He stood, heart seared. Rosamunde had given back the only gift that he had granted her and in exchange had taken the legacy from the caverns that he had forbidden her to claim. In so doing, she ensured the end of Ravensmuir.
How dare she?
What else had she dared?
Tynan’s fist closed tightly around the cold silver of the ring as fury erupted within him and he snapped the hair loose of its mooring. He stormed back down the stairs to his dungeon on a suspicion and found his suspicion proven aright.
His prisoner, Erik Sinclair, was gone. Tynan would have wagered that his niece Vivienne was also gone, for Rosamunde could not have lost her ability to make trouble so readily as that. He ground his teeth in frustration. This was beyond revenge, this was beyond retaliation for his harsh words.
This was a taunt that could not pass unchallenged.
Tynan returned the ring the smallest finger of his left hand, where it had ridden for years until he had granted it to Rosamunde, feeling more alive than he had in weeks.
For all was not yet resolved between himself and Rosamunde. So long as she had the relics, there was a chance that he might retrieve them from her.
Tynan fairly walked into Elizabeth, so unexpected was her presence on the stairs. The maiden halted at the sight of him, flushed, and pivoted to run to the women’s chambers.
“Halt!” Tynan roared in a tone that brooked no disobedience. Elizabeth stopped, her expression wary. Tynan beckoned her with a single finger. “You will tell me what has happened in the labyrinth this night.” She opened her mouth to protest, but Tynan shook his head. “Do not deny that you know of it. You are afoot too late to be in ignorance of Rosamunde’s visit.”
An increasingly familiar defiance lit the eye of Tynan’s youngest and favored niece. “Darg is missing. I have to find her first.”
“The spriggan can see to her own welfare for the moment, as she has done for several hundred years.” Tynan glared at Elizabeth, knowing the power of his glance. “You, however, will come immediately with me and tell me all that you know.”
He turned and strode to the chamber he used to manage Ravensmuir’s affairs, knowing full well that his niece would follow. He heard Elizabeth’s sigh of annoyance, then halted suddenly when she called after him.
“I will not tell you about Rosamunde,” she said.
Tynan pivoted to find his niece looking stubborn. “Whyever not?”
“Because you have been cruel to her, and she has always been kind,” Elizabeth said with the blunt manner that was becoming characteristic. “She loves you and you said too much in anger. I do not blame her for vexing you, for she is due an apology.”
With that declaration and a toss of her hair, Elizabeth strode into the women’s chambers and shut the door fast behind herself.
She had never before defied him.
Tynan stared at the portal in shock as the tumblers fell and a door in his own abode was locked against him by a maiden who had seen only twelve summers.
Worse, he knew that Elizabeth was right.
Chapter 13
Vivienne was still awake when Rosamunde climbed down into the hold, a fact which the older woman noted immediately. She beckoned to Vivienne, coaxing her up onto the deck.
To Vivienne’s surprise, it was morning. She had lost track of the passage of time in the darkened hold. The sky was still overcast, though the clouds had the smooth patina of a pewter platter, and the wind was light. There was a promise of rain, but for the moment there was none. The sea still churned, though she could not see the silhouette of land in any direction.
Rosamunde must have sensed her distress at that. “It is safer to be away from the rocks and shoals of an unfamiliar shore during a storm,” she said in a consoling tone, then smiled ruefully. Vivienne could see shadows beneath her aunt’s eyes, which were no surprise given the night they had experienced, though the faint lines of age on Rosamunde’s face revealed in this light shocked Vivienne.
Rosamunde had always seemed so young and vital, though now Vivienne realized that her aunt must be some thirty summers her senior. Age seemed to have settled suddenly upon Rosamunde’s features.
Rosamunde smiled ruefully. “Though I did not expect to be blown quite this far out to sea.”
“Where are we?”
“I am not entirely certain,” Rosamunde said, more untroubled than Vivienne could possibly be. “The North Sea is vast. We can chart a course after seeing the stars this night.”
