Chapter Three

Rafael was in the stables when he heard Bertrand and Louis jesting about Elizabeth. He was tending his destrier, Rayo, who was not in need of any tending. He froze at the sound of his comrade’s voices, unable to keep himself from listening. It was clear to him that they were unaware of his presence. It seemed deceptive to listen to his fellows thus, but Rafael heard Elizabeth’s name and wanted to know what they would say.

What he heard only confirmed his every doubt.

Bertrand whistled. “Were she not Malcolm’s sister, I could be tempted by Lady Elizabeth and her charms.”

“What man would not be so?” Louis retorted. “Hers is a rare beauty, and an innocence beyond compare.”

“Did you see her smile?” Bertrand gave another whistle of admiration.

Louis chuckled. “Indeed. It fairly lit the hall. It was good that she turned that smile upon Rafael, for he is not one to forget his place.”

“Nay, nor will he be seduced to be any woman’s pet.”

Pet? Rafael frowned at this choice of word and listened more closely.

Louis seemed to be surprised. “Do you not believe her to be a maiden?”

“Of course, but that situation will not last.” Bertrand spoke with easy confidence, and Rafael trusted his assessment. The youngest son of a baron, Bertrand knew the habits of the aristocrats better than most. “She arrived with the earl, did she not? Doubtless there is some match in the making, for she is not so young as that. Nay, she will be wedded to some nobleman, as befits her rank, but if she is like her brother, she will see her desires fulfilled all the same.”

“What is that to mean?”

“That any man who would be seen as fit to take her hand is likely so old as to have one foot in the grave, and be more like to sleep abed than to pleasure his lady.”

Louis gave a hoot of laughter. “And a lady so young will want a lover of her own. Once her virginity is claimed, she will have the freedom to do as she will while her husband slumbers.”

“Keep your wits about you and she might insist her husband hire men-at-arms, including one or two of her particular choice.”

“One or two upon whom she can bestow her favor! Who better for a lover and pet than a mercenary, who can come to her defense as well?”

Rafael straightened in distaste at this notion and barely kept from revealing his presence.

Bertrand’s next words made him glad he had not done so.

“Perhaps that lover might even dispense of her tedious spouse.” Bernard’s tone was dour. “Though any man so foolish would be dispatched in short order to the executioner’s block.”

Now it was Louis who whistled in appreciation. “So, she would be rid of both spouse and lover.”

“Plus heir to a holding and some fortune, much like her brother. What better situation for a lady who would shape her our future? This family is not a company of fools.”

“Ah, Bertrand, you know too much of noblewomen and their ways.”

“I speak only from experience. My own sister rid herself of a spouse in this way and rules that man’s holding now in her own right. It was she who saw her lover charged with his crime, too, and she who watched his execution.”

“Women can be cruel. ’Tis good for all of us that they seldom have power.” Louis frowned, then asked the question in Rafael’s mind. “But truly, do you see Lady Elizabeth’s heart as so dark?”

“Even if she does not have such a dark plan, taking a lover after she is wed to some baron in his dotage would see her future secure.”

“How so?”

“She will have need of a son to prove her merit to any spouse who takes her hand. I would wager Lady Elizabeth is sufficiently clever to ensure that her womb will be fruitful, regardless what her wedded spouse chooses to do or not do.”

Louis chuckled anew. “I confess, Bertrand, that your tales make me find greater favor with my hounds. They are not so complicated as noblewomen.”

“They have that advantage, at least, though I would like to believe that you do not find the same pleasures with them as I have found with noblewomen.”

The pair laughed together, well pleased with Bertrand’s jest. “How many supposedly legitimate heirs do you believe you have fathered, then?”

“At least a dozen, over the years.”

“Nay! It cannot be so! Not you, so rough and unmannered that no one would guess your lineage!”

“There are ladies who savor a taste of our kind,” Bertrand said. “Perhaps it is a yearning for adventure and peril.”

“Or paying too much heed to the troubadour’s tales.”

“I cannot say, but I have no quibbles with sating a lady’s desire.” Bertrand coughed. “You may be sure that if Lady Elizabeth beckoned to me, I would fall to one knee with all speed and serve her every whim with ardor.” Bertrand laughed. “I would fall into her bed, with the merest crook of her finger in invitation, and make her cry with pleasure all the night long.”

