Chapter Fifteen

Rafael took Elizabeth to the cavern, leaving Rayo tethered to graze upon the cliff. Both Ravensmuir and Kinfairlie were distant and dark, and the wind would have stolen any sounds they made. He dismounted then lifted her down, stealing another kiss before he took her by the hand and led her down the hidden path. She did not falter or hesitate, her eyes shining when the cavern was revealed. Around the corner had been the hiding place for his treasure, but Rafael would remain by the opening, where all they could see was the expanse of the ocean.

“We might be alone in all of Christendom,” Elizabeth said, as if there could be naught better.

Again, Rafael was amazed by her. None of her protectors knew of her location. No one would see them in this place and none would hear her if she changed her mind and called for aid. Yet Elizabeth came with him willingly, trustingly, and Rafael was humbled by that.

Such confidence. Such innocence.

Such trust.

He would not betray her.

Rafael removed his cloak and cast it upon the stone. Elizabeth watched, then followed suit, unfurling her own cloak atop his. Hers was of fine wool, dyed to the vibrant hue of a sapphire, and was lined with silver fur. It was thick and luxurious as befit her status. His was thick and woolen, faded slightly from wear, serviceable but unadorned. The contrast made the differences in their status so clear that Rafael faltered.

Again, Elizabeth seemed to read his thoughts. She came to him, her fingers landing upon the bit of embroidery on his tabard. “Why is your insignia so small?”

Rafael could only utter the truth. “I have no insignia, for I am no knight.”

Elizabeth frowned slightly and he wondered if she reconsidered her choice. “Did you not earn your spurs under the tutelage of an uncle?”

Rafael smiled at her assumptions. “I earned what is mine with the weight of my blade.” He touched the golden embroidery on his tabard, their fingers entwining over his heart. “This is but a token for good fortune, granted to me by a lady who was quick with a needle.”

Something flashed in those wondrous eyes, an emotion quickly disguised. Was she jealous? Rafael sorely hoped so. “Had she stitched one of your wounds?”

“Nay, only one woman has done that.” He bent and touched his lips to her fingertips.

She smiled then, well pleased, and the sight sent heat through him. Her finger returned to encircle the emblem. “What is it meant to represent?”

“It is a pomegranate, for that is what I requested of her.”

“An apple of Granada,” Elizabeth mused and he was surprised she knew of it. “I have never seen one, though I have heard of them.” She glanced up at him. “In tales of valor.”

Of course. Rafael smiled down at her, snared by the welcome in her eyes.

“They grace the insignia of more than one knight I know, perhaps because the juice of the fruit is as red as blood,” Rafael admitted. He wanted her to understand more of him. “The fruit, like so many other things in life, is both tart and sweet.” He gave her an intent look. “There is a seed secreted within each bead of that juice, a reminder that all joys have their price.”

Elizabeth bit her lip as she considered him. “That is a harsh way to look at life.”

“But a true one.”

“When will you cease your trade?” she asked quietly, her gaze searching his.

“Never.” He might regret that truth, but Rafael feared it was unassailable.

She shook her head, impatient with his reply. “Do not be ridiculous. At some point you will halt, if only because you are killed while waging war. But Mío Cid rode out to secure a haven for his wife and daughters and to ensure their futures. What goal have you in your trade? Why did you begin it?”

“To survive.”

“But you have done that,” she insisted. “Why would you willingly abandon it?”

“I will not. It is what I am and what I do. I know no other life.”

“But Malcolm…”

Rafael interrupted her, wanting to be sure she understood the obstacles before him. “Had the benefit of not just a legacy, but training for his future responsibilities in assuming that legacy. He had need of coin and naught else.” He smiled, a little rueful to admit the truth. “I have coin, and naught else. And so I continue, as we all continue, until we fight no more. We have war in our blood, like hounds who have had a taste of the kill, and its allure cannot be forgotten.”

Even as he said as much, Rafael hoped it could be otherwise. He knew though that if he gave Elizabeth any hope of his eventual return, she would cling to it, along with her conviction of destiny’s promise. He would not give her false hope. He concluded with greater emphasis than had been his intention. “It is the way of the world, mi piqueño ángel.”

