Rosamunde swore again then shouted. Padraig ran across the cavern, though Erik reached the spot where Elizabeth had jumped in first. The girl had not yet come to the surface. Erik dropped his blade and his cloak, then leapt into the water after her.
The water was cold beyond belief and darker than dark. Erik shivered then forced his eyes open. He spied Elizabeth far below him. He rose to the surface, took a deep breath, then plunged in pursuit of her.
Erik saw then that a long tendril of seaweed had found its way into this chasm. The motion of that dark plume and of the water itself indicated that the sea’s tides could still be felt here.
Which meant that it was close indeed.
Erik thought at first that Elizabeth was tangled within the seaweed, but she gestured agitatedly to him when he reached her side. She guided his hands to a knot in the weed and to his astonishment, he could feel a small limb trapped within its coils.
He could see naught but the coil of seaweed, but his fingers told no lie.
It must be Darg.
The spriggan must be snared.
That the fairy existed in truth was so startling that it took Erik a moment to realize that he could feel the creature’s struggles becoming more weak. Elizabeth tugged, but the plant was doughty and resisted her efforts to tear it. Erik fitted his fingers into the coil and tried to tear it himself, but to no avail.
Elizabeth, though, had been under the water for too long. Concerned for her fate first, Erik pushed her emphatically toward the surface. She fought against him, tapping his hands upon the coiled weed. Erik nodded with vigor, then pushed her upward once again.
With obvious reluctance, she went, though he did not doubt that she would be back. He was running out of breath himself, though the coil around Darg was fearsomely tight. The spriggan went limp even as Erik tried to free the vine, and he knew that he would have to loose the fairy immediately. He would never find this coil again, not without Elizabeth’s aid, and he wanted her to stay at the surface.
He tugged at the weed, but it seemed to clutch at the spriggan with greater defiance, as if weed and fairy fought their own battle. He struggled with the plant, wishing he had a blade and felt his chest tighten painfully.
In a last burst of effort before he was compelled to rise to the surface, Erik wrapped the length of seaweed around his fist and pulled with all his strength.
It broke somewhere further below. Erik did not care for the details. With the spriggan in the palm of his hand, he surged upward. He broke the surface, gasping for air.
To his relief, Elizabeth stood shivering and wet on the lip of the chasm. Rosamunde held her firmly, and Erik guessed she had forbidden the maiden to dive down again.
He found himself liking this aunt who was not truly an aunt, this woman who lived her life as a man but protected those chicks beneath her care as fiercely as a hen.
Rosamunde had wrapped a cloak over Elizabeth’s shoulders, her expression stern as the girl shivered. “It is madness to risk death for such an ungrateful creature,” she said, but Elizabeth was deaf to her aunt’s censure.
“Did you retrieve her?” Elizabeth fell to her knees, her face alight as Erik handed up the spriggan.
The strength of her concern reminded him of his eldest daughter’s affection for a lamb born too small once at Blackleith. Mairi had been determined to save it, though her will had been no match for the will of nature. He did not doubt that Mairi would have surrendered her own life to save the lamb, and that she would have taken such a risk without a second thought, just as Elizabeth had done for the spriggan. Though four springs had come and gone since that lamb’s demise, a lump rose in Erik’s throat at the recollection all the same.
“It may be too late,” he said.
Elizabeth cupped her hands, cradling the invisible troublemaker, then eased away the vine with care. She pumped something with a fingertip, and a gush of black water appeared on the stone. There was a minute cough, a sound that Erik barely discerned, then more water appeared. Elizabeth smiled with relief.
“Well?” Rosamunde demanded.
“She lives!” Elizabeth said, then turned glowing eyes upon Erik. “With your aid. I thank you truly!”
“What good fortune that the wretch survives to better assault me another day,” Rosamunde said dryly. She bowed in Erik’s direction, her sarcasm more than clear. “I too thank you for your courtesy in this matter.”