Louis laughed. “And do you call that witless, then? You would be used by her.”

“And she by me. The exchange of pleasure is a fair one, Louis, and understood to come with no pledges from either side. My heart and my life are never part of the wager. To risk either would be witless and a folly beside. We must know our places and our prospects. ’Tis as simple as that.”

The pair carried on then, their voices fading, though their words gave Rafael much to consider.

Was Bertrand right? Did Elizabeth seek to beguile him so that he could serve her whim and secure her future? Did she think to summon him—or a man like him—to serve her husband by day and herself by night when she was wedded?

Would she demand that he kill her husband to prove his affection, then see him executed for murder?

Rafael found the very notion abhorrent. To be mischievous was one matter, but such scheming was quite another.

On the other hand, Malcolm had been heir to Ravensmuir and had never given any hint of it in the six years Rafael had known him. That man had kept his assets to himself, until he could act upon them and secure his place in the world. Perhaps he had learned to ensure his own status from his family. Perhaps Elizabeth had learned similar lessons. There were fewer options available to women to ensure that they were secure, but Rafael wondered now if there might be rumors about Elizabeth. There might be a reason she was unwed, if other men in the vicinity knew the tendencies of her kin.

It mattered little, for Rafael would never accept such a role. He was no pet, and he would be no married woman’s lover. He would not be the adulterer who was found out and punished, nor would he play the executioner in exchange for a lady’s favors abed. He considered himself warned by Bertrand’s tale.

Rafael brushed Rayo with new purpose. He knew his place. He knew his prospects. He would not be tempted by a maiden’s smile to wish for what could never be his own.

He would give her the benefit of the doubt, rather than assuming her to be so cunning as Bertrand’s sister. Lady Elizabeth was young and had only known safety and security.

She did not know what she did in offering him so much.

She wished only to save her brother, which was a noble impulse.

The sooner they two were parted, the better, to Rafael’s thinking. He did not doubt that Elizabeth would forget him soon, and that was for the best. Rafael would never be the pawn of any noblewoman, kept as a pet to please her abed in secret.

There were, after all, some pleasures not worth their price.

* * *

After entrusting the wild thyme to Catriona, Elizabeth was left with little to do. Rafael was still absent, and she debated the merit of seeking him out. There was not much time left to persuade him to her view, though it would be beyond bold for her to go in search of him.

She rather liked the idea of being beyond bold.

She expected that impulse was Rafael’s fault. Indeed, there had been a quickening within her when he spoke to her, and one taste of that excitement was far from sufficient.

Elizabeth was resolved to find him but had no chance to act upon her impulse.

“My lady!” Vera exclaimed from close proximity.

Elizabeth turned to find the older serving maid scowling at her. Elizabeth dropped her gaze, ruing the fact that Vera had known her from birth. No one else could have elicited such a strong response in her.

“I would expect you to know better how to conduct yourself,” Vera huffed, her tone chastising. “Consorting with the likes of Rafael! Do not imagine that I did not see your conversation with that man. Others might have missed the truth, but I have eyes in my head, that much is for certain.” She heaved a sigh. “To think of what your mother would have said, had she had the misfortune to see you in such company!” Vera marched to Elizabeth’s side, without taking a breath, and deposited Avery in the younger woman’s arms.

He was the perfect distraction. Elizabeth could do naught other than catch the infant close, then naught else but admire him. He was a handsome babe already, his eyes a clear blue and his lips pursing in anticipation of a meal. He shook a small fist at her and Elizabeth smiled as she cuddled him.

She was struck again by that yearning to have a husband and a babe of her own, but as she gazed down at Avery, Elizabeth feared such a fate was not to be hers. She grew no younger and Finvarra’s claim, which had seemed dangerous but distant, appeared increasingly close at hand. She had thought the choice would be hers to join him in Fae, and it was, but his curse had ensured that the mortal realm appeared at disadvantage.

Save when she was with Rafael. Elizabeth blinked at the truth in that. How could that be? Why was that so? Why did he, of all men, not appear to be shadowed by death?

“Is he not the most beautiful child that ever you have seen?” Vera cooed.

Elizabeth nearly laughed. “You say that of every child born in our family.”

