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

by Claire Delacroix

  “Dance with me,” she demanded, clearly anticipating his agreement despite his manner. She was not readily fooled when it came to his mood, and he liked that she was so perceptive. It was startling that he did not mind her seeing his secrets so readily.

  “I will not.”

  “You are a vexing man,” she charged, though her tone was filled with laughter.

  Despite himself, Rafael was cajoled into matching her mood. “And yet you continue to seek me out,” he teased. “Perhaps I am not sufficiently vexing to deter you.” He frowned at her. “Perhaps I should try harder.”

  She only laughed at him. “Perhaps you could never be so vexing as that,” she said and he hoped it was so. “It is my destiny to love you.”

  Rafael’s fine mood was banished. “That cannot be. There is no destiny, only choices made and circumstances shaped.”

  She eyed him. “As Mío Cid shaped his life.”

  “Indeed.”

  Elizabeth leaned closer to whisper. “I liked your tale well. It persuaded me that we do see matters the same way.”

  “Indeed?” Rafael watched her, wondering at her conviction. He supposed he would never cease to marvel at her confidence.

  “Indeed.” Her expression turned wicked then, the way her eyes shone stealing his breath away. “I would learn of passion, Rafael, no matter the price.” She spoke with a vigor he knew was inappropriate, but which he admired greatly.

  Rafael flicked a glance at the high table but neither of Elizabeth’s brothers had noted her location. “We have argued of this already...” he said, wanting her to be utterly clear about her desires.

  “We can be lovers this night without marital vows between us,” she declared, interrupting him.

  Rafael blinked at this unconventional suggestion, but a study of the lady revealed that she made no jest. This was far more than he had intended to propose to her.

  “Why would you risk this?” he murmured.

  The set of Elizabeth’s lips became stubborn. “Because I would know. Regardless of what comes after this, I would have tasted true passion.” She shrugged. “Perhaps it would make it easier to bear whatever my fate might be, for I doubt adventure will be part of it.”

  Rafael found himself dismayed that he had been successful in convincing her that they had no future together, though it was a sign that she heeded his counsel. It was best to be pragmatic, even if he did not mean to take all she offered. His gift to her would introduce her to the passion of which she was capable, without indulging his own. This, he was certain, was a fitting legacy of his days at Ravensmuir, for her expectations of men abed would be shaped.

  And shaped well.

  “You say you will not ever wed, after all,” she continued. “And since we are destined to love only each other, that means I shall be alone once you leave. I do not doubt that will be soon.” She granted him a demanding look.

  “On the morrow,” he admitted and she wrinkled her nose.

  “Then it must be tonight. At least the memory of passion might keep me warm at night in future.”

  “Even while laboring at your embroidery, locked in a tower?” Rafael could not resist the urge to tease her.

  Elizabeth laughed. “Maybe even that.” Devilry danced in her eyes. “How shall I know unless you show me? No man of honor will trouble himself, for we have agreed that they are tedious.” She grimaced. “I expect he would save such pleasure for his mistress, rather than insult his lady with pleasure abed.”

  Her gaze slid to his, temptation in her eyes. Rafael let his gaze drop to her lips, recalling the sweet honey of her kisses, as well. Were they not in the hall, he might have reminded her of the vigor of passion and its demands, the way it could catch up a man and a woman and lead them far beyond any intentions.

  But Elizabeth licked her lips languorously as he watched, as if to invite his touch, and the sight sent a jolt through Rafael. She leaned against him, her breast crushed against his arm, her expression knowing. She seduced him apurpose, confident that he would treat her with honor, and Rafael could not pull away—much less ignore the temptation she offered—once he had felt the turgid peak of her nipple.

  She was aroused, perhaps as aroused as he.

  But she did not realize he would take no more than his due. Rafael met her gaze, knowing his own was simmering.

  “Or perhaps Finvarra will claim compensation for my speaking in his court,” she murmured, then shook her head. “Though I cannot imagine that I would learn much of passion in his court.”

