“I apologize that I believed you had cast Madeline into peril for no good cause. I was too troubled to see that it would have been unlike you to have done so, for you have always been protective of your own.”
Rosamunde inclined her head in acknowledgment. “You were hardly unjustified in assuming that I consorted with scoundrels. I have been known to do so.”
“I was unjust.” Tynan cleared his throat again and took another step closer. Rosamunde could see the glint of his eyes now, the quickness of his breath. Could he feel as much trepidation as she did?
“And I apologize,” he continued, “for you accused me rightly of treating you unfairly. I knew that you believed I meant to wed you when we chose to auction the relics and yet I did not make the truth of my intent clear. I knew that you would believe our future began when we spent another night abed, but I could not bear to confess the truth to you—nor could I bear to part without loving one last time. And I was wrong, as well, to deny you any legacy from Ravensmuir.”
Rosamunde cleared her throat in her turn and took a step closer. “I should not have stolen one,” she admitted and was rewarded by the brief flash of Tynan’s smile.
“You were provoked.”
“I was furious.”
He bowed his head. “I was a fool.”
Rosamunde almost reached for him but then she realized that he had pledged nothing different. She waited, watching him with care. He lifted his left hand and she saw the glint of the silver ring she had previously worn. It graced his smallest finger, though still it nearly filled the knuckle.
She glanced up and found Tynan watching her. “Wed me, Rosamunde,” he whispered hoarsely. “If you can forgive me.”
“But what of Ravensmuir?”
He sighed and frowned and looked away. “I fear it lost.”
Anger lit within Rosamunde and she lifted her chin. “So you would reconcile with me because you have nothing left to protect? I will be no man’s consolation!”
Tynan lifted a hand to halt her tirade and shook his head. “Archibald Douglas would treat with me, but the longer I delay, the more onerous his terms become. He pushes me further each day. I was prepared to wed a woman of his family to seal the treaty, if that would save Ravensmuir, but I am not prepared to disavow my nephew Malcolm.”
“They will leave Ravensmuir standing only if you breed an heir with one of their own,” Rosamunde guessed and Tynan nodded.
“And Malcolm will be left with nothing, despite my vow to make him my heir.” Tynan raised a fist and anger flashed in his eyes. “A pledge made should be a pledge kept, and a man should respect the vows of any man with whom he would treat. Douglas, though, grants no weight to pledges that do not serve his ambition. I will endure his demands no longer, though it means that I will not be able to keep him so readily from my gates.”
“Ravensmuir will be besieged by her neighbors,” Rosamunde suggested softly.
“We will be assaulted, to be sure.” Tynan shrugged, his eyes gleaming. “Perhaps Ravensmuir would have been attacked at any rate. Perhaps the bride they would have chosen for me would have opened the portcullis for them. I cannot know. I do not care.” His voice rose. “I have been pushed overmuch and I will be pushed no further.” He drew the ring from his finger and offered it to Rosamunde, his gaze intent. “Wed me, Rosamunde, for I love you in truth.”
But Rosamunde hesitated. Here was all she had believed she desired, and yet, a dreadful portent stilled her steps. She looked at the ring that once she had worn and trembled at some dark omen it bore. She feared then that Tynan’s love for Ravensmuir would come between them once again.
“Wed you because you no longer care what the neighbors think of your bride?” she teased.
Tynan laughed. “They are a deceitful and warmongering lot. No soul of good sense could care what they think.” He traced the curve of her cheek with a fingertip then, a glow lighting in his eyes. His voice was husky when he continued. “I have missed you, Rosamunde. Accept my ring and come again to my bed.”
“I thought I would not make a suitable Lady of Ravensmuir.”
“Only because I was fool enough to insist as much. I was wrong.”
“Aye, you were,” Rosamunde said. “How fortunate you are that I am a woman with a forgiving nature.”
“You are not, which is why your forgiveness would be a gift beyond expectation.” Tynan arched a brow.
She was a fool, afraid to accept what she had yearned for when it came within her grasp. There was no shadow ahead, only the unfamiliar prospect of being bound to another soul.
