Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances

by Claire Delacroix

  Erik shrugged again.

  “But then, you have done no different! And I was fool enough to accept your advances!”

  Erik merely watched her, letting her make her own conclusions. His complacence infuriated Vivienne as little else could have done. Erik had chosen her, he would use her, he would cast her aside when he had his son of her, and he did not even have the grace to be ashamed of his deeds.

  It was difficult to be certain which brother was the less honorable!

  “Then it is true that no good deed goes unpunished,” Vivienne said, not troubling to hide her anger. “I did not tell my family of the base manners of Nicholas Sinclair, for I saw no reason to defame a man when he was unlikely to return. And what reward is mine for such courtesy? My brother, out of ignorance of the Sinclair brothers and their dark schemes, believed that Nicholas might come court my hand. Worse, he thought that I might welcome that suit!”

  Ruari clicked his tongue in disapproval and ran a hand over his brow. The older man sat down heavily, as if burdened overmuch by what he had learned.

  Vivienne glared at Erik. “And what will be my fate in this? You have already despoiled me and kidnapped me. Do you mean to leave me for dead in some forgotten corner of Christendom once I have served your purpose? Will I be left to earn my keep as a harlot in some distant hall once you have had your child of me? Or will you return me to Kinfairlie to collect my brother’s offered ransom? It is you who have called me chattel, after all!”

  “I have already told you,” Erik said curtly. “I mean to conceive a son with you, a son whose paternity cannot be questioned, and I meant to raise that son as my own. The Earl of Sutherland will ensure your safety while you ripen, thus he and I have already agreed. You will be rewarded more richly than any courtesan has ever been paid for her trouble, and whatsoever you do after that is entirely your concern.”

  He managed to say no more, for Vivienne slapped his face with all her might. “Wretch!” she cried. “No man of honor treats a woman thus!” Her words plus her blow wrought silence between the three of them.

  Then Ruari whistled between his teeth. “She is far from biddable, this wench.”

  “I am no wench!” Vivienne cried, then granted Erik her most ferocious glare. “You will have to tie me down to get a child upon me, and murder me to tear it from my arms. I will surrender nothing to the likes of you, no matter what the cost to myself.”

  Erik’s eyes were an unholy blue as he regarded her, his words uttered with soft menace. “If that is what is required, then so be it,” he said, then turned upon his heel and left her fuming.

  “You will never best a Sinclair, lass, upon that you can rely,” Ruari counseled in an undertone. “Better grant him his desire easily and be done with it.”

  “On the contrary, I have bested a Sinclair before,” Vivienne retorted, turning upon the older man. “And I shall do it again, Ruari Macleod, upon that you can rely.”

  Erik stared at the swelling of the sea, fighting his desire to soothe Vivienne. She was enraged, as any reasonable woman would be. It was true that he had chosen her because she had spurned Nicholas, though not for vengeance alone. She had been the sole person he knew who had an immunity to Nicholas’ charm. Given all that he had endured at Nicholas’ instigation, that had seemed a compelling enough reason to choose her for his own.

  The lady, however, might see matters otherwise. It was better to say less, in his opinion, than to cast fuel on the flames of her fury. Beatrice had been able to turn his own words against him so adroitly that he had learned long ago to say less to an angry woman rather than more.

  Erik cast a sidelong glance in Vivienne’s direction, her posture making it clear that she was still livid. She stood with her chin high and her arms folded across her chest as she stared back toward Kinfairlie. The setting sun danced in her hair, the loose tendrils waving on the rising wind.

  “I understand now why you did not wed her,” Ruari said from sudden proximity. “You cannot know that she will bring you a son until she does.”

  “And if so, and if she is willing, then I will wed her, but not before.”

  “And if not?”

  “Then I shall take another maiden to my bed. I have little choice, Ruari, for the Earl of Sutherland has decreed that he will aid me only if there is clear succession for Blackleith.”

