There was a comfort to be had in the familiar sounds and activities. This was his life and always would be. He heard the crude jests being made by his comrades and their tales of their deeds in the battle the day before. Two of the men had kindled a fire in the old blacksmith’s workshop, and the sound of hammer upon steel echoed through the air. There were hilts to be repaired and nicks in blades to be smoothed, dints in shields and helms to be hammered out, and more than one horse was in need of a new shoe. The squires mucked the stables and fetched water and food for the horses, as well.
Two of them assisted Rafael, watching his ministrations with interest and fetching whatsoever he needed with great speed. When they began to whisper, his heart sank at their words.
“They say it was the Fae we saw last eve,” the one squire whispered to the other, his awe more than clear. He was blond, this Hans, and his eyes were both wide and a clear blue. He always seemed to be astonished in Rafael’s view.
“Rafael said they were demons,” dark-haired Xavier murmured, flicking a glance at Rafael. Rafael had made a poultice of herbs for this particular horse and indicated that the boy should hold the soaked cloth in place while Rafael bound it with a length of linen. He deliberately did not reply to the comment, though he thought of Elizabeth’s assertion that they were not demons.
What else could they be? He recalled Ibrahim’s tales and wondered if that man might have been right about something.
“But they are gone!” Hans continued, waving a hand. He was charged with holding the steed’s reins and his abrupt move made the stallion toss his head and stamp. Rafael gave him a stern look and he sobered, taking care to hold the horse’s head still. “Vanished,” Hans whispered. “Into the very air.”
“Are they?” Rafael murmured, for he had glimpsed small winged creatures in the rafters of the stables.
“What do you mean, sir?”
Xavier answered. “We could only see them because of Lady Elizabeth’s potion,” he said, his tone implying that Hans was a fool. “It is evident that its powers faded with the light of the moon and that they are cloaked from our view.”
“If indeed they were present at all,” Rafael said firmly. A number of small brown demons swung from cobwebs that hung from the rafters, squealing with glee as they frolicked in the stables, unobserved by the other men. It suited Rafael well to let these Fae or demons believe that he could not see them either.
A man who meant to survive, in his experience, did not reveal all he knew.
“But surely they were, Rafael!” said Xavier. “We saw them.”
“You thought you saw them,” Rafael replied, shaking his head. “It could well be that Lady Elizabeth’s potion gave you visions of what was not truly there to be seen. If you knew much of herbs and apothecary’s brews, you would know that to be possible.”
The boys exchanged glances of disappointment. Rafael stood and patted the steed’s rump, well pleased with its patience, then glanced toward his own mount. “The smith will have labor for you,” he said kindly to the boys. “If you hasten, you will have your duties complete by the time the midday meal is served in the hall.” Their gazes lit and they hastened to the far end of the stall to help with the repairs to the armor.
It was only when Rafael went to Rayo that he realized that he was nigh at the last stall in the stables. They must have moved the steeds around to better accommodate the wounded horses and men, but he shivered to see that Rayo was now in the last stall but one. It had been the back wall of that very last stall that had gaped open the previous Midwinter’s Eve, spilling the light of another realm into the cold night of this one.
That stall was where it had begun.
Rafael shuddered again and concentrated on practical matters. He paused to admire Elizabeth’s mare, a black steed of remarkable size with flashing eyes, and ensured that she was well enough. She was skittish, probably, like Rayo, a reaction to the scent of blood. He doubted he could reassure her much, so continued to his own steed, which would welcome his presence.
Rayo was so dark a hue of chestnut that he oft was considered to be black, save for a streak of white upon his brow. He was a magnificent destrier, and Rafael had oft wondered if there was a trickle of the blood of the legendary horses bred at Ravensmuir in his veins. The stallion nickered at the sight of Rafael, as if to reassure his warrior that he was uninjured. Rafael ran his hands over the horse, making sure that no small wound had been missed. His touch settled the creature and he felt the anxiety ease from Rayo.
