The Rose Red Bride JK2

by Claire Delacroix

  And his body responded to her presence most keenly. Her eyes were flashing and her hair was loosing itself from her braid, her cheeks were flushed and she looked ripe enough to ravish. What sorcery could she summon, that merely the sight of her would awaken such a lust within him? He wanted naught other than to cast her over his shoulder and carry her away, to possess her over and over again, to taste every increment of her flesh a hundred times.

  But why had she come to his aid now? He cast a suspicious glance about himself, telling himself that she must have come to bring more woe upon his head.

  There were only four of them in the anteroom to the dungeon, the fourth being a young dark-haired girl who resembled Vivienne sufficiently to be kin. She did not appear to be a threat to his survival, but one never knew.

  He slanted a cautious glance at Vivienne and his heart leapt when he found her gaze locked upon him. Her full lips tightened in disapproval and she took a deep breath that made the curves of her breasts strain against her kirtle.

  “What manner of fool are you to assault those come to rescue you?” Vivienne demanded, her manner disparaging. Her voice trembled, though, and he knew she had feared he might have been successful.

  Indeed, he had come close to injuring his sole reliable companion.

  “How dare you injure the man loyal enough to aid you?” Vivienne continued. “What manner of witless fool tries to ensure that he is not saved?”

  There was little Erik could say to that, so he said nothing at all. Indeed, the vigor of his body’s response to Vivienne’s presence was nigh overwhelming. He took a step away from her and turned his back upon her. He would remain as aware of her presence as ever but she might be insulted by his manner.

  “I thank you for that greeting,” Ruari said gruffly. “Remind me never to leave you vexed, lad, if that is the welcome I receive when you are glad to see me.”

  “I am sorry. I thought you came to lead me to my death.”

  “I know what you thought, lad,” Ruari retorted. “But you might have looked afore you leapt.” He shuddered and coughed, making more of a spectacle of his recovery that Erik truly thought was deserved.

  The other maiden patted Ruari upon the back with sympathy. She was pretty enough, young and curvaceous.

  Ruari, the old rogue, fairly blossomed beneath her attentions.

  “Oh, you are the heart and soul of kindness, upon that any sorry soul might rely,” he crooned. “Could you rub my back a bit, lass? Have you ever been told that you have the touch of a healer? I should know, for I am descended from a long and exalted line of healers, and I tell you that I can feel the gift in your touch...”

  “A wise man once taught me that time was of the essence in surprising an assailant,” Erik muttered, knowing full well that Ruari would recognize William Sinclair’s counsel.

  Ruari ignored him. “Here, lass. A bit to the left, on this shoulder here. Aye, there cannot be a shred of doubt about it, you have the fingers of an angel.” He smiled up at the maiden, who rubbed his back with greater vigor while he sighed contentment. “A veritable angel.”

  “An apology is as little unless it is accepted,” Vivienne said.

  Erik felt the back of his neck heat, knowing that the older man deliberately tormented him. “I halted as soon as I recognized you, Ruari. Again I say I am sorry.”

  Ruari snorted. “Your vision fades before its time, lad. I would have thought you might have recognized me sooner.”

  “You should see Ruari rewarded for his efforts in seeing you rescued.” Vivienne said. “He was most valiant.”

  Ruari fairly preened beneath this praise.

  “I have thanked him,” Erik said tersely. “Though he declines the honor I would grant him. Time there will be to argue about the matter once we are freed of Ravensmuir.”

  “True enough, lad,” Ruari said and finally pushed to his feet. “This slender advantage may not endure overlong.” The men shook hands and exchanged a glance that resolved all.

  “What happens in the hall above?” Erik asked. “It sounds to be a fight. Has the laird lost the order of his hall?”

  Ruari nodded, but it was Vivienne who spoke first. She came to Erik’s side and laid a hand upon his arm, her touch sending a treacherous shiver over his flesh. He should have expected her to touch him, should have expected her to try to draw his eye to her again. She had to know the potency of her caress, the power she held over him.

