“Three wishes to you, worse, wishes three, this price is far too high for me.”
Rafael straightened. “Then you may remain there. I do not care.”
“Aiiiiiiiii!” The creature screamed, and whatever it did made the copper vessel shake. Rafael watched with interest, wondering if the djinn trap would hold. The bottle trembled and rattled, but the cork did not budge.
The creature swore and there was a clunk, as if it kicked its prison. It was not surprised to have failed, so Rafael assumed it had tried the feat before, without success. “A wicked trap wrought of a spell. Some sorcerer learned his craft in Hell!”
Rafael chuckled at that, for he had believed these creatures to be of Hell’s making. “You will surrender three wishes to whoever sets you free,” he insisted. “Whether it is the lady Elizabeth or me.” He realized he had been listening to the creature too much for its curious habit of rhyming its speech was echoed in his own.
“Elizabeth? The maiden born of Kinfairlie? What has she to do with thee?”
“You know her?”
The creature fell into a silence that could only be called stubborn. Rafael knew he would not hear that story soon.
He had not time to wait.
He buried the coin around the djinn trap, surrounding the vessel with gold. The coins clinked, which was much to the creature’s interest.
“You plan to depart but leave your hoard? Why would you leave your treasure stored?”
“It is for the lady Elizabeth,” Rafael informed the djinn. “Finvarra would...”
“Say not his name, least not so loud!” the creature cried.
Rafael leaned closer. “That one would snare her in his realm,” he confided. “And trap her there when the portals close between our worlds. Should she free you, you will grant her three wishes and aid her to survive his scheme.”
“You cannot trust one such as he,” the creature whispered. “A trick he has for everything.”
“Then she will have great need of you, and you would be wise to not disappoint my hope.” The creature again fell silent. Rafael threatened it with its own rhythm of speech. “Do not play games with me, even dead I will find thee. I will take payment from your hide, and show you torment none can abide.”
The small djinn hissed. “I like neither wager nor debt, I stay here rather than take your bet.”
“Then we are agreed,” Rafael said easily. He buried the djinn trap once again. “Perhaps by the time someone comes, you will have changed your mind.”
He heard the creature scream again. He heard it bellow and he saw a slight vibration as the jar shook only a little from its efforts.
He had no doubt that time would feed the djinn’s compliance.
He returned to Ravensmuir, his saddlebags empty, more than ready to be gone. The sooner he departed, the sooner he might return.
While he waited for his companions, Rafael sat in Rayo’s stall and braided the three long ebony hairs from Elizabeth. He coiled the finished braid around his wrist and bound it there, vowing that he would not remove it until he was by her side again.
Nay, until her hand was securely within his own.
Elizabeth rose from bed when the bells began to peal from Kinfairlie’s chapel, calling the townspeople to the earliest mass of the day. The village was sleepy and quiet all the same, unusually so, but there had been much merriment at Ravensmuir the day before. Many would sleep late after those revels and go later to mass.
The hall was silent, but Elizabeth’s heart thundered with that newfound hope. A man of honor. Rafael had never referred to himself as one before—indeed, he insisted upon the opposite.
Did she dare to hope that he meant to ask for her hand on this morning?
Did she dare to imagine that Alexander might agree?
Elizabeth dressed quietly and climbed to the chamber of Kinfairlie where Alexander was able to look inland over his holdings. The shadow of Kinfairlie’s tower stretched like a dark finger across the land at this hour. She could hear the sea crashing against the shore and a few sea birds circled the tour, calling to each other. The sky was awash in hues of silver, blue and rose, and the wind from the east was crisp.
There would be a storm before the morrow.
Elizabeth’s throat was tight. She pulled her fur-lined cloak more tightly around herself, unable to deny her sense that he had made a choice. She hoped it was one she favored. She eyed Ravensmuir’s new tower, scarcely daring to blink.
No sooner had the sun cleared the horizon than a party on horseback cleared Ravensmuir’s gates. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, noting the size of the company, the number of the riders. She saw how the horses were burdened with belongings and how the men wore both their armor and their heavy cloaks.
They looked as if they took all of their belongings, as if they left for good.
Rafael had told her that the Sable League would ride out this day.
Elizabeth bit her lip as the rough party of departing mercenaries rode closer. She did not have to wonder whether Rafael was among them, for she could see the crimson ribbon that was bound to her own. It stretched across the sky, tugging slightly at hers, as if it would break free.
Surely it could not do that?
Elizabeth did not know. She followed the course of the ribbon, narrowing her eyes to see that the dark-haired man bound to it eschewed his helmet. He rode with confidence, tall in the saddle, and there was no doubt that his steed was the chestnut destrier with the white mark upon his brow.
Rafael Rodriguez.
She heard the hoof beats of the horses grow in volume and noted that the men rode in grim silence. She straightened, hungry for every detail about Rafael.
She hoped he would come for her, that he would drop to his knee in the hall and offer for her hand. She hoped that their ways could not be parted, that in some way they would be together for all time.