Rosamunde smiled and stepped forward, breaching the last gap between them. “I think our mutual apologies accepted,” she said and lifted her hand. Tynan held the circle of the ring between finger and thumb, and Rosamunde smiled as he slipped its weight over her knuckle once more. The silver shimmered, the ring slid down her finger, then an unholy scream filled the cavern.
Seventeen
Erik and Ruari pursued the hunting party even as fat drops of rain began to plummet from the sky.
“This is to our advantage,” Ruari claimed with pleasure. “The women will return to the hall, to be certain. And when the party turns back, we shall be able to catch them for certain.”
They gave the palfreys their heels and the beasts galloped onward along the path beaten down in the forest undergrowth. There was a bright point ahead, then the horses leaped out into a clearing. The change was astonishing, no less because a deluge of rain poured suddenly upon them.
Erik sputtered and shook his hair from his eyes. The horse slowed its pace and he saw why.
A party of four horses emerged from the forest on the far side of the clearing.
The horses nickered at each other. Erik had no time to draw his hood over his head before Nicholas cursed soundly. Beatrice shouted at her horse and smacked its rump, urging it to run to Erik’s left. The other horses fled in pursuit, the noble pair in the saddles looking wet and confused.
Nicholas might have followed but Erik roared. He shouted at his steed and gave chase to his treacherous brother. Ruari moved quickly on his left and between the two of them, they ensured that Nicholas could not flee back to the hall.
Nicholas turned his steed abruptly then and raced in the opposing direction, diving back into the cover of the forest. Erik guessed his brother’s destination immediately and urged the horse to give chase.
The land curved upward from this point, cresting in a barren hill that Erik knew well. From that point, one could see all the way down to the North Sea. Erik and Nicholas had played there often as boys, for there was an ancient group of standing stones that offered numerous places to hide.
The rain began to fall in cold sheets, but Erik did not care. His pulse quickened and he urged the palfrey to greater speed, though that left Ruari far behind.
He burst onto the hilltop, bald but for the knee-deep bounty of blooming heather. Nicholas turned his horse hard within the circle of stones ahead. The beast reared just as lightning crackled across the sky.
“A reckoning comes, Nicholas,” Erik shouted.
His brother laughed. “Surely not one granted by you? Do you trust me no longer, brother mine?”
“You taught me the folly of that long ago,” Erik replied. He halted his horse within the circle and confronted his brother in the rain. Nicholas’ tabard looked less magnificent as soaked as it was, and his hair was a less glorious hue of gold. He had never been pleased to be seen at less than his best, and he glowered at Erik as if Erik had summoned the rain.
Then he smirked. “Though it was a lesson you took so long to learn that I confess I never thought you would heed it.”
“It is less wicked to think well of one’s own kin than to think poorly of them,” Erik said and lifted his blade in challenge.
Nicholas slashed at him with sudden fury and the blades clanged against each other. Nicholas’ blade glanced off of Erik’s, so quickly did Erik raise his sword in defense.
&nb
sp; “You were ever cursed quick,” Nicholas said and thrust his blade again.
This time, though he struck at Erik’s horse. Erik swore and strove to deflect his brother’s blade, but it was beyond his reach and struck the beast’s neck.
The horse whinnied in fear and Nicholas laughed. The wound was slight, but the horse was frightened and there was a deadly intent in Nicholas’ eyes. Erik swung out of the saddle and barely had to touch the palfrey’s flanks for the beast to flee.
Nicholas’ smile broadened. “Now we are better matched,” he said and swung at Erik in turn. Their blades rang as they struck, then stuck again and again. The destrier danced sideways and snorted, even as Nicholas compelled it to run in a circle around Erik. Nicholas stabbed downward, from behind Erik, and cut him across the back of his shoulders.
Erik swung and nearly dismounted his brother with sheer force, which granted him an idea. He dared not swing with all his power lest he injure the horse. He waited until Nicholas slashed at him again, then stabbed upward with sudden vigor.
Nicholas cried out in pain as the sword cut the inside of his upper arm. His eyes flashed in anger and he immediately swung downward with dangerous force. Erik ducked beneath the massive steed and pushed his brother’s foot up and out of the stirrup from the opposite side. That, combined with Nicholas’ own swing, sent that man tumbling to the ground.