Even as he checked the horse, Rafael realized how distant the sounds of his fellows had become. The corridor alongside the stalls seemed to have stretched longer, and the men and boys at the far end seemed both smaller than they should have been and fainter. It was as if they faded from sight, or were being lost in a fog. It could have been that the corridor stretched to three times its length, an odd sensation that Rafael recalled from six months before.
The hair prickled on the back of his neck.
Was it his imagination that he could hear the faint strains of that cursed music even now? Rafael shivered at the chill the air had taken, fearing he knew who was afoot.
The mortals were not alone in the stables, and the small creatures in the rafters were not the sum of their company. Rafael caught his breath as some being swept past him in icy splendor. He glimpsed a hem edged in silvery fur trailing across his boot. He felt a flutter of wings behind him and heard the shrill cries of small beings swinging from cobwebs high above. Rafael gave no sign that he had noticed, though gooseflesh rose on his skin.
Instead, he indulged both himself and Rayo by getting the brush and grooming the beast. Rayo blew out his lips and stamped a foot, adjusting his stance and bowing his head. He was clearly pleased by the attention, though his ears flicked more than they should have done.
So, he was aware of the demons passing, as well. There was a faint rustle of silken garments behind Rafael as the otherworldly company proceeded through the stables, undoubtedly returning to that gap in the wall in the adjacent stall. He knew that he and Malcolm had barricaded it, but he supposed that beings of this kind found that to be no obstacle. They danced and cavorted as they walked, their chatter filled with jubilation that the tithe had been paid.
Where had they been since leaving the moor? Since sunrise? Rafael did not know and refused to speculate upon it.
Indeed, he did not dare look up. He strove to pretend that he was oblivious to their presence, murmuring to Rayo as if he could not explain the beast’s agitation. It was wiser, in his experience, to let a foe believe that he was unobserved or that his scheme was undetected.
And Rafael had no doubt that these beings, whether called demons or Fae, were his foes. He had seen the king slice down that beggar who had snatched at Catriona’s crucifix, had seen that there was no mercy in that regal countenance when the loss of a mortal life would be his gain. Rafael’s ears pricked when he heard the deep tones of that very king, though he hid his awareness with steady brushing.
Elizabeth had spoken out when she should have not have done so. The king had not taken a toll from her for that choice, but Rafael wondered if that left Elizabeth in the dark king’s debt.
He listened keenly, hoping to learn more of this king’s plan for a certain outspoken maiden. Her fate was not his concern, of course, nor was it his responsibility, but maybe he could ensure that Malcolm saw her defended.
It sounded like an excuse even to Rafael himself, but still he listened.
Elizabeth could make no sense of Malcolm’s manner. She might have thought he made an excuse to keep her from Rafael’s side, if he had not seemed to be hugging a secret to himself.
As he had done when he was a boy. The glimpse of his mischievous nature was utterly seductive to Elizabeth and very welcome.
But it made no sense that Catriona had need of her aid. She had seen just the day before that Ravensmuir’s new hall was sparsely furnished. Two trestle tables had been set before the two massive
hearths, and only one hearth had yet seen a blaze kindled within it. The walls had been bare of tapestries and the floor, though strewn with fresh rushes, had been vast and empty.
When Elizabeth stepped into the hall, though, she immediately saw that all had changed. On this morn, there was an enormous pile of furnishings in the midst of the floor. Chairs and tables and tapestries were jumbled together, with crockery pots and metal ewers and cups and plates jumbled in between. There were heavy iron pots that belonged in a kitchen, spits for the fireplaces, and countless other household items. Indeed, the pile was so large and so chaotic that Elizabeth could scarce make sense of it, much less its appearance.
“But where did it come from?” she demanded of Malcolm.
By way of answer, he showed her a wooden box that was more than familiar. The lid was inlaid with wood of different colors to make a bird, its wings outspread and of various hues.
