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

by Claire Delacroix

  “It is true!” Alexander protested. “I have heard it told many a time.”

  Rafael strode down the middle of the hall, his confidence such that he held every gaze. He smiled ever so slightly, which gave him a dangerous and predatory look. Elizabeth could not help but admire the sight of him.

  Her destined love.

  Rafael’s eyes narrowed as he considered Alexander. “A lie does not become true, no matter how many times it is repeated.”

  “But all know this tale,” Alexander said with a smile. The company applauded at his invitation, showing their approval of his version.

  Rafael folded his arms across his chest. “But truth is dependent upon where a man stands.”

  Glances of confusion were exchanged, even as some of the mercenaries shook their heads in amusement. Clearly they knew what Rafael meant.

  “But what is the difference?” Elizabeth demanded. Rafael turned a simmering look upon her, one that made her think every soul in the hall would guess how he had kissed her.

  To her delight, he answered her.

  “It means that one man’s just war is another man’s abomination. On this side of the mountains that divide the lands of the French king from that of the Castile, Roland’s tale is told thus. This is the truth known by those who trace their lineage to Charlemagne.” Rafael turned to gesture to all the company. “Unlike every other person gathered here, I came of age on the other side of those mountains.”

  “In Castile,” Elizabeth breathed. There was a land of mystery and romance, for it was the southern reaches of Castile that had once been held by the Moors, and it was said that those cities were filled with marvels and riches. She clasped her hands together in her lap, convinced yet again that Rafael was the one man who had tasted adventure.

  He inclined his head slightly in her direction. “And there, in the lands where Charlemagne marched his troops, we tell a different tale of the Battle of Roncesvaux. I was born in Pamplona, in the Kingdom of Navarre to the north of Castile, and there we tell of the Frankish king Charlemagne destroying the walls of the city, pillaging it and slaughtering the residents.”

  Elizabeth caught her breath.

  “We tell of the great Frankish king turning tail after the damage was done, after his coffers were filled with stolen coin, and fleeing into the mountains with his blood price.” His voice dropped low. “And we tell of the valiant men who bewailed their fellow townspeople and their kin, who crept into the mountain passes they knew as well as the lines on their own palms, and took vengeance for that unprovoked assault.”

  Elizabeth lifted her fingers to her lips.

  “Charlemagne did not fight the Moors at Roncesvaux,” Rafael concluded in disdain, as the company sat silent. He tapped a finger on his own chest. “He fought us, the residents of Pamplona, the Christians of the Kingdom of Navarre. He slaughtered other Christians to defend his theft of their gold.”

  Elizabeth was shocked. “This cannot be true!”

  “It is.” Rafael lifted his cup of ale and drained it, his eyes narrowing as he eyed Elizabeth. The entire assembly was rapt, but he looked only at Elizabeth. “I assure you that there could not have been four hundred thousand men in the attacking force. Perhaps it was only four hundred.”

  “For Rafael himself is known to be worth a thousand men in battle,” one of the other mercenaries contributed. The rest of the Sable League toasted to that truth and drank heartily.

  “But they were more worthy of becoming heroes in a tale than this Roland, for they defended both justice and truth.”

  Elizabeth could only find herself in agreement.

  Indeed, that he valued those traits told her that her instinct about Rafael was right.

  “I am not from these parts,” Rafael said softly, his words carrying all the same. “I am not like you people and your kind. Indeed, so great is the difference that some of you cannot distinguish my kind from infidels and enemies.” He paused to empty his cup. “And yet the king you hail as the champion of all you hold dear was worse than a mercenary. He attacked without justification, stole, looted and fled to safety.” Rafael almost smiled. “Perhaps my kind merely has need of better troubadours.”

  His gaze bored into Elizabeth’s for a long moment, then he put down the cup with a flourish, pivoted and left the hall.

  Elizabeth started to rise, but Alexander’s hand landed on her arm. His gaze was more serious than she had seen him in a while. “He gives you fair warning, Elizabeth. Let him go.”

  “I see the ribbons,” she said through her teeth.

