Rafael left the hall after his conversation with Malcolm, determined to be prepared to depart with the dawn. He strode from the hall to the stable, fetched his saddlebags, then crept to the lip of Ravensmuir’s cliffs. All were in the hall, the sounds of their merriment carrying over the land. The sentinels looked inland, guarding against a return of the earl and his men, though Rafael did not believe he would be back so soon as this.
Rafael scanned the coast as he walked south toward Kinfairlie, wanting to be certain none saw his destination. When he was content that no one watched, Rafael suddenly ducked down below the lip of rocks. He crept along the coast to the path he had discovered months before, then followed its course down toward the sea.
The cliffs had not crumbled here, as they had where the old keep of Ravensmuir had fallen into the sea. The drop to the water was less than where the old keep had stood, the land gradually sloping down to the fens to the south of Kinfairlie. When Rafael had learned of the trade of Malcolm’s forebears and the caverns beneath the old keep, he had explored the shore. Sure enough, he had found caves etched in the rocks, with tunnels stretching behind them into dark caverns. Rafael had chosen one that seemed to end in a blocked tunnel—or one with a passage too small for any man—and had buried his plunder there. Out of sight and out of the wind, he had believed his riches as safely secured as in any treasury.
At least until he returned on this eve to pack them.
He halted just inside the cave to stare. The coins, which had been counted and secured into velvet bags when he left them, were now mounded against one wall in glorious disarray, their richness displayed to any man who might stumble upon them. He had been robbed! Rafael fell upon the coins and counted them with fear.
Yet the sum was the same as he had left. He counted twice to be certain, then could not make sense of it. He pushed through the jewelry and other trinkets he had collected and could not identify a single item that was missing. Even the copper jar he had taken from Ibrahim was still there, though he shook his head at the sight of it. It was too easy to recall the old man’s conviction in the unseen, never mind his certainty that those beings wrought of smoke were to be feared. His conviction was not unlike that of Elizabeth in the Fae.
Rafael had been able to see the djinn as well, though he had never given any hint of his abilities. They had preferred to be overlooked, and he had seen them exact punishment from any fool enough to admit to seeing them.
Ibrahim had been convinced at a glimpse that the copper vessel was a trap for a djinn, just like the one in the tale he liked most to recount. Amongst all of his possessions, Ibrahim had treasured this one the most, for he had been certain that one day, he would have to defend himself from the djinn’s mischief. He had paid a ridiculous price for it, making it impossible to sell the vessel at a profit.
As a boy newly liberated, Rafael had taken the vessel as his own, but had never been able to sell it either. It had been cursedly inconvenient, practically a millstone upon his back, but he had not been able to abandon it.
Rafael rolled his eyes at the folly that could be passed from one man to another, even as he began to count and secure his coins in their velvet sacks again. This time, he should leave the unwieldy copper jar behind, he decided.
In that same moment that he realized he was not alone.
Something muttered in the cavern.
Something small and dark, sharp-faced and sharper-tongued. Something that was not large enough to be a man or even a child, something with skin that looked to be made of weathered bark.
Fae.
Or djinn.
If there was a difference, in truth.
“Another thief has come to despoil, the gold I win by blood and toil. Cursed vermin on every side, these mortals I cannot abide!”
Rafael strove to keep his expression composed. He would not reveal that he could hear this creature, for surprise was the best tool. Instead, he moved closer to the djinn trap, which was nothing more than a large copper vessel knotted into a net with a cork that could be bound securely in place. He nudged it with his elbow, seemingly making an inadvertent move, noting that the cork was as it should be. The opening was skyward, the interior hidden by the rope. There was something uncanny about that rope, Rafael had always felt as much, for it seemed to singe his fingers. Ibrahim had confided once that only the use of a certain word would allow any knot within it to be untied.
Rafael had always thought that to be nonsense, but now he wondered.
“They smell, they sneak, they steal my prize, mortals and their greed I do despise.”