  “Do you make this scheme to loosen his hold upon you?” Rafael asked, but Elizabeth shook her head.

  Then her smile was mischievous again. “Only mortal men hold chastity in such high esteem,” she confided in a whisper and Rafael nearly laughed at that. “Finvarra would welcome me chaste or sampled.” Her eyes danced. “But I would make him wait until I am an old crone for that.”

  Rafael’s heart clenched as he recalled the dark king’s plan to hasten her choice, and he parted his lips to warn her.

  But Elizabeth put her fingers over his mouth to silence him, leaning ever closer. “I would know of passion now,” she insisted in a whisper. “Because I am cursedly impatient.” Her voice turned husky. “Show me, Rafael. Show me this very night.”

  It was the invitation he desired above all others. Rafael leaned down, letting his lips brush her temple and hearing her quick intake of breath. She was so responsive that he knew their night would be a memory to savor, even if he was not fully sated himself. “How can I decline?” he murmured and felt her shiver. “Where shall we meet?”

  She flushed in her pleasure, a most bewitching sight. “In the stables, here at Ravensmuir.”

  “Nay, there are too many ostlers and squires there.” Rafael took her hand in his, lifted it and pressed a kiss to her palm. She quivered, her eyes wide with desire. “And they will seek you out to return to Kinfairlie.”

  “Then it shall be there,” Elizabeth countered with resolve. “Have you been to Kinfairlie?” Rafael shook his head. “The wall is broken to rubble behind the tower, on the side nearest to the sea. The fields are rough, so no one comes that way. I could meet you there, by the old twisted tree.”

  Rafael nodded, knowing precisely where he would take her after they met. “At midnight, then,” he vowed, then kissed her hand again. Her flesh was soft against his lips, the scent of her skin enough to torment him.

  He looked up at her, half wondering if she set a trap for him. Nay, she would not do so but Alexander might. Rafael would evade it, to be sure, for he was more wily than the Laird of Kinfairlie.

  “I will not linger,” he warned her. “Do not be late, mi piqueño ángel.”

  Elizabeth’s smile turned seductive and Rafael felt his very blood heat. “Oh, I shall not be. Upon that, sir, you can rely.”

  Rafael sought out Malcolm after his conversation with Elizabeth, knowing that he had to make his plans clear to his comrade.

  “I know the others plan to leave on the morrow. Are you certain you will not remain?” Malcolm asked.

  Rafael smiled. “Do not jest with me. You and your brother will be gladdened to see such mercenaries departed from your hall and your lands.”

  Malcolm shook his head. “I make no jest. You are less a mercenary than a friend, Rafael.” His gaze sobered. “I would not see you return to that trade for lack of choices.”

  Rafael was startled by these words. “And what is that to mean?”

  “That I have need of a seneschal to defend my borders and my hall, and I can think of no man more deserving of the post.”

  Catriona leaned around Malcolm, evidently having overheard the conversation. “And I would not have you leave because of our disagreements in the past.”

  Rafael shook his head hastily, not wanting Malcolm to know that he was sorely tempted. “It is my nature to wage war,” he said. “And there will not be sufficient of it upon your borders, not now, for me to win the tribute I desire.”

 
Malcolm frowned. “So, you will depart as soon as the morrow?”

  “With first light.”

  “You will always be welcome at our board,” Catriona said.

  “And should you change your thinking, you know I would welcome you in my hall,” Malcolm said.

  “I thank you, but as I said, I would depart.”

  “You may not find passage readily across the Channel,” Malcolm warned. “We were charged double on our return home because they did not trust the look of you, and only then because I vouched for you.”

  “I will see it done.” Rafael watched the company, his gaze landing unerringly upon Elizabeth, and felt the need to warn his friend. “I would not turn my back upon the Earl of Douglas, and I do not hold the seal to a keep he desires. Do not trust too readily, Malcolm, not when every treasure has come to your hand.” He gestured to the hall that had been so rapidly constructed and felt again that pang of envy for what his comrade had won. “Ravensmuir was always your destiny. Guard it and all your treasures with vigor.”

