The Rose Red Bride JK2 (25 page)

Hamish’s eyes brightened at the prospect.

“Uncle Tynan has need of every man to come to the defense of Kinfairlie,” Vivienne added.

“Aye, I can hear the ruckus, but I cannot abandon my task.” Hamish spared a dark glance to the door to the cell in the dungeon. “No man assails one of the ladies of my laird’s family and is left free to escape justice.”

“Amen to that,” Ruari said gruffly. “I will watch the prisoner in your stead.”

“Indeed!” Vivienne declared. “Hamish, your blade is needed in the battle above!”

Hamish flicked a suspicious glance at Ruari. “And who is this?”

“Oh, you must know Ruari.” Elizabeth waved dismissively at the older man, to Vivienne’s pleasure. Her sister, it was clear, was more adept with a falsehood than she. “He has been in Alexander’s employ for at least a fortnight.” Elizabeth leaned closer to Hamish to whisper. “But he is more sturdy than bold, what with his age, if you know understand my import.”

Hamish nodded at this, his gaze unswerving from Ruari.

Vivienne added to the tale. “Alexander has made Ruari my escort and he is stalwart. Trust him with the key to the dungeon and no one living or dead shall loose it from his grip.”

Hamish looked lingeringly toward the stairs, but he shook his head. “I should wait for my laird’s command.”

Ruari laughed shortly. “Even one so ancient as I can ensure that a prisoner remains in his cell in this formidable keep.” He glanced upwards. “And the laird will have no chance to grant you direct orders soon, my friend. He has need of every ally!”

A bellow carried from the hall above, followed by a resounding crash. Tynan roared for order with perfect timing.

Hamish hastily untied the key from his belt and offered it to the other man. “Mind you are not tricked.”

Ruari nodded. “I am accustomed to the silver tongue of Nicholas Sinclair and the wickedness it can unleash. You can be certain that I shall not be beguiled.”

Hamish raced up the stairs, then halted just before the portal. “Swear to me, as well, that you will defend Lady Vivienne and Lady Elizabeth.”

Ruari nodded. “Never has a woman come to harm beneath my care.” He pulled his own blade, as if to show his preparedness. “The ladies will be safe with me, safer here, by far, than in the hall above. Go, man! Go and aid the laird!”

The men’s gazes met and held, then Hamish burst into the hall with a battle cry. The heavy portal closed behind him as blades clashed overhead.

“Finally!” Vivienne made to pluck the key from Ruari’s hand, the better to hasten to Erik’s aid, but the older man shook his head.

“Let me. All may not be as you anticipate.”

Vivienne’s hand dropped away in trepidation. “Is Darg here?” she whispered and Elizabeth glanced to a high corner of the chamber, then nodded.

Ruari sheathed his blade silently, then squinted as he fitted the brass key into the lock. There was no sound from behind the portal, a poor portent indeed.

Perhaps Erik had been beaten to a stupor.

Perhaps he was dead. Vivienne clenched her hands together and prayed silently. Elizabeth eased closer, her own eyes wide.

The tumblers rolled and Ruari granted them a solemn glance.

Vivienne nodded that she was prepared for the worst, and the older man began to open the massive door. The hinges creaked in protest.

Then the door slammed back with vigor. Ruari fell backward with a cry as Erik leapt from his prison. In the twinkling of an eye, Ruari was on his back on the floor and Erik knelt atop him, his hands locked around the older man’s neck.

“No!” Vivienne shouted, forgetting for the moment that she might be overhead.

“No!” Elizabeth cried.

Apparently deaf to the sisters, Erik squeezed tighter. Ruari reddened and choked.

“Fool!” Vivienne kicked Erik in the leg with all her might. “Do not kill Ruari! We have come to aid you!”

* * *

Erik blinked repeatedly, struggling to adjust his vision to the sudden light. He had been able to see little beyond the silhouette in the doorway when he launched from the cell.

He was prepared to fight his way out of Ravensmuir. He had been so certain that the door would only be opened by someone charged with leading him to some foul fate, that he had been prepared to kill that messenger.

He had not been prepared for a woman to shout at him, much less for her to kick him with savage might. She leapt on to his back and locked her arms around his neck. The bone of her forearm pressed across his throat and impeded the passage of air.