But Rafael did not slow his steed. He did not turn Rayo down the road that led to Kinfairlie’s gates. Elizabeth’s heart thundered as he rode directly past, without so much as a backward glance. The crimson ribbon that bound her fate to his was stretched so thin and taut that she could scarcely discern it.
He was leaving.
Elizabeth prayed with fervor, determined to believe that he meant to return. She would hope for that day. She would wait for it. She would not lose faith.
A man of honor.
Elizabeth gripped the sill as Rafael’s figure faded from view, and the world itself began to grey around her. The color drained of all she could see and that chill permeated her body. She felt cold and apart from the world of men again, and she had forgotten how vigorous an impression it was.
Because she had been with Rafael.
She did not regret what she had done and she would not take another. She thought of the Douglas clan and their infernal lust for Ravensmuir and knew she would see that plan foiled. It might be years before Rafael returned, if ever he did, but she would wait for him.
And if she had to let others know that she was a maiden no longer to protect her unmarried state, so be it. The sole man whose opinion mattered would not think less of her for it.
Whatever transpired, Elizabeth would not forget Rafael. She had finally found a man to whom she could surrender her heart, a man she believed could fulfill all of her desires and one with whom she would savor every day of her life—and he had thought himself unworthy of her. Elizabeth turned away from the view with tears in her eyes.
She descended to the chamber she occupied alone, all of her sisters now married with babes of their own. It was unthinkable that she could wed another man, for she would not be able to offer her heart to him. Elizabeth saw this as a fundamental basis for marriage, and she would not cheat any man who would think to wed her.
She would spend her life alone, if Rafael did not return.
Never seeing him again was a dour prospect and one that made her want to weep.
The mirror tugged at her thoughts, as if tempting her to dig
it out of the trunk. On this day, Elizabeth could not deny the temptation. She locked the portal behind herself and fell to her knees before the trunk, her hands shaking as she retrieved the mirror. For a terrifying heartbeat, she feared it to be gone, then her fingers touched the cold silver of its handle. It was the only thing that seemed to glimmer with promise in all of her surroundings. There was a fierce enchantment upon it, to be sure. She brought it to light, caressed the strange leaves that formed its frame, then turned it over and looked within it.
She saw the realm of the Fae, in all its beauty and color, as surely as if she peered through a window to that realm. She was immediately charmed by the sight of their joy. She saw a thousand sprites, dancing in the sunlight, their wings glittering like jewels. She saw fountains of golden mead and platters of fruits she could not name. She heard their lilting music, that music that so coaxed a person to dance, and was certain there was no finer place to abide.
She tore her gaze away from the vision presented by the mirror with an effort and looked around herself. The mortal world was pale and grey in contrast to the splendor of the Fae court shown within the mirror. She could no longer see any Fae within the chamber and feared they had retreated to their own realm. Elizabeth went to the window, seeking some sign that all was as it had been, but found none. The Fae appeared to be gone, but it was more of a shock that the air over Kinfairlie village was no longer filled with the tangling ribbons of those who loved. She twisted her head and looked skyward, noting that the ribbons that had been over Kinfairlie’s tower were also gone. There were no ribbons to be seen.
She could not believe that her gift was gone. Nay, it must be that the Fae had retreated, taking their tokens and treasures with them.
Either that, or there was no love left in the mortal realm at all.
The thought struck a chill in her heart. Elizabeth looked again into the mirror, and was relieved to see similar ribbons there in abundance. Indeed, the sprites danced through them, used them as slides and knotted them for lovers who stared adoringly into each other’s eyes. Elizabeth smiled and peered deeper, leaning so close to the mirror that the tip of her nose nearly touched its surface.
She did not realize that she could not longer avert her gaze. If she had realized as much, she might not have cared.
Rafael, after all, was gone, and until he returned, she had only to wait.
Elizabeth also did not notice that a deep blue vine appeared on her flesh, sprouting from beneath her breast, where her heart’s beat could be most strongly felt. It twined, silently spreading over her skin, snaring Elizabeth in a tracery of blue leaves and vines.
It was not unlike the silver setting of the mirror Finvarra had dropped, except that it grew with steady persistence, unchecked and unnoted.
For no one else in Kinfairlie’s hall had ever been able to see the Fae or their signs.
Sunday, October 31, 1428
Feast Day of the martyr Saint Quintinus and of Saint Wolfgang, Bishop of Regensburg. All Saints’ Eve.
Sixteen
Outside Orléans
It had been comparatively simple for Rafael to return to his familiar trade. Despite Malcolm’s warnings, passage across the Channel had been easy to arrange, though more than one man who remained in the Sable League jested that it was because the English wished to be rid of them. They had word of Rodrigo Villandrando immediately in Calais and rode to seek him out. L’Écorcheur was where he had been reputed to be, though newly established as a nobleman with a title to his name.
Rafael had been struck by the change in the man he had known for years. Rodrigo was jovial where once he had been calculating. It seemed that service to Charles the VI suited him well. He had welcomed the Sable League with gusto, hiring them all at a fair price on the spot. Within days, Rafael and his men had been dispatched to reconnoiter the situation at Orléans. The city had been surrounded by the English in their ongoing quest to lay claim—or reclaim—much of the territory of France.