  Indeed, a fire danced through his veins from the point where her fingertips rested upon his flesh. He scarce dared to breathe, he dared not speak directly to her. He dared not so much as glance her way, so volatile was his desire for her.

  “It is a fight,” she said. “One launched by Ruari’s reciting of your tale.”

  His tale? Ruari had told his tale? Panic flickered deep within Erik, a terror that was not tempered by Ruari’s chagrined expression. “What is this?”

  “I had no choice, lad.” Now it was Ruari who was contrite. For once in all his days, the man knew he had said too much. “I had need of a tale to gain admission to the laird’s hall. I told the sole tale I know.”

  “You had no right!” Erik said in a low voice and Ruari knew the portent of that tone well enough to fidget.

  “I know, lad, I know, but the greater good is served...”

  Erik interrupted him angrily. “What greater good is served by baring a man’s soul to a company of strangers and mercenaries?”

  “It was a wondrous tale,” Elizabeth enthused, either oblivious or indifferent to Erik’s anger. “Ruari told of you and of Nicholas and of Beatrice, and their deception, and of your children and...”

  Erik needed to hear no more. “What in the name of God were you doing?” he bellowed, almost regretting that he had not finished his earlier assault. “You could have told any tale at all! There was no need to recount this one! You cannot tell my tale to anyone you so choose!”

  “But...”

  “You have no right to tell that tale and you know it as well as I,” Erik continued. “It is not your tale!”

  Ruari pushed to his feet with an effort, then granted the younger man a steady glance. “Aye, it is your tale, true enough, though my telling of it has seen you released from imprisonment and saved from certain death or dismemberment.” Ruari huffed and Erik knew his companion was insulted.

  But Erik might as well have had his garb torn away, so bare felt he. It was his tale, his alone, his to share or not to share, as he so chose.

  He had been robbed of that choice. Now Vivienne and her entire family knew that he had nothing to his name, that he had been fool enough to be called a cuckold and cheated of his inheritance, that his name was worth nothing at all. Not only was he a scarred cripple: Nay, now Vivienne knew that his father had disavowed him, that his children had been stolen, that his very ability to create children had been cast into doubt. It was one thing to have been beguiled by her charms, another to have lost any dignity in her eyes.

  Though now he understood the reason why she had come to assist him. It was pity that had brought Vivienne to his aid after her betrayal, no more than that.

  But Erik did not desire her aid, not if pity was its root.

  * * *

  Even as Erik seethed, Ruari made a great fuss over smoothing his rumpled tabard. “I thought it a fitting use of the tale, to be certain, though if you disagree, we can readily lock you back into that cell, and we can ensure that this key -” he waved the offending piece of brass beneath Erik’s nose “- that this key is never found again. Is that your preference, my lord?” he asked, his tone cloying. “I certainly would not wish to defy your desire to die by risking my own life to save you.”

  Erik held up a hand, but was not to be granted a chance to speak. Ruari continued his tirade, barely halting for breath. “Far be it for me, a mere servant, to assume that you might prefer to live rather than to die. Far be it for me, a mere paid escort, albeit one pledged to aid you by a promise made to a man who pledged vengeance f
or all eternity if I failed, far be it for me...” His voice rose in volume.

  Vivienne stepped between the men, her gaze simmering in a most troubling way. “To summon Hamish back to his duty with too much loud talk,” she interrupted crisply.

  When Erik and Ruari turned to her, she shook her head as if chiding naughty children. “If you mean to escape undetected and create a distraction to do so, you should have the wits to utilize that distraction.”

  The timeliness and good sense of her argument stole the thunder of Erik’s anger.

  “Well, indeed,” Ruari said, his color rising anew as he adjusted his belt.

  Vivienne crossed to a bench which the guard must have used, and reached for a familiar weapon. “And here is your blade,” she said.

  To Erik’s astonishment, she handed it to him, ensuring that he was armed once again. He wondered at her intent even as he welcomed the familiar weight of the blade into his hand. This deed made no sense, given what she had already done.

