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

by Claire Delacroix

  What was most remarkable was the shock of white hair over his left temple. Had he been injured? Did she see him dead? Elizabeth hoped it was not so, then Rafael scowled and cleared his throat, his gaze becoming more intense.

  “I hope to Heaven that this sorcery works,” he muttered, his tone so familiar and skeptical that Elizabeth smiled, her heart in her throat. He raised a finger. “Mi piqueño ángel, once you insisted that I was afraid, and I argued vehemently. In that time, I thought you were wrong, but I have learned that you were right. You saw to the heart of me, as no one ever has done, and I discarded the gift you offered.”

  He paused then, scowling at some small figure by his side. “This is madness. Such a ploy cannot possibly succeed.”

  To Elizabeth’s delight, a familiar figure darted out from behind Rafael’s boot. “Trust in me and you will see, that more is possible than you believe,” Darg said, the small fairy’s tone scolding.

  “To place memories in a pomegranate is a whimsical notion,” Rafael argued. He seemed vexed with Darg, and Elizabeth found his exasperation endearing. He flung out a hand. “You ask me to believe in sorcery! You trick me solely to ensure that you have more ale to drink. This ploy is to your advantage alone!”

  Darg now looked as vexed as Rafael, and Elizabeth had to admit they made unlikely allies. “A plan it is, one that will succeed, but only if you trust in me.”

  Rafael’s lips tightened, and he looked as if he might have sworn with vigor. Instead he continued his appeal. “Once, you asked me to tell you of my past, and I declined. Once you asked me to grant your sole desire to you, and I declined. And so on this day, in this way, I would grant you the tale you desired that you might choose with full knowledge.” He glanced downward for a moment, his brow furrowing. “I fear that you have chosen already, and perhaps the result suits you well. I chose once, thinking I was right, and wished later I might have had the opportunity to change my mind. I would give you that chance.” He granted her one last intent look, one sufficient to make Elizabeth’s heart flutter, then he disappeared.

  His voice though, resonated in her thoughts, as reassuring and thrilling as a whisper in her ear. Elizabeth closed her eyes, easily imagining him beside her, his breath against her skin.

  “This one tells me that dreams escape the bounds of the realm you occupy and that your thoughts and memories will yet be your own,” Rafael murmured. Elizabeth took a seat in the garden, giving every appearance of simply savoring the fruit and her surroundings.

  “It tells me, too, that it is imperative you give no hint of this communication between us, nor even of what you learn from me. The creature tells me it has filled the beads of the pomegranate with my memories and messages, and that those that are plumper and of a deeper hue of crimson contain these truths.”

  Elizabeth looked down at the pomegranate, noting that there were two more pips as fat and ruddy as the one she had eaten.

  Rafael fell silent, though she sucked long upon the seed. Just to be certain that no Fae could conjure Rafael’s message from it, Elizabeth swallowed it whole.

  The kernel within the sweetness of life.

  Elizabeth smiled.

  Then she chose another bead from within the fruit.

  Rafael climbed to the high tower of Kinfairlie after he returned from the cavern and had dispatched Darg with the pomegranate. Catriona hovered beside him, granting him advice.

  “You must not speak in his court,” she said for the twentieth time and he turned to her with a smile.

  “I know as much as I can know, thanks to your assistance,” he said. “Now it simply must be done.” He shook Malcolm’s hand, then that of Rhys, nodded to Alexander, then took the key to the high chamber. He could feel a cold wind blowing through the lock as he inserted the key.

  It turned easily and the door swung open, seemingly of its own accord. They clustered together, peering into the room.

  Three windows there were, just as Rafael had heard in that tale. The ones on either side were shuttered, the larger one in the middle open. Beyond them, the sea shone, reflecting the light of the stars and moon, and the air was cold. There was even a bit of snow on the floor, though it glittered with a light that seemed unholy.

  “There is a rose,” Alexander murmured.

  “A red, red rose,” Catriona agreed.

  “Wrought of ice,” Rhys said.

