destined for Hell.”

  “It is Fae, though you are right. He broke my ribbon years past so that I would never find my true love among mortal men.”

  Before Rafael could ask, Elizabeth smiled at him, her eyes dancing again. “And there is the marvel of it. We changed our destinies last night, Rafael! Your choice and mine changed what might be. Can you not see it?” She gestured skyward and Rafael followed her gesture.

  There were ribbons in the air above them, a silvery green one from Elizabeth that did appear to be broken short, and one as red as blood from himself. His was of such generous length that it rippled in the air and swirled around Elizabeth. It also wound around her ribbon like a tendril of smoke, and Rafael’s eyes narrowed.

  “Do you see the ribbons?” Elizabeth asked with excitement. “They are a Fae sign of destined love, and ours are entangled.” She dropped her voice to a confidential whisper. “Like our fates.”

  Rafael recoiled from the suggestion and the maiden.

  What madness was this?

  Their fates entwined? Rafael frowned and blinked at the ribbons, then lied, thinking it the easiest way to dissuade her from this notion. “I see only a morning sky. Are you well?”

  Elizabeth’s confidence faltered then, but she continued. “Yours grew last night, after your choice was made, and I believe it is because my challenge changed your course. Our choices changed our future, just as in an old tale, and now we can be wed in truth.”

  “Wed?” Rafael laughed aloud, unable to help himself. “I will never wed.”

  “But the ribbons...”

  “Are a sorcery of some kind, and truly, only you can see them,” Rafael said firmly. He bowed. “If you will excuse me, I have matters of this world to tend.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ranulf is wounded.”

  “So are you.”

  “I will tend him first.” Rafael turned away, heading toward the cluster of his companions from the Sable League.

  “You will tend him?”

  “It is what I do.”

  “Then show me...”

  Rafael spun to confront her, vexed by her determination. “Do you see any detail of the world around you?” he demanded, hearing his own voice rise. He felt a need to make her understand what she did, though he did not believe she was a fool. She was innocent, no more than that, and it infuriated him that her own choices could see that changed. “Do you note that we stand upon a b
attlefield, that men have died and others have been wounded in this place?” he demanded, noting that she did not recoil from his harsh tone. “Do you see the price that has been paid for the whimsy of a woman being denied the suitor she desired?”

  Elizabeth held her ground, so resolute that he both admired her and feared for her. “Of course I do!”

  That she did not balk meant that Rafael had to be more blunt. “Do you recognize what would have happened to you if our forces had been overcome? Indeed, it is uncommon fortune that we triumphed, for we were solely outnumbered. What do you think would have happened if the gatehouse had been overrun, if the earl’s forces had gained the hall?”

  Elizabeth glared at him, even as the color drained from her face.

  Rafael continued, determined to make her see the peril. “Mercenaries would have kicked down the door to the solar, and what would have happened next, mi piqueño ángel? They would not have asked for your hand to dance. You would not have been able to run or to hide. They would have held you down and taken what they desired of you, with no consideration of any price to you.” The very idea sickened Rafael, but Elizabeth was undaunted.

  “I am not so innocent that I do not understand that,” she retorted.

  “Were you my sister, I would see you locked in the tower of Ravensmuir,” Rafael said, hearing the heat in his own tone. “Not only this day but every day until you were wedded to a man who would defend you.”

  “And doubtless he would do so by locking me into another tower,” Elizabeth snapped. “I do not wish to be protected from life nor even from risk. I wish to live and to know that I have done so.”

  “You only say as much because you have this cursed confidence in your safety, a confidence that is undeserved.”

  She did not retreat from his anger, but instead took a step closer. Indeed, she poked a finger at his chest. “You are vexed because you know I am right. You know that there is a bond between us, even if you cannot see the ribbons, for we two manage to compel each other to change.”