Padraig meanwhile reached down a meaty hand to help Erik out of the chasm. Erik’s expression must have spoken volumes, for the other man muttered to him. “It is not the strangest sight I have seen in the vicinity of this family. You had best be prepared for more of the same if you mean to linger in their company.”
Erik braced his hands on the lip of the chasm and pulled himself out of the water without assistance, for he knew not whether this company could be trusted. Padraig sniffed and turned away, either unsurprised or insulted, Erik did not care.
For Vivienne appeared by his elbow then. Her eyes shone with mingled admiration and concern. “Are you injured?”
“I am but wet,” he said gruffly, well aware of Rosamunde’s condemning gaze upon him. “And that will scarce injure me.”
“We all have need of a bath at least once a year,” Padraig said.
“Thank you for aiding Darg,” Elizabeth said, aglow with a pleasure that made Erik think once again of his daughter.
Indeed, he was sickened by the realization of what he had missed. How many times since his departure from Blackleith had Mairi been delighted with some detail he took for granted? How many such moments had he missed? And what of Astrid? She had barely been speaking when he had left to aid his neighbor. She would be talking and running by now, probably trying to best her older sister at every small feat.
“Though I do not share Elizabeth’s pleasure in that deed,” Rosamunde said. “I would thank you for aiding Elizabeth herself. I would have had much to answer for had she come to grief in my company.”
“It is as naught,” Erik said and turned away, distraught anew at what he had lost to his brother’s greed. “I must fetch my companion, now that the sisters are in good care.”
Rosamunde stayed him with a fingertip upon his arm. “You have not been welcomed at Ravensmuir, I would wager,” she said. “Not if you consider my care to be of any merit at all.”
“This is Erik Sinclair,” Vivienne interjected. “Alexander pledged my hand to him, but since has changed his thinking. He imprisoned Erik, but Erik and I have handfasted and I have agreed to help him to recover his lost holding.”
“Ah,” Rosamunde said, embuing the single sound with a weight of meaning. Her expression hardened. “And thus I am to believe that he, unlike all other men of my acquaintance, is somehow deserving of my assistance, as well?”
“I have no need of your assistance,” Erik said quickly. “I will simply retrieve my companion and be on my way.”
Rosamunde seemed skeptical of that claim. “What is your destination?”
“Blackleith, my family abode.”
“Seized by his duplicitous brother,” Vivienne interjected. “We have to reclaim it and ensure the welfare of Erik’s daughters.”
“Just like the tale!” Elizabeth said, her eyes round with wonder, then sneezed. Vivienne wrapped the cloak more closely around her sister’s shoulders.
Rosamunde pursed her lips, unimpressed by such credentials. “And where is the closest port?”
“I have no need of a port,” Erik said. “As we intend to ride.”
Rosamunde smiled. “You will have need of a horse to ride so far as that and I note that you have none.”
“We will climb to the stables.”
“Which you will be fortunate indeed to find, and more fortunate to escape unobserved,” Rosamunde said, one hand upon her hip. “The last time I was here, the Laird guarded his prized destriers with rare vigor. There were no less than twenty ostlers in his employ, and only half were permitted to sleep at one time.”
Rosamunde continued. “I, however, have a ship, and might be inclined to grant you passage to your destination.”
“Why?”
Rosamunde’s smile was wry. “To be sure, there would be a certain satisfaction to me in thwarting the plans of Alexander, who kneels too close to Tynan’s feet for my taste.”
“And the Laird of Ravensmuir is your sworn enemy?” Erik asked, looking pointedly at the crates still being moved from the caverns.
Rosamunde laughed. “One might say that there is a certain debt owing from him to me. At least I would say as much. Tell me your destination, for the storm grows no less.”
Erik was uncertain whether to trust this offer or not. Rosamunde’s gaze was steady, though, and she would scarcely be in alliance with the Laird of Ravensmuir since she was clearly stealing from him.
“Sutherland,” Erik began but got no further before Elizabeth sneezed once more.