  Catriona kissed Rafael’s cheek in her concern and he pulled his dagger from his belt. He strode across the chamber and claimed the red, red rose.

  It was cold, colder than the grave.

  He pivoted to face them, noting their fear.

  Rafael would show none. “I will return with Elizabeth, or not at all,” he vowed, then bowed low.

  Then Rafael buried the hilt of his knife into the mortar on the window sill. He leapt to stand upon that sill, feeling the wind from another realm lift his cloak. He glanced back, saluted the others, then strode over the threshold into the Fae realm.

  Elizabeth savored the second pomegranate seed, with its taste of mingled sour and sweet. She closed her eyes, letting Rafael’s voice fill her mind.

  “They tell me that I was born in Pamplona in Navarre, as I recounted to you already, and that I was born both early and in poor health. I told you of my four older sisters, and my responsibility for their death, but refused to tell you more of it. My mother was resolved that the entire family should pilgrimage to Compostela to pray for my improved health. It was because of me that they undertook the journey, and because of me that they contracted the plague. They were all lost there, lost to the plague, though my father and I survived. He returned to his former employ with the Castilian fleet, which attacked towns along the English coast at the behest of the French king. Men of our kind were known for our effectiveness in battle and for being relentless opponents.” A note of humor lit his tone. “It could be said I come honestly by my trade and reputation.”

  Elizabeth gripped the fruit more tightly.

  “He left me in the care of his unwed brother in Gijón, a man I remember as kindly. He was killed in the assault upon that town by pirates, protecting me. A stranger saw my uncle’s care for me, and though he could do naught for my uncle, he carried me with him as he fled. He left me in the care of a monastery in the hills. He had no coin to donate along with the responsibility of me, and I remember the brothers were not pleased to have another mouth to feed. From the earliest age, I knew myself to be unwelcome. The labor was hard there and the rations small. There was one brother who saved bread for me and was kind.” Rafael paused in his story for a moment and Elizabeth feared he would cease his confession. “I was with him when the monastery was attacked and burned. I do remember him being slaughtered before my eyes and the smell of the flames as all was razed. I had seen six summers.”

  Elizabeth could not imagine enduring such an attack or knowing so much of death at such a young age.

  “Much happened quickly in subsequent years. I was captured by the raiders and put to work on one of their ships. One day, without warning, I was sold or perhaps even given to a ship commanded by Pero Niño, which departed shortly thereafter for the Mediterranean. The crew were Castilian and Basque, and I learned much in their company. As has become the mark of my days, though, I was not to savor that situation long. They entered a battle with Tunisian pirates once in the Mediterranean and lost. I was taken captive, along with the rest of the crew who were not killed. They were saved by another force. I was sold to Ibrahim.”

  Elizabeth felt her eyes widen in dismay.

  “Ibrahim was not a bad man, I can see that now, although at the time I despised him. He thought me a heathen or an infidel, no better truly than an animal, though slightly more useful. I labored hard for him, because he beat me when he was dissatisfied, and in time I learned both his language and some of his trade. He would never have taught anything to me, given my origins, but I watched covertly and learned much. He bought and he sold goods, always at a profit, traveling ceaselessly i
n search of new wares. He would have sold anything to make a coin. He sold tales when he had no goods to sell.” Rafael smiled sadly. “He told me often that he would have sold me, if he could have found a buyer for a child so lazy and ugly.”

  Elizabeth’s heart clenched.

  “He knew much of healing, too, for his father had been a physician and his mother knew much of herbs. He spoke seldom of them, but I believe he had been bastard-born, and his father denied him.” Rafael expression turned intense. “Brutality is learned, Elizabeth. As Ibrahim had been treated, so he treated me. I remember being hungry with Ibrahim. I remember my gut aching with emptiness. I remember being bound in my corner, for he did not trust me not to flee him and he had paid good coin for me. I remember being compelled to watch him eat with leisure and satisfaction. He told me, in halting Castilian, that a man could not expect to have anything he could not afford to buy for himself. I had no coin. I had no prospect of gaining any. He told me I was no better than an animal, and he beat me like a donkey. And I despised that I was so hungry that I did eat like an animal when he deigned to cast me a morsel.”

