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

by Claire Delacroix

  “Through the caverns below the old keep,” Elizabeth agreed. “And through a high window in Kinfairlie’s tower. I know of no other portals in this vicinity, though there may be more.”

  “And the dark king?”

  “His name is Finvarra. He is king of a large group of Fae, the Daoine Sidhe, in Ireland and his court is there, beneath a hill.”

  “Then he is lost?”

  “The Fae can travel long distances more quickly than we. He had a fascination with my aunt Rosamunde and journeyed to Kinfairlie in pursuit of her.” Elizabeth shivered. “He lingers, I believe, because he has vowed to entice me to join him in his realm.”

  Rafael eyed her then, his expression inscrutable. “Will you accept his invitation?”

  “Would you stay to defend me if I said I was tempted?”

  He shook his head. “I will not linger in this cursed land, not for any price. My fate lies abroad.”

  “Why did you think them demons?”

  “Because the dead were thick in their company. I thought that to be a vision of Hell.” Rafael pursed his lips. “Perhaps they are djinn.”

  Elizabeth tried out the word and he corrected her pronunciation. “What are djinn?”

  “The Moors speak of them. In their understanding of the world, men were wrought of earth.”

  “Like Adam.”

  “And angels were wrought of air.” Rafael flicked another potent glance at her. “But there are also djinn, wrought of smoke. They are mortal beings of this world, but ones that have greater powers than ours and do not always reveal themselves. They like a riddle, as well, and are fond of a jest at the expense of mortals.” He ran a hand over the horse. “And there are tales of them stealing beautiful mortal maidens for their own pleasure.”

  Elizabeth found her cheeks heating. “How do you know what tales the Moors tell?”

  “Because I have known Moors, it is clear.”

  “Have you journeyed to their lands?” Elizabeth could scarce imagine the marvels he might have seen there.

  “I have. In fetters.” Rafael held her gaze steadily and she knew her shock showed. “Because I was sold to a Moor as a boy.”

  “Did they set you free?”

  Rafael chuckled. “I escaped, and before you ask, there is only one reliable way for a slave to escape his owner.” He lifted that brow again. “He was the first man I killed, but not the last.”

  Elizabeth blinked. “But you had justification, to be sure...”

  “And you seek to find the gold in the dross, no matter what you are told.”

  “I see the good in you!”

  “And you ignore the evil.”

  “You could confide the tale...”

  “I will not.” Rafael came around the horse and confronted her, his hands braced on his hips as he looked down at her. “Your brother, the Laird of Kinfairlie, knows what a mercenary does, which is why he disapproves of Malcolm’s choices. He knows we called Malcolm the Hellhound for his savagery in battle. He knows our truth. He knows my truth. And like most men, who would never sell their blade but are willing to hire warriors to serve their own needs, he does not approve of killing for material gain. You should take heed of this in making your own choices.”

  “What is that to mean?”

  “That you disregard much in your determination to see your curiosity fulfilled.” He lifted his head, as if hearing some distant sound. “Do your brothers know that you have sought me out?”

  “Of course not. Either of them would have stopped me.”

  “And you give no credit to their opinion in this, even though it is based on more knowledge than your own?” Rafael shook his head, his manner disapproving. “You are not so stubborn as to refuse to learn from the experience of others.”

  Elizabeth felt herself flush yet again, but she lifted her chin. “I would trust my own observation before my brother’s assumptions. That is the mark of a person with their wits about them. I know that I feel different with you, and I will not discard my own knowledge of that, much less ignore it.”

  Rafael spared her a knowing glance. “You feel differently because you have never met a man like me. Your own instincts recognize the danger of this situation.”

  “I am in no danger,” Elizabeth insisted.

  “Are you not?” Rafael asked, his tone silky. He moved so quickly that she had no chance to evade him. In the blink of an eye, he had caught her around the waist and lifted her to the very tips of her toes. His arm was locked around her so tightly that Elizabeth feared she would not be able to take a breath. He drew her into the stall and backed her against the wall, crushing her between it and his hard strength, then leaned down so closely that their noses nearly touched.

