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

by Claire Delacroix

  A lump rose in Elizabeth’s throat. “I will.”

  “Good.” Rosamunde kissed Elizabeth’s cheek, then nodded. “And now, you must think of what you will say and what you will do.” Her gaze was clear as she held Elizabeth’s regard. “If you could say one thing to Rafael to change his thinking of you and your expectations, what would it be?”

  “Because all rides upon that one opportunity?”

  “Because you cannot know how many chances you will have,” Rosamunde said. “When you take a risk, wager all in your first opportunity, for there may never be the chance to try again.”

  There was the counsel Elizabeth had sought. She nodded, her thoughts churning as she strove to identify what she would say. The mirror was forgotten for the moment, Rosamunde’s counsel banishing the thought of it.

  Rosamunde stood, then paused beside Elizabeth before walking away. “Perhaps you should strive to make your similarities clear to him, rather than your differences. He will see the disparity in your upbringing, but what draws you to him? In what sphere are you the same?”

  Elizabeth knew the reply immediately. It was in the lust for adventure and experience that she and Rafael were of one mind. She had erred in letting him believe that she would meet him abed to force him to offer for her hand. There was no trickery in this: Elizabeth wanted to sample passion, and she wanted to do it first with him.

  She had to make it clear to Rafael that her desire was solely to know what such pleasure was like, that she, like he, desired only to experience all that could be savored. She did believe that there was honor in him, and she did believe that he would not abandon her after they were intimate, but that was not the reason she would meet him abed.

  Elizabeth would risk all, in the hope of gaining his love, but even if she failed, she would know.

  And that might be sufficient to keep her warm at night.

  Saturday, June 26, 1428

  Feast Day of Saint Hilarius, Bishop of Poitiers, and the martyrs, Saint John and Saint Paul.

  Thirteen

  Elizabeth’s challenge burned in Rafael’s thoughts for the days before the wedding. Afraid. It was an astonishing word to have associated with himself, and yet there was a resonance in her charge that hinted at truth.

  Love made the king vulnerable. There was the root of the matter. A man who prized any possession, be it wife, child or holding, could have his prize stripped from him. Worse, it could be used against him. Wives were captured, children tormented, holdings stolen. Rafael had seen many a man broken by such a loss and had resolved long ago that it would not happen to him.

  What would be your legacy? There was the most potent truth of it. Rafael did not want those souls in Hell to be his legacy. As ever, Elizabeth had found a way to make him reconsider his choices.

  But to change his life was no small thing to expect, and it would not be readily done. What options had he? What skills? What opportunities?

  The questions haunted Rafael, and he labored hard, as if to outrun them and their implications. He hunted with vigor, riding out with Amaury both days and bringing back so many carcasses that Catriona cried for relief in the kitchens. He tended wounds and polished armor, honed blades and brushed steeds. He worked until he ached to his marrow, and then he worked yet more.

  He did not sleep overly well, for Franz seemed determined to keep him company at night. He cursed the fact that he had to remain at Ravensmuir until Sunday, then was heartened that he would have one last glimpse of his angel.

  Rafael knew that Elizabeth was not afraid of him, not even of his anger. Indeed, when she provoked his temper, she seemed to see it as a mark of her power over him. Rafael suspected she was right in that, for never had there been a woman who could stir his responses as adeptly as she.

  He was resolved to be composed and implacable on the day of the weddings, lest she take encouragement from his manner. Aye, he had to be polite and indifferent. She did not need to know that she had put him in turmoil, not until he had decided upon his course.

  Rafael was tempted, sorely tempted, to give Elizabeth what she wanted of him, but he knew that could only lead them both to ruin. First, any seduction would be an insult to his host and comrade to despoil that man’s sister. Secondly, he could not wed Elizabeth honestly, not without a holding. Thirdly, even if he had possessed the ability and the inclination to wed her, Rafael knew such a match would be doomed. She believed him to be some gallant knight, and the only result of time they spent together would be her disappointment. She would end like Ursula, and of all the sins he had committed, the destruction of Elizabeth’s hope would be the worst.