  “He is not the only one who tires of war, then.” Ruari shook his head. “But it is a poor way for man and woman to be together, that is for certain.”

  “I handfasted to her,” Erik offered, wanting his father’s loyal servant to think somewhat better of him.

  “Did you then?” Ruari nodded approval. “’Tis better than naught and, in the circumstance, a wise choice.”

  The two men looked as one toward the lady, still standing as straight as a blade and appearing to ignore them utterly.

  “A handfasting is a scarce measure for most women these days, though,” Ruari acknowledged. “They want the blessing of a priest, as I expect this one does.”

  “If all is well in a year, then she will have it.” Erik spared another glance to Vivienne. He touched his cheek, which yet stung from her blow, and wondered how he would meet her abed this night. “Though it will take a measure of charm I may not possess to coax her abed again.”

  Ruari chuckled. “You might be surprised, lad. She could not be so angered with you if she did not have some fondness for you.” He clapped Erik on the shoulder. “And there are those fond of a woman who speaks her thoughts, no less one so prepared to demand that all meet a high moral code. She might well be a good partner for you in this quest.”

  Erik was not certain that the older man spoke rightly, but he was slightly encouraged. And there was but one way to create a son, so far as he knew, so he would have to mend matters with Vivienne this very night. If nothing else, he could ensure that they were without an audience for an interval.

  He pointed to the north. “If you ride along the coast, Ruari, you will find a copse of trees afore the sun sinks much lower. I will meet you there shortly.”

  “And what is this?” the older man demanded, clearly indignant that he was being dispatched. “You will not be rid of me so readily as that! I pledged to your own father…”

  “I do not mean to evade you, Ruari,” Erik said, interrupting what would likely become a long tirade. “In fact, I doubt it could be done.”

  “And there is the truth of it, to be sure! I am honor-bound to aid you, lad…”

  “Then aid me now and ride ahead.” Erik took a coil of rope from his saddlebag and spared his companion a steady glance. “There is a deed I must do afore we ride this night, and I would not have a witness.”

  The older man frowned. “You cannot mean to injure the lass. She may be outspoken but she is not wicked, and she does little in truth to injure you.” Ruari squinted at Erik. “Save speaking the truth when it might be unwelcome.”

  “I have need of a son, and she named the terms herself. My intent is to persuade her by less dire means. By the time darkness falls fully, I will meet you at that copse of trees.”

  “With the lady, of course.”

  “Of course, be she willing or nay.”

  Ruari appeared to be skeptical as he granted Vivienne another glance. Her pose had not eased a whit. “I shall pray for you, lad, that you do not sustain greater injury than already you have.”

  Erik inclined his head. “I thank you for that.”

  As Ruari nodded and strode away, Erik pivoted to find that Vivienne now faced him. She watched him with wary eyes, poised like a doe intending to flee, hair tossing in the wind. He hoped she would not make this difficult, then reminded himself not to care.

  One son was all he needed to set matters to rights.

  And he needed that son soon.

  Vivienne swallowed as Erik began to stride toward her. His expression was grim and the rope he carried was no good portent of his intent. She took a step backward and realized that she stood upon the point itse
lf, nothing but a tumble of rocks to the sea behind her. His pace toward her was relentless, and she noted with dread that his companion was leaving.

  The sorry fact was that Ruari had revealed a number of intriguing details, facts that could have made her more welcoming of Erik’s attentions if he had confessed some noble intent with regard to her. She was skeptical that Erik would confide any truth in her this night, given that length of rope.

  Erik paused a trio of steps away. He rested his weight upon his good leg, as she had seen him do before, and studied her. “You greeted me with enthusiasm last night,” he said quietly. “Will you readily do as much on this one?”

  “Last night, I thought you were my destined lover,” Vivienne declared. “While now I know you to be a man determined to avenge himself upon his brother at any cost.”

  She could have sworn a twinkle lit his eye. “A destined lover? Surely not. I thought you too sensible for such folly.”