A lammergeier.
Elizabeth’s lips parted in astonishment and recognition. “That is Grandfather’s box!” she said with delight. “But it was lost in the caverns, when Uncle Tynan died. How is it that you have it again?”
“This morn, it was returned to me,” Malcolm said, gesturing to the mound of goods. “Along with all of this.” He tapped the box. “To my relief, the old deeds are still within it.”
Elizabeth would not have believed it if she had not seen it with her own eyes. “That is a miracle.”
“Never mind all of this.”
Could it all be from the caverns?
Who had brought it to the hall? Elizabeth scanned the rafters, seeking some sign of Darg, the mischievous spriggan, but she could not see a single Fae. And truly, she could not believe that Darg, given that creature’s greed, would have willingly surrendered so much. Catriona was tugging pots from the pile and dispatching them to the kitchens. A few tapestries had been worked free and rolled neatly, but Elizabeth could see that she was indeed overwhelmed by this unexpected task set before her.
Alexander had arrived this morn, as well, it was clear, for he was already at work on the pile. As Elizabeth watched, he extricated a familiar chair from the mound and set it aright, surveying it with satisfaction.
“Do you remember this one?” he demanded of Malcolm. The chair was wood and could be folded. When unfolded, the left leg crossed beneath the seat to make the right armrest and the right leg crossed to make the left armrest, the two making an X beneath the leather seat. The red leather on its seat, back and arms, was worn smooth with use. “Tynan kept it in his solar, and Rosamunde favored it.”
“I do indeed,” Malcolm said, running a hand over the leather. “It has fared well in the caverns of Ravensmuir.”
Elizabeth’s gaze roved over the collected furnishings. “They are all from the destroyed keep,” she said, recognizing more of them the longer she looked. “But how did they come to be in the hall?”
Her brothers exchanged a glance. “I believe it to be a gift from Uncle Tynan,” Malcolm said.
“Nay, from his ghost,” Alexander said firmly, showing a belief in the otherworldly that was uncharacteristic of him. “And perhaps a sign that he is finally at peace.” He smiled at Malcolm, and Elizabeth liked the approval in his eyes. Somehow, the rift between her brothers had been repaired. “And why should he not be? His chosen heir has returned, rebuilt the keep, wed well and already has a son.”
The babe Avery cried out then and Catriona turned to the stairs. Vera, the maid so long in the employ of Kinfairlie, stood at the top of the stairs, rocking the wailing infant.
“There is so much to do,” Catriona said, looking between her son and the disruption of the hall.
“Go,” Malcolm said, giving his wife a kiss on the temple. “Elizabeth is here to help set matters to rights. She will direct this task in your stead.”
Elizabeth nodded agreement and Catriona smiled her relief. Elizabeth began to sort the furnishings closest to hand and direct the placement of those that were presented to her. Though the hall was different than the old one, the rooms were similar in function. She could recall what had been where and dispatch each item appropriately.
It was good to have a task to occupy her, and Malcolm invited her opinion on many items before they were sent to other parts of the keep. Alexander brought many familiar pieces to their attention, and Elizabeth found her thoughts filled with happy memories of times at Ravensmuir. They worked steadily, and she reasoned that Catriona could move all later to her taste, but for the moment, the hall needed to be cleared so the midday meal could be served.
Ruari, the man at arms from Kinfairlie, added his assistance, and eventually, Malcolm’s comrades returned from settling their steeds and cleaning their weapons. It was satisfying indeed to see Ravensmuir’s furnishings take their places in Malcolm’s new hall, and Elizabeth knew that all must be hungry.
Even though she was busy, Elizabeth could not help but notice that Rafael did not come to assist in the task.
Would he share the midday meal?
Or did he mean to slip away from Ravensmuir unobserved? He had confessed his intent to leave. Elizabeth had to know for certain whether he lingered—and do so without either of her brothers realizing that she had gone in pursuit of Rafael.