“Avery was not born to our family,” Vera corrected. “Though Malcolm claims him as his own. And no wonder, for he is a healthy child and will grow tall and strong.”

“You cannot know that,” Elizabeth argued, though she hoped it would prove true.

“There is a vigor about this one, to be sure. He has defied death already.”

“Eleanor said he was tangled in the cord,” Elizabeth said, trying to sound as if she knew more of such matters than she did. She had been allowed in the birthing chamber when Eleanor had delivered Alexander’s first son, but since then, Eleanor had decreed that it was no sight for maidens. Elizabeth had been compelled to watch Alexander pace the hall during Eleanor’s subsequent deliveries, and leave Vera to tending her.

She wished she had paid closer attention on that one occasion. Once again, she felt sheltered and innocent, a feeling she did not like.

Had Rafael seen babies born? She did not doubt he had. Even Malcolm had been able to aid in Avery’s arrival!

Vera shook a finger at her. “You try to change the subject, my lady.” Given that Vera had served at Kinfairlie since Alexander’s birth, Elizabeth and her siblings were accustomed to that woman’s blunt speech—just as Vera was accustomed to her charges, once small and now grown, speaking plainly back to her.

“You were the one to speak of the child first!” Elizabeth protested. “I believe you are the one seeking to change the subject!”

Vera scowled. “If it keeps your thoughts as they should be, then all the better. Do not be casting your glances after men such as these, my lady, not if you wish to have a babe like this and a home to call your own.”

“Me?” Elizabeth asked, trying to feign innocence even as she felt a blush rising over her cheeks.

“Aye, you! I saw you speak with that Rafael, and never was there a man with a heart blacker than his. You should know better than to consort with his kind!” Vera listed his faults with gusto. “A mercenary, a warrior, a bloodthirsty man with no mercy in his soul.” Vera shuddered at her own summary.

Elizabeth realized that Vera might be the best source of information about Rafael to be found. “Can a man not hope to be forgiven for his sins?”

“Aye, he can, but he must do the hoping himself,” the serving maid replied tartly. “You are not such a fool that you should be expecting more from a man than he can rightly give.”

“Indeed?” Elizabeth was not ashamed to try to keep Vera talking. She did tend to gather the most interesting gossip and rumors, even at Kinfairlie. If only Moira were here: between the two women, Elizabeth would soon know more of Rafael than he knew of himself. She smiled at her own thought, and Vera jabbed a finger toward her.

“Aha! I know what notions make a maiden smile thus! Use the wits you were born with, Elizabeth Lammergeier. Men such as these offer naught to a woman of any ilk, and less yet to one born so high as yourself. They have no homes and coin passes through their hands like spring rain running through the grass.” Vera dropped her voice to a hiss. “You should see how they drink and gamble at night, like the very spawn of Hell come to abide in my lord Malcolm’s hall.”

“I should like to see that,” Elizabeth said, almost purely to see Vera’s reaction. “Do you think I might stay here this night?”

“Oh! You should not dream of such a situation! It would be unfitting, unsuitable and deeply wrong!”

“But you linger here.”

Vera stood a little taller. “I am here to aid my lord Malcolm’s new bride, in service to my lady and the new heir. Never let it be said that I did not endure much to serve my family.”

“It shall never be said,” Elizabeth agreed.

Vera was not swayed from her lecture. She shook her head and eyed the company. “My lady does not care for them being here, particularly that Rafael, but she strives to show honor to them as my lord’s former comrades and guests as is right and good.” The older woman huffed. “I need not tell you that they were not invited to his board!”

Elizabeth frowned. “But I thought Malcolm sought his fortune on the Continent.”

“That he did and returned here last Christmas Eve with Rafael.”

“Then how did his former comrades come to be here? How did they know to seek him here, if they were not invited? Had Malcolm told them of his inheritance?”

“Not he! It was that demon Rafael and no other who sent a missive, telling them of my lord’s good fortune. He is behind their arrival here, doubtless for some dark scheme of his own. I bade my lady lock the portal to the solar each night, lest we be robbed by those said to be guests in my lord’s hall!”

“Surely old comrades would not do thus!”

Vera dropped her voice low. “Yet a man was killed in this hall, just the other night.”

Elizabeth frowned. “I thought it was the earl’s man, who had come to kill Catriona. I thought Malcolm’s comrades had defended him by killing the intruder. Was that not the import of Jeanne’s tantrum?”