  Elizabeth was enraptured. If this was danger, she wanted only more of it! This was how fated lovers embraced, she was certain of it, as if neither could ever be sated with the touch of the other, as if no kiss could endure long enough.

  She was convinced that he would kiss her again, but Rafael only smiled, his gaze simmering. He looked hard and masculine and driven, his hair disheveled and his eyes darker than midnight. He looked like a dangerous rogue, one who had stolen her heart and was welcome to all else she possessed.

  “In no danger,” Rafael murmured as if the idea were amusing, then shook his head. “I could take everything you have to offer,” he continued, his voice a low growl that made Elizabeth’s heart skip. “I could claim your maidenhead and leave you soiled.”

  “I would not be soiled,” Elizabeth whispered, outraged by the choice of word.

  Rafael continued as if she had not spoken. “In this place, in this moment, there is not a man who could stop me. Then I would leave, precisely as planned, and your belly might round with child by the Yule, with no man to stand by you. Where would you be then, mi piqueño ángel? Who would wed you? Who would deign to save you from your own impetuous choice?”

  “You would not do that to me,” she whispered, her voice so husky that she scarce recognized it.

  Rafael arched a brow, which made him look wicked indeed. “Of course, I would. And your brothers know it well.”

  “You could wed me,” she insisted. “I believe you would treat me with honor.”

  “Your brother would never permit it.”

  “I would insist!”

  He shook his head. “But I would not. I will never wed. They will be compelled to find a spouse who will take you with another man’s seed taken root, and how would such a man treat his wife?”

  Elizabeth braced her hands on his shoulders, disliking his words, but Rafael did not fall silent.

  “He might well beat you, given that you would be a sinner and a whore, one too beholden to him to protest his use of his property.” Rafael’s gaze burned into hers. “For that is what a wife is, a man’s property, and he may do as he wishes with whatsoever he owns.”

  “Nay!” Elizabeth protested. She pushed at his shoulders to no avail. He held her captive, proving his own words. “No man of merit would do as much.”

  Rafael laughed, though it was not a merry sound. “Men do as much. I see it all the time. It would be better for you, perhaps, for your spouse to know that you were soiled before the nuptials, for a man disappointed can be vengeful indeed.”

  Elizabeth felt her eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

  “That if he thought you a maiden, but discovered otherwise on his wedding night, matters could go very badly for you, indeed. Is that the future you desire? Would you discard the wisdom of your brothers so readily as that, given that they—and I—have seen more of the shadows in the hearts of men?”

  “You would not be such a knave to me!”

  “I am such a knave,” Rafael insisted, though Elizabeth did not believe him. “I know what you want of me, and should you desire, I will give it to you here and now. I will not linger over the task, and I will not linger in Scotland.” His gaze burned. “You are warned of my intent. Tell me, mi piqueño ángel, what do you want now?”
r />   Rafael was challenging her again, daring her to defy his expectation.

  “You are not so much older than me,” she said. “You must have yearned to taste all the world had to offer, and been impatient to be rid of your innocence.”

  “I was never innocent!” Rafael said hotly. “Before I could speak, my mother and my four older sisters died because of me. There was blood on my hands before I could walk.”

  Elizabeth was startled by this confession, but she did not believe than an infant could be so guilty. “I think you take more responsibility than is due,” she said with fervor. “I think you judge yourself more harshly than any other man would do.” She held his gaze, smiled with confidence, then twined her arms around his neck. She saw his surprise, but gave him no time to protest. “And I say a man’s deeds are a better measure than his words. In this, you are trying to frighten me, but I am not afraid.” She spoke with conviction, then stretched to touch her lips to his.

  The kiss did not begin so smoothly as the others, though Elizabeth was pleased that Rafael could not seem to hold himself back. He angled his mouth over hers, kissing her with a hunger that made her heart pound, then tore himself away from her all too soon. He looked riled and infuriated, his eyes snapping with fury.

