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

by Claire Delacroix

  Never mind that his gaze was fixed upon Elizabeth.

  Nineteen

  Elizabeth toyed with her cup, seemingly indifferent to the tale Catriona had told. Catriona felt herself frown, for it was unlike the Elizabeth she had met not to respond with great favor to a tale of a man saving his one true love from peril.

  “A fine tale finely told,” Rafael said with a smile, and Catriona nodded in acceptance of his compliment.

  “I thank you.”

  “You tell tales like Papa tells,” little Rhiannon declared from beside Catriona.

  “Do I?”

  “Aye, Papa tells us always of the Fae, though his Fae are Welsh like him.”

  “And like you,” Rhys declared, scooping up his daughter from behind. He bowed to Catriona, the little girl on his hip. “I apologize for her interruption,” he said, nodding at Rafael. “Doubtless you have matters to discuss that are not for little ears.” Rhiannon shouted at one of her brothers, and Rhys put her down, shaking his head as she hastened back to play with the other children.

  Rafael’s gaze lifted to Rhys, and Catriona introduced the two again. “You tell tales of the Fae?” Rafael asked the other warrior, with some surprise.

  “Indeed. Such tales carry truth at their root, as my lady wife will gladly tell you.”

  Rafael appeared to consider this. “A truth such as a Fae king seizing a mortal woman as his bride?” Rafael let his gaze slide to Elizabeth and back to Catriona. “You and I will both recall a risk she took but six months ago.”

  Catriona nodded and Rhys listened avidly.

  “I wonder if there might have been a way that this dark king could have disguised his collection of what he saw as his due,” Rafael said softly, his gaze meeting Catriona’s. “So that none knew he had stolen a bride.”

  Catriona gasped, her fingers rising to her lips. “A changeling,” she whispered, though it was clear by the way that Rafael frowned that he did not understand the word.

  Rhys tapped Malcolm abruptly on the shoulder at that. The younger man moved along the bench, for he was talking to Eleanor, and Rhys perched on the bench in the newly made space.

  “There are tales of the Fae replacing those mortals they capture with one called a changeling,” Catriona confessed in an undertone.

  “How can one tell the truth?” Rafael asked.

  “There is a tale,” Rhys said, keeping his voice low. “Of a Fae revealing her true nature in three ways.” He touched his index finger. “She laughed at a funeral.”

  Catriona straightened. “Elizabeth laughed when Malcolm had word that some of the Sable League had been killed, though she had met those very men last summer. I was affronted, but Malcolm said to make naught of it.”

  “But she would not have done as much before?” Rafael said.

  Catriona shook her head. “I do not think so.”

  Malcolm turned and Catriona realized he was listening to them, as was Eleanor. “She always wept the most,” Malcolm confided. “I thought she but mourned some man’s absence.” He flicked a glance at Rafael.

  “Though on this day she does not know me.”

  Rhys tapped a second finger. “That she wept at the birth of a child.”

  Eleanor leaned forward. “There were two christenings at the chapel this month, of babes born in the village,” she confessed, keeping her voice low, “Never have I heard a woman lament as Elizabeth did. I was embarrassed, and the mothers most insulted.”

  They exchanged worried glances. Rhys tapped a third finger. “That she celebrated the untimely death of a child.” He pursed his lips when no one spoke. “Madeline went to visit the grave of Madeline Arundel yesterday. That child died young here at Kinfairlie though they had played together. She always goes to the grave with Elizabeth, and she said that her sister’s manner was most inappropriate.” He lifted his gaze. “She said she could make no sense of Elizabeth’s laughter.”

  They all sat back as one and tried to hide that they conferred. Fortunately, the hall was sufficiently crowded and busy that no one seemed to take note of them.

  “But who is she, then?” Rafael demanded quietly.

  “A changeling is usually an elderly Fae or even a log,” Catriona said. “But it is disguised to mortal eyes by a spell and appears to be the missing person.”

  Rhys winced. “It is not simple to be rid of one, for she must be burned.”

  “You would not dare be wrong,” Eleanor said.