Nicholas swore. He rolled as he fell, coming up on his feet, eyes narrowed. The destrier fled, reins snapping behind it as it raced downhill to safety.
And Erik erred in looking after the beast. In that heartbeat that he glanced away, Nicholas stabbed at him. Erik saw the flash of the blade from the periphery of his vision and leaped backward.
The steel cut across his arm, the wound deep and clean. It bled with fury but he ignored its sting. He held his blade high once again. “You might at least fight one battle honorably,” he said.
Nicholas smiled. “My tactics have served me well enough thus far,” he said, then arched a brow. “Not a soul missed you in these parts, Erik, to be sure. Your wife is more merry in my bed, your daughters call me Father, and Blackleith has never prospered more. Our own father knew the truth of it when he called you the shame of our mother’s womb.”
“Did you bury him with honor? Or did it not suit your convenience to do so?”
Their blades met with a resounding ring of steel on steel. The brothers backed away and circled each other warily.
Nicholas chuckled. “The dead tell no tales, Erik, and I shall not breach that silence. The old man is gone, on my side at the last. At least I finally persuaded him of my merit.”
“Did you then?”
“Can you not imagine how vexing it was to always be compared to you? You! You who could not summon a lie to your lips, no less a glib tale, you who could not charm a woman already besotted with you, you who never showed a care for your appearance. Yet always did our father remind me of your merit, no less note my deficiencies. It was tedious, at best.” Nicholas smiled. “I loved that he was in thrall to me at the end, that he had to beg my favor to be granted his meals thrice a day.”
“You did not so dishonor him!”
Nicholas only smiled.
Then he gasped in horror at the vigor of Erik’s assault. Erik swung with all his might, driving Nicholas back against a stone. His blade tucked neatly under his brother’s chin and Nicholas caught his breath as a thin trickle of blood mingled with the rainwater on the blade.
“You will rot in hell for such treachery,” Erik growled. “You will burn, and rightly so, for so dishonoring the man who granted you life.”
Nicholas’ gaze hardened. He pursed his lips and then he spat in Erik’s eye.
Erik blinked and that was all the opportunity his brother needed to slip from beneath the weight of his blade. They pursued each other around the stones, blades clashing, feet slipping in the mud, then Erik lost track of his brother.
He turned slowly, listening carefully. He heard nothing but the patter of the rain, saw nothing but the heather bowing beneath its assault.
“Ha!” Nicholas cried from his immediate right. Erik spun but too late, Nicholas had hooked his blade beneath the hilt of Erik’s sword. Slick with rain, Erik’s grip was loose enough that his brother managed to dislodge his blade and send it scuttling across the ground.
“How sad that you cannot fight honestly, like a man of merit,” Erik mused.
“I win, howsoever I can,” Nicholas said.
“You win by cheating, for it is the only way you can.” Erik met his brother’s gaze. “Vivienne Lammergeier said as much, and it is clear that she knows you far better than I.”
Nicholas froze. “Vivienne? You have met Vivienne?”
Erik pulled his dagger as he nodded. “Indeed, I have, and you spoke aright. The lady is a marvel.”
Nicholas stood, shocked. “You did not bed her?”
Erik only smiled.
Nicholas lunged at him. Sword and dagger met with fury, the clash of blades dangerously close to Erik’s face. He fought back, grunting with the effort, and managed to nick Nicholas’ cheek.
That man cried out as he leaped backward, his hand rising to his face. “Do not disfigure me!”
“Surely he owes you no less,” Ruari interjected, appearing suddenly from behind a stone. Nicholas pivoted and swung his blade at Ruari. His sword was large and weighty, however, and Erik took advantage of the moment. He leaped upon his brother and slashed at his hand.
The sword fell to the ground, Nicholas’ blood streaming after it. He backed into a stone, his gaze flicking between Ruari and Erik. “So, this will be the end of it, will it? You will kill your own brother like a dog and leave me unmourned upon this hill?”
Erik hesitated.