  Malcolm smiled and the pair shook hands heartily.

  Friend. It was a remarkable thing to be called a friend, and Rafael knew he would savor Malcolm’s salute forever.

  The spriggan Darg, like many beings of advanced age—and, it must be said, like many of not such advanced age—was a creature of habit. After its unwilling participation in the escape of Rosamunde from Finvarra’s captivity, Darg had returned to Ravensmuir. Though the keep was ruined and the once-grand caverns beneath the earth had crumbled, there were still many tunnels sufficiently wide to allow for the passage of one small spriggan.

  A spriggan, in its most common form, can be fitted into the palm of a human hand. Darg, like many spriggans, was dark all over, as if covered by the gnarled bark of a tree. Darg’s nose was pointed, like a teasel, and it possessed the small beady eyes characteristic of spriggans. It was more than beady eyes and quick fingers that this particular kind of Fae had in common with its fellows, but also a lust for gold and treasure.

  Darg had originally hidden itself in the caverns beneath Ravensmuir when the forebears of Malcolm and his siblings had traded in religious relics. In those days, the tunnels had been heaped with riches—silver, gold, reliquaries and plunder from churches. It had been such a rich hoard that Darg had never memorized its entirety.

  At least not before it had been stolen away.

  The treasure had not truly been stolen—it had been retrieved by its rightful owner and sold. But Darg, as was typical of a spriggan, believed all treasures it perceived and coveted to be its own, so in Darg’s mind, the spoils had been stolen.

  Furthermore, they had been stolen by the woman who had been the bane of Darg’s existence for years, one Rosamunde.

  If Darg had known that Rosamunde visited the new keep of Ravensmuir, the spriggan might have stirred itself to visit the hall, simply to look upon that old foe. A wary peace had been established between the two, thanks to Darg’s assistance in retrieving Rosamunde from Finvarra’s court, but the spriggan still could have roused itself to ire.

  As it was, Darg slept deeply after that adventure.

  As the company made merry in the new hall of Ravensmuir, Darg slept on a mound of golden coins that it had discovered some six months before. Just when the spriggan had become convinced that all treasures of merit had been removed from Ravensmuir’s tunnels, a mortal had deposited a considerable quantity of gold in one.

  He had buried his treasure in a tunnel that opened to the sea, tucked around a turn of the passageway and out of the wind. Darg had watched the man in question as he hid it, his manner furtive, and had investigated immediately after his departure. The coins had been buried in sacks of velvet, but Darg exhumed them all, tossing aside the velvet after spilling the coins into a gleaming and highly satisfactory pile.

  The spriggan had seen finer hoards and certainly more varied ones, but a mound of gold several times its height was not to be spurned. The spriggan had carved itself a nest in the pile and burrowed in to sleep.

  It did not sleep so deeply though that it did not hear the approach of an intruder. The spriggan’s eyes flew open, then narrowed in suspicion. Clearly, some thief came to plunder Darg’s newly gained prize.

  Perfect!

  Elizabeth’s ploy was working better than she could have hoped. Rafael had agreed.

  And he had done so with that promising heat in his eyes. This would be a night beyond all others! She was impatient for the celebrations to be completed, but knew she must give no sign of her scheme. Indeed, she dared not even acknowledge Rafael again, for Alexander might take note.

  Elizabeth danced and she made merry. She spoke to the guests and held Avery while Catriona and Malcolm danced. She laughed at the tales told and sipped of the ale, all the while tapping her toe for time to pass.

  It was when she returned from the garderobe that she fairly tripped over Alexander and Malcolm conferring in the shadows. Having encountered these two scheming just so many times in their youth, Elizabeth instinctively hid in the shadows and listened without remorse.

  “You should know that I have had a missive from the earl,” Alexander said softly. “He wishes to treat with you.”

  Malcolm snorted. “He was defeated and his men fled the field. I need not make any concession to him.”