Of course, Elizabeth was not deterred. He saw in her eyes that he had not shaken her conviction a whit.

He realized it would have shaken him if he had.

“What does that mean?” she whispered, those eyes alight. “You always say that, but I do not know what it means.”

“Mi piqueño ángel?” he asked and she nodded. “It means ‘my little angel.’”

Elizabeth smiled then, well pleased, and touched her lips to his again. “But I am not an angel,” she murmured against his mouth. “Nor am I so little.”

And she was not his. The truth struck Rafael to his marrow.

It was time to give the lady his gift. It would be a kind of homage to her.

Rafael doffed his gloves and framed her face in his hands, bending to kiss her thoroughly. She stretched to her toes and wound her arms around his neck, returning his embrace with ardor. An understanding of the tenderness and passion that could exist between a woman and a man, an expectation of what she could demand of the man who would wed her, an understanding of her due would be his gift.

It was not much, but it was all that Rafael Rodriguez had to give to a woman of Elizabeth’s ilk.

Perhaps she would remember him kindly.

He knew he would never forget her.

* * *

Elizabeth was nigh overwhelmed with pleasure. Something in her manner had enflamed Rafael for he kissed her with more vigor than ever he had before. She thought he might consume her whole, and she did not care if he did. His mouth locked upon hers, his tongue slipped between her teeth and Elizabeth opened her mouth to him in complete capitulation.

He would show her the way.

He groaned at her capitulation, a wondrous sound, and swept her into his arms, depositing her gently on the pair of cloaks. He did not break his kiss but unlaced her kirtle, jerking the lace free on either side. Elizabeth regretted that she had worn anything other than her chemise, for she wanted to feel his hands upon her.

She moaned when the weight of his hand closed over her breast, and cried out in pleasure when he pinched her nipple as he had once before.

“Does it hurt?” he murmured into her ear and Elizabeth shook her head.

“It is wondrous, a sting and a tingle together. Do not halt!”

He chuckled and rolled the peak of her nipple between his finger and thumb, watching her with bright eyes as she arched her back and gasped with pleasure. He claimed her lips again, that enticing fire in his embrace, his kiss rough and possessive and demanding. That he could lose some control in his desire for her was exciting beyond compare.

When he lifted his head, Elizabeth tugged her loosened kirtle over her head, and cast it aside, then untied the lace of her chemise. He watched her avidly, smiling that roguish smile, then his hand slid beneath the hem of her chemise. His palm was warm upon her thigh, his expression dangerous as he eased his hand ever higher. Elizabeth felt herself flush. She felt the heat gather in her belly and the moisture between her thighs. She yearned for something she could not name.

Then Rafael’s fingers slid between her thighs, proving that he knew what she wanted. He touched her in that most intimate place, caressing her with a surety that made Elizabeth gasp and writhe. She felt a tempest rising beneath her skin but he was relentless, driving her ever higher. He kissed her with fervor again, then traced a line of kisses down her throat, his whiskers grazing her skin in a way she found most exciting. She locked her fingers into the thickness of his hair, then cried out when he closed his mouth over her taut nipple.

He suckled and kissed it, running his tongue and his teeth across it so that it ached from his attentions. His fingers still moved against her, teasing her to ride this storm that he conjured. Elizabeth was lost in his embrace, unable to believe the power of sensation, uncertain she would survive this sweet torment.

She felt wanton that she was nearly nude and he was yet fully dressed, and could imagine him seducing her like this in some corner of a hall or in a chamber that they shared. His fingers eased inside her and she moaned from the depths of her being at the pleasure he conjured. He did not relent but caressed her as if determined to bring her very blood to a boil. He paused and she opened her eyes, unable to catch her breath as her heart raced. She smiled back at him, knowing she was flushed and pleased, thinking this was the sum of it.

For it was fine indeed.

“It is wondrous,” she managed to whisper.

But Rafael cast her a wicked smile. “It has yet begun,” he murmured.