Vivienne cast a glance at the clouds above. “What if they are obscured?”
“Then we shall wait until we can see them.” Rosamunde granted Vivienne a keen glance. “You do understand that it is better to be far from the shore, do you not?”
“I suppose there is sense in that.”
Rosamunde slipped an arm around Vivienne’s shoulders. “You must have been thinking of your parents last night, and their unfortunate demise. Recognize that I know the seas better than most who ply their trade upon them. I have survived a thousand storms, many far worse than what we endured last night, and I will survive a thousand more.” The gleam of determination in Rosamunde’s eyes persuaded Vivienne of the truth of that, as little else might have done.
She stood at the rail beside her aunt, soothed despite herself by the rhythm of the sea’s undulation. She was exhausted in truth, perhaps more so than Rosamunde might have been.
“I had thought I might find you abed with Tynan’s prisoner,” Rosamunde mused finally.
Vivienne shrugged. “As perhaps, did I.” She did not precisely know why Erik had spurned her. Vivienne suspected that there was a deeper root to his rejection than exhaustion, that he still did not trust her, and that given his choice, he would have left her at Ravensmuir.
So dejected was she by that possibility that she wondered whether her quest was doomed to failure. She had already promised her all to him, she had told him the truth, but apparently to no avail. The man had too many secrets for her to be certain.
On impulse, she pulled Erik’s dagger from her belt and offered it to Rosamunde. “What can you tell me of this blade? It has an inscription upon it.”
Rosamunde took the dagger and turned it in her hands, studying the hilt with care before she pulled the blade from the scabbard. The stone in the hilt seemed to command most of her interest, and she turned it in the light with apparent fascination.
“It is his?” she asked, though her tone indicated that she had concluded as much.
“A family heirloom.”
“Of course.” Rosamunde indicated the gem. “This is an old sapphire, for it has been cut with a remarkable ingenuity that could not be copied in our times. Did you note the inscription?”
“ABRAXAS?”
Rosamunde nodded. “Said to be the name of God, though there are many such names, most notably JHVH for Jehovah. This is a Greek word, claimed to be a charm for protection by many.” She glanced up. “The Greek letters that compose the word ABRAXAS have a sum of 365, which is said to be a mark of the potency of the word.”
“That is the number of days in a year,” Vivienne said, thinking of her handfast.
Rosamunde nodded again. “And the number of eons in God’s creation, the number of ranks of angels, the number of bones said to be in the human body.” She smiled. “It is said to be a strong number, represented time and again in the world shaped by God’s hands.” She shrugged. “Or it might merely be a number.” She tapped the stone again. “This gem was carved at least a thousand years ago, and has been reset time and again for its value.”
“Then it is older than the blade?”
“Of course. His family has had some wealth in their time, if they could afford to not only hold such a gem but to keep it.” Rosamunde smiled as she watched the light play in the gem. “But then, a sapphire is rumored to be a noble gem, suitable for kings and queens, one that can reputedly break the stoutest iron fetters.”
Her smile broadened when Vivienne said nothing. “How un
fortunate that he did not hold it while in Ravensmuir’s dungeon, for he would have had no need of your aid then.”
Vivienne did not smile at that.
Rosamunde returned her attention to the blade. “And a sapphire is said to give great joy to any who gazes into it, though I would wager that greater joy is felt by one who possesses it.” She glanced up, her expression assessing. “I would grant a good price for this weapon.”
Vivienne was horrified. “No! I cannot sell it! It is not mine to surrender to another.”
“Yet it is in your possession.”
“Erik granted it to me in trust. It is rightfully his, all the same, for it is a legacy from his father.”
“Ah.” Rosamunde studied Vivienne, her gaze perceptive. “You think that you love this man,” she said, her amusement evident.
Vivienne bristled. “It would be no jest if I did.”