“Sutherland!” Rosamunde swore softly. “With autumn coming on and this storm upon us, you would have me sail to Sutherland? All ships guided with good sense are making their ways south, to Rotterdam, at least, if not to La Rochelle or the Mediterranean itself.”
“Sicily,” Padraig interjected. “My vote is for Sicily.”
“You have no vote,” Rosamunde informed him, his mischievous smile telling Erik that Padraig knew as much.
“I yearn only for influence,” that sailor said, one hand over his heart.
Rosamunde laughed in her surprise. “You will not have it soon,” she said, then tapped a finger upon Vivienne’s shoulder. “It is fortunate that you are my favored niece,” she said with affection.
“What of me?” Elizabeth demanded, then sneezed again.
“You were my favored niece, until you took company with that malicious sprite.”
“Darg is a spriggan,” Elizabeth insisted, her dignity compromised somewhat by her persistent sneezing. “By her accounting, you are a thief, and she wants vengeance upon you.”
“What nonsense,” Rosamunde retorted, then yelped and jumped backward, her hand over her face. “Something bit my nose!” Indeed, a red welt rose on the tip of Rosamunde’s nose with alarming speed.
“Darg,” Elizabeth said, punctuating the information with a resounding sneeze.
“Tell this Darg to leave me be,” Rosamunde demanded. “I have as much right to Ravensmuir’s hoard as she.”
“She does not see the matter that way.”
Rosamunde began to dance wildly, as if evading a swarm of angry bees. “It is down my shirt!” she shrieked. “Make it stop! Control your spriggan, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth tilted her head to listen to something, asked a few questions, then nodded.
Rosamunde stilled as the assault evidently halted, though she looked about herself warily. “Where is it?”
“Upon your shoulder,” Elizabeth said. “Darg wishes to make a wager with you.”
“Oh no.” Rosamunde protested. “The hoard cannot be returned. Everything that ever I have claimed has been sold, and even much of the resulting coin is gone.”
“She will make a wager for a single piece, her favored piece.”
Rosamunde’s eyes narrowed. “Which one?”
“The silver ring you wear upon your left hand.”
Rosamunde lifted her hand and Erik saw that a large silver ring did grace her index finger. It was a massive piece of silver, but its value was clearly more than that. Both sisters looked solemn at the mere mention of it and Padraig froze. The consternation of all of them was clear.
It was clearly a sentimental piece, worth far more to Rosamunde than even its considerable value.
Rosamunde’s features softened as she regarded the ring. “It was never part of the hoard,” she insisted. “There can be no wager for this ring, for your spriggan cannot have favored it.”
Elizabeth spoke in an undertone, sneezed, then shook her head. “She desires it because it is precious to you. She calls it fit compense to demand what you value in exchange for what she valued.”
Rosamunde laughed, though her merriment sounded forced. “I do not value this trinket!” she said, though she did not remove it from her finger.
Vivienne and Elizabeth regarded her with sympathy. Rosamunde looked between the two of them, but when she spoke, it was of another matter. Erik guessed that the change of topic was no coincidence. “I will undertake the fool’s journey to Sutherland, though I cannot guess how long it will take us to find a favorable wind. I suppose you would prefer the port at Wick?” she asked of Erik.
He shrugged. “Helmsdale would suit me better. Though it is smaller, it is also further south.”
“I prefer small ports.” Rosamunde turned to Padraig, who supervised the workers once again. The cavern had been virtually picked clean while they spoke. “Padraig, you will take Erik and Vivienne to the ship, if you please, and await me there.”
“But...” Vivienne protested.
“I must fetch my companion,” Erik said. “I will not abandon him for he has served me faithfully.”
“A man of honor,” Rosamunde said with a sigh, her manner mocking. Erik did not know whether she mocked herself or him, so he said nothing. “Why could you not be thirty years older, Erik Sinclair?”
Rosamunde gave him no chance to reply before she strode toward the passageway that Erik and Vivienne had just left. Elizabeth sneezed once again, and Rosamunde seized her by the arm in passing, urging the girl to match her quick pace. “Come along, Elizabeth, you have need of a hot bath. You will not suffer so much as a cold beneath my care.”