He tightened his grip, intent upon completing what he had begun while he could. The chamber dimmed around him and his head began to throb with increased vigor.

Then he heard the name “Ruari” being screamed into his ear.

Indeed, the face reddening within his grasp was familiar.

Erik had not imagined that anyone would help him escape. He had certainly not imagined that Ruari would attempt to even enter Ravensmuir, much less gain an opportunity to release him in a timely fashion. The odds were rather against such fortuitous intervention.

Yet here was Ruari, choking for air within his grip.

“Ruari!” Erik loosed his hands and the older man took a shaking gasp of air. Erik helped the older man sit up and patted his back while that man laboriously caught his breath. Ruari coughed and spat, choked and rubbed his throat. He granted Erik a foul look, which was not undeserved.

It was Vivienne who slipped from Erik’s back, against all expectation, Vivienne who had kept him from making a grievous error.

If anything she gave him a darker glance than Ruari had.

It defied belief that Vivienne had ensured his escape. Yet Erik’s shin ached so mightily where she had kicked him that she could be no figment of his fancy.

And his body responded to her presence most keenly. Her eyes were flashing and her hair was loosing itself from her braid, her cheeks were flushed and she looked ripe enough to ravish. What sorcery could she summon, that merely the sight of her would awaken such a lust within him? He wanted naught other than to cast her over his shoulder and carry her away, to possess her over and over again, to taste every increment of her flesh a hundred times.

But why had she come to his aid now? He cast a suspicious glance about himself, telling himself that she must have come to bring more woe upon his head.

There were only four of them in the anteroom to the dungeon, the fourth being a young dark-haired girl who resembled Vivienne sufficiently to be kin. She did not appear to be a threat to his survival, but one never knew.

He slanted a cautious glance at Vivienne and his heart leapt when he found her gaze locked upon him. Her full lips tightened in disapproval and she took a deep breath that made the curves of her breasts strain against her kirtle.

“What manner of fool are you to assault those come to rescue you?” Vivienne demanded, her manner disparaging. Her voice trembled, though, and he knew she had feared he might have been successful.

Indeed, he had come close to injuring his sole reliable companion.

“How dare you injure the man loyal enough to aid you?” Vivienne continued. “What manner of witless fool tries to ensure that he is not saved?”

There was little Erik could say to that, so he said nothing at all. Indeed, the vigor of his body’s response to Vivienne’s presence was nigh overwhelming. He took a step away from her and turned his back upon her. He would remain as aware of her presence as ever but she might be insulted by his manner.

“I thank you for that greeting,” Ruari said gruffly. “Remind me never to leave you vexed, lad, if that is the welcome I receive when you are glad to see me.”

“I am sorry. I thought you came to lead me to my death.”

“I know what you thought, lad,” Ruari retorted. “But you might have looked afore you leapt.” He shuddered and coughed, making more of a spectacle of his recovery that Erik truly thought was deserved.

The other maiden patted Ruari upon the back with sympathy. She was pretty enough, young and curvaceous.

Ruari, the old rogue, fairly blossomed beneath her attentions.

“Oh, you are the heart and soul of kindness, upon that any sorry soul might rely,” he crooned. “Could you rub my back a bit, lass? Have you ever been told that you have the touch of a healer? I should know, for I am descended from a long and exalted line of healers, and I tell you that I can feel the gift in your touch...”

“A wise man once taught me that time was of the essence in surprising an assailant,” Erik muttered, knowing full well that Ruari would recognize William Sinclair’s counsel.

Ruari ignored him. “Here, lass. A bit to the left, on this shoulder here. Aye, there cannot be a shred of doubt about it, you have the fingers of an angel.” He smiled up at the maiden, who rubbed his back with greater vigor while he sighed contentment. “A veritable angel.”

“An apology is as little unless it is accepted,” Vivienne said.

Erik felt the back of his neck heat, knowing that the older man deliberately tormented him. “I halted as soon as I recognized you, Ruari. Again I say I am sorry.”

Ruari snorted. “Your vision fades before its time, lad. I would have thought you might have recognized me sooner.”

“You should see Ruari rewarded for his efforts in seeing you rescued.” Vivienne said. “He was most valiant.”