Rafael saw the small figure march into view, small enough that he could hold it in one hand—if he had possessed any desire of so doing. It glared at him and stamped, muttering all the while, then seized a single gold coin. It evidently was convinced he could not discern it and gripped the coin, intent upon carrying it away.
Rafael chose to test his notion. He rummaged in the pile of gold coins, as if seeking something in particular, and the creature paused to watch him closely.
“It cannot be gone,” he whispered. “Not the greatest prize I possess!”
The creature put down the coin, edging closer in it curiosity. Rafael sent coins scattering in apparent desperation, digging into the pile with increasing frenzy. The creature drew ever more near.
“Aha, here it is!” Rafael said with apparent joy. He sat back to admire a ring set with a stone of red glass. It had virtually no value, but it shone brightly and was so large that it would have been worth a king’s ransom had it been a genuine stone.
“The ruby that is the marvel of my collection.” Rafael smiled at the stone, turning it so that it caught the light, breathed on it and shone it against his sleeve. He felt the creature’s keen attention. Indeed, it was almost at his elbow, its greedy little fingers twitching in anticipation of snatching his prize.
Rafael sighed. “One day I shall meet the lady worthy of wearing this priceless ruby upon her finger.” He shook his head. “But not yet, I fear.” He stood, then feigned a slip, gasping as the ring fell into the djinn trap. He pretended then that he could not see where it had fallen, and turned in place, apparently seeking it on the ground.
The small dark creature leaped past him and dove into the copper jar, fingers outstretched. As soon as it was inside, Rafael moved like lightning to jam the cork into the neck of the bottle and bind it down. The rope seemed to tie itself more tightly than he ever could have done.
The small creature screamed. “A curse, a curse, and a foul lie! Deceived I am and left to die.” It kicked the jar with vigor, then glared at Rafael.
He shook the jar and smiled. “So, you are the same as djinn,” he murmured to his captive. “This is good to know.”
The creature raged. “You cannot see me, this I know...”
“Because I did not reveal that I could see you before you were trapped?” Rafael clicked his tongue. “A man who means to survive does not reveal all he knows. I am glad to see that the djinn trap is of use after all. I have carried it for many years.” He set the trap aside and rapidly packed his gold away. The creature must have kicked against the copper, for it rang dully, but it could not escape.
“It burns it does, this trap for djinn, and I should not be kept herein.”
“It was wrought by a man who knew far more of your kind than me,” Rafael said mildly. “That is what I was told of it, and though I never believed the tale, it must be true. There is but one way to escape it.” The creature was silent as it awaited some clue. Rafael smiled. “For me to release you, of course.”
“I wager freedom will not be won, not quickly from a fiend like this one.”
“He told me the way to do it. It is perhaps the only lesson of merit he granted to me.” The creature hissed, clearly dissatisfied. “I will release you readily, but you must grant me three wishes in exchange.”
The creature stamped and swore. It paced and kicked, then, its fury spent for the moment, spoke in sulky tones. �
�I make no vows to mortal men, for they forget their pledges in the end.”
“Fair enough,” Rafael agreed easily. “Indeed, I understand your wariness more than most.” He packed the last of the gold coins into his saddlebags and secured the buckle, then dug in the soft sand of the cavern floor. When Rafael lowered the djinn trap into the hole, its occupant bellowed in fury.
“What is this that you would do? What harm have I ever done to you?”
“I cannot loose you, not without the exchange made, for you might take vengeance upon me for the insult,” Rafael replied, his tone reasonable. “And I leave for distant shores in the morning.” He shrugged. “Why not sleep a while?” Seemingly oblivious to the Fae’s fury, he buried the djinn trap so that only the barest tip of the cork was visible. The creature shouted, but its cries were so muffled that any soul who stumbled to this place would think them the echo of the wind.
Rafael hefted his saddlebags and slipped out the cavern. He paused to ensure that there was no one watching and returned to the stables.