He lifted the hem of her chemise, baring her belly to his view, and traced another path of burning kisses ever lower. Elizabeth gasped when his mouth closed over her, then she sighed at the touch of his mischievous tongue. He gripped her buttocks and lifted her to his embrace, tormenting her with pleasure so that she knew not what to do. That storm built with savage fury and she cried out for something she could not name. She writhed like a harlot, greedy for his touch and yearning for all that he could give.

The crescendo came suddenly as if she had been cast from the cliff toward the sea far below. Elizabeth heard herself shout with pleasure as a tumult shot through her veins.

She opened her eyes long moments later, heated and panting, only to find Rafael watching her with mingled satisfaction and amusement.

“I thank you,” she said, hearing that her voice was uneven. “Why do wedded couples ever leave the solar?”

Rafael laughed. “Not all are as passionate as you.”

There was no criticism in his tone, though Elizabeth knew this could not be the sum of lovemaking. He was still fully dressed, after all. She reached for him, claiming his hand. “And that cannot be all of it,” she whispered in awe. “For you have not had your pleasure.”

“My pleasure is in witnessing yours,” Rafael said with force, then reached for her again. She understood then that he did not mean to possess her, and her heart swelled at his gallantry.

Indeed, his choice only convinced her of the merit of her own.

“But I would see you fully,” she whispered, letting her hand fall to his belt. “I would see how a man is wrought.”

He hesitated, yet another sign of his scheme, and Elizabeth knew she had not long to overwhelm his objections. She cast off her chemise, baring herself fully to his view, and took advantage of his surprise. She unfastened the buckle of his belt and laid it aside with care, then pushed him to his back. Rafael braced himself on his elbows, as if he would stop her, but Elizabeth quickly removed his boots.

“Elizabeth,” he growled in warning and though she liked the sound well, she saw that he began to sit up.

On impulse, she put her hand on his erection, feeling its size through his chausses and tightened her fingers around his strength. Rafael caught his breath and froze, his eyes glittering. “You used your mouth to grant pleasure,” she whispered. “What if I use mine?”

His eyes flashed like lightning and Elizabeth understood that her suggestion would please him well. “No lady does as much,” he began to protest, but Elizabeth’s fingers were busy on his laces. She tugged his chausses over his hips and touched him tentatively, smiling when she was rewarded by his moan of pleasure.

“Temptress,” he whispered as he fell back against the cloak, and Elizabeth knew he was hers to claim.

* * *

Rafael never could have imagined Elizabeth possessed such audacity.

All the same, he could not resist her touch, much less her delight in what she did. She learned far too quickly for him to evade her touch, and he certainly could not contain his response. He pulled her away in the last moment and spilled his seed on his own chemise. When he was gasping in the aftermath, her cursed fingers were busy, pulling the chemise over his head.

“I would see all of you,” she insisted and he did not have it in him to fight her.

When he was nude and she was nude and she cast herself across his chest, triumph sparkling in her eyes, he could not resist her. He speared his fingers into her hair, liking that she had left it loose for the night, and spread the ebony tresses over her shoulders.

She arched a brow, tracing circles on his chest with her fingertips. “I suppose that there is more pleasure than can be shared.”

He could not suppress his smile. “I suppose you know that I do not mean to show that to you.”

She bit her lip, looking so impish that he considered himself warned. “I suppose you have guessed that I do not mean to leave you a choice.”

“I cannot wed…”

“I do not care,” Elizabeth retorted and claimed his lips in a kiss as potent and commanding as the ones he had given her. Truly, she learned too quickly, for her fingers were in his hair, her hands holding him captive to her kiss, her mouth demanding and enticing. Rafael found his hands locking into her hair, holding her fast as their kiss turned incendiary. He was barely aware that she cast a leg over him, but then he felt her bare breasts pressed against his chest. Her knees locked around his waist and her softness touched his erection, sending a jolt through him. She lowered her hips and rubbed herself against him, making him moan.

He rolled her to her back then, for he could do naught else. He took command of their kiss, his hands roving over her silken skin, for that was his only chance to save her chastity. He eased a hand between them, though he did not want to break the contact, and would have caressed her to grant her pleasure. He would have denied his own need, but Elizabeth gripped his buttocks and drew him closer, so that the sweet wet heat of her was right against him. Rafael bared his teeth and closed his eyes, putting his brow on her shoulder as he fought for control.