Ruari fairly preened beneath this praise.

“I have thanked him,” Erik said tersely. “Though he declines the honor I would grant him. Time there will be to argue about the matter once we are freed of Ravensmuir.”

“True enough, lad,” Ruari said and finally pushed to his feet. “This slender advantage may not endure overlong.” The men shook hands and exchanged a glance that resolved all.

“What happens in the hall above?” Erik asked. “It sounds to be a fight. Has the laird lost the order of his hall?”

Ruari nodded, but it was Vivienne who spoke first. She came to Erik’s side and laid a hand upon his arm, her touch sending a treacherous shiver over his flesh. He should have expected her to touch him, should have expected her to try to draw his eye to her again. She had to know the potency of her caress, the power she held over him.

Indeed, a fire danced through his veins from the point where her fingertips rested upon his flesh. He scarce dared to breathe, he dared not speak directly to her. He dared not so much as glance her way, so volatile was his desire for her.

“It is a fight,” she said. “One launched by Ruari’s reciting of your tale.”

His tale? Ruari had told his tale? Panic flickered deep within Erik, a terror that was not tempered by Ruari’s chagrined expression. “What is this?”

“I had no choice, lad.” Now it was Ruari who was contrite. For once in all his days, the man knew he had said too much. “I had need of a tale to gain admission to the laird’s hall. I told the sole tale I know.”

“You had no right!” Erik said in a low voice and Ruari knew the portent of that tone well enough to fidget.

“I know, lad, I know, but the greater good is served...”

Erik interrupted him angrily. “What greater good is served by baring a man’s soul to a company of strangers and mercenaries?”

“It was a wondrous tale,” Elizabeth enthused, either oblivious or indifferent to Erik’s anger. “Ruari told of you and of Nicholas and of Beatrice, and their deception, and of your children and...”

Erik needed to hear no more. “What in the name of God were you doing?” he bellowed, almost regretting that he had not finished his earlier assault. “You could have told any tale at all! There was no need to recount this one! You cannot tell my tale to anyone you so choose!”

“But...”

“You have no right to tell that tale and you know it as well as I,” Erik continued. “It is not your tale!”

Ruari pushed to his feet with an effort, then granted the younger man a steady glance. “Aye, it is your tale, true enough, though my telling of it has seen you released from imprisonment and saved from certain death or dismemberment.” Ruari huffed and Erik knew his companion was insulted.

But Erik might as well have had his garb torn away, so bare felt he. It was his tale, his alone, his to share or not to share, as he so chose.

He had been robbed of that choice. Now Vivienne and her entire family knew that he had nothing to his name, that he had been fool enough to be called a cuckold and cheated of his inheritance, that his name was worth nothing at all. Not only was he a scarred cripple: Nay, now Vivienne knew that his father had disavowed him, that his children had been stolen, that his very ability to create children had been cast into doubt. It was one thing to have been beguiled by her charms, another to have lost any dignity in her eyes.

Though now he understood the reason why she had come to assist him. It was pity that had brought Vivienne to his aid after her betrayal, no more than that.

But Erik did not desire her aid, not if pity was its root.

* * *

Even as Erik seethed, Ruari made a great fuss over smoothing his rumpled tabard. “I thought it a fitting use of the tale, to be certain, though if you disagree, we can readily lock you back into that cell, and we can ensure that this key -” he waved the offending piece of brass beneath Erik’s nose “- that this key is never found again. Is that your preference, my lord?” he asked, his tone cloying. “I certainly would not wish to defy your desire to die by risking my own life to save you.”

Erik held up a hand, but was not to be granted a chance to speak. Ruari continued his tirade, barely halting for breath. “Far be it for me, a mere servant, to assume that you might prefer to live rather than to die. Far be it for me, a mere paid escort, albeit one pledged to aid you by a promise made to a man who pledged vengeance for all eternity if I failed, far be it for me...” His voice rose in volume.

Vivienne stepped between the men, her gaze simmering in a most troubling way. “To summon Hamish back to his duty with too much loud talk,” she interrupted crisply.

When Erik and Ruari turned to her, she shook her head as if chiding naughty children. “If you mean to escape undetected and create a distraction to do so, you should have the wits to utilize that distraction.”