Vera waved aside this detail. “Such a deed would never have been attempted by any man, had the hall not been filled with men of this kind. It is Rafael’s fault, to be sure.” She leaned close to Elizabeth, her eyes bright with conviction. “They cannot be gone soon enough, to my thinking, nor can you be returned soon enough to Kinfairlie, where you can be guarded in safety.”

Elizabeth did not want to return to Kinfairlie as yet. It was far more interesting to be at Ravensmuir. She wanted to save Malcolm, and she could hardly convince Rafael to change his course if she were sitting by the fire at Kinfairlie.

With her embroidery.

Elizabeth struggled not to grimace. It was too soon to leave.

“When does Malcolm take you home?” Vera demanded.

“After the midday meal, he said.”

“The food cannot come quickly enough. I shall go to the kitchens and see if it can be served earlier than expected.” Vera bustled away, leaving Elizabeth rocking Avery. The boy nestled against her, put his fist in his mouth and went to sleep. Elizabeth admired him, unable to avoid concerns of her own future.

“Should you wish one of those of your own, there are many here who would willingly aid in that quest,” one of Malcolm’s comrades muttered from close beside her. When Elizabeth glanced his way, he grinned at her, revealing that he was missing a tooth or maybe two. Elizabeth could smell the dirt of his garb and stepped away from him on impulse.

She stopped short at the weight of a man’s hand on the back of her waist and her eyes widened. Surely she could not be in peril at Ravensmuir!

* * *

“A man’s sister should be safe in his own hall,” Rafael said, and Elizabeth caught her breath in relief. She glanced down to see that his dagger had been drawn from its scabbard, the blade shining in the shadows at his side.

The other mercenary clearly saw it as well, for he bowed and backed away.

Elizabeth found herself liking the fact that Rafael came to her defense and turned to him with a smile of gratitude.

He, however, frowned at her. “Go to the solar,” Rafael advised tersely. “Or better yet, return to Kinfairlie.”

“Are you concerned for my welfare, then?” Elizabeth asked, trying to keep her tone light. “It seems that would be the choice of a man of honor.”

“Or one who chooses always to war against folly.”

Elizabeth considered him, sensing that he blamed her for his comrade’s behavior. As before, Rafael watched her as intently as a cat watches a mouse it stalks in the night, and his avidity made her pulse race and her voice rise. “I am no fool!”

“Then do not pretend to be one,” he replied with resolve. Elizabeth was startled and she knew it showed, for no one spoke to her thus. Rafael’s tone softened when he evidently noted her reaction. “You are clever enough to see that it is not solely your welfare at risk, but the camaraderie of the company.” He arched a brow. “Should they draw knives to fight over you, they could hardly be expected to defend each other’s backs in some later battle.”

Elizabeth supposed that made sense. “And do you expect to fight again?”

Rafael smiled as if she had asked a ridiculous question. “One thing that is guaranteed in this life is that there will always be another battle to fight. One never knows the day or the time, but my blade will not rust in its scabbard.”

Elizabeth studied Rafael, even as she rocked Avery. He lingered, almost as if he provoked her to demand more of him.

As if he waited for her to ask the right question. The weight of his gaze upon her made her flush again, that heat stealing over her skin from head to toe. Her heart beat more quickly and it seemed she could not draw a full breath. She was achingly aware of her body and of its proximity to Rafael’s hard strength. Elizabeth had never felt like this, and she did not want the sensation to end.

“Vera says Catriona dislikes you,” she said on impulse. “Why?”

Rafael folded his arms across his chest, his expression changing to amusement. “Can you not guess?”

“Aye, I can guess one reason. Because she does not wish to lose her new spouse so soon as Midsummer’s Eve.” Rafael nodded at that, still untroubled by her implied charge, and Elizabeth dared to prod him. “My brother has a great deal to live for, with a holding rebuilt, a new wife and son, and it would be a poor friend who let such a wager stand.”

“So you have said.”

Rafael’s calm acceptance of this situation annoyed Elizabeth. “He takes your place! It is unjust, regardless of what debt stood between you two before.” Elizabeth heard her voice rise in frustration. “How can you not even acknowledge what is right and noble and good?”