  “A log,” Rafael echoed, and examined what appeared to be a sliver in his finger. Catriona frowned without understanding. “I stroked her cheek,” he admitted, and she knew it had to be true.

  “Still we must be certain,” Eleanor said.

  Rhys met Catriona’s gaze and nodded once. “The children must be sent to bed,” he said, then stepped away to summon them. Eleanor rose to do the same, encouraging Annelise and Isabella to send their children to their pallets as well.

  “There must be a test before the burning. I will need your help, Rafael,” Catriona whispered.

  Without hesitation, Rafael leaned closer to hear more.

  A year before, Rafael would never have given credit to Catriona’s story.

  Now he found himself her willing assistant. It was late and the children were abed. Many of the wives had retired as well, and servants had gone to the kitchens to prepare for the next day. Eleanor had deemed there should be few witnesses, in case matters went awry, though she had argued mightily with Isabella and Annelise as to why they should retire early.

  It seemed that Isabella was one with a keen sense for a hidden truth.

  That fire still blazed high on the hearth—Rafael complained mightily and regularly about the cold, while Rhys coaxed the blaze higher and higher. Elizabeth sat before the fire, doing her embroidery with such cheer that Rafael’s belief in Catriona’s scheme was buttressed anew. The castellan summoned Alexander away to confer on some detail and Malcolm spoke with some of the men on the far side of the hall.

  Catriona gave Rafael a quick nod, then bent down before the fire. She had obtained some egg shells from the kitchens. She filled one half shell with wine and balanced it on the lip of the hearth. She filled a second with wine and set it alongside, nearly tipping the first in so doing.

  Elizabeth watched with open fascination.

  Catriona filled a third egg shell half with wine and balanced it beside the others with care.

  Rhys brought her half a dozen more shells. “I confess I can find no more.”

  “We must somehow contrive to make it work,” Catriona said.

  Eleanor came to them, wringing her hands. “The vegetable cuttings and egg shells were already taken to the pigs,” she said, her tone apologetic. “I did not realize you meant to do this, Catriona, or I would have saved them.”

  “I think I have enough. I thank you,” Catriona said, setting the shells on the hearth with care. Rhys squatted beside her and straightened a few, knocking them over and spilling the wine in the process. He winced and set to straightening them.

  “What is this you do?” Elizabeth demanded, dropping her embroidery in her curiosity.

  “I would mull some wine, so that Malcolm and I are warmed for our journey home this night,” Catriona said, as if this made perfect sense. She filled another shell and placed it carefully on the hearth.

  “But you will need so many egg shells to mull two cups of wine,” Elizabeth said with a laugh.

  Rhys straightened and stood by the fire.

  Rafael took a step forward, prepared to do what he must.

  “You need not worry,” Catriona said with complete calm. “They served eggs in the hall this day, so I have a goodly number.” She displayed her paltry collection to Elizabeth, then filled another shell with care. As she placed it on the hearth, she knocked the one beside it and tipped it. The wine spilled onto the hearth and hissed.

  Catriona heaved a sigh and filled the tipped shell again, persisting in her course.

  Elizabeth laughed, a high
cackling laugh that had no similarity to the warm laughter Rafael recalled. “I have never seen such folly in all my thousand years!” she cried, and laughed yet harder at Catriona.

  At the confession of her age, which could not be that of Elizabeth, Rafael seized the changeling. She struggled with a strength beyond that of any human but he held fast. Rhys seized her other side and the two of them cast her into the fire. She screamed with fury to be so discovered, and a hag appeared for a moment in the smoke.

  Then there was but another log on the fire, though it crackled loudly as the flames devoured it.

  “Tales in truth,” Rhys said. “I knew there was something amiss.”

  “I hoped there was not,” Eleanor said. “But now I see that I ignored the signs.”

  Rafael offered his hand to Catriona that she could rise. “We make an intrepid pair,” she whispered and Rafael smiled.

  Malcolm joined them, then, his hand falling to the back of Catriona’s waist. “You were right then,” he said. “I thought she had but changed in my absence.”

