The Rose Red Bride JK2 (20 page)

“Seize him!” Alexander roared.

Erik’s blade whistled as he confronted his assailants and Alexander’s men closed ranks around him. Blades clashed as the peaceful glade erupted in furious battle. Vivienne gasped when she saw that they spared no effort to defeat Erik.

“He will be injured for no good reason!” she cried and lunged toward the fray. She did not get far, for her uncle caught her around the waist and swung her into the saddle before himself. “I must aid him!” she cried, fighting his grip. “This is unjust indeed!”

“You cannot aid a man who condemns himself,” Tynan said grimly, then turned his steed toward Ravensmuir. “A night in Ravensmuir’s dungeon will see him cured of his folly.”

Vivienne was suddenly very glad that Erik had entrusted her with his father’s blade, though she was disheartened at the prospect of freeing him from her uncle’s abode. Ravensmuir was a formidable keep, with a full curtain wall, multiple gates and a fearsome dungeon.

“Alexander made the wager with him,” Vivienne argued, fury fueling her words. “And had his payment for his terms. This man has treated me with honor, and you reward him with brutality.”

“I will hear no protest.” Alexander met her gaze, his own steely. “Fortune has smiled upon you and you should be grateful for your reprieve. Leave the details to me.”

Vivienne was outraged as Erik was forcibly subdued. He was bound and cast across a palfrey’s back with indignity. The sight of him, battered and bleeding, redoubled her determination to aid him, even in defiance of her entire family if need be.

She should have held her tongue, but she could not refrain from making one comment. “And so you have an innocent man bound like a criminal for no reason beyond your injured pride,” she said to Alexander and his satisfied expression immediately disappeared. “Who in this instance is the barbarian?”

“Justice must be meted with a firm hand,” Alexander said, though he colored as he defended his own command. “Much of the woe in Scotland in these days is because men do not stand by their word, and because those with responsibility do not uphold justice. I shall not count myself among their numbers.” With that, he turned his steed away.

“You must understand, Vivienne,” Tynan murmured to her. “Alexander’s authority is tenuous over the men serving him at Kinfairlie. They think him young and untested in battle; some of them seek a chance to defy him. He dared not risk leaving your assailant go free, lest he be later challenged by the men in his own ranks. He dare not risk the safety of your other sisters by failing to deal with this matter with resolve. He has had to choose, and he chose to enforce his authority in Kinfairlie’s courts. He could have meted justice here and now, at least that of a less reputable kind.”

Vivienne chose not to reply, for she had already said too much. She wondered at these tidings, for she had not guessed that Alexander had any troubles with the men in his service, though Tynan’s comment made sense.

Alexander, of all of them, had had to make the greatest change after their parents’ sudden demise, for he had been compelled to immediately become Laird of Kinfairlie. All the same, she could not countenance that Erik had suffered for Alexander’s woes.

Vivienne’s brother, Malcolm, urged his horse to trot beside Tynan’s steed. He said nothing, evidently having assumed some of Tynan’s quiet manner in the days since he had been sworn to that man’s hand. He wore a version of Ravensmuir’s colors, which marked him as that estate’s heir, and rode another of Ravensmuir’s black stallions. Malcolm seemed already much older and more stern than she recalled.

It was only as the party rode away from the glade that Vivienne realized that Ruari was not among the company. Alexander’s hounds must not have found him, or Alexander had not realized that the lone man traveled with herself and Erik. Ruari’s insistence that he sleep apart from them had proven to be good counsel.

As clearly had been his advice to ride to Queensferry without halting. Vivienne regretted that she had not endorsed his plan. She had feared for Erik’s welfare, though halting for the day had only resulted ultimately in his sustaining more injury yet. She swallowed as she thought of the chilling gaze he had granted her earlier and hoped fervently that he would be able to forgive her for her family’s deeds.

Vivienne also hoped that Ruari would be sufficiently intrepid to follow the party back to Ravensmuir. She, after all, would need all the aid she could muster to see Erik freed.