  “You cannot deny the bond between us,” she whispered, reaching for him with one hand.

  “I do deny it,” Rafael said with a vehemence that told her he was also stirred. “I will deny it, for you will not compel me to make a choice that will end in woe for both of us.”

  “That is only because you are afraid,” she taunted, confident she named the matter right.

  Rafael stepped back, his fury more than clear. “I am prudent,” he retorted with heat and glared at her.

  Elizabeth smiled. “Afraid,” she murmured.

  “I fear no one and no thing,” Rafael insisted. “Particularly a woman who is no fool but would pursue folly with a passion undeserved. Your trust is misplaced.”

  With that, he spun on his heel and stalked from the stall, clearly seething as he left her behind. She watched his fists clench and knew she made yet more progress. There was a power between them and Elizabeth savored the fact that they both were aware of it. Indeed, it could not be denied. Rafael fought their destiny, but he would lose the battle.

  To their mutual reward.

  It was always thus, in the best tales.

  Elizabeth thought no further before she realized she was not as alone as she had believed.

  Ten

  Finvarra winced.

  It was inconvenient, this bond betwixt the maiden whom Finvarra desired most and this mercenary. Their paths should never have crossed and, worse, Elizabeth’s abilities to see what should have been discerned only by the Fae worked against Finvarra. Those ribbons convinced her of the warrior’s merit when the common sense so favored by mortals would have induced her to avert her gaze.

  Still, all was not lost as yet.

  Finvarra opened the portal enough to pass through it himself and smiled to find Elizabeth alone and gazing after Rafael. He stepped up behind her, eyeing her perfect proportions, the gleaming ebony of her hair, the lusciousness of her curves. It would take him eternity to tire of her charms, Finvarra was certain.

  “He is easy to look upon, for a mortal,” he murmured from behind Elizabeth.

  She spun to face him, evidently not surprised by his presence, and Finvarra smiled that she was so aware of him. That could only be a good sign.

  “Have you come to collect your boon?” she demanded.

  Finvarra replied mildly, taking note of her high color, her sparkling eyes and her softened lips. “I spoke of the mortal you watched.”

  “You did not seek me out to discuss Rafael.”

  “Did I not?” Finvarra waited for her curiosity to be kindled, then turned away. “I suppose you must know best.”

  Elizabeth, to his delight, seized his sleeve. “What do you know of him?”

  “Little of import, especially as he is determined to leave this land forever.”

  “What if he does not leave?” she asked. “Or does not leave forever?”

  “Then it may be of more import. We shall have to see.” Finvarra eased toward the portal to the Fae realm in the end stall, ensuring that Elizabeth saw it. She would know what it was with a single glimpse.

  He heard her catch her breath and knew she had spied it. He smiled.

  “You know more of men and their secrets than any I know,” she said. “Will you tell me what you can see of Rafael and his future?”

  “Do you truly wish to be even more deeply in my debt?” Finvarra asked lightly, but he saw how the query troubled her.

  She frowned. “What will you have of me? I know you will demand some compensation for my making a plea for my brother in your court. Why did you let me leave?”

  “You could have stayed.”

  “I did not expect to have a choice.”

  But given it, she had chosen Rafael.

  “There is no rush to settle any balance between us, Elizabeth,” Finvarra said smoothly. He acted as if he dropped the present he would give to her, as if it slipped from his sleeve without him noting as much. He knew it caught the light as it dropped and felt the sharpening of her attention. He pivoted before the portal and regarded her with a smile. “Let us say that we shall do so when you seek me out.”

  Defiance flashed in her eyes, but she did not speak her thought aloud. Still, he could fairly hear her response, so ardently did she think of her determination to never seek him out.

  His gift would ensure otherwise.

  He extended a hand to her in his most regal manner. “I bid you farewell, beauteous Elizabeth, at least until such time as you willingly enter my court and beg an audience with me.”