“And choose to die in your brother’s stead?” Rafael raised his brows. “Indeed, you ask a great deal, my lady.”

“I do not believe you are so callous as this,” she insisted. “You stepped forward just moments past to defend me.”

“For the welfare of the entire Sable League, not of you,” he said, much to Elizabeth’s disappointment. “Little good comes from a woman distracting the men and creating conflict in the company.” Rafael leaned closer before she could protest. “Do not confuse me with a knight in one of the tales you hear before the fire at night, my lady. I have lived as long as I have by choosing for my own advantage and naught else.” There was a resolve in his dark eyes, one that left her in no doubt that he had killed and often. Rafael’s voice dropped even lower, and a harder tone Elizabeth had never heard before. “I defend what I am paid to defend. It is that simple, mi piqueño ángel.”

“It is not that simple. It cannot be.”

His eyes flashed fire, evidence that her words had found their mark. “Do not pretend to be more witless than you are.”

“I only heed your own words,” Elizabeth insisted, certain that he responded so vehemently because she had found a truth. “You saved Malcolm when first you met. You admitted it yourself. You must have taken some risk in that.”

Rafael chuckled darkly. “And a calculated risk it was.” He gestured to the company. “Virtually all of these men have been saved by me at one time or another. I like having debts owed to me, instead of the other way around. In a time of trial, there are many debts I can collect to save my own hide. It is a strategy that ensures my own survival and naught else.” He held her gaze for a potent moment, as if he would will her to believe him heartless, then spun away.

“I do not believe you so calculating as that,” Elizabeth said, raising her voice so he would hear her. “Malcolm brought you home with him, after all.”

“And I will wager that Malcolm calls me comrade, not friend.”

Elizabeth was vexed that he spoke the truth, but persisted. “I still believe that you know trust is a more stable currency than mere coin.”

“And I have already noted that you are too clever to pretend to be a fool.” Rafael pivoted to face her and bowed deeply, his manner mocking. “My lady.”

Elizabeth would have liked to have thrown something at the infuriating man. She might have continued the argument, more confident with every exchange that no matter how much she dared, Rafael would treat her with honor.

She also was certain she made progress in changing his mind.

Elizabeth had taken but one step in pursuit when a raven’s cry echoed through the hall.

* * *

When the raven landed on the windowsill of the great hall in the late afternoon, Rafael knew its arrival was a sign that he should heed. Such a bird was a portent of ill fortune, for all who saw it, and a warning. He considered himself warned, and warned against the allure of Malcolm’s fetching sister.

He had only to convince himself to heed his own conclusion. Why had he come back to the hall when he had been determined to avoid her? Why had he stepped forward prepared to defend her against Gustav?

She agitated him, to be certain. She was successful in provoking him, to be sure. When had anyone ever appealed to his sense of justice? When had anyone dared to suggest that his life was worth less than that of his comrade, Malcolm? No matter how vehemently he argued the matter with her, she insisted on believing that there was good in him. It was an attractive notion, but Elizabeth was doomed to disappointment.

After all, he would not willingly take Malcolm’s place, no matter how much she entreated him to do so. A bargain was a bargain, no matter how readily a pretty maiden could addle his thinking on the matter.

Most of the men of the Sable League were gathered in the hall. The majority of them honed their blades and polished their weapons, and more than a few of them stole covert glances at Malcolm’s pretty sister. Squires sat on the floor, ensuring that armor was in good repair. The mood was quiet but purposeful. It was only a matter of time before the earl demanded vengeance for the insult to his niece—though Rafael believed the greater affront was to his own thwarted ambition to hold the new Ravensmuir.

Vera came bustling back from some quest to the kitchens and Catriona had just descended from the solar. As Rafael watched, Vera reclaimed Avery from Elizabeth’s arms, as if the younger woman could not be trusted with such a precious burden. Elizabeth almost smiled at the older woman’s protective manner, her gaze flicking to Rafael as if they shared a secret, but he ignored her attention. What did he know of serving women who were protective of the infants in her charge? His life could not have been more different than the one that Avery was already making his own.

Vera took no chances in terms of Elizabeth’s welfare, for she shooed the maiden toward Catriona with a dark glance toward the company of men. Rafael assumed then that Vera, who he knew had served long at Kinfairlie, had served there long enough that she had seen Elizabeth come into the world. It was remarkable to imagine any person having such continuity and security in their life, and Rafael felt a new understanding of the confidence Elizabeth showed.

