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

by Claire Delacroix

  “There is no such thing as peace, not so long as men draw breath,” Rafael argued, for he knew that to be true.

  “Why else do you think we traveled this far?” Louis asked, his manner more cheerful than the situation deserved. “No curiosity would have been sufficient to tempt us away from well-paid labor, to be sure.”

  Amaury laughed and clapped Rafael on the shoulder. “Do not overestimate your appeal, my old friend. We did not miss you so much as that.”

  Rafael frowned, not liking the direction of this conversation in the least. “There must be fighting. The King of France cannot have allied with the King of England.”

  “But they both run short of coin,” Gunter said with a grim shake of his head. “Work that will not be paid is worse than no work at all.”

  “A man could die in such labor, with no compensation at all,” Amaury agreed, and all of them looked again at Reynaud’s grave. “’Tis an unholy bargain.”

  “Rodrigo sits at the right hand of Charles VI,” confided Bertrand, to Rafael’s relief. That was good news. “Your old comrade will find you labor, to be sure, though it is less clear he will be able to compensate you.”

  “I trust him with my life,” Rafael said. “And have done so many times. Who of you will ride south with me?” There was no chorus of agreement, but instead, the men looked from one to the other.

  “I will remain here,” Ranulf said, waving his bandaged hand at the keep of Ravensmuir. “Who knows? I might find a wench to have me and become wedded like Giorgio.”

  Remaining at Ravensmuir was precisely what Rafael did not wish to do. He tried to convince his comrades to depart. “’Tis fiercely cold here in winter,” he reminded them. “I feared my very blood would freeze.”

  “As cold as Bavaria, then?” Louis asked with a wince.

  “Colder,” Rafael affirmed, turning his attention upon the one close comrade who had not indicated a desire to remain. He gestured to the sea. “With a wind fit to turn your skin blue.”

  The men shivered, their gazes flicking between the grave, the sea and the keep.

  Their silence convinced Rafael that he was building consensus. “I say we head south again, for Rodrigo will ensure our employment,” he suggested. “If the prospect of payment is low, we will insist upon being paid in advance. Our repute is sufficient that it will be done. Malcolm is hale enough here, and we have need of adventures anew.” He winked at his fellows. “Not to mention more material rewards. If barons do not honor their debts, we shall take what we are owed from the spoils. So it has been before, and so it shall be again!”

  To his dismay, there was no rousing agreement from his closest fellows. The others in the Sable League nodded agreement, but even their enthusiasm was less than Rafael might have hoped.

  A lack of enthusiasm could see a man dead in their trade.

  Ranulf grimaced. “I have tired of the life, truth be told. A man could become accustomed to awakening in the same hall each morning, and knowing where he will be laid to rest. From this point forward, I will raise a blade solely in defense of my own home.”

  There was assent that time, at least one from the men Rafael knew best. To Rafael’s disappointment, Louis added his voice to that of Bertrand, Tristan, Gunter and Amaury.

  Rafael straightened with purpose and eyed the rest of the company. There were still fifteen of them to ride out, even after the deaths of Reynaud and Nigel, the victim of the earl’s spy. and despite six men staying at Ravensmuir in Malcolm’s service.

  “I will not remain,” he said. “I would ride south this very day.”

  “I would stay until Malcolm’s nuptials are celebrated,” Guilia said, entreating Giorgio’s agreement with a glance.

  That mercenary grinned. “A couple more days, Rafael,” he said. “On Sunday, we shall ride out.”

  Though Rafael chafed at another delay, he did not want to leave without Giorgio. It would not be wise for a foreign mercenary to travel the length of England alone with a pregnant woman. He might be beset at night, and though Guilia was strong, it would be best for all of them to wait a few days more.

  Much as he wished otherwise.

  Rafael raised his voice to address the remainder of the company. “Come with me to France, where we shall find labor and riches anew!” The bulk of the Sable League cheered and stamped their feet with enthusiasm. Rafael shook a finger at his fellows who had chosen to stay. “And you will all regret your choice when you hear of the fortunes I have won.”