He was amazed to discover that Ibrahim had been right about the vessel.
He thought of the tales he had heard from Ibrahim, the ones he had thought merely tales until he had arrived at Ravensmuir. He considered that he might request this djinn’s favors.
But the djinn in question had need of some time to consider the alternative to granting Rafael his will.
And Rafael had to teach a maiden about pleasure.
He smiled in anticipation as he swung into Rayo’s saddle and rode the destrier across the darkened moor. His heart was pounding, his desire raging, and the promise of his little angel’s pleasure was all he could yearn for, and more.
The bells in Kinfairlie’s chapel tolled midnight.
Elizabeth slipped from her pallet and donned her kirtle, hastily lacing the sides. She seized her boots and swung her thickest cloak over her shoulders, drew up the hood, then crept down the stairs.
The hall was utterly silent. Even the children must be sleeping in the solar, for all Elizabeth heard was the rhythm of sleep.
In the great hall, there was snoring, which was a perfect sound to cover her footsteps. She donned her boots and crossed the hall quietly. She wanted to run, but she moved with care. She made her way through the kitchens and out the back door of the keep. She hastened through the kitchen gardens, then over the small broken stone wall at the back side of the keep. There were only fields here and empty land, with the sea in the distance. Up the coast, she could see the dark silhouette of Ravensmuir.
And a horse racing toward her.
Elizabeth’s heart skipped with anticipation. She left the tumbled stone of the fence behind, and stood beside the twisted tree even as Rafael rode toward her. His cloak blew behind him as Rayo galloped closer, the golden lining gleaming. He halted the horse some distance away, then walked the beast quietly over the last distance.
No one would hear.
She saw the wariness in his manner again, the way he scanned her surroundings as if he thought they might be observed. Rafael’s smile flashed when he was alongside her and Elizabeth’s heart raced.
“So, you are a bold maiden indeed,” he whispered. “I thought I might arrive to learn you had chosen to stay in your chamber.”
“I do not issue dares that I will not keep,” she said, feeling wild and unfettered.
Rafael chuckled. He bent and caught her around the waist in one smooth gesture, lifting her before him. He pulled her across his lap and turned the horse at the same time, then bent to capture her lips beneath his own. The wind was in Elizabeth’s hair, the solid strength of Rafael at her back and his mouth locked upon hers. His gloved fingers were in her hair, his cape flaring behind them as Rayo cantered back the way he had come. She could smell the sea and the heat of Rafael’s skin and Elizabeth returned his, amazed at her own boldness.
This night she would gamble and she dared not imagine that she would not win.
This was what it meant to be alive.
Sunday, June 27, 1428
Feast Day of Saint Cyril of Alexandria.
Fifteen
Rafael took Elizabeth to the cavern, leaving Rayo tethered to graze upon the cliff. Both Ravensmuir and Kinfairlie were distant and dark, and the wind would have stolen any sounds they made. He dismounted then lifted her down, stealing another kiss before he took her by the hand and led her down the hidden path. She did not falter or hesitate, her eyes shining when the cavern was revealed. Around the corner had been the hiding place for his treasure, but Rafael would remain by the opening, where all they could see was the expanse of the ocean.
“We might be alone in all of Christendom,” Elizabeth said, as if there could be naught better.
Again, Rafael was amazed by her. None of her protectors knew of her location. No one would see them in this place and none would hear her if she changed her mind and called for aid. Yet Elizabeth came with him willingly, trustingly, and Rafael was humbled by that.
Such confidence. Such innocence.
Such trust.
He would not betray her.
Rafael removed his cloak and cast it upon the stone. Elizabeth watched, then followed suit, unfurling her own cloak atop his. Hers was of fine wool, dyed to the vibrant hue of a sapphire, and was lined with silver fur. It was thick and luxurious as befit her status. His was thick and woolen, faded slightly from wear, serviceable but unadorned. The contrast made the differences in their status so clear that Rafael faltered.
