The Rose Red Bride JK2 (41 page)

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 sent 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 leapt 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 leapt 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 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 keen. 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.

Meanwhile, Darg screamed in ear-piercing fury. The cloud that must be her manifestation grew half again as large and fairly boiled against the stone walls. To Rosamunde’s dismay, rock began to fall from the tunnel walls with vigor then, crashing around them and falling into the chasm. A veil of dust rose, but still the cloud grew bigger.

The rock began to groan, as if it could not contain the volume of Darg’s fury. Cracks appeared and spread wildly across the stone surfacing, gaping wider with every scream the spriggan uttered.

“The caverns will collapse!” Tynan shouted over the din. He seized Rosamunde’s hand and they ran together toward the corridor that led upward to Ravensmuir’s solar.

The cloud screamed more sharply and a crack gaped wide in the rock above the door. Rosamunde knew they would not make the portal in time, but both she and Tynan ran more quickly all the same. Right in front of their toes, a massive chunk of stone loosed itself and fell squarely into the corridor, blocking the passage and enfolding them in a cloud of dust.

Tynan did not hesitate. He turned to another portal, one that led to the stables. Lightning seemed to flash over their heads as they turned their steps. It snaked through the dust-filled air, striking the stone with a flash. The stone walls roared and vibrated, and another piece of stone fell to block their course.

“We shall be trapped!” Rosamunde said. She pivoted, even as more stones fell into the other portals, then looked up a fierce snap echoed through the chamber. The very floor shifted with its rumble and Rosamunde feared the worst.

A fissure opened in the high arching ceiling of stone overhead, then gaped wide with alarming speed. Tynan followed her gaze and swore. Far overhead, there was the sound of stone creaking and walls buckling.

It was more than the labyrinth falling in, Rosamunde realized. All of Ravensmuir collapsed around them, the tunnels sealing as the mighty keep was brought to its knees.

And not a single soul knew that she and Tynan were trapped beneath the stone.

“We are lost!” Tynan whispered, making to draw her into his embrace.

Rosamunde was not so prepared to surrender. She knew what the spriggan wanted of her, and the fairy had loosed her ship from the fog. The debt had to be paid. She pulled the ring from her finger that Tynan had just place there, and cast it into the midst of the angry orange cloud that assaulted them.

“What is this madness that you do?” Tynan cried and dove after the silver ring. “That is my mother’s ring!”

“Leave it!” Rosamunde cried over the cracking of stone, but he did not heed her. She saw him fall to his knees, desperately seeking the ring in the rubble. She glanced upward at the crumbling stone, then about herself. “Look there, Tynan!” she cried in sudden relief. “We missed one portal!”

And indeed there was one, gleaming with a strange golden light as if it would beckon them closer.

Tynan glanced up. “That is no passage I know.”

“Nonetheless it is there.”

“You know not where it leads.”

“It scarce matters!”

“I do not like the look of it,” he insisted.

“I do not like the look of that!” Rosamunde pointed upward as the ceiling of the grotto began to shift. A hail of small stones scattered over them and she saw blood on Tynan’s temple.

“Tynan, hurry!” Rosamunde shouted and lunged for the gleaming portal, assuming he would follow. She just barely made it through the portal, barely had time to note the curious golden light shining ahead of her, before there was another crack.

A deafening roar filled the cavern she had just left as stone fell with gusto. She choked on the dust and saw that she was alone. Rosamunde peered through the portal, but there was no sign of Tynan, and she knew what she had feared to learn here.

Tynan had, once again, chosen Ravensmuir first.

Rosamunde pivoted, her tears rising with uncharacteristic vigor. Another tumble of stone collapsed in Ravensmuir’s caverns with such vigor that a vengeful deity might be sealing the labyrinth for all eternity. She had no chance to choose her course: a chance chunk of stone struck her brow and Rosamunde Lammergeier knew no more.

* * *

Vivienne was not certain how she would escape with Erik’s daughters. The girls were so young that they could not run or fight: Vivienne would have to defend all three of them as well as ensure their escape. She was not certain that they trusted her - why would they, indeed? - or that they would follow her bidding. She also did not know how she would ensure their safety once she left this party.

Perhaps she could wait until they rode closer to Ravensmuir, or Kinfairlie, then abduct the girls and flee to her family’s care. Of course, that was predicated upon Henry and Arabella riding as far as Kinfairlie.

It seemed that once again she had believed her abilities to be greater than they might prove to be.

Against her every aspiration, Arabella and Henry had taken to arguing over the merits of pausing at the Earl of Sutherland’s abode this night. As the Earl was the sole person of whom Vivienne knew who might recognize Erik’s daughters - though truly, he might not have paid any heed to young girls, given his interest in ensuring succession - this decision was of considerable concern to Vivienne.

She eavesdropped shamelessly, and tried to think of a way to affect the choice they ultimately made. Astrid dozed against her chest, thumb securely in her mouth, while Mairi sat behind her sister, facing Vivienne as well. Vivienne thought the older girl dozed, too, though her fingers still caressed the smooth lines of the silver pin.

“I cannot see the merit of halting at so late an hour,” Henry repeated for at least the sixth time. “It is unseemly to awaken a host late and demand hospitality.”

“Surely you cannot imagine that I will ride in such weather, without so much as a hot meal, a warm bath, and a plump mattress?” Arabella retorted. “The hour is of little import. How are we to affect the distance between abodes? If you had not insisted upon taking these children in our company, we could have been miles further by now.”

“If you had not insisted upon visiting Beatrice of Blackleith, we should not even be in these cold lands.”

“And what was I to do? Rumor abounded about her and her rich domain in the north, and truly, the tales I heard made it sound to be a veritable paradise. I had no choice but to come, especially after I lost that wager with the Countess. Believe me, Henry, I should have dearly loved to have won. It would have done me good to imagine her in this wretched country instead of me. Doubtless she will make merry at my expense. You must ensure that she hears only good about this journey. Perhaps we should tell her that Beatrice’s riches are so great that they cannot be described.” Arabella chuckled at the prospect. “Then she will feel compelled to ride here to see for herself.”

“Tell her whatsoever you feel the need to tell her, my dear. I need only know what I am supposed to say.”

“Henry, you are the most gallant man,” Arabella said, drumming her fingers upon his arm. She lowered her voice to a lusty warble. “Perhaps we should stop at the Earl’s abode and demand his very best bed for our pleasure.”

The squires rolled their eyes and bit back smiles.

“If it would please you, my lady, I believe the children would benefit from a halt this night,” Vivienne dared to say.

“Their temperaments can only improve,” Arabella said haughtily, then waved her hand. “I have no care for their moods, girl. They are your worry until I have need of them. Children should be ignored until they prove useful.”

Henry glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed his small wet party. His gaze lingered overlong upon Vivienne. She thought she put too much weight upon the look in his eyes, but only until he spoke.