Elizabeth rolled her hips in invitation.

And he could not decline. He eased inside her, shaking at the effort of maintaining control for a little longer. She gasped and gripped his hair, nibbling at his ear as he buried himself in her sweetness. He feared it was too much for her, but Elizabeth surprised him anew.

“All of you,” she demanded with ferocity, locking her legs around his waist. “Show me all of you.”

And Rafael could only comply. He drew back, bracing his weight on his elbows so he could watch her as he claimed her. There was no fear in her expression and if she felt pain, she hid it well. Indeed, she smiled at him, as beguiling a temptress as there had ever been, and when he began to move, her eyes lit with pleasure. She gripped his shoulders, gripping his skin with her nails, which only inflamed him more.

“Do we find pleasure together?” she asked, her cheeks flushing more with every moment.

“If Fortune smiles upon us,” he said with a smile, then caressed her with a fingertip.

“That is not Fortune,” she whispered with a laugh, even as she writhed beneath his touch. “Unless you have changed your name, Rafael Rodriguez.”

“Not me,” he said, loving how responsive she was to his touch. He drove her higher and higher, her movements fueling his own passion, until they were moving together with such a smooth rhythm of mutual pleasure that they could have been meeting abed for decades. They smiled at each other, so attuned each to the other that Rafael had never known the like.

He pushed her higher and higher, waiting for her to find her pleasure first. When Elizabeth cried out, her body tightening convulsively around him and her fingers digging into his shoulders, Rafael could not hold back. He buried his face in her neck, inhaled deeply of her potent perfume, and welcomed his own release with a roar. Elizabeth laughed lightly and kissed his neck, drawing him more securely into her embrace as he dozed.

This was how it felt to be a champion.

And the sensation was wondrous indeed.

It did not, however, last.

* * *

Elizabeth was dozing when the eastern sky first began to lighten. It was yet an hour until the dawn, maybe two, but Rafael was wide awake. He was taut with the import of what he had done.

He had taken what was not his to take.

And he must make the matter come aright.

Rafael would ride out this very morning, a new objective to his days. He could not offer for Elizabeth’s hand as a man-at-arms in service to Malcolm but perhaps, like Mío Cid, he could win a holding, then return to court her in truth. Perhaps he could have a future like her past, and one with such a glorious woman at his side.

For the gift Elizabeth gave to him was hope, and it was pungent to a man who had never tasted of it before.

Rafael knew the odds were long against him. He knew it likely that he would fail. He doubted he could manage to succeed in such an endeavor before Finvarra tried to seize Elizabeth. But there was merit in the striving. He dared not give her false hope. He dared not encourage her to wait for him, for that would be too cruel should he fail and not return. He had to trust in her conviction that Finvarra would not prompt her choice and believe in his own inevitable success.

Maybe even in destiny.

For Rafael Rodriguez, for the first time in all his days, would ride to war with a purpose and a goal. And he would leave a legacy of merit, should the fates be truly on his side.

Rafael held Elizabeth against his side, unwilling to disturb her well-earned slumber even as his resolve built. Her hair was free of its braid, unfurled across the silver fur of the cloak. He stroked his fingers through the silken length of it, wanting to touch her, and had an idea. He would have a talisman of this moment, a mark of the pledge he made to himself to ensure the lady was honored.

But she could not know what he did, for she would understand the gesture’s meaning.

Rafael separated one hair from the rest and plucked it free. Elizabeth stirred slightly, her lashes fluttering. Rafael claimed a second hair and she grimaced a little, then yawned. The third hair he claimed with haste, winding them together and tucking them into his purse just before her eyes opened.

Elizabeth smiled at him, stretching languidly, nude and beautiful. She was sated, he could see, and he loved the sight of her. He yearned to remain with her, but the sooner he departed, the sooner he might return. Hope lit in her eyes when she ran a hand over his bare chest, only to be replaced by disappointment when he handed her chemise to her.

“Morning comes,” he whispered, unable to deny himself one sweet kiss. “It is time to ensure that you are found in your own chamber at first light.”

She did not suggest that they be found together.