* * *

It was the conviction of Ruari Macleod that women were naught but trouble, and worse, that beauteous women were trouble beyond belief. He had thought that Erik’s scheme to claim Vivienne had been a misbegotten one from his first hearing of it, but the deed had been done by the time he had found the lad. He had also believed that it was folly to discount the talents of any woman kin with those at Ravensmuir, particularly her ability to speak with the ravens of that keep. He was not in the least bit surprised to find his suspicions proven right on all counts.

Nor was he happy about the result. He watched the large party ride back toward that cursed keep, their manner merry now that they had captured their prey. He had crept closer and listened keenly, disliking every morsel that reached his ears. The lad had treated the maiden with honor and she had rewarded him with treachery.

Her sole favor to Erik had been her insistence that her maidenhead was intact. Ruari did not doubt that this claim was for her own advantage alone, for she could still be wed well if none believed she had been sampled already, but her vow might have the benefit of ensuring that Erik would not be unmanned.

Though it was clear that he was to be roughly treated all the same. Perhaps the brother of the maiden had not truly believed her words.

It mattered little. Ruari trailed the company, its triumphant members not in the least bit cautious about the noise they made. A pair of dark birds circled over the front of the group, where the lass rode with her kin, and Ruari could have readily guessed what manner of birds they were.

He kept his hood raised, and loitered so far behind the company that he might have lost them, if he had not known their destination.

Ravensmuir. Dread rose in Ruari’s throat like black bile, but he could not abandon the pledge he had made to William Sinclair. The lad was his responsibility and he dared not fail him.

The sun set like livid red eye over the highlands, the sky grew thick with clouds. The clouds darkened ominously as they rode ever eastward, the darkness enfolding the last rays of the sun as if extinguishing it. A cold wind stung Ruari’s face, and he found no good portent in the fact that it came from the sea.

There was trouble ahead, and foul weather as well. Ruari had no taste for either, and he wondered now why he, as a youth, had not been content to remain by his mother’s fire at night, herding goats by day. He could yet be there, content and a little plump, perhaps with a wife of his own who could make a pot of ale now and again. It would not have been so bad of a life.

Then Ruari remembered William Sinclair, a great man far beyond any he might have encountered in their small village, a man who had taught him much, and he knew why he had left.

All too quickly, Ravensmuir itself loomed ahead, a massive shadow against the roil of sea and sky. Ruari shivered at the very sight of it, even as he halted his steed. He was relieved when those birds disappeared behind the high curtain wall and did not fly skyward again.

There was no village at Ravensmuir, just empty moor for the last half mile or so before the gates. Those gates opened to admit the company, then swallowed them, like a demon devouring men in its greedy maw. Ruari paused down behind the last thorny hedge that offered a meager shadow and considered his course. The first heavy drops of rain began to splatter on and around him.

Ruari wrapped his cloak around himself and straightened his tabard. He squinted at the brooding face of Ravensmuir and shook at what he was compelled to do to keep the pledge he had made.

But he knew William Sinclair well enough to know that his late lord would not be one to accept excuses. William had never been one to flinch before a deed that needed doing, however unsavory the task might have been.

Ruari was not so bold as to guess whether his destination when he left this earth was to be heaven or hell, but he knew that whichever it was, William Sinclair would be awaiting him there. Ruari knew that any omissions he might have made in seeing that man’s last demand fulfilled would not be forgotten by him for all eternity.

Ruari lifted his hood, squared his shoulders, and began to ride toward Ravensmuir’s gates. He might well die in the attempt to aid the lad this time, but there was no honor in walking away from one’s pledge. He kept his head high, though he feared that he stepped squarely into folly.

He might meet William sooner than either of them had anticipated.

After all, Ruari could not juggle and he could not sing. The Laird of Ravensmuir did not appear to be in need of mercenaries, nor would he be desirous of information about his neighbors with a hoard of spying birds to do his bidding. To be sure, Ruari knew no such news, but he could have fabricated some if so doing had offered some prospect of success. Ruari could recount a tale, though he knew only one and it was hardly whimsy.

He could only hope it would suffice.

Doubts assailed him with every step closer to those dark gates, as if a shadow fell ever longer over his heart. Ruari hoped with sudden vigor that Medusa had neglected to mention his presence when the bird had told the laird where to find Vivienne and Erik.