Again, Elizabeth seemed to read his thoughts. She came to him, her fingers landing upon the bit of embroidery on his tabard. “Why is your insignia so small?”
Rafael could only utter the truth. “I have no insignia, for I am no knight.”
Elizabeth frowned slightly and he wondered if she reconsidered her choice. “Did you not earn your spurs under the tutelage of an uncle?”
Rafael smiled at her assumptions. “I earned what is mine with the weight of my blade.” He touched the golden embroidery on his tabard, their fingers entwining over his heart. “This is but a token for good fortune, granted to me by a lady who was quick with a needle.”
Something flashed in those wondrous eyes, an emotion quickly disguised. Was she jealous? Rafael sorely hoped so. “Had she stitched one of your wounds?”
“Nay, only one woman has done that.” He bent and touched his lips to her fingertips.
She smiled then, well pleased, and the sight sent heat through him. Her finger returned to encircle the emblem. “What is it meant to represent?”
“It is a pomegranate, for that is what I requested of her.”
“An apple of Granada,” Elizabeth mused and he was surprised she knew of it. “I have never seen one, though I have heard of them.” She glanced up at him. “In tales of valor.”
Of course. Rafael smiled down at her, snared by the welcome in her eyes.
“They grace the insignia of more than one knight I know, perhaps because the juice of the fruit is as red as blood,” Rafael admitted. He wanted her to understand more of him. “The fruit, like so many other things in life, is both tart and sweet.” He gave her an intent look. “There is a seed secreted within each bead of that juice, a reminder that all joys have their price.”
Elizabeth bit her lip as she considered him. “That is a harsh way to look at life.”
“But a true one.”
“When will you cease your trade?” she asked quietly, her gaze searching his.
“Never.” He might regret that truth, but Rafael feared it was unassailable.
She shook her head, impatient with his reply. “Do not be ridiculous. At some point you will halt, if only because you are killed while waging war. But Mío Cid rode out to secure a haven for his wife and daughters and to ensure their futures. What goal have you in your trade? Why did you begin it?”
“To survive.”
“But you have done that,” she insisted. “Why would you willingly abandon it?”
“I will not. It is w
hat I am and what I do. I know no other life.”
“But Malcolm...”
Rafael interrupted her, wanting to be sure she understood the obstacles before him. “Had the benefit of not just a legacy, but training for his future responsibilities in assuming that legacy. He had need of coin and naught else.” He smiled, a little rueful to admit the truth. “I have coin, and naught else. And so I continue, as we all continue, until we fight no more. We have war in our blood, like hounds who have had a taste of the kill, and its allure cannot be forgotten.”
Even as he said as much, Rafael hoped it could be otherwise. He knew though that if he gave Elizabeth any hope of his eventual return, she would cling to it, along with her conviction of destiny’s promise. He would not give her false hope. He concluded with greater emphasis than had been his intention. “It is the way of the world, mi piqueño ángel.”
Of course, Elizabeth was not deterred. He saw in her eyes that he had not shaken her conviction a whit.
He realized it would have shaken him if he had.
“What does that mean?” she whispered, those eyes alight. “You always say that, but I do not know what it means.”
“Mi piqueño ángel?” he asked and she nodded. “It means ‘my little angel.’”
Elizabeth smiled then, well pleased, and touched her lips to his again. “But I am not an angel,” she murmured against his mouth. “Nor am I so little.”
And she was not his. The truth struck Rafael to his marrow.
It was time to give the lady his gift. It would be a kind of homage to her.
Rafael doffed his gloves and framed her face in his hands, bending to kiss her thoroughly. She stretched to her toes and wound her arms around his neck, returning his embrace with ardor. An understanding of the tenderness and passion that could exist between a woman and a man, an expectation of what she could demand of the man who would wed her, an understanding of her due would be his gift.
It was not much, but it was all that Rafael Rodriguez had to give to a woman of Elizabeth’s ilk.
All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances Page 125