Rosamunde shook her head and gazed across the sea for a moment, then looked back at Vivienne. She returned the dagger. “You are young to be so certain of such matters, but then, perhaps you are certain because you are young.”
“What is that to mean?”
Rosamunde did not answer, merely granted Vivienne a piercing glance. “What you must resolve, Vivienne, is whether you love the tale of him or the truth of him. A man’s story is not his sum, and we both know well enough that you have a fondness for tales.”
“I know the difference between tales and truth,” Vivienne said with some pride. Rosamunde did not appear to be convinced, but she did not care. “It is of little import, though.”
“Whyever not?”
“Because he loves another woman.” A slow drizzle of rain began then, enveloping the two women and the ship in a silvery mist. It was chilly, and Vivienne shivered slightly, though she was not yet prepared to leave her aunt’s side.
She chose her words with care, for if any soul knew the answer to her woes, it was Rosamunde. “Do you know a means to make a man love a woman, Rosamunde? Surely there is a way to encourage him to see what truth is before his own eyes?”
Rosamunde laughed at the very notion. “There is no philter to make a man love you, Vivienne, at least not one that I know. Do you not see the evidence of my ignorance all around you?” She indicated the ship and its cargo with a disparaging gesture.
“I thought you loved your life at sea.”
“I loved a man more, and I surrendered all that I was and all that I desired as evidence of that love.” Rosamunde sobered as she spoke. “But my regard was not returned. He felt compelled to choose between me and his property. It was a simple matter for him to choose a pile of stones over whatever merit I might possess. That would be a humbling lesson for any woman, though it was perhaps a harsher one for me.” Rosamunde seemed to note Vivienne’s disappointment, for she laid a consoling hand upon her niece’s shoulder. “If you wish for a man to desire you, however, that is readily achieved.”
“How?” Vivienne felt a sudden measure of hope. Surely Erik would have greater regard for her if she did bear his son? “Is there a potion for that?”
Rosamunde smiled sadly. “It is no sorcery, Vivienne. To compel a man to desire you, you have only to desire him.” She shrugged. “Whether that will sate you, if it is his love that you desire in truth, is another matter altogether.”
Vivienne was dismayed to see her vibrant aunt look so unhappy. “Elizabeth says that mention of your name infuriates Uncle Tynan. She suspects that he loves you.”
Rosamunde’s smile turned wry. “Then he has an uncommon way of showing as much.” She turned away then, her manner purposeful. “You are welcome to use my cabin this day and this night, for I will not sleep until our course is clear. Lock the portal and do whatsoever you will.” She cast a piercing glance over her shoulder. “I will plead ignorance of your deeds to Alexander, to be certain. You are old enough and clever enough to make your own choices, for it is you who will have to live with the consequences.”
Vivienne paid the warning no heed, but merely thanked her aunt. She was certain that a son would persuade Erik to at least harbor affection for her.
And there was but one way to create that son.
Vivienne found Erik standing with Ruari while the older man heaved his very innards over the side of the ship. The wind had become colder, the rain grew in intensity, and Ruari looked grim indeed. He still held fast to his saddlebag, though Vivienne supposed it must hold the last of his possessions.
She halted beside them just as the older man bent over the rail once more. Erik spared her no more than a glance.
“How ill is he?” she asked, guessing that she would have to begin any discussion they had.
“Ill enough to ensure his silence,” Erik said with wry humor, his gaze lingering upon Vivienne when she smiled slightly.
“Do you feel better or worse, Ruari?” she asked with concern. “The storm subsides and the sea grows more steady with every moment.”
“Even at its most calm, it is too much for me!” Ruari wailed and gripped the rail. He breathed heavily and his face was yet pale, but he seemed better than he had been before.
“There is cheese and bread and some ale below,” Vivienne suggested. “A piece of bread might improve your state.”
Ruari moaned at the very prospect and coughed anew, although he conjured very little.
“You have not eaten that much of late,” Erik said. “Surely you are empty by now.”