  “But the task is only half done,” Rafael noted.

  Catriona nodded even as the others looked grim.

  “What is it?” Rafael asked.

  Catriona shook her head. “In all the tales of changelings that I know, the captive must be retrieved from Fae by a mortal.”

  “In those I know as well,” Rhys agreed. “It is not small peril to our kind to enter that realm, for our chances of leaving alive are slim.”

  Malcolm smiled and nodded at Rafael’s boots. “Rafael knows as much, as do I. I wager your new boots do not have holes in the soles.”

  Rafael smiled. “Nay, and I know better than to accept any invitation to dance.”

  Alexander came striding toward them in that moment, his brow dark with disapproval. Eleanor told him of what had transpired, and he turned his frown upon Rafael. “I will guess that you, being who and what you are, will perform this deed for a price.”

  Malcolm eyed his older brother.

  “I am a mercenary no longer, but the son of a nobleman with a title of my own,” Rafael said silkily.

  Alexander’s lips remained a taut line. “I do not doubt you have a price.”

  “I do,” Rafael agreed. “A most fair price, in exchange for saving your sister’s life.”

  Alexander folded his arms across his chest.

  “I will take Elizabeth as my wife, should I succeed,” Rafael said, then offered his hand to Alexander in expectation of agreement.

  “I remember a man claiming a woman he rescued from harm as his bride,” Eleanor said, but still Alexander eyed Rafael’s outstretched hand.

  “She must be returned hale, or there can be no wager,” he said.

  “Of course.” Rafael understood that Alexander was protective of his siblings and could not fault him for that. “I did not ask before because I did not have a holding,” he said, softening his tone. “I did not have the right to ask, for I had no ability to ensure her welfare and safety. That has changed. Elizabeth will be lady of a fine keep, and live, at the very least, in the style to which she has become accustomed.”

  Rhys smiled and braced his hands upon his hips, his gaze flicking between the two men in challenge.

  Alexander met Rafael’s gaze. “Do you love her?”

  “With all my heart and soul.”

  Catriona smiled at that, leaning against Malcolm with her eyes shining.

  Alexander considered them all so arrayed against him and sighed. “And I suspect that Elizabeth loves you.” He gripped Rafael’s hand in agreement. “I vowed to let her choose, and she told me that you were her choice. It is not the match I would have envisioned, and you surely recognize as much, but I think my sister might be right about you, Rafael Rodriguez.”

  And to Rafael’s astonishment, Alexander smiled.

  “God speed to you. I would know that she is well.”

  Rafael found himself surrounded by Elizabeth’s family, as the men wished him well and the women kissed his cheeks. They stood clustered tightly together, taking solace in each other’s presence, and he knew they would pray for his safe return. Rafael knew that he departed on this quest alone, but he felt as if all their good will rode with him.

  It was a new sensation for a man who had always battled alone, and it was welcome indeed.

  The creature Darg was much more amenable to Rafael’s plan than it had been before.

  Indeed, the spriggan heaved a sigh of relief when it saw the earth being cleared from around the trap. Though it was immortal, it had little patience and these months had been long indeed.

  Darg was almost glad to see the mercenary’s face again.

  “And so?” Rafael demanded, his anticipation clear.

  “Your will be done, you need not gloat, freedom is what I desire most. Wishes three will I fulfill—but mind your demands do not serve me ill.”

  Rafael’s smile flashed. “I will tell you of them now. Elizabeth has been captured by Finvarra, or perhaps she has surrendered to him. I have destroyed the changeling and now must retrieve the lady. In this you will help me.”

  Darg could not truly find any issues with that. “I like the maid, that much is true, and I would see her love run true.”

  Rafael held up one finger. “My first wish is that you will find a means for me to send her a message. Not a short message, but a tale, and it must remain secret from Finvarra.”

  Darg considered that. “At least by me it can be done, though his oblivion is not easily won.”

  Rafael nodded and held up another finger. “My second is that you deliver the missive directly to her. She must receive it or all will be lost.”