  Perhaps he had been loosed for sport. One heard tales of the unholy entertainments demanded by nobles in the south, and truly these lands were alien in a thousand small ways. Perhaps there was a greater challenge ahead and even Vivienne did not perceive it to be fair for him to be without a weapon. Though Erik did not grant much weight to rumor, the prospect made him deeply uneasy.

  The sisters clearly did not share his trepidation, which was no good sign. The younger one nodded and spoke crisply. “We must enter the caverns before they realize we are gone.”

  “What caverns?” Ruari and Erik asked in unison.

  “The labyrinth that stretches beneath the keep of Ravensmuir,” Vivienne explained. “There are many disguised entries to it, and many portals along the coast. It offers the best chance to escape undetected.”

  “It is not the provenance of women to make such schemes,” Ruari said gruffly. It was clear he shared Erik’s discomfiture, for he too looked over his shoulder, then up at the ruckus still erupting from the hall overhead. The men exchanged a glance of uncertainty.

  Vivienne granted Ruari an arch glance. “And what would be your alternate plan for escape? We can scarce pass through the hall undetected, as Erik is tall and has already been displayed as my uncle’s prisoner.”

  Ruari colored and for once had nothing to say.

  “But how shall we find our way, if it is truly a labyrinth?” Erik asked, not troubling to hide his skepticism.

  “We shall follow the spriggan, of course,” Elizabeth said.

  “What is this?” Ruari demanded in a yelp, then crossed himself with vigor.

  “A spriggan is a fairy,” Vivienne said.

  “I know what a spriggan is,” Ruari retorted hotly. “Though little good comes of them and their kind, to be certain.” He eased closer to Erik. “Spriggans are more mischievous than most fairies, which says little good of them indeed. And they are said to be able to change form on demand, becoming as large as a house and as terrifying as a storm on the sea.” He dropped his voice. “Only a fearsome sorcerer would ever claim to command such an unholy creature.” And he crossed himself again.

  Vivienne was dismissive of this warning. “The spriggan is named Darg and she is not so fearsome as you claim. Only Elizabeth can see Darg, unfortunately, but she has agreed to grant her aid.”

  “This child commands the spriggan?” Ruari said with awe and regarded the younger sister with new wariness.

  “You were the one to claim she had a healing touch,” Erik reminded the older man, who blanched. Erik, for his part, placed no credence in this spriggan’s presence.

  He tightened his grip upon his blade, fully convinced that he was being led into a trap. He did not care. He could and would fight any man, now that he was freed from the cell and had his sword once more. Erik had but to triumph in this challenge to see himself free of Ravensmuir, that much was clear.

  The error the Lammergeier had made was that in failing to understand how much he needed that victory.

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  The sisters seemed oblivious to the men’s concerns. They turned as one and lifted torches from the wall, so at ease with their mention of fairies and labyrinths that Erik was only more convinced that the tale was a lie.

  “This way,” Elizabeth said, resting her hand upon the hewn stone of the far wall. There was a shadow that had been hidden by the torch she had lifted away, and that shadow tilted beneath her touch. A gap appeared in the stone there, and the sisters fitted their hands into the space, forcing a portal to open there.

  Vivienne glanced back at Erik, her eyes alight with determination and some other emotion that made his heart skip in a most unruly manner. He told himself that it was only natural that his body responded with such vigor to her, for she was beauteous and he knew already of the depth of her passion.

  All the same, he hoped that the price of escape from the labyrinth was not a triumph over this particular beauty.

  The light of the flames gilded Vivienne’s auburn hair and caressed her cheek, making her look regal and far beyond his aspirations. Her vitality made a lump rise in his throat, the bold sparkle in her eyes made him yearn to meet her abed once more.

  For a dangerous moment as their gazes locked and held, Erik did not care whether she was the spawn of relic traders and thieves, or whether she had condemned him to captivity and torture. He saw only that she stood fearless on the threshold of a terrifying darkness. Her bravery was not due to folly, for he could see the intelligence in her gaze, which only made him admire her audacity all the more.