  Vivienne’s face felt aflame as she nodded, so embarrassed was she by what she had believed. “It was because of Alexander’s tale, of course.”

  “What tale?”

  “Do you not know what he said to encourage me to sleep in that chamber?”

  Erik shook his head. “He pledged only that you would be there. He did not tell me how or why.” They stood in silence for a moment, then he eased his stance. “Tell me of it. How would such a destined lover have found you there, according to the tale?”

  Vivienne eyed the rope and decided that recounting this tale was the less troubling possibility for her next few moments. “By spying me through some portal between the realms…”

  “What realms?”

  “The realms of fairies and of mortals.” What might have passed for a smile touched his lips and Vivienne took a shaking breath. “The tale Alexander recounted was of a maiden, seduced each of three nights in sequence by a fairy lover smitten with her charms, then captured as his wife for all eternity. One of the windows in that chamber is reputed to open unto the fairy realm, by his accounting, and the maiden, once she departed thus, was never seen again.”

  “She was stolen then, as you were.”

  “She was courted by her lover true,” Vivienne corrected firmly. “And was claimed for the bride price of a red, red rose, a fairy rose which proved to be wrought of ice. The mark of its melting remains upon the floor of Kinfairlie’s hall, though the event occurred years past.”

  “Ah, so this is the root of your demand for a three-night courtship and a red, red rose.”

  Vivienne only flushed more deeply.

  Erik regarded her with an amusement that softened his features in a most alluring way. Vivienne wished he would look stern again, for it was easier to distrust him fully then. “And you believed this tale, with solely the proof of a glimmer upon the floor?”

  “It was true. It is true. I believe it yet.” Vivienne met his skeptical gaze. “It is not uncommon in these parts for mortals to find their way to the fairy realm, no less to be taken there. Not a hundred years ago, Thomas of Erceldoune did the very same, though he returned briefly to recount the tale of it.”

  “Doubtless he but strayed away from home and concocted a finer tale upon his return than the truth.”

  “He proved where he had been, by predicting future events with alacrity,” Vivienne argued. “Fairies can see the future, so he proved his visit there when his portents proved true.”

  “But there is no fairy realm. There is naught in all creation save what a man can see and hold in his hands.”

  “I know that to be less than the truth.”

  “Yet you did not meet a fairy lover, much less a destined one.”

  And Vivienne could summon no argument against that. All the same, their gazes locked and held for a long moment, a moment in which the wind seemed to still around them and the air grow warm. Vivienne recalled her instinctive desire to welcome this man, no less the magic they had wrought together in the tower chamber so easily. She stared into his eyes and remembered her curious sense that they loved as if they had loved a thousand times before and she wondered then if she had unwittingly uttered a truth.

  What if Erik was her destined lover, albeit a mortal one? She wondered whether he thought much the same, for his eyes darkened to an unruly indigo. It was not the first time she had sensed that their thoughts were as one, which surely was a mark of those fated to be together.

  The prospect fairly made her dizzy. What if she had been granted the chance to have her every desire fulfilled?

  Erik cleared his throat and frowned, tearing his gaze from hers. His hand flexed upon the rope, as if he was keenly aware suddenly of its burden and its import. “So you slept in that chamber, seeking the same fate as this Thomas of Erceldoune or the maiden of Alexander’s tale?”

  “And you came through the window, and you seduced me sweetly,” Vivienne said, for she knew she was no fool even if she had behaved impulsively. “Thus I believed that the same tale came true for me as for the lost maiden.”

  Erik studied her with narrowed eyes. “The mortal truth of me must be a disappointment indeed for one who expected a fairy prince.”

  “Your scheme for my future certainly is.” Vivienne saw uncertainty in his expression and dared to believe that he had been driven to do what was not in his nature. She took a chance, and met him toe to toe, then tapped a finger upon his chest. “What would your father think of this deed you insist upon? Would he be gladdened to know that you were prepared to truss a woman to get a child upon her?”

  Erik’s eyes flashed. “My father and his opinions are of no import in this!”