She would have to choose her moment well.
Nine
“He has a fine enough steed, this one who escaped us,” the king of the dead murmured, and Rafael saw a ringed hand reach past him to stroke Rayo’s rump. A shudder ran over the destrier’s flesh and he tossed his head. The king chuckled. “Loyal, too. I could tame them both to my hand.” His fingers slid over Rafael’s arm in turn and Rafael froze for a heartbeat in shock before he carried on.
He shuddered elaborately. “It is already cold in this cursed country,” he muttered to Rayo, well aware that the king listened to his words. “We shall be gone to warmer climes soon enough, my old friend.”
“And a pity that is,” the king whispered. “By the time he returns, the portal will likely be closed forever.”
Rafael’s ears pricked at these tidings. It would suit him well for the portal to Hell at Ravensmuir be closed, for he would be confident in Malcolm’s future safety.
Never mind that of Elizabeth. Could this king retaliate if there was no portal? Rafael thought not, though truly he had no good notion of the king’s powers.
“Are you resolved it must be so?” demanded a woman with a sultry voice. Her fingers slid over Rafael’s other arm and he glimpsed the blue whorls drawn on her flesh. “I am so fond of mortal men.”
“Then abduct several before our worlds are parted,” the king replied. “There is naught that can be done to halt the change, not now, for all is in motion.”
“You did not have to do it.”
“I did not do it,” the king replied, then sighed. “The world changes, my lady. Men change and that can only cause change for us.”
“We could battle them as once we did before...”
“We lost then, and we were much stronger in those days. Truth be told, they were weaker then, as well. They believed in us. They could see us, and they feared us.”
“I could make them fear us again!”
The king laughed lightly and Rafael felt him shake his head. “It is not a question of will, my lady. If it were, we could all do as much. Look at them!”
Rafael glanced through his lashes as the king gestured back to the rest of the mortal men. He caught a glimpse of the lady who was the king’s companion and was struck by her dark beauty. Like the king, she had hair as black as midnight, and like his beard, it flowed down to her knees. There seemed to be starlight snared in her eyes and in her garments, and her gown glimmered as she moved, reminding him of dewdrops snared on cobwebs in moonlight. She was lovely enough to make any man yearn to touch her, but he did not trust her appearance to be her truth. There was something cold in her gaze, a lack of remorse or conscience that he found also in the king’s manner.
Rafael bent over his task with renewed vigo
r.
“They cannot even discern us, much less see us,” the king said, as if amused by the lack of perception shown by mortals. “Even this one, so recently escaped from our grasp, is oblivious.” He blew then, an icy exhalation that slid under the collar of Rafael’s shirt with a will of its own.
Rafael slapped the back of his neck, spun around and stared about himself, giving every indication that he could not see the aristocratic pair before him. He frowned and shook his head, turning back to the steed.
“You could take him for the next tithe,” the queen suggested. “I could savor him for those seven years until it was time to pay what is due.”
“There will be no more tithes,” the king declared.
“You did not say as much before!” the queen retorted, her dark eyes flashing. “I would not have let you take that one...”
“I did not know myself, not until my blade sheared the head from the body of that thief last eve.” He pulled his blade from his scabbard. There was only a small increment of blade below the hilt, as if it had been broken off in the taking of that mortal man’s life.
“It dissolved at the touch of his blood,” the king said, his manner matter-of-fact, as if such occurrences were familiar to him. The queen in contrast took a step back in dismay. “It is the sign I have both awaited and feared. It is as it has been foretold. The time of our visits to this realm comes to an end, and there will not be another tithe due.”
The queen was clearly upset by these tidings, for her voice rose. “How can that be? I know of no such sorcery!”
The king smiled sadly. “It is more than familiar to me. Do you not recall my wife, Una?” Rafael was startled, for he had thought this regal woman to be the king’s wife.
All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances Page 114