Orléans was besieged, but the English troops were stretched thin to surround the city. Rodrigo believed that the siege could be broken, and the Sable League had been dispatched to discover the means to do so.
It was labor that paid well enough, but unlikely to yield the results Rafael sought. He was impatient to win a holding and return to Elizabeth, mindful of the dark king and the closing of portals between the realms. He felt that time was short, but this was the test Rodrigo offered to him, and he was determined to succeed at it.
Rafael had divided the company into small parties and dispatched them to taverns and villages around the perimeter of Orléans. He charged them to listen in the taverns and buy ale for soldiers, then report regularly to him of whatever they learned. He was certain that some man would err and speak too loudly.
He had made preparations, in case all did not proceed well for his person.
Rafael had sought out a scribe in two different towns on his route south. He had no ability to write himself and wanted to guarantee that Elizabeth’s future was assured, if he did not return. The gold was hers; the djinn in the trap hers to command. In his absence, both would give her choices. He chose cryptic wording that only Elizabeth would understand, committing his message to her in one missive and recording his will in the other.
Then he sought a third scribe to address the missives, to which he had already affixed his seal.
It was then that he recalled Elizabeth’s assertion.
Trust is the most stable currency.
He had never traveled with a squire, for he had never wished to trust another being with his secrets or even his routines. If he meant to become the man Elizabeth might wed and, more importantly, the one who might make her happy, he needed to continue on the path of change that she had set him upon.
Rafael summoned Hans and Xavier to him, knowing his impulse was good. They came to him quickly, though with some trepidation, for Rafael never summoned any boy unless he had labor for him or a chastisement.
“I have need of a squire,” Rafael told the boys, who both blinked in their surprise. Hans looked even more astonished than usual. “In fact, I would have two, because I would entrust to you as task to be done in the case of my demise. You each shall stand witness to the other, as well as serve me as squires.”
“You will not die, sir!” Xavier exclaimed.
“All men die, and none can choose the day.” Rafael showed them the two missives. “I carry these within my tabard. If I die, I would charge you both to see to their delivery.”
“I cannot read, sir,” protested Hans.
“Nor I,” said Xavier.
“Nor I,” Rafael admitted with a smile. “It is a skill for clerks not warriors, and so I must trust that these scribes wrote what I instructed them to write. In case they did not, you two shall stand witness to my desires.” He waited until they both nodded. “I own little, save my armor and my steed. Should I die with both yet in my possession, I would have you take my coin and travel north to Scotland. I would have you take my sword and Rayo to Malcolm at Ravensmuir, along with this missive with the single seal.” He held it up and they nodded. “Within this is my will, which grants both of these to him.”
“And the other, sir?”
“The other you will deliver to the lady Elizabeth at neighboring Kinfairlie. You will entrust my dagger to her, as well.” He sat back and considered the boys. “I also grant you the right to use whatsoever coin I possess at the time of my death for your travel expenses, and if any remains, you have the right to divide it equally as your own.”
“Sir!” Hans gaped in wonder.
“Fear not,” Rafael said, warning the boys with a smile. “I intend to live long and for you to labor hard before you lay claim to that coin.”
The boys laughed, reassured, for this was the Rafael they knew.
And Rafael smiled, for he had created a legacy for the first time.
Now he would build upon that foundation.
It was not long before Rafael�
�s scheme bore fruit. A mercenary in the employ of the English and one stationed near a minor gate to the city took Eustache into his confidence. It seemed that he and his fellows were selling bread to the townspeople and delivering it under cover of darkness for a high fee. He offered to share the takings with Eustache, in exchange for that man’s assistance in making the delivery.
Eustache was young and comparatively new to the trade of a mercenary. He was a handsome young man, born to advantage but sufficiently unlucky to be the youngest of four sons. There was not a denier that would fall to his hand from his family’s modest estate, and so he—like so many others of his background—chose to become a mercenary, using the skills he had mastered in earning his knighthood. Like so many of his fellows, he had few other choices, for he knew naught else.
Rafael supposed Eustache could have gone on crusade, but that course would not have seen his belly filled.
Though Rafael had been young when he took up the trade, he had never been so guileless as Eustache. Teaching the younger man to be skeptical and to doubt the word of others oft put Rafael in mind of his insistence to Elizabeth that he had never been innocent. Eustache was quick to trust and slow to strike, a combination that Rafael feared would lead to his early demise.
Once he would have been disconcerted by this combination. Once he would have felt no responsibility to try to change Eustache’s fate.
But Scotland—or a maiden resident there—had wrought a change in Rafael. He trained more with Eustache and tried to convince that man to be more skeptical. Though he made some progress, he saw that Eustache’s soul would never be wary.
When this mercenary made his offer, Eustache was pleased.
Rafael thought it too good to be true.
“You are skeptical of all!” Eustache protested.
“And you are skeptical of naught,” Rafael retorted. “Step back and look at yourself. You look French. You sound French. A man could be forgiven for believing that you had no love for the English.”
All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances Page 127