  That would be a rejection of all Rafael held to be good and right.

  He was so concerned with the notion of his legacy that Rafael barely noticed the other change in his thinking: for the first time in all his days, he was concerned about his right to wed.

  Rafael was prepared when the party came from Kinfairlie, or so he thought. He donned his best garb, black velvet and white linen, a black tabard worked with a line of gold upon the hem and a black cloak lined with shimmering gold. His boots gleamed and the gold rings on his fingers shone. He stood with his fellows as the party arrived from Kinfairlie, content to lose himself within the company. He anticipated that all of Malcolm’s family would come from Kinfairlie, prepared to be entertained and fed richly. He also anticipated that the brother Alexander would not have fully surrendered his disdain, though he would eat and drink at Malcolm’s board. Rafael expected that Malcolm’s trade would cast a long shadow over his family’s view of him, and his relationship with them.

  But Rafael was due to be surprised.

  The Laird and Lady of Kinfairlie rode at the head of the procession, the coats of their black destriers gleaming in the sun. The lady was fair, like Catriona, her hair coiled up beneath her veil. A pair of squires rode before them on palfreys with the banner of Kinfairlie held high. Another noble pair rode behind them, the woman’s hair red of hue and the man swarthy. There were children aplenty, and truly Rafael did not trouble to count them. They were richly garbed and as fair as the Lady of Kinfairlie, carried by servants riding palfreys.

  Elizabeth rode her mare alongside Alexander and Eleanor, and Rafael again was proud to note how well she rode. She made it look effortless to manage the very large mare, but Rafael knew Demoiselle was not such a complacent mount as that. The three black steeds were each as wondrous as the next, their trappings black and silver, their necks arched and manes braided. To see them together was a marvel. Truly, Rafael had never seen their ilk, and he acknowledged that the tales of the steeds of Ravensmuir were based in fact.

  Elizabeth herself was dressed in green and silver, the hue of her kirtle making her eyes shine like emeralds. Her gaze leaped immediately to him, lingering in a way that revealed he had not disappeared into the company as readily as he had hoped, but Rafael determinedly turned his attention to the rest of the party.

  His heart skipped, though, his awareness of Elizabeth as keen as ever. He would never forget her, that was for certain. He wondered then if the knotted ribbons between them were a cruel jest of the King of the Dead, a ploy to see her destroyed in this realm for daring to speak aloud in his court. Elizabeth, of course, would believe the ribbons to be a reliable sign of the course she should take, and it was clear she would heed no warnings. What if the dark king wished only to see her ruined, so that she had no choice but to choose to enter his realm forever?

  The notion made a fearsome sense. If these beings were djinn, such trickery was most characteristic.

  And if these beings were djinn, not demons, then Ravensmuir was no portal to Hell. Indeed, Hell might not truly exist. He could return to his conviction that he would never be judged, that there was only life and oblivion and naught in between save the smoky illusion of the djinns.

  Save for the companionship of Franz. That could have been a gift from the dark king, an illusion sent to trouble him. Rafael realized he wanted to see that dark-bearded
king defeated more than he had desired anything in a long time.

  Nigh as much as he desired Elizabeth. He could not possess her himself, not for any duration at least, but perhaps he could thwart the dark king’s scheme to claim her.

  It would be worth a try.

  The arriving party seemed numerous indeed, and Rafael had a moment to think that they would eat Malcolm’s larder bare. But then, behind all the relations and servants and children came wagons of meat, bread and ale. Alexander offered all to Malcolm with grace, and Rafael was astonished.

  His lady wife, Eleanor, had brought seed for Ravensmuir’s fields, which lay fallow, so that the keep could be well provisioned for the winter ahead. Rafael was stunned by the generosity of this wedding gift.