  “You are deceived as to his merit,” Alexander said, giving no credence to her observations. There was steel in his tone when he continued. “We will return to Kinfairlie immediately.”

  “Alexander, I must protest,” Elizabeth began but her brother gave her a quelling look.

  When she fell into mutinous silence, Alexander nodded to Malcolm and raised his voice. “I thank you, Catriona and Malcolm, for this hospitality on this day, and I salute your match. Let us gather this Saturday to come, so that all of Kinfairlie can see your vows exchanged before our priest, Father Malachy.”

  “I should like that,” Catriona said at Malcolm’s glance her way.

  “Then it shall be done,” the new Laird of Ravensmuir said, his grip fast on his wife’s hand. “But it shall be done here, at Ravensmuir.” He nodded to Alexander. “I look forward to welcoming you all.”

  The company applauded the notion of another celebration, especially one so soon to come. Elizabeth watched her brothers shake hands and was discontent that Rafael had departed. Perhaps she would see him in the stables, when they went to saddle the horses. Perhaps she would have one last chance to speak to him this day.

  But Alexander must have guessed her intent, for Elizabeth left the hall of Ravensmuir to find Demoiselle saddled and waiting in the bailey, alongside Uriel, Alexander’s mount. Both steeds were stamping with impatience to be gone. It was mid-afternoon when they took their departure of Ravensmuir, but no matter how intently she looked, Elizabeth could not catch another glimpse of Rafael.

  Saturday it would be, then, unless she managed to visit Ravensmuir before. At least she would have time to seek Rosamunde’s advice.

  Alexander turned a stern eye upon Elizabeth as soon as they had ridden from Ravensmuir’s gates. Truly, he was as predictable as the daily progress of the sun in his opinions, though Elizabeth was not so interested in another of his lectures.

  “What seized your wits that you would be so close to such men?” Alexander began. “Have you no care for your reputation? It is not fitting for a maiden like yourself to speak with men-of-war. You must have a concern not only for your virtue, but for the perception of your virtue...”

  Elizabeth interrupted her oldest brother’s tirade, knowing it was well intended, if tedious. She had seen her own ribbon and she trusted its import enough to be bold. Indeed, she had best see matters arranged as quickly as possible. “You told me to choose a suitor, that it would be my decision which man I would wed.”

  “Aye.” Alexander was wary.

  “Then you should know that I have chosen Rafael Rodriguez.” Elizabeth gave her brother a confident smile.

  “Who?”

  “Malcolm’s comrade. The one who arrived with him at the Yule. The one who challenged your tale in the hall at midday.”

  Alexander stared at her in astonishment. “You cannot mean this!”

  “I do. He is valiant, for he entered the Fae circle by his own choice to aid Malcolm, though he could easily have paid with his own life. He will see me well defended, given his experience of war.” Elizabeth lifted her chin, well aware that Alexander was mustering an argument. “He is honorable, and he will suit me very well as a spouse.”

  Alexander appeared to be at a loss for words, so great was his amazement. “But he is a mercenary!” he finally sputtered. “And born of distant lands. He undoubtedly will return to his trade, and possibly also to his homeland.” He flung out a h
and. “You could be abandoned in some rough camp wrought by war-faring men, and should he be killed—as surely such men must all be in time—you will be alone and undefended, as well as far from home.”

  “I believe I will love him, and that love will be my comfort.”

  Alexander scoffed. “I believe you are smitten with the look of him, and the tale you have wrought of him in your heart, not his dark truth.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Perhaps his kind has no need of better troubadours!”

  “But still I have chosen.” Elizabeth heard her tone become firm.

  “And I forbid your choice.” Alexander glowered down at her. “It will not be so, Elizabeth. There is no need to look stubborn, for I will not permit you to wed this man or another of his ilk.”

  How was it that men invited her decision, then discarded the choices she made? She was not willful, defiant or a fool. She understood Rafael’s nature, as her brother and even Rafael himself did not. Elizabeth fixed Alexander with a look. “I will be determined, for I have made a choice and you would discard it, despite your pledge to stand by my decision.”

  “This is not the choice I anticipated...”