  Darg nodded. “The Fae realm is not barred to me. Wherever she is hidden, I can be.”

  “And thirdly, when I enter his court, you must speak for me.”

  Darg grinned. “If you would have me beg your suit, of this quest you should abandon pursuit. The king has no fondness for me: should I speak, he will not hear thee.”

  Rafael leaned closer to the glass, his gaze intent. “Which is why I will tell you in advance precisely what to say.”

  With that, Darg’s curiosity was piqued. The small Fae had no fondness for Finvarra either and would have heartily enjoyed seeing the old king defeated.

  Or at least thwarted.

  The prospect, as well as its curiosity as to this mortal’s scheme, meant that Darg was more than agreeable to the terms of release.

  Elizabeth did not know the day or the month any longer. Indeed, the seasons were unvarying in the realm of the Fae, and day did not even seem that distinct from night. All blended together so that time passed effortlessly and without note.

  Truth be told, it was somewhat dull in Fae. After her time there—however long it might have been—Elizabeth could understand why the Fae meddled so often in the matters of men. There was no risk or danger in this realm, either, for all were immortal and all eternally young.

  The dancing was beginning to grate for Elizabeth. She yearned for an argument, or an exciting event. The peril of Rafael’s smile, certainly. The passion of his kiss. While she had once felt numb in the mortal realm, since meeting Rafael, she felt numb in the Fae realm.

  She was strolling through a garden, a place she favored simply because it reminded her of the walled herb garden at Inverfyre, when a ball rolled out from beneath the undergrowth and came to a halt directly before her. It was reddish brown, apparently covered with leather. Elizabeth picked it up, thinking that some child had lost it, then recalled that there were no children in Fae.

  Once she held it in her hand, though, she realized it was no ball. It was a fruit, a stem at one end and a star at the other, reminiscent of the last of the blossom on the bottom of an apple. She glanced around the garden, seeking the tree from which it had fallen, but could see no good candidates. Elizabeth looked down again, turning the fruit before she recalled where she had seen that shape before.

  On Rafael’s tabard, the embroider
y that he had said was not an insignia.

  It was a pomegranate.

  How strange that she should have the opportunity to sample that fruit here, in Fae, when she feared she was destined to never see Rafael again, instead of having him bring her one as a gift. She had vowed to not let any morsel of Fae food cross her lips, lest there be absolutely no hope of departing from the Fae realm, but this fruit did not look as if it were Fae. The rich color, for example, was in contrast to all the faded hues around her.

  And it could not be a coincidence that it was a pomegranate.

  Elizabeth turned the fruit, seeking a way to unpeel it. Sour yet sweet, he had said, and she would never forget his expression when he had uttered the words. There was a tear in the skin of the fruit, shaped like a V, and Elizabeth had the strange sense that it invited her exploration.

  She pulled back the skin easily at that point and caught her breath at the gleaming beads arrayed within. They looked like round rubies, and she could smell a tantalizing mix of sour and sweet.

  Just as Rafael had said.

  He had promised honesty to her.

  There was a plump bead darker than the others that invited her touch. Elizabeth plucked it from its bed, recalling Rafael’s warning that each pearl of juice held a seed, and broke it against the roof of her mouth.

  Her eyes widened at the flavor, pungent and wondrous, then she nearly gasped aloud as a vision formed in her mind.

  Of Rafael.

  He was garbed in black and white, as before, his attention fixed so surely upon her that he might have stood before her in the garden. His black boots had been buffed to a shine and his dark hair combed to order. His chausses looked to be new, for they were perfectly clean and trimly fitted. He wore a white chemise with full sleeves, and a black tabard thick with golden embroidery over it. The embroidery was that of three pomegranates with a braid encircling them and a crescent moon, its points downward, placed above. It was not the insignia he had worn before, and Elizabeth guessed this to be a vision of him since they had parted. His belt hung over his hips, both sword and dagger at the ready there, and he wore heavy red leather gloves that covered his arms to his elbows. His cloak was short and of the same vivid red, slung over one shoulder to hang down his back to the hips.