  She looked from his hand to his eyes, clearly suspecting a trick. She found none, not as yet, so stepped forward and took his hand. She bent and barely touched her lips to his ring as she curtseyed, then stepped back so that she concealed the dropped trinket from his view with her skirts. “Until then, sir,” she said, standing straight in her confidence that she had had the better of their exchange.

  Finvarra bit back a smile of triumph, then swept through the portal to the Fae court. He waved a hand, casting a fistful of starlight in his own wake, and hid the portal from most mortal eyes.

  Elizabeth, he knew, could still discern it.

  The time until she chose to come to him would pass quickly, Finvarra knew. For an immortal, six months of earthly time was but a blink of an eye. Una would have her vengeance and see the portals closed, but Finvarra would have the fairest mortal maiden he had ever seen to entertain his desires through all eternity.

  The prospect made his step light.

  Elizabeth had seen the small circle slip from Finvarra’s belt and drop to the thick straw on the floor of the stall. She had not discerned it on his belt earlier, but then his garb was so richly adorned and so alight with precious threads that it could have easily been overlooked in the midst of such splendor.

  It was about the size of her palm, as brilliant a silver as the full moon, and had been bound to his belt by a red silken cord. The knot loosed as she watched, as if it had a will of its own, and the disk fell to the ground as quickly as a drop of rain.

  Finvarra did not appear to notice its loss. He strolled to the portal that could only lead to the realm of the Fae, and even when he turned to face her again, his gaze did not fall to the gleaming circle on the ground. Perhaps the angle of the light meant that it did not shine from his perspective. Either way, Elizabeth wanted very much to examine it more closely. She ensured it was hidden beneath her skirts when she kissed his proffered hand, and fairly itched to examine her prize as he departed.

  Only when he was gone and the portal sealed did she flick aside her skirts and consider the token.

  It was circular, bounded in silver shaped cleverly to look like a twisted vine. The vine looped on one side where it was adorned with several silv
er leaves. This made an excellent handle for picking it up, and indeed, the red cord was knotted to this loop. On the back side, the silver leaves twisted about each other to make an impenetrable surface. The disk itself was bright and clear, and Elizabeth gasped when she realized it was a mirror.

  She had seen mirrors that were made of polished bronze, of course, and she had heard of ones wrought of silvered glass. These were such rich prizes that she had never seen one herself. This one offered so perfect a reflection that she knew it must be the product of some Fae sorcery. To look into it was like looking into a millpond with a surface as smooth as glass, and to do so on a sunny day. It seemed to not only reflect but illuminate, and Elizabeth saw more of her own features than ever before. She noted the sparkle in her eyes and the ruddy fullness of her own lips, then touched her mouth and shivered in recollection of Rafael’s kiss.

  She caressed her own lip with one fingertip, recalling the pleasure he had awakened in her, and knew there had to be a way to compel him to agree with her and accept their fate.

  Elizabeth doubted it would be a way her brothers would like.

  Of course. She would ask Rosamunde when she returned to Kinfairlie. Her aunt had never been conventional and had often pursued her own path, in defiance of what the man in the family thought best.

  Rosamunde, Elizabeth was certain, would provide the best advice in this matter.

  Knowing that, she was no longer so reluctant to return to Kinfairlie, where Rosamunde had recently arrived as a guest.

  Perhaps she could say something before she left Ravensmuir to ensure that Rafael not only thought of her but remained.

  Elizabeth was reckless, defiant and utterly irresistible.

  It had taken all within Rafael to break her beguiling kiss and step away from the temptation she offered. He knew his agitation had showed, and he had guessed from her triumphant smile that she knew its import.

  And she declared that he was afraid.

  Afraid!

  Rafael was not afraid. He had never been afraid. He did not fear some delightful demoiselle, however determined to be rid of her maidenhead she might be, however vengeful her brothers might be. He did not fear the King of the Dead claiming Elizabeth forever, or her being trapped in the realm of these Fae after the portals closed forevermore. The choice of whether to surrender or not was Elizabeth’s alone. He was not afraid to love another soul, or to try to live as most men, or even to abandon the sole trade he knew.