When Vera had ensured sufficient distance was between Elizabeth and the men, she bestowed her venomous glance upon Rafael.

He saluted the older woman, smiling and bowing to her, because the temptation to tease her was irresistible. Vera scowled and spun to march away proudly, exactly as he had anticipated.

Elizabeth giggled, the sound tempting Rafael to consider her in turn.

The bird’s cry, at least, kept him from striding to her side.

Malcolm leaped to his feet when the raven appeared. He might have been waiting for its arrival, for he showed no surprise at its presence. Indeed, he walked toward the bird with such obvious expectation that Rafael wondered if Malcolm knew the creature to be tame. He recalled the tales he had heard in this abode of the laird being able to converse with ravens, and wondered if there was any truth in it. Certainly this bird watched Malcolm’s approach with interest and without fear.

“God in Heaven!” Vera cried and clutched Avery so close that the infant protested.

The raven tilted its head at her words and surveyed the men in the hall with an eerie intensity, scanning the hall before looking back at Malcolm.

Its presence could have been another sign, to Rafael’s thinking, that this hall stood at a portal to Hell.

“Welcome, Melusine,” Malcolm said, then made a distinctive whistle. The bird cried out, as if in reply, then took flight anew.

“Trust a Hellhound to have a pet raven,” Tristan jested and the other men laughed.

“More than one,” Elizabeth contributed, the clear tone of her voice making Rafael look up despite his resolve. His heart leapt at the discovery that she was looking at him, as if she spoke to him alone. “Once there were dozens of them living here.”

What would she give to save her brother’s soul? It was an intriguing question, but the better one was how much Rafael would take.

What price would change his mind?

Was there one?

“Perhaps that explains the name Ravensmuir,” Rafael muttered and his closest comrades chuckled.

Meanwhile, Malcolm hastened to the window where the raven had been and peered at the sky. He stiffened suddenly, his gaze fixed on something in the distance. Rafael was immediately on the move, understanding that whatever his comrade saw, it was not good.

“Are the gates secured?” Malcolm asked in an undertone just before Rafael reached his side. Rafael halted beside Malcolm and saw the army approaching, his gaze roving over their ranks as he guessed their numbers.

They carried the earl’s colors.

Of course. “He is predictable, at least,” Rafael muttered.

“Aye, and Louis stands sentinel,” Amaury said to Malcolm. “Why?”

“Who arrives?” Ranulf asked, stepping to Malcolm’s other side.

In that same moment, Louis appeared at the portal. “A large party approaches,” he said. “A party riding to war. I have locked the portcullis and barred the gates, but we should be prepared.”

“Is it the earl?” Reynaud asked, looking up from the blade he honed.

“Of course,” Rafael said and the others nodded without surprise. This would be no small battle and something quickened within him at the prospect. It was the waiting that broke the spirit. He was glad to have preparations to make, to have the anticipated battle close at hand.

Rafael exchanged a grim glance with Malcolm. “It is time to open your cellar, Malcolm.”

Malcolm nodded agreement at that.

Rafael was well aware of Elizabeth’s curiosity but paid it no heed. Instead, at Malcolm’s nod, he strode to the trap door in the floor, watched Malcolm unlock it, then they two flung open the door. Rafael jumped down into the damp darkness even before the ladder could be lowered into it. Malcolm held a light as he descended.

The cellar was filled with implements of war. They had stored them here secretly, stacking them in the hidden space after it was completed, while the masons slumbered in their tents, unaware of the activity in the hall. Malcolm had acquired sufficient provisions to defend his keep against any foe. The very sight of this arsenal encouraged Rafael, for he disliked facing any enemy unprepared. He had taken a careful inventory of them during the storage, and he was heartened by the quantities. Here were the weapons he knew how to wield. This was the life he knew.

If war came to Ravensmuir, it was best it came on this day, when so many of Malcolm’s comrades were in residence.

He was glad Malcolm had prepared so well for this eventuality, and glad they had ensured the earl never guessed of the existence of the cellar during his visit. Surprise was a potent addition to their arsenal.