Indeed, Elizabeth looked vulnerable and uncertain as never she had in his experience. Rafael could not resist the opportunity to reassure her. He pushed his fingers into her hair and cupped her nape, looked into her eyes, then kissed her with sweet ardor. Her lips clung to his, her hands landing on his shoulders, and he drank deeply of her sweetness.

He broke the kiss suddenly, for he would not be tempted again, then rolled away from her. Rafael stood, then seized his own chemise and drew it over his head. He was well aware of the watchful silence behind him.

“That seems a farewell embrace,” Elizabeth said, her words husky.

Rafael kept his back to her and bowed his head. “I warned you already that men of honor are most tedious.”

She caught her breath and he glanced back to see that hope had lit in her eyes once again. He held her gaze, because he could do naught else, and though he did not wish to give her false hope, Rafael hoped that this time, Elizabeth could truly read his thoughts. They stared at each other for a long potent moment, then moved as one to dress and depart.

* * *

Elizabeth had no regrets, save that something had changed in Rafael’s manner.

He seemed distant after that last kiss, and even that kiss had been tinged with a sadness that Elizabeth associated with partings. She saw a new resolve in him, but feared to ask its import.

She guessed he still meant to leave.

She did not wish to hear him say as much.

She hoped he would ask Alexander for her hand in the morning, but now that her innocence was lost, all of Rafael’s protests echoed in her thoughts, feeding her doubts.

She did not want him to feel compelled to wed her, for she wanted a life with her to be a choice made freely. She did not want him to be bound to her against his will. She ached to know his intent, but she knew he did not wish to confide it in her.

And for once, Elizabeth was afraid to provoke Rafael for more.

She curled against him as he rode to Kinfairlie, hoping this would not be the last she saw of him. His arm was tightly wrapped around her, his manner grim, and they reached the crumbled border wall all too soon for her taste. The sky was smeared pink and she could hear a woman in Kinfairlie’s village shouting at some child to see the goats milked and quickly. She feared now to be caught, for she would not see Rafael chastised by Alexander, not for what Elizabeth herself had done.

She had compelled him to claim her. She had made her choice and used her own power over Rafael to make him do as he did not wish.

She wondered only now at the price of her choice.

He halted Rayo by the twisted tree and swung out of the saddle, gripping her waist to lift her to the ground. For a poignant moment she was in the circle of his arms and could see the regret in his eyes.

“I do not regret it,” she whispered with fervor. “No matter the price.”

“Nor do I,” Rafael said, his finger sliding up her cheek. “Nor can I. I hope only that the price is not too high.”

“I will pay it,” she said, feeling defiant again.

Rafael smiled. “And I would protect what is precious,” he murmured, his gaze trailing over her as if he would memorize the sight of her. She knew she looked to have been savored, that her hair was unbound and her garb askew, but his slow smile was filled with admiration. “Be well, mi piqueño ángel, for if there is no goodness left to defend, then the carnage of men has no point.” He held her gaze, then turned away.

That was the moment Elizabeth knew for certain that he meant to leave her.

She choked back a sob, determined not to beg or entreat him, then walked steadily to Kinfairlie’s portal. She heard hoof beats behind her, but did not look back.

Elizabeth had gambled her all, and she feared she had lost.

On the threshold, though, she wondered. What had Rafael meant about a man of honor?

Did he call himself one?

Elizabeth spun, but he was far up the coast, his destrier racing north in haste to be gone.

Or in haste to embark on a quest.

Elizabeth smiled then, her heart aflame with new hope, and willed Rafael to succeed.

* * *

Rafael returned to the cavern, after he had taken Elizabeth back to Kinfairlie, burning with his new purpose. He cast his saddlebags at the floor of the cavern and dug in the dirt with his bare hands. In moments, the djinn trap was revealed, its occupant as displeased at it had been earlier.

“You have a choice in this moment,” Rafael said briskly. “For I can release you before I depart, or leave you in captivity.”

The small djinn was defiant. “A price you will ask, that much is true, but I know not that I would give aught to you.”

Rafael squatted down beside the trap and spoke so that his determination would be heard clearly. “The price of your freedom is simple: you must grant three wishes to whoever sets you free.”

“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.