  “Malcolm fought alongside Rafael, for he was a mercenary as well. You cannot hold Rafael’s trade against him any more than you would hold that of Malcolm against him.”

  “Does this Rafael mean to surrender his trade?”

  Sadly, Elizabeth did not know. “I believe he can be convinced...” she began but Alexander sighed.

  He put his hand upon hers and his tone softened. “I can see that he would have an appeal, Elizabeth, for you have met few men of his ilk. But Rafael is not the man for you, for he could not make you happy, or secure your future.” Alexander’s tone turned consoling. “Rafael will be gone soon enough, Elizabeth. Do not make yourself unhappy by convincing yourself that he means more than he must.”

  “He kissed me.”

  Alexander bristled. “Did he?”

  “After I invited him to do so,” Elizabeth amended hastily and her brother scowled at her. She dared not confess how much she would have surrendered willingly to Rafael. Instead she blushed furiously, which prompted Alexander to frown.

  “Do not tempt him, or any other man, with more than would be wise for you to offer, Elizabeth, for most men will partake of any feast you present, and do so without remorse. Such is the nature of these men.”

  “He stepped away,” she admitted, wanting Alexander to understand that Rafael was more honorable than he believed.

  “Then he is not so fool as to see both of you condemned, and this is fortunate for you.” Alexander cast her a determined glance. “Elizabeth, heed my counsel in this. A man who thinks only of his own pleasure and advantage will claim you and forget you within a day, while you, having been so sampled, will carry the shadow of that one interval for the remainder of your days and nights.”

  “It might be wondrous...”

  “It could not be worth it.” Alexander smiled gently. “Your lawful husband is more likely to make your nuptial night wondrous, for he will have bound himself to you for a lifetime. A wise woman does not scatter her pearls before swine.”

  “Rafael is not swine.”

  “Use your wits, Elizabeth,” Alexander concluded firmly. “A moment’s consideration and you will see that this is a poor choice of the many available to you. I have given you time and the chance to make your own decision of which man to wed. Do not betray such a gift with folly.” He shook his head. “And to think that I was skeptical when they said you spoke with him alone in the stables. It is clear that you must be more closely supervised until he departs.”

  Elizabeth bristled at the notion. “He wanted to speak of you,” she said, once again taking satisfaction in surprising her brother.

  “Me?”

  “As a fighting man, he had hoped to see the legendary stallions of Ravensmuir on his arrival there and was disappointed that they were at Kinfairlie. He asked why that were so, when you had surrendered the seal to Ravensmuir to Malcolm so quickly after his return, but not the steeds.” Elizabeth shrugged. “I confess I had no good answer, for Rafael spoke aright that the stables were the sole building in good repair at that estate.”

  Alexander gritted his teeth. “He thinks I mean to cheat Malcolm of his legacy!”

  “I had that impression, to be sure.”

  Alexander’s eyes narrowed. “And this is the price of courtesy! I knew Malcolm had much to manage while the keep was rebuilt, as well as few in his service, and thought to spare him any trouble.”

  “Perhaps it is time to restore what is his own, since you two are allied again,” Elizabeth dared to suggest.

  Alexander seized upon this notion with welcome enthusiasm. “Indeed, there is more than the horses that he requires. I will enlist Eleanor’s assistance in this, for she is most sensible. We shall take Malcolm and Catriona a wedding gift that will leave no doubt of my pleasure in seeing him home again.”

  The rest of the ride back to Kinfairlie was occupied with Alexander making lists and Elizabeth adding suggestions. She was glad to have been of some influence in this, and could not wait to see Rafael’s expression when the horses were returned.

  Saturday could not arrive with sufficient speed for her.

  In the quiet of the night, Rafael was not alone. He was wrapped in his cloak and leaning against the wall, unable to sleep despite the ale he had imbibed. The Sable League slumbered in Malcolm’s hall on all sides, but that was not the company he dreaded.

  Nay, Franz came to him.

  If anything, he looked worse than he had the night before. Franz picked up a cup and settled his rotting carcass beside Rafael, casting a heavy arm over Rafael’s shoulders. Rafael was certain he felt maggots writhing against his flesh, but he pretended to be oblivious to his former comrade’s presence.