Perhaps events would send Elizabeth hastening home to Kinfairlie. It might be best, not only for her safety but for her notions of war. He had no doubt that she had heard tales aplenty in which war was noble and right, in which only the evil died and the good always triumphed. There was no blood in those tales, no suffering and no deceit that went unpunished.

Such tales had naught to do with the reality Rafael knew.

No woman of gentle breeding could look upon these weapons and Rafael’s familiarity with them and believe him to be anything other than what he was. He was a killer and a warrior, just as were all of his fellows. There was no honor in slaughter and it needed no fine principle to guide it. Avarice often was the motive, propelling many a man just as it guided the earl. The Sable League would fight on the side they were compensated to defend, and only success would be rewarded. This was the truth of his life: war and death and blood. This was what Rafael knew and what he did. Elizabeth would see the truth of it now. She might well flee to Kinfairlie as a result.

She would see what life had made of him.

Had circumstance made him what he was? It was a strange way to think of his situation, and a view Rafael had not considered before. Rafael had never believed that life had given him any choices, but on this day, he thought of Malcolm and his sister, and had to wonder. Had the circumstances of his life been different, might he have become a different man with a different destiny? Might he have evaded the trade of a mercenary? Might he have been an honorable man, such as the one Elizabeth insisted he must be? Indeed, she knew of no other kind, given the security of her upbringing.

Had it ever been possible that he might become the manner of man who could offer for the hand of a noble maiden like Elizabeth?

If so, he had been cheated of it, and cheated of that opportunity before he had uttered his first words. The notion made Rafael angry, as if he had lost something he had never desired before.

And that made him yet more angry, if not impatient with the tumult this maiden stirred within him. Rafael knew his own restless nature. He knew he was not a man to settle with one woman in one place. He would always travel, always win his way with his blade, always make the most of whatever opportunity presented itself in any given moment.

Rafael reminded himself savagely that whether that was his choice or the result of his circumstance, at this point, he was fit for no other life.

He could not dispel his anger, but it would be of use to him in the battle ahead.

* * *

Elizabeth watched the men prepare for war, finding herself filled with anticipation and curiosity. This was all new to her, but these warriors saw it as routine. Indeed, Malcolm had anticipated an attack and prepared for it with a thoroughness that she would never have expected.

How strange to anticipate treachery and the shedding of blood in defense of what was rightly one’s own. Elizabeth knew she would never have thought that way.

At least not until now.

Not until she saw Malcolm’s preparations proven to be prudent.

She supposed that possessing anything of merit could lead another to covet that thing. She supposed that a man of sense would be prepared to defend what he had claimed to his name, be that wife or child or holding. She shivered a little, seeing the merit of having an experienced warrior prepared to defend her. The men who had courted her before would have been soundly defeated by the Sable League—what then would happen to their possessions and kin? Naught good, to be sure.

Nay, it made sense to wed a man who knew how to swing a blade.

The men moved with purpose and efficiency, the entire company on its feet immediately after Malcolm’s words. There was no haste in their movements, just a calm acceptance of what had to be done and a steady speed in accomplishing it. She could have believed that they had been awaiting such a sign, or even that they were glad of it.

There was, however, no mistaking their glee when the store of weapons was revealed, nor their familiarity with every item in Malcolm’s arsenal. They shouted with joy at the sight of metal balls and sheaves of arrows, of knives and swords and armor Elizabeth could not immediately name. They fingered blades and arrow tips, assessed the strength of bows and nodded appreciation of all that was stored there. Elizabeth could see the anticipation in them, the certainty that they would fight soon and fight hard, the relief that they would have good tools to wage war.

Her brother might have been a complete stranger. Malcolm was intent upon his store of weapons and their distribution, his manner quick, terse and effective. There was no hint that he possessed any sense of humor, much less that he was anything other than a hardened warrior who would kill without remorse.

The difference was less striking in Rafael, though Elizabeth did see a resolve in him that she had not noted before.

There was no mistaking the eagerness in the expressions of every one of them.

They were glad to be summoned to war. Elizabeth found that a shock, though in hindsight, she was not certain why. Every man welcomed the opportunity to do what he did best, after all.

The Fae dispersed from proximity to that open cellar with all speed, swinging to the rafters to chatter in disapproval. They had an aversion to steel and shuddered in its very presence, though they did like items that shone. Elizabeth did not doubt they would have stolen all the hoarded weapons for their glimmer, gold and gemstones, had there not been so much iron and steel secreted there.