“I thank you for the jest,” Ruari retorted. “Perhaps you might explain the truth of it to my belly.”
“It might be better to return to the hold,” Erik suggested in his turn. “A bucket would serve you well enough now, and you would have less chance of becoming ill from the cold, as well.”
“I favor it here,” Ruari said stubbornly.
“And I do not,” Erik replied. “Yet I dare not leave you alone. Come below, Ruari. I vow to find you a bucket that suits you well.”
Ruari cast him a dark glance. “You make a jest of an old man’s discomfort.”
“I do no such thing. I but ensure your welfare as best I can. Think of the lady, if naught else. Doubtless she will be determined to remain with you, as well.”
Ruari granted Vivienne a baleful stare. “There is no need for you to linger here,” he said and she smiled.
“I fret for your welfare,” she said with all honesty. To her pleasure, Ruari’s features brightened.
“Then perhaps I might be persuaded to come below,” he said, with one last glance at the railing. He shook a finger at Erik. “It must be a large bucket, to be sure, for I will not show myself a poor guest, even upon a ship.”
“Ah, so you are smitten with Rosamunde,” Erik teased, to Vivienne’s surprise. “I knew you merely had to meet a woman sufficiently bold to capture your affection for all time.”
Ruari straightened and his eyes gleamed, as doubtless Erik had intended. “I but hold Rosamunde in respect, the respect due to any soul sufficiently intrepid to brave that weather to aid another.”
“I suspect ’tis more than that,” Erik said mildly.
“She is a veritable angel!” Ruari huffed, launching into a tirade as if he were fully hale once more. “She came to find me, when you lot were busy amongst yourselves. She risked life and limb to ensure my survival and I am not such a knave that I would insult such generosity by humbling myself in the hold of her ship. Why, this ship is full of fine materials, of gold and silk and relics beyond belief. I would not be so base a knave as to sully such beauty, no less to jeopardize her trade, upon that you can rely.”
“If you are sufficiently well to lecture, then you are sufficiently well to come below,” Erik replied, though he took the older man’s elbow to steady him as they made their way across the slippery deck.
Vivienne took Ruari’s other arm. Ruari was somewhat unsteady upon his feet, and he slipped once. Erik’s hand was firm beneath his elbow, though, and the older man did not fall. All the same, he seized the lip of the hold with undisguise
d relief.
Ruari looked suddenly up at Erik through the rain, his eyes bright. “You repay your father’s debt to me, against all expectation.”
“What nonsense do you speak?” Erik asked, his manner kindly.
“I served him well, served him without complaint for more than forty years, but on his deathbed, William Sinclair noted that he had never had the chance to repay the debt. He noted that I had never fallen sick, that I had never been wounded, that he had never had the chance to offer a courtesy to me.”
Ruari heaved a sigh and cast a rueful glance about himself. “I suppose if we had journeyed upon a ship then he might have had his chance, but always he lingered close to Blackleith.” The older man stared at Erik and almost smiled. “I thank you, lad, for showing kindness when others might have turned away. You are more than the measure of your father, upon that you can rely.”
Ruari descended the ladder then, making slow time in his unsteadiness. Vivienne’s hair whipped loose of her braid and the wind stung her face. She watched Erik, seeing that he was touched by the older man’s words.
When he gestured that she should descend the ladder next, she laid a hand upon his arm and leaned close to whisper. “Rosamunde offers her cabin, that we may strive to create your son.”
Erik looked to be shocked. “You told her of this?”
Vivienne straightened. “My aunt knows what it is to be persuaded of the merit of another’s objective, and she knows the import of having given one’s word.”
Erik looked away, then back to Vivienne. The rain made his hair look a darker hue of blond. His eyes seemed a more vibrant blue than they had before and Vivienne again sensed his vitality.
She did not doubt that he found her suggestion alluring, though she did not understand why he hesitated to accept it.
“Do you not desire that son?”
“I ask you only to consider what you do afore you do it.”
Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances Page 25