“But Darg...”
“It is customary in all negotiations to leave each party time to consider his or her course,” Rosamunde said flatly. “I will find Erik’s companion more quickly than any of you might do. What is his name?”
“Ruari Macleod. He is a good thirty years my senior,” Erik began, but managed to say no more before Rosamunde laughed aloud.
“And that may be interesting enough. I shall see you shortly. Padraig, make all preparations to depart and ensure that no harm comes to my niece.” She seized a torch and marched Elizabeth into the corridor, even as that girl sneezed with vigor once again. The sisters called farewells to each other, then Padraig tapped Erik upon the elbow. He indicated the passageway that the men had followed, and the trio made their way toward the ship.
Vivienne granted him a triumphant glance, as if tempting him to trust her anew. “We shall be at Blackleith more quickly this way,” she said. “How fortuitous that Rosamunde was here this night.”
“It is not Fortune, but the new moon that brings her to this port,” Padraig said. “And the prospect of bounty to be had for the claiming.”
“The new moon was four nights past,” Erik noted and the sailor granted him a bright glance.
“It is new enough to serve. The wind cannot always be relied upon to do a man’s will.”
Erik cast a wary glance at the lady and recalled her assurance that she did not bleed. If she did not lie, and she did carry his child, her circumstance would change for the worse if she found herself abandoned. Erik knew that he could not trust his urges with regard to Vivienne, so he resolved to remain in her company only until she bled again.
That would show the truth of her circumstance. He would but wait honorably for nature to show what had been done. He would stand by whatsoever he had done thus far, though he would not touch Vivienne again.
He would simply wait, and watch. Erik did not so much as look at the lady as he made his choice, for it would be simpler if she thought him vexed with her.
She said she had bled two weeks past and he knew well enough that another fortnight would see her do so again, unless she bore his child. With luck, the seas would remain unruly and it would take them those two weeks to reach Sutherland. If she did not carry his son, he could leave her in the protective custody of her aunt with no regrets.
Or at least, with so few r
egrets that Vivienne need know naught of them.
* * *
What the trio did not realize as they made their way through the caverns to the small boat was that they did not travel alone. A spriggan - in fact, a spriggan who muttered curses against a certain woman - perched on Vivienne’s hood. That spriggan shivered and looked about herself balefully as they were rowed to the waiting and darkened ship. She quickly scampered over the decks and down into the hold, snickering as she hid herself in the only cabin to be found.
Darg nestled into a fur-lined hood and cackled to herself in triumph, knowing full well who must occupy this sole cabin of luxury. She could wait for Rosamunde now and have her vengeance at leisure.
Darg knew she would have that silver ring, as well, before all was done.
* * *
The ship had long been loaded by the time Rosamunde returned to the caverns and the sea was rough as she was rowed to the ship. She raised a hand in triumph and indicated Ruari, whom she had clearly found in the caverns.
Ruari himself was as pale as a bowl of milk by the time he climbed over the side of the ship, though any comment he might have made was snatched away by the wind. He clung to his saddlebag, as if it carried his salvation. Erik aided him to cross the deck, for the older man limped upon his injured ankle.
The pair apparently had no need for Vivienne’s attentions.
All three of them were dispatched to the hold on Rosamunde’s command as the clouds churned overhead. Rain slashed against the deck with sudden fury even before they reached that sanctuary and the waves lifted the ship like a small toy.
Vivienne doubted that she was the only one to fear that they would be dashed upon the rocky shore. She looked back and saw Ravensmuir silhouetted against the rolling clouds, a dark shadow against the ominous sky.
Then Rosamunde began to shout orders to her men. The wind was fierce, but it began to turn away from the shore as the storm unleashed its power. The sails were unfurled with haste at Rosamunde’s command and turned into the wind with considerable effort.
The Rose Red Bride JK2 Page 23