  It could not be so difficult to hold to his resolve for three more days.

  Could it?

  Rafael did not see Elizabeth in the shadows of the entry to Ravensmuir’s hall. She stood utterly still and her dark garb blended with the shadows so well that he jumped when she spoke.

  She noted as much, of course, and took a pleasure in his reaction that irked him.

  “I like that you told a tale of a man redeemed by love,” she said, speaking quickly as if she feared to be interrupted. Rafael saw that the horses were being led from the stables for her and Father Malachy, who spoke with Malcolm in the bailey.

  “He was no mere man but the King of Persia.,” Rafael replied, guessing what she would suggest. “A mercenary has naught in common with a king.”

  “Except fear,” she replied smoothly. “You both share a fear of trusting another. His distrust was rooted in betrayal, as must yours be.”

  “No one has betrayed me.”

  “Perhaps you did not give any soul an opportunity, for circumstance betrayed you before you took your first step.”

  He surveyed her, knowing she would not abandon this argument readily. “One or two admissions and you believe you know all of my secrets.”

  She smiled. “I know more of them than my brother, and he has fought by your side for six years.” Her eyes widened, her confidence infuriating. “Yet you and I have spoken only a few times, over a few days.”

  “You make much of little,” Rafael said, ensuring that his tone was dismissive. In truth, he was alarmed, for he had not realized she had learned so much of him.

  “I see truth you would disguise,” she replied. “I see that your fear is rooted in your experience, for much has been taken from you and you have seen more taken from others.” She regarded him steadily, looking mysterious and wise. “But if you refuse to care for anything, then you have naught to lose. Your King of Persia did not care for the loss of his wives, not until he came to love Scheherazade. That love would make him vulnerable.”

  Rafael smiled down at her, disguising the fact that she had named a potent truth. To be sure, hearing this notion uttered aloud did make his heart race, as if in fear. How could a man face his days, knowing himself responsible for a marvel like Elizabeth? “Indeed, you can spin a fanciful tale yourself, my lady,” he said, as if her words had less impact than they did. Rafael gestured to the portal, for her mare was there, and Elizabeth put her hand upon his arm as if she would allow herself to be escorted there with nary another word.

  He knew she would not fall silent so readily, no less that she would not be biddable.

  Indeed, Elizabeth’s spirit was the key to his admiration of her. Even in this moment, he awaited her inevitable challenge with no small anticipation. It was curious that in this lady’s presence, he felt more keenly alive than ever he had.

  “But think of this, Rafael,” Elizabeth murmured as they stepped into the sunlight together and he loved the sound of his name upon her lips. “What then is the point of having lived a life? Would you die at the end of your days knowing that you had been as a seed in the wind, risking your life for whatever cause paid the best, but leaving no other mark in the world of your presence?” She shook her head. “Indeed, you must put little value upon your life to risk it so routinely and for matters not of your own concern.” Her grip tightened slightly on his arm and her voice dropped to an intimate tone. “I think your life worth far more that you appear to.”

  Rafael did not know what to say to that.
All his life, he had been discarded like a worthless creature, and he had scarce dared to expect much for himself beyond survival. Ibrahim had told Rafael repeatedly that he would have been sold, if he had been worth a single coin, if there had been even one interested buyer.

  Elizabeth paused out of earshot of the others and met his gaze. Rafael saw that she was not unaware of the tumult she awakened within him. “Would you pass from this life without having loved another? Would you pass from this life without having achieved any goal that could be linked with your name?” She gestured to the keep. “Even if Malcolm had died, he would have left a rebuilt holding, a wife with a title, a son with a legacy. His life would have achieved much. What will be your legacy?”

  Rafael thought of all those souls in Hell, the souls of those he had killed and knew that this was his sole legacy. He had taken people from this mortal realm, no more than that. It was startling to consider that administering death was his only achievement.

  “What then is the point of awakening each day?” Elizabeth smiled as Rafael eyed her in dismay. “Indeed, sir, you might as well take up a needle and learn to embroider, locked in a high tower alone.”