  Rafael’s voice dropped low. “I remember how much I hated him. It was fury that kept me alive, and a determination to survive simply to show Ibrahim that I was better than he believed. I wanted also to see myself avenged upon Ibrahim. And so it could be said that Ibrahim cast the die in making me what I am.”

  Again, Rafael paused, then cleared his throat. “You see that you have asked much of me, for I must confess my sins and condemn myself to you, when truly I would seek your favor above all others.” His soft laughter sounded wry to Elizabeth. “I called it aright when I thought you an angel, for it is angels who compel us to admit the truth, and angels who may judge us for our faults. I pray you will not judge mine too harshly.”

  Elizabeth gripped the fruit and pressed yet more juice from the kernel.

  “The day came, of course, when the tide turned against Ibrahim. He had aged, of course, and was no longer so strong as once he had been. I had seen sixteen summers then, and although thin, I was stronger than he knew. I let him beat me at the end, wanting to sustain his conviction that he had me utterly in his control. In truth, I awaited my moment, like a viper in the garden, and it came to be in Ceuta. Ibrahim had the misfortune of being in that town when the Portuguese attacked it, intent upon reclaiming it and control of the gate between the Mediterranean and the ocean.”

  Rafael sighed. “I had never seen the like. The slaughter was tremendous, the chaos nigh overwhelming. Ibrahim was called to assist the wounded, and to his credit or perhaps due to ignorance, he went. Perhaps he thought the fee would be worth the risk. But it was a trap, and though he was not the target, he was caught within the rout. Those snared in that square turned to flee, a great stamping mob that would not be halted in their frenzy. Ibrahim was pushed down hard and he fell, breaking his ankle and nearly trammeled to death. He rolled against the wall and put his arms over his head. His error was in appealing to me for help. It was the moment of opportunity I had awaited.”

  Rafael pursed his lips. “I acted on impulse at first, the slave determined to avoid a beating. I carried him from that square and returned him to his lodgings. He was shaking with his relief and declared he was in my debt.” Rafael looked up. “I asked for the key to my fetters. When he declined, when he laughed, I was enraged.”

  He cleared his throat. “I am not proud of what I did that day, but I survived because of my choices. I took the key forcibly, careless of what injury I did to him. I took the best of what he had, his garb, his weapons, and I left him there to die. Indeed, as I stood on the threshold and he pleaded for my aid, I taunted him as he had so often taunted me. Better you than me.” Rafael frowned. “Brutality is learned, and its lesson was not one I soon forgot. I fought alongside the Portuguese, earning their respect with my deeds. I had naught to lose and all to gain, and I was as merciless as my countrymen are reputed to be. I fought with vigor from that day forth, earning coin to buy what I desire and relying upon no man to ensure that I am fed, clothed and safe from harm.”

  Elizabeth turned the fruit in her hand, a tear on her cheek for what he had endured.

  A smile touched Rafael’s lips. “When first I heard the tale of Mìo Cid, I thought it a fable to entertain those who knew naught of war. I believed no man could show both honor and fight to win. And then, about seven years ago, a knight joined our forces, a knight from far to the north, with steel in his gaze and a ferocious power in his sword. His name was Malcolm Lammergeier. He had barely joined our ranks when I saw him risk all for the sake of a stranger, a remarkable deed.”

  Rafael nodded in obvious recollection. “We had stormed a town, and there was looting and mayhem in the aftermath of triumph, as always there is. Several men had cornered a young woman, who was no whore, and meant to take her by force. I would not have been surprised if they left her dead or near to it by the time they were sated. Malcolm came to her defense, though he was sorely outnumbered, and when the tide turned against him, I could not let his choice cost his life.” He grimaced. “It cost the noble line of his nose. Perhaps my understanding that a man could be both warrior and man of honor began on that night, though I did not guess as much at the time.”