  And for that potent moment when time stood still, Erik Sinclair knew only that he wanted to be with Vivienne again, for as many or as few moments as were possible, for any time in her company would be well worth any price demanded of him.

  This he knew was the true threat of Vivienne, this descendant of sorcerers with her unholy allure. She had betrayed him and, without a word of explanation or apology from her, he was prepared to forget what he knew and to trust her anew -- or at least to bed her once again. His body defied his own good sense, and desire would trick him into error.

  He knew better than to be so readily seduced.

  Erik forced his expression to become grim as he steeled himself against Vivienne. He claimed a torch and stepped past her as if she were not awaiting him, as if there was no expectation in her eyes, as if the scent of her flesh did not make his very innards clench. He told himself not to feel a cur when the shadow of disappointment touched her expression.

  He did not trust Vivienne; he dared not do so. She had saved him only to lead him to greater peril. At least, she would abandon him in a labyrinth and leave him to wander until he died of starvation and thirst. No fairy which could only be seen by one of the sisters was going to be his salvation.

  “It might well be a trap, but I suppose we have little choice, lad,” Ruari muttered, unconsciously echoing Erik’s thoughts. He cocked his head at a sudden crash from the noisy hall above. “We will not cross that hall unobserved.”

  Erik nodded and lifted his sword high. “A man can only choose the path that looks less dire and hope for the best,” he replied as he stepped over the threshold of stone.

  To his surprise, there were steps hewn out of the rock, steps that led downward. A waft of sea air teased his nostrils and he felt a burgeoning hope that he truly would escape Ravensmuir.

  It was enough to send him striding into darkness, following the dancing flame of Elizabeth’s torch.

  * * *

  Like Elizabeth, Vivienne would have preferred to remain out of the caverns beneath Ravensmuir.

  Unlike Elizabeth, Vivienne did not particularly trust the spriggan Darg to lead them out of the labyrinth. She dared not show her trepidation, not when both Ruari and Erik were so clearly skeptical of this course, but her heart skipped in fear when she stepped into the chill of the labyrinth.

  It was so dark. The flickering torches did not seem to cast their light far into the endless b
lackness of this place, nor did the heat from the flames seem to disperse the coldness emanating from the rock.

  Vivienne knew that there were a thousand branchings of the path, a thousand false corridors, more than a thousand dead ends. The network had been partly carved by nature, partly expanded by men who sought places to hide. It was like the comb of a hive, and Vivienne had always been convinced that there were caches of bones from those who had entered the caverns and not been able to find their way out.

  She hoped they would not join that company.

  “You should close the portal,” Elizabeth said with authority, pointing back to the opening that gaped wide. As Ruari was the last to step over the threshold, he crossed himself, visibly muttered a prayer, then reached to do her bidding. The dungeon disappeared as the large stone settled audibly in place.

  Vivienne swallowed, for the shadows grew even deeper and the air seemed colder than it had just a moment before. Their torches flickered in unison at the change in the air, then settled. She could hear the whistle of the wind and the crash of the sea.

  There had been a storm coming, she recalled, though here she felt more at its mercy than within the stronghold of Ravensmuir’s high walls.

  “There is a draft,” Erik said, his words echoing around them. “It smells of the sea.”

  Indeed, the flames now all appeared to be blowing back toward the dungeon. Vivienne inhaled deeply, relieved by this evidence of an opening somewhere below them.

  They had only to find it.

  “This way!” Elizabeth said with a confidence Vivienne did not share, and darted down the wide steps of hewn stone. She disappeared quickly, for the descent was tortuously curved, though the light from her torch guided the others onward.

  There was no rail, only the stone wall to steady oneself upon, and the steps were neither level nor of the same height. Occasionally, a trickle of water made its way down a stone wall, splashing in some unseen pool far beneath them. The shadows seemed more ominous with each step, their secrets just barely kept at bay by the light of the torches. Each time an opening yawned wide on one side of the path or the other, Vivienne wondered what threats lurked within it.