Otherwise, his arrival - and his intent - might be anticipated.

Ruari swallowed but did not slow his pace, even at that daunting prospect. He might be stepping into a trap - he would not put as much past the sorcerers of Ravensmuir - but a man who swore a pledge at the deathbed of another did not truly have any choice.

Ruari hoped that this choice would not be his last one.

He also hoped that William Sinclair would grant him credit for trying to fulfill his pledge, even if he failed in so doing.

* * *

Tynan called for ale to be poured in Ravensmuir’s hall when the party returned. Their arrival had clearly been anticipated - perhaps by some earlier command of Tynan’s - for the trestle tables were at ready in the hall and the tantalizing smell of roast meat carried from the kitchens.

Vivienne was in no mood to tell Alexander how wondrous he was, though he clearly was proud of his feat. He seized her hand and held it high, acknowledging the applause of Tynan’s household. “Vivienne is returned, hale and untouched!” he cried. The entire company, as well as those in Tynan’s household, cheered.

Vivienne smiled, though her thoughts churned with the problem before her. How would she manage to set Erik free? Every gate that clanged shut behind them seemed to make the feat more impossible.

What if it was impossible?

What if she could not aid Erik?

Malcolm, who had once been her ally in many a prank, now hovered so close to Tynan and echoed that man’s grim manner so well that his alliance could not be in doubt. There would be no aid for Erik from him.

“Let me tend the prisoner,” Vivienne said on impulse to her brother. “He was injured by your men and it is the responsible of a good laird to see his prisoners tended.”

“Then Uncle Tynan will see the deed done by another, you can be certain,” Alexander said dismissively. “Come to the board, so all can see that you are hale.”

“I would offer to do aid him.” Vivienne had thought this might grant her a chance to see Erik, but Alexander shook his head.

“You have need of a bath, a hot meal and a long sleep,” he said with affection. “Not more responsibilities.”

“But...”

“You will not do this, Vivienne,” Alexander said with resolve. “I forbid it.” Vivienne glared at her brother, who had never spoken to her with such a harsh tone, and he glared back at her, clearly unapologetic.

“It is common,” Tynan interjected, “for one who has undergone an ordeal to feel fondness for the party responsible for that ordeal.”

“That makes no sense,” Alexander said.

“Nonetheless, it is true.” Tynan watched Vivienne with his wise eyes and she wondered again how much he saw of her inclinations. He shook his head, then cupped her elbow in his hand. He was so calm, so certain of himself, that it was easy to be let him lead her along. “Come to the board, Vivienne, and revive yourself with ale and meat. You will forget what you have experienced by the morrow.”

Such was Vivienne’s attitude toward her kin that his words made her wonder whether rumor contained a germ of truth. Had Ruari uttered a truth in naming her uncle as a sorcerer? Would Tynan ensure that she forgot Erik, by slipping some herb into her ale? There could be no greater travesty, to her thinking, for she was possessive of her memories of their time together.

And she would make more such memories.

“I am not hungry, in truth,” she protested. “Nor do I have any thirst.”

Alexander laughed. “I wager that you will be hungry beyond belief once you let a morsel cross your tongue. The fare at Ravensmuir is most fine, and you look to be pale for lack of food, Vivienne.”

“Nonetheless, I have no desire to eat.”

“What did you eat this past day?” Alexander asked.

Vivienne glanced downward. “Some cheese and bread. An apple or two. Simple fare but sufficient of it.”

Alexander snorted.

“You must sit at the board for a while,” Tynan urged smoothly. “The better for all to see that you are well. Without doubt, you have had an ordeal and the merriment will ease your mood.”

It seemed that what Vivienne desired was not to be. She followed their lead to the board and lifted a cup to the company with false cheer, hoping against hope that she could escape her brother and uncle soon.

It was the sight of her youngest sister that eased Vivienne’s mood. Elizabeth pushed her way through the crowd in the hall, her eyes dancing with pleasure.

“Vivienne!” Elizabeth cried as she made the high table. Vivienne darted down from the dais, uncaring what her brother had to say about that.