  Indeed, he had never known people to aid each other like this, to offer practical gifts of considerable expense simply to be of assistance. Rafael was awed by their generosity, so awed that he did not see Elizabeth bring her mare to his side.

  “You look surprised,” she said, a laugh in her voice. “I confess I would never have imagined it possible for you to be so.”

  Rafael glanced up at her dancing eyes and could not hide his amazement. He gestured to the wagons, fairly groaning beneath the weight of provisions brought from Kinfairlie. “Such generosity,” he murmured. “I thought your brother disapproved of Malcolm.”

  “And so he does, but he would have Malcolm remain and restore Ravensmuir. The task will not be readily done.” Her chin set with a resolve Rafael began to associate with her. “We are kin, Rafael, and there is no bond stronger than blood. We disagree and disapprove, but always we are family, and always we defend and aid each other.”

  Rafael let his gaze rove over the provisions again, feeling the lack in his own life. He had no kin. He had no family. There was no one upon whom he could rely. He had comrades, to be sure, but if they were better compensated to betray him, most would do so. He had accepted that truth long ago and knew that he could rely solely upon himself.

  But Malcolm had gained more than a keep, a wife and a son. He had returned to family, where he would never be alone again.

  For the first time, Rafael felt envy for his former comrade.

  He realized Elizabeth was watching him closely. She leaned down from the saddle to whisper to him, her eyes bright. “Is there no one upon whom you can rely?” Her question was gentle, as if she felt compassion for him, and Rafael bristled.

  “I have need of no one at my back,” he insisted, knowing that while it might be true in this moment, that might not be the case forever.

  “But do you not feel the lack of a family?”

  “A man cannot miss what he has never known.”

  Elizabeth bit her lip and eyed him for a moment, an unexpected compassion in her clear gaze. She straightened then at the sound of hoof beats. Her features lit and she pointed across the moor. “Look!” she whispered, awe in her voice.

  Rafael looked and was awed in his turn. Alexander had turned back and pointed to the road between the two sister estates. Rafael saw the dust rising on the road and guessed what gift Alexander brought.

  The legendary steeds of Ravensmuir, the great black destriers that had been bred at this estate for generations, were returning to the stables where they belonged.

  There had been a time when Rafael had believed these horses must be a fable, for their repute seemed too great. And Malcolm, when they had met, had ridden a good steed but not a spectacular one. When he had learned of Malcolm’s origins, he had taken this of confirmation that the Ravensmuir horses were not so wondrous as was oft told.

  But on their arrival at Ravensmuir, Malcolm had confessed that he could not have risked one of his family’s horses in war. Now, as Rafael watched the great hooves of the returning herd pound the road, he understood why. Their manes and tails were braided and they had been brushed until they were glossy. They arched their necks, even as they ran, such joy and confidence in their stride that no man who ever admired a horse could have averted his gaze.

  Indeed, he had never seen a sight so magnificent. Rafael took a step forward in his admiration and heard the curse fall from his lips. “Zounds!” He barely recognized his own voice, so filled was it with marvel. He was glad to still be at Ravensmuir, glad he had lingered the extra days, glad he had the chance to see these creatures with his own eyes.

  Elizabeth laughed beside him. Her mare was small compared to these stallions, and as they tossed their heads, nostrils flaring and dark eyes flashing, Rafael recognized that the mare had not their temper either. The mare stamped, restless to run as well, but Elizabeth held her in place. It was one thing to see Alexander’s fine mount, but quite another to see dozens of these beasts racing toward Ravensmuir.

  They were ridden by ostlers and squires, young men who laughed with such delight as they brought the horses to a milling halt that Rafael guessed they seldom had ridden their charges at full gallop. They halted before Ravensmuir’s gates, the horses snorting and stamping in their impatience to run yet more, their harness gleaming in the sun.