  Vivienne persisted despite his manner, for she suspected that he would not injure her. She needed to know which side of him was the truth of his nature. “Would your father be glad to know that you chose a woman simply because she had denied your brother?”

  “Likely so! If there is but one person in Christendom who is not seduced by my brother’s charm, it is only good sense to ally with that person in wresting back what he has stolen from me.”

  Vivienne regarded him in surprise. “You did not say as much before.”

  Erik shoved a hand through his hair and turned away with a frown. “Why I make any decision is not of import to you.”

  “Is it not, though it shapes my own fate?”

  He granted her a piercing glance. “But one thing shapes your fate, and that is your ability to conceive my son.” He hefted the rope. “How the deed is achieved is your choice.”

  “What a fine sentiment that is!” Vivienne retorted, stung again that he saw only one advantage in her presence and doubting more with every moment that he would use the rope. “Your father is dead, you have only just heard the tidings and you do not mourn him. Indeed, you think only of your pleasure.”

  Anger prompted Vivienne to say more than she should have done, but she doubted that Erik would hurt her and she felt she had little left to lose. “My father has been dead almost a year, and I mourn him every moment of every day. The day the tidings came, I wept like a babe all the day and through the night. What merit is there in bearing the son of a man who does not mourn the loss of his own sire? Perhaps it is better for all if the treacherous Sinclair clan is no more!”

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder and glared at him, telling herself not to be shaken by the bleak light that had claimed his eyes. “Do what you will to me,” she challenged. “You speak aright. I am your captive. I am no more than your chattel. I have been bought and sold, and I have no choice what my fate might be.”

  Vivienne jabbed her finger at her own chest. “But I can believe whatsoever I will, and I choose to believe that each soul has a fate, that every soul has a destined lover, that injustice will be righted. And I know that a man who does not mourn the death of his father is of no merit whatsoever in any realm. You will scarce persuade me otherwise. Get your son upon me and you can nurse that viper at your own breast.”

  Vivienne marched away from her astonished captor,
not truly believing that she would get far. It was long before his footsteps echoed behind her, though, even longer before his hand closed over her elbow. His grasp was gentle and she closed her eyes against her own weakness, knowing that if he chose to try to seduce her with his touch, he would succeed.

  “You speak fairly,” he said, his voice gruff. “Though no person can know what another suffers without seeing into that other’s heart.”

  Vivienne knew she should not turn, knew she should not meet his gaze, but did as much anyway. He was silhouetted against the evening sky, so still and intent of manner that her unruly heart skipped.

  The sky was smeared with orange and pink, a few dark clouds marring the splendid color. The stars had emerged above them, though the sun still burned red on the horizon. In the light of the dying sun, Erik’s hair looked more ruddy that she knew it to be and his scar was illuminated harshly.

  But there was pain in his eyes, pain that she knew was not feigned. “Why a son?” she whispered.

  He looked across the water, his expression somber. His words were soft when he spoke, an ache lurking beneath each of them. “Because my daughters are lost unless I can produce a son, mine beyond dispute, to reclaim Blackleith.” He looked down at her. “And he must be older than any son my brother begets. These are the conditions of the Earl of Sutherland, that there is a line of succession assured afore he aids me to reclaim Blackleith.”

  “Daughters?” Vivienne whispered, feeling her anger fade as surely as the sun’s light.

  “Two,” he admitted, bowing his head with a grief that made Vivienne yearn to console him. “I have not seen them in a year, I cannot know their fate. I dare not believe that Nicholas will treat my daughters more kindly than he did my wife.”

  “He killed her?”

  He shook his head and turned away, overwhelmed by the tidings he shared. Indeed, a lone tear made its course down his tanned cheek and though he did not wipe it away, his expression turned fierce.

  That single tear did more to challenge Vivienne’s conclusions than a torrent could. Indeed, she was reminded of a rock finally cracking beneath some pressure, of a fissure appearing where none had been before.