When the cellar was emptied, the weapons were sorted in the hall. Elizabeth was fascinated by the way the men divided tasks without speaking of it. They had fought together many times, it was clear, and each knew the special skills of all the others. Each gravitated toward certain weapons, and they offered choice items to each other in full understanding of who would wield what with greatest ability. There were boys gathering firewood and others sorting arrows and bows, none of whom had been commanded to do so. One heavy-set mercenary had laid claim to what he called Greek fire and was giving some instruction to another in the mixing of various powders that had also been stored in the cellar. He had a boy cutting lengths of string that he said would be used as fuses.

They began to garb themselves for the fighting, as well. Elizabeth watched covertly as Rafael shed his tabard and chemise. He donned a padded aketon, lacing it tightly around his torso, then hauled a chain mail shirt over top. The chain mail hung to his knees, and he donned another black tabard atop it, belting it closely. This tabard was shorter than the first and cut full, plus there was a golden emblem stitched upon it, over his heart.

He had no squire, evidently, but tended himself, which she thought curious. She saw Rafael check the knife and sword that rested in his scabbards and then don chain mail grieves that covered his legs and boots. He set out a pair of black leather gloves that would rise to his elbows, a metal gorget to cover his throat and a helmet with more than one dent in it before returning to aid the others.

Did none consider that they might not survive this battle? Elizabeth saw the mortality of all of them, though few bore the mark of one soon to be departed. The shadow upon the brow of one man was much darker and Elizabeth knew that he would not live through the battle to come.

Should she warn him? Elizabeth did not know. Could he evade his death? Or postpone it? She had no idea. She watched the doomed man and judged from his expression that he would not be surprised by any tidings she gave him.

Nor would he change his course

They lived day to day, these men, with no expectation that there would be years left to them. It was sensible in a way, and also made Elizabeth feel sheltered for her conviction that she would always awaken on the morrow and live to a goodly age. The greatest risk for her was the birthing of a child, but so long as she remained unwed and chaste, that risk was both distant and small.

As she watched, Malcolm dipped his finger into the soot on the hearth and drew the outline of the point of land Ravensmuir occupied on the stone floor. The men and Catriona gathered around and Elizabeth pressed close behind them, curious above all.

“Here is the cliff of Ravensmuir, and here the keep,” her brother said and the men nodded assent. “The thorn hedge extends from here to here, with the gatehouse at its middle. There is no longer any approach from the sea. If they have any wits, they will assume that we are weakest at the ends of the hedge, and so we must drive them back to the middle.”

“There is no real passage there,” said the man carrying the shadow of death.

“They may make one,” another mercenary noted. “I saw them carry saws to the ends of the hedge. Louis and his crew fired upon them, but they may see the gap widened.”

“We will guard either end of the hedge,” Rafael said, “so that no horse can pass that way.”

“Rocks,” the doomed man said. “The boys can pile them in quantity, so the footing is loose and uneven.”

“And fire,” Malcolm said. “For the horses dislike it. Set a blaze just inside the bailey and lay the bonfire wide. We will place archers inside of that.”

“And slay them one by one if they come through that way,” another warrior concluded with satisfaction. “Even the corpses will add to the barrier.”

Elizabeth shuddered at this gruesome discussion, readily imagining how effective these plans might be.

“At the gatehouse,” Malcolm said, pointing to that place. “We will have the first of the oil. The roof is made of stone, with sufficient space to heat the oil.”

One man rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “It is a fine thing to serve a lord who has planned his keep so well.”

Elizabeth realized they were enjoying the process of planning the keep’s defense. Did they enjoy the warfare as well? She was both horrified and fascinated, then glanced up to find Rafael’s gaze upon her. He smiled, as if amused by her reaction, and she felt herself flush crimson.

He must think her naive, or a child, but she had never witnessed preparations like this.

She wondered what else he had witnessed routinely that she had never seen before. That only made her yearn to travel far beyond Kinfairlie and even Scotland, to see the marvels of the world and to sample every experience that could be had. She had always loved tales of adventure, but it was the presence of Rafael that breathed life into those stories, making her realize that they were more than tales—someone had lived those daring adventures.

How she wished to live one of her own!