  He had to be a ghost, a harmless specter.

  Franz did not appear so harmless. “Interesting that they recounted a tale of a man betrayed,” that phantom murmured, his tone companionable. “It is as if they recognize the darkness in your heart on sight.” He leered at Rafael. “Which of them will you betray first? Malcolm, or his sister, Elizabeth?” The specter chortled. “Better you than me, if the Hellhound discovers you have taken his sister’s maidenhood.” Franz dropped his voice to a whisper. “What if the wench lies to force your hand?” He then chuckled to himself at the prospect.

  Rafael closed his eyes and willed Franz to silence.

  Or back to Hell.

  The specter did not comply, though truly Rafael had not expected otherwise.

  Thursday, June 24, 1428

  Feast Day of the martyrs Saint Agoard and Saint Agilbert, and Saint Germoc.

  Eleven

  It truly was intolerable.

  Elizabeth had waited years to meet a man who could capture her heart for all time and had told herself that her patience would be rewarded. She had been certain that she was destined to love a man at ease with adventure, a man who lived at least as boldly as her aunt Rosamunde, a man whose life was worthy of a jongleur’s tale and one who would set her very blood afire with a glance. Hers would be a match that filled the hearts of maidens with hope. Hers would be a life so wondrous that it would scarce be believed when recounted. The dream had burned brightly in her heart, warding off the chill of Finvarra’s kiss, making it impossible for her to compromise.

  Now she had met Rafael, exactly as she had always anticipated, a man who heeded her words and thrilled her with his kiss, a man who had developed a ribbon to entwine with her own after they had met, and that man treated her like a child unworthy of his attention. The situation was most vexing.

  Elizabeth felt cheated and there was no evading the truth of it. She had been patient. She had trusted in her future, and in those who pledged to love her. She had trusted in destiny and kismet and love, but it seemed her future was not to be as she had dreamed.

  This made her defiant.

  It was beyond belief that she
, who loved a tale more than any of her siblings, should be so unfortunate as to be consigned to a mundane life. Elizabeth paced the chamber that was now her own throughout that night, her annoyance only rising with every step.

  She had ridden across the breadth of England in pursuit of Madeline, when her oldest sister had been carried off by Rhys. There was a tale worth recounting to one’s children!

  She had raced to the Highlands to assist Vivienne when Eric had been locked in a battle for his survival against his own brother. Elizabeth ground her teeth that she had merely participated in that fine tale of love conquering all obstacles.

  She had accompanied the group from Kinfairlie who journeyed to Tivotdale on Twelfth Night, pretending to be vagabonds and entertainers that they might rescue Alexander’s stolen bride, Eleanor. That had been an adventure, to be sure!

  Her other sisters had been equally fortunate in their matches, though Elizabeth had not been part of their tales. Isabella had saved her beloved, Murdoch, from the clutches of the Elphine Queen, that Fae seductress who would have kept him captive forever. Even gentle Annelise had healed Garrett and helped him to reclaim his birthright!

  It was beyond belief that Annelise, of all of her sisters, had experienced more adventure in her courtship than Elizabeth would.

  The list continued with irksome consistency. Malcolm had been besieged by the Earl of Douglas and saved by Catriona, his wife of only a few days. Rosamunde had recounted to them her adventures in the realm of the Fae and told of Padraig’s valor in saving her from Finvarra’s lust.

  It seemed that Elizabeth alone of all her kin was to live without adventure.

  There had been no opportunity to speak with her aunt the night before, for the telling of tales had run late. Rosamunde had retired with Padraig all too early. Still, the adventure that Rosamunde had lived and breathed was an inspiration.

  Elizabeth cast a glance across her chamber to the trunk where she had hidden the mirror that Finvarra had dropped. There was something uncanny about that treasure, to be sure, and Elizabeth did not trust it. Although she had hidden it away—both from her own gaze and that of others—an awareness of it seemed to gnaw at her thoughts, as a mouse will nibble a crust of bread. She was sorely tempted to peer deeply into it, but she guessed that doing as much would be dangerous indeed.