  His voice dropped lower, his tone so intimate that she ached for him. “I believed myself doomed, Elizabeth. I believed this world was the only existence that mattered and that the only consequences would be my own survival or death. I believed that, until I saw an angel, and she reminded me that there is merit in my heart, until she compelled me to treat her with the honor she deserved and showed me fully what I had lost.”

  Elizabeth could have listened to Rafael’s tales forever. It was so wondrous to hear his voice. Although she knew she should savor this prize, she could not keep herself from listening to just one more.

  She took a third seed and closed her eyes, smiling at the sound and sight of Rafael in her mind.

  Her smile broadened as he confided the tale of his father discovering him and endowing him with a legacy.

  Elizabeth’s eyes flew open. Rafael had the right to ask for her hand! He could leave his trade as a mercenary!

  If only she could escape Finvarra’s court.

  That was the moment Elizabeth knew that Rafael would come for her.

  Twenty

  Elizabeth was at the board in Finvarra’s hall, hoping with all her heart that the pomegranate was a portent. She glanced up when there as a fanfare and her heart stopped cold.

  Rafael himself strode into the Fae court, so fearless that she was thrilled. His gaze was resolute, his stride determined, his expression as inscrutable as ever. He looked neither to the left nor to the right, but marched to stand before Finvarra’s throne. He halted there, facing the Fae king but not looking into his eyes.

  He looked precisely as he had in the visions granted to her by the pomegranate.

  Elizabeth could not keep herself from scanning him greedily to note each and every detail. His garb was richer than it had been before and the small embroidered pomegranate on his tabard had been replaced by a larger emblem. Perhaps he was in service now to a great baron, instead of laboring as a mercenary. The most striking change in him was the shock of white hair at his temple, precisely where she had seen him struck.

  Rafael was alive.

  He had confided in her.

  And he had come for her.

  Elizabeth was both exultant to see him and terrified at the price he might pay for his valor. The Fae fell silent, their reveries stilled by the presence of the intruder.

  Elizabeth could have reached out a finger to touch his boot.

  Finvarra’s grip tightened on the arm on his throne and Elizabeth imagined that the king knew why Rafael had come.

  She hoped he would not do Rafael injury, but dropped her gaze as if more interested in her cup of mead. It was easy to recall Rafael’s own words.

  A man who means to survive does not reveal all he knows.


  She felt Finvarra glance her way, then back at Rafael, who remained silent.

  “What brings you to my court, mortal?” Finvarra demanded, his manner regal. “Have you the desire to dance again?” He waved a hand and the music began once more, a merry jig sufficient to set any toe to tapping. A group of Fae began to dance, sparkling as they frolicked toward Rafael. They joined hands in a circle and danced around him, creating a circle of gold around his knees.

  He neither moved nor spoke. Elizabeth wondered how Rafael would save her if he could not speak, then he tucked his hand into his tabard. When he pulled out his hand, he brandished a red, red rose that glittered as if it had been wrought of ice. Rafael cast it on the floor of the hall, then ground it beneath the heel of his boot, his expression impassive. Finvarra caught his breath, and behind him, Una smiled.

  “What travesty is this?” Finvarra demanded.

  Rafael said naught. He reached into his tabard once more. When he pulled out his hand again, a small familiar creature was standing on his palm, her chest puffed with self-importance.

  Darg! Elizabeth had to drop her gaze to hide her anticipation.

  Darg bowed low to Finvarra. “My king who left the red, red rose, bride price for the maiden who you chose, that boon is now restored to you, as untouched as the morning dew.”

  Finvarra was discomfited by this, Elizabeth could see. Did the return of the rose ensure her freedom? She could not be certain, but Una’s delight was undisguised.

  “Your hold weakens over your prize,” the queen whispered to her spouse, who did not deign to reply. “At the very least, this man should be granted one request.”

  “Not her,” Finvarra growled.

  “Surely your honor demands that you cannot keep a maiden without paying her bride price,” Una murmured.