  Their gazes locked for a potent moment and Rafael knew Elizabeth was aware she had found a mark.

  Did she guess that she challenged all he believed to be true?

  Elizabeth then moved away from him, put her hand in Malcolm’s and stepped into the ostler’s grip to mount her mare. Demoiselle stamped and snorted at even her slight weight in the saddle, but Elizabeth controlled the horse with such mastery that Rafael was again impressed. She spared him one last simmering glance, as if to dare him to be the measure of man she could love, then turned the horse adroitly. She touched her heels to the beast’s side, without waiting for Father Malachy, and sent the mare galloping toward Kinfairlie.

  Rafael found himself watching Elizabeth until she was out of sight.

  And still he looked after her yet more.

  Was she right that he held the key to changing his own future? He scarce dared to believe it, but Rafael did know one thing in truth: he did not want the dead in Hell to be the only mark of his having been in the world.

  And having seen that Hell existed, he did fear to be judged.

  Perhaps his little angel truly had lifted the scales from his eyes.

  She certainly had made him wonder: if he could leave whatever legacy he desired to survive after his days were ended, what would it be?

  Elizabeth was in her chamber alone that evening, unable to suppress her agitation. She had a feeling that she had made a difference on this day in talking to Rafael, that she had convinced him to change his course, though he had not declared any such thing aloud. She was restless, wanting to see into her own future, but knowing she must be patient.

  Patience was elusive on this night, to be sure. She extinguished her lantern, hoping the darkness would soothe her, but found herself pacing the floor instead. She found her thoughts turning yet again to the mirror that Finvarra had dropped. It was a curious thing but even though she was resolved to simply keep it, she could not stop thinking about it.

  She had even dreamed of the mirror the night before, of it casting a radiance across Kinfairlie like moonlight. She had awakened with a desire to see whether it truly could cast such a light. Though she had ignored the urge that morning, for she had needed to hasten to catch Father Malachy, on this night, she could not deny her curiosity. She had tucked it into the bottom of the one trunk that was solely her own the night before, wanting to ensure that it was safely stored and also that no one in her family had a glimpse of it.

  It was strange how she felt a need to guard it jealously, no less to keep it secret.

  Elizabeth opened the trunk and dug into it, knowing exactly where to find the hidden prize. She was before the trunk where her kirtles were stored, her fingers just on the cool frame of the mirror, when there was a single rap on the portal. Elizabeth pushed the mirror deeper into her stored garments, dropped the lid of the trunk, then turned to face the portal. She did not doubt that she looked guilty of some trick, with her hands folded behind herself and her expression carefully neutral, but she had little time to compose herself.

  Rosamunde opened the door, her gaze sweeping over the chamber, then lingering on Elizabeth. “I thought you might be awake,” she said, then closed the portal and leaned back against it. She carried a lantern and its light diminished the shadows in the room. “Do I interrupt something?”

  “Of course not.” Elizabeth fought the urge to squirm beneath her aunt’s perceptive gaze.

  Her aunt was still dressed for the evening meal, her red hair braided and coiled beneath a gossamer veil of pale gold, secured in place by a golden circlet. Her kirtle was deepest blue, hemmed with rich golden embroidery, and had long sleeves with cuffs that trailed to the floor. Around her waist was bound a girdle, once again of gold, but studded with gems that Elizabeth knew must be of great value. There was a plain gold ring upon one of Rosamunde’s fingers, though she wore no other jewelry.

  Elizabeth felt plain in comparison, for she had not changed from the simple garb she had donned for Reynaud’s funeral.

  Rosamunde pursed her lips, considering, then appeared to accept this claim. “How large this room appears now that you no longer share it with four sisters and a maid,” she said, smiling easily as she walked around the room. “Do you not find it lonely?”

  Elizabeth shrugged and folded her arms around herself. “It is sometimes a relief to not have to share every thought and every frippery.” She could readily imagine that Isabella would have stolen that mirror while Elizabeth was at Ravensmuir this day, for Isabella had always had an uncanny ability to find any treasure, no matter how well it was hidden.