“You tried to do the same to your own brother,” Ruari noted. “And you had no cause to do so.”
“Cease your prattle!” Nicholas spat, then spared a covert glance to the space beyond the circle of stones.
“Your squire is dead,” Ruari said, his tone matter-of-fact. “I would have let the boy live, but he was determined to ensure my end. There was little else I could do but guarantee his instead. What manner of scoundrel are you to train a boy so young as that to fight to the death, even when he is out-matched?”
Nicholas’ lips tightened, though he did not spare Ruari a reply. He turned an intent gaze upon Erik. “Will you kill me in truth, brother mine? We could reconcile, administer Blackleith as one. Beatrice would return to you with pleasure, at least if I commanded as much, I am certain.”
Ruari snorted.
Erik had no urge to kill the last of his own kin, not unless he were certain of Nicholas’ intent. The rain beat upon them, the thunder rumbled. Nicholas licked his lips, his breath coming quickly in his fear, and memory stirred.
A horrible truth filled Erik’s thoughts, a conviction that allowed no excuses for his sibling. Filled with new resolve, Erik gestured impatiently to Ruari that that man should retreat.
Ruari did his bidding, with obvious reluctance.
Erik passed his dagger to his left hand beneath his brother’s avid gaze. He then slowly turned his hand palm up, loosed his fingers and cast the blade away.
Nicholas did not waste a moment. He lunged for Erik, fingers outstretched.
But Erik was prepared. He reached behind himself with lightning speed. He pulled his father’s blade from the back of his belt even as Nicholas’ fingers locked around his throat. He raised the blade and drove it down between Nicholas’ shoulder blades, watching his brother’s eyes widen as the blade sank home.
Nicholas’ grip loosened within their deadly embrace, and his eyes glazed with pain.
“It rains this day,” Erik whispered. “Just as it rained on the day that I was granted these scars.”
Nicholas stared at him, and Erik did not know whether he comprehended his words or not.
Still they had to be uttered.
“In times of peril, a man’s senses become more ke
en. I remember the sound of my last assailant’s breath, I remember the sound of his boots upon the road, the rhythm of his step. And I remember his smell.” Erik lifted his brother’s limp fingers from his neck and for a moment, he held Nicholas’ weight in his hands. “I smell it again on this day. Surely you did not imagine that I would forget.”
“You were never to know,” Nicholas whispered. “You were never to live that you might remember.”
Erik let his brother plummet to the ground, let him die mired and alone. He stepped over him, pulled his father’s blade from Nicholas’ back, and walked out of the stone circle.
Though he knew he had done what was right, Erik felt no pride in his deed. He wiped the ancient Sinclair weapon in the heather, cleaning the blood of a Sinclair from its blade. He felt tears slide down his face, mingling with the rain, and was aware of Ruari close by his side.
He would never climb to this hill again, for he would never forget that he had spilled the blood that stained it.
The older man laid a hand on Erik’s shoulder and heaved a sigh. “It is a man of merit who can complete an unpleasant task, no less one that needs to be done. Your father would be proud of you, Erik Sinclair, upon that you can rely.”
“My father would weep with me this day, Ruari,” Erik said softly. “There can be no doubt of that.”
In that same moment, Rosamunde and Tynan were assaulted by a high-pitched scream in Ravensmuir’s caverns.
“Circle of kings wrought of silver fine; Pledge your troth but that ring is MINE!”
A wild swirl of orange erupted in the middle of the cavern, so fiery a hue that Rosamunde thought it had come from the torches. It was no flame, though, but an angry cloud.
“What in the name of God is that?” Tynan cried.
“I fear it is the spriggan,” Rosamunde had time enough to say before the cloud exploded upward. Stone broke from the high arch of the cavern’s ceiling and chunks fell to the ground around them.
“Treacherous thief who would break a vow; I want my ring, I want it NOW!”
But there was no time to respond to the spriggan’s demands. Tynan swore and pushed the ring all the way onto Rosamunde’s finger. She did not know whether he did as much by instinct or choice. He spun and drew his blade. Rosamunde drew her own, though she guessed it was useless against this foe.
All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances Page 96