  Malcolm was clearly close to being overwhelmed with emotion by the sight of them, and he walked through the herd, touching one and then another, stroking a nose and patting a rump. Rafael realized that he would know many of these individual steeds, for he had been gone six or seven years. By the way he was bitten and nudged, they recalled him as well. It was a joyous reunion and a noisy one, and to Rafael’s relief, there was much to be done in seeing the steeds settled in the stables again.

  That Malcolm had such wealth to his hand was wondrous.

  His comrade’s future at Ravensmuir was secured.

  But that was not all the joy that would come to Malcolm on this day. But moments later, Rafael saw wonder light his comrade’s features as the cries of birds filled the air.

  Malcolm turned and raised his hands as ravens soared out of the blue sky. They might have been conjured from the very air, so suddenly did they appear. They circled the new tower of Ravensmuir, as if to inspect it, then settled on the roof, so unruffled that they might always have been there.

  One swooped low over Malcolm and gave a cry that made that man laugh aloud.

  “It is a sign,” Elizabeth said, her eyes bright with unshed tears. She looked radiant in her pleasure, and once again, Rafael thought of angels touching down to earth. He could have watched her all the day and night.

  “How so?”

  “The presence of the ravens is believed to be an endorsement of the Laird of Ravensmuir,” she confessed. “Malcolm left when the ravens abandoned the holding, for he felt they had judged him and found him lacking.”

  It was such a whimsical notion that Rafael did not know what to say.

  Though he knew what it was to feel that one’s efforts had fallen short.

  “But now they are returned, and the horses are back, and all will be well,” she concluded.

  “I apologize that I thought ill of Alexander’s intent,” Rafael said formally, for he had misjudged the man.

  “I am not.” Elizabeth laughed again at his glance of surprise. “Why else do you think the steeds returned?” Her eyes sparkled with such vigor that Rafael could not avert his gaze. She leaned toward him as if they had conspired together and laughed so that he was tempted to join her. “We contrived this together.”

  “How can this be?”

  “I told Alexander that you wondered at his intent, and he was so insulted that he called for the horses to be prepared to journey on this day.” She was so merry that Rafael was transfixed. “It is your doing, Rafael, that they are here, and I hope you are glad of what you have wrought.”

  It was enticing to imagine as much, but Rafael did not fully believe any credit was his.

  “I say it is your doing,” he retorted, unable to keep himself from smiling at her. “And I thank you, for I am glad to have seen their splendor with my own eyes.”

  “It is what we have in common,” Elizabeth confided, her words startling Rafael.
“I would see all the marvels of the world and seek both adventure and passion. I would stand witness to all the fables made truth, to all the riches and all the poverty, just to know that it exists.” A knowing glint lit her eyes. “For truly, what merit is a life lived sheltered? I fear such a life would feel longer than it was and I for one have no desire to endure it.” She wrinkled her nose. “I would rather have a palace of memories when I die than a perfected embroidery stitch.” Her smile turned wicked then, the sight making his heart clench, then she walked the horse away from him, her head held eye.

  She was clearly confident that she had snared his attention, and Rafael, even knowing as much, could not keep from watching her go.

  What could he give her in return for the gift of understanding she granted to him? Not what she asked of him, for that would be ignoble, but there had to be some other gift that would demonstrate his esteem.

  Something she would remember, even treasure, after he was gone.

  Rafael bit back a smile, for he had an inkling what that perfect gift might be. It was one he would enjoy delivering, to be certain, and one that would shape Elizabeth’s expectations for the rest of her days and nights.

  That conversation was a fine beginning to Elizabeth’s view. She liked when Rafael eyed her with such intensity, and she liked even better when he slowly smiled, as if he might devour her in one bite.

  Nay, he would make a feast of it, ensuring that she knew she was being claimed. Elizabeth shivered in delight at the notion. She liked how his gaze burned into hers, how he was becoming less mysterious to her with every exchange, how his very presence made her heart skip and all seem bright around her. She felt so vital with him that she had no doubt of her choice.