  Alexander inhaled sharply in his disapproval. “He is most determined to make an alliance with our family...”

  “And hide one of his spies within my walls again,” Malcolm said with disdain.

  “And ensure that this week’s events are not repeated,” Alexander corrected sternly. “You must realize, Malcolm, that Ravensmuir’s location is strategic. In rebuilding it and doing that so well, you have rekindled an old covetousness in the earl. He yearned to hold Ravensmuir before, and now it is even more alluring.”

  “I will fight to the death in defense of what is mine own...” Malcolm began hotly, but Alexander interrupted him.

  “And what then?” he asked softly. “Would you see Catriona assaulted when she made her way alone to pray in the new chapel? Would you see Avery injured by a stranger when he rides to hunt? There are a thousand ways to strike at a man without mustering an army outside of his gates.”

  Elizabeth sensed that Malcolm was unhappy with these tidings, even without seeing his features clearly. “Then what?” he demanded with frustration. “I should betroth Avery to some viper of the earl’s line like Jeanne, and that before he even utters his first word?”

  “Nay, of course not.” Alexander cleared his throat. “Though it was suggested.”

  Malcolm made a sound of disgust.

  “They want a match,” Alexander continued. “I mean to write to Ross and discover his circumstance. Consider that it might be good for us to have an ally inside the earl’s family.”

  “I doubt Ross will wed for our convenience.”

  “He might be smitten by one of the women the earl proposes for a match. He might have some alluring nieces or cousins.” Alexander shrugged when Malcolm’s skepticism was clear. “Or richly rewarded for his compliance by the earl. I mean only to ask.”

  “I dislike it, even so. Why would you put this burden upon him?”

  Alexander did not reply for a moment, and Elizabeth eased closer to ensure she did not miss his words. “Because I gave my promise to Elizabeth that she could choose the man she would wed.”

  “And so?” Malcolm asked, his lack of understanding clear.

  “And so my hand could be forced very easily,” Alexander said tightly. “It would not be the first time that a marriage was conspired by abduction and rape, and I would not see matters come to that.”

  Malcolm frowned. “He is that determined?”

  Alexander nodded.

  Malcolm cleared his throat. “You know that she favors Rafael. You could see her wedded in short order...”

  Alexander gave a short bark of a laugh. “I endeavor to ensure her happiness, Malcolm, not guarantee her misery and demise. She w
ill wed no mercenary while I draw breath, upon that you may be certain.” He drummed his fingers on his own elbow. “Nay, there must be another solution.”

  “Write then to Ross,” Malcolm said, his voice tight. “Perhaps there will be success in that.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Malcolm lowered his voice. “And until this is resolved, do not let Elizabeth leave the keep alone.”

  The brothers nodded, then moved back into the throng of celebrants, leaving Elizabeth with more to consider. If they were right, and the earl meant to ensure that some cousin or nephew allied to him despoiled her, thus compelling her to wed that man, Elizabeth could see only one solution.

  She must be rid of her maidenhead herself, to diminish her own appeal.

  Which meant that her night with Rafael must be a consummation of their relationship. There could be no half-measures and no delay. If she was to be compelled to wed any man, it would be Rafael, the man of her choice.

  Elizabeth was then more impatient to depart Ravensmuir and for midnight to come. Finally, the party from Kinfairlie took their leave, amidst many affectionate embraces and promises to visit the following week. The sun was dropping to the horizon, setting the western sky afire. Elizabeth looked over the company for Rafael, but could not spy him anywhere.

  Perhaps he had gone to Kinfairlie already.

  Perhaps he chose a place for their assignation.

  Or made preparations.

  She hugged herself in anticipation.

  In her heart, Elizabeth still believed that such intimacy would only go another step in earning Rafael’s trust, and be another stone in the foundation of their future together. She believed that they would be man and wife one day, but even if they were not to be so, they would be lovers true.

  Rafael would be her first and her only lover.

  No one would ever be able to change her choice.