  Rosamunde chuckled and sat on a stool to consider her niece. “Indeed. I can well imagine that.” Again, she studied Elizabeth. “I thought we might talk, while others prepare for bed.”

  “Of what?”

  “They said you had fallen ill,” Rosamunde said with care. “That you had faded like a maiden snared in a dream. I came back to Kinfairlie because of Alexander’s concern.”

  Elizabeth was surprised by this and touched that her aunt had traveled so far in her concern. She moved a stool and sat beside her aunt, feeling loved by her kin.

  She supposed that Rafael had never had such a sensation and felt a pang of sympathy for him.

  “I did not know he had written to you of me.”

  Rosamunde smiled. “He wrote of many things, he always does, but I was concerned by what he did not confide.”

  “How so?”

  “He did not send news of your nuptials.” Elizabeth glanced up to find her aunt watching her closely. “Why do you not wed, Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth heaved a sigh, knowing this to be her opportunity to seek advice, but fearing that her aunt had become conventional in her own marriage. She certainly looked more like a noblewoman in these days, and Elizabeth could not help but wonder how deep the change in Rosamunde was.

  “I have not met a man I wished to wed,” Elizabeth confessed. “Until now.”

  “Which is why you do not look so ill as I expected, given Alexander’s concern. Indeed, you look exactly as I recall. Is this the influence of love?”

  Elizabeth felt herself flush. “Perhaps.”

  Rosamunde smiled. “And who is the fortunate man?”

  Elizabeth saw no reason to hide the truth. “Malcolm’s comrade, Rafael Rodriguez.”

  Rosamunde’s brows rose. “A mercenary and a Spaniard.” She shook her head and smiled. “Alexander cannot be pleased by this!”

  “He is not,” Elizabeth admitted, reassured by her aunt’s wicked smile. The entire tale spilled from her lips, then, for she knew that Rosamunde had been held captive by Finvarra in the realm of the Fae. She trusted Rosamunde not only with the details of the night at Ravensmuir, but of the ribbons she had seen with Rafael, and his refusal to accept all she offered.

  By the time s
he had confessed all of this, her aunt was the one pacing the floor of the chamber. “He does indeed seem to have honor in his soul,” she said, though her tone did not ring with the optimism Elizabeth had hoped to hear. “But you must recognize, Elizabeth, that his concerns have merit. You may not be pleased with the results of your choice once it is made, for you may not see all of the truth.”

  “I trust the ribbons.” Elizabeth did not add that she did not trust Finvarra.

  “Where will you live?”

  “Wherever he lives.” She had not thought of traveling to Europe with Rafael, but the notion had an appeal. She did not expect that Finvarra could pursue her there.

  Rosamunde considered her, her fingers tapping on her own elbow. “It seems that this Rafael believes you to have expectations he cannot hope to fulfill. Perhaps he does not wish to see you disappointed.”

  “Perhaps he is wrong about my expectations. Perhaps he sees those of Alexander.”

  “Perhaps so,” Rosamunde agreed. She perched beside Elizabeth and took her niece’s hand within her own. “I have lived with much risk in my time, Elizabeth, but the greatest peril is that of love. There is no pain greater than a love that is not returned, or the rejection of the man you adore beyond all others.”

  Elizabeth swallowed and nodded, knowing her aunt spoke of Tynan, the former Laird of Ravensmuir, who had rejected her.

  “So, know that I grant this counsel as one who has misplaced her love, survived heartbreak and found love again. I would not surrender my memories of Tynan or our time together, however ill-fated it proved to be. Those days and nights are yet precious to me. But I have a happiness now with Padraig beyond all of that, a contentment unexpected and a confidence in his affection that fills my life with pleasure and satisfaction.” She pressed Elizabeth’s hands. “I understand the allure of what might not be gained. I understand the desire to risk all in pursuit of a goal. But I tell you, Elizabeth, that if you pursue this man with no regard to any cost to yourself, your every sacrifice might still be insufficient to win his heart.” She smiled. “And if it is not, then I entreat you to come to me for solace, for I will understand why you made the choice you did and I will know the pain you are enduring.”