She cleaned herself with haste and bound a length of linen around herself, then wrapped her cloak more tightly about herself. Erik still breathed with deep regularity and she was loathe to awaken him with such tidings. She eased closer to his heat, though, feeling the cold more keenly in her disappointment. She willed herself back to sleep, resolving to tell him the truth in the morning.
A resolve grew within her in the darkness. Vivienne was far from prepared to abandon this quest. There were twelve more moons in their handfast, and that meant twelve more chances to conceive a son.
The wager was not lost as yet.
* * *
Erik had felt Vivienne stir in the night. He had heard her gasp of surprise and had watched through his lashes as she discovered the blood upon her thigh. He knew the import of that blood and was disappointed that there was no lingering bond between them.
He was touched by her dismay. She thought herself unobserved and further, her response seemed to come from her very core. He understood then that she had truly wished to bear his son, that she felt the failure as keenly as he, that he had been a cur to doubt her. When she nestled beside him again, he felt her tears touch his shoulder.
Vivienne had not lied to him. The truth of it was inescapable. She had lied to her family, against all expectation, and she had done so to aid his quest.
In return, Erik had taken all she offered and granted her naught.
But he had naught to grant, not until he reclaimed Blackleith. No man could offer honorably for a woman in marriage without property beneath his hand, without some means of providing for her and any children they might bear. He had wronged Vivienne with his distrust, but it would only compound his error if he dishonored her now with an empty promise, with a pledge for what he could not guarantee.
Erik wanted to console Vivienne in this moment, he wanted to ease the tears from her cheeks and coax the return of her smile. He wanted to put the sparkle back into her eyes, but he dared not reveal to her that he was awake.
Indeed, it took all within him to keep his arm from tightening around her. He turned as if in sleep and touched his lips to her temple, and she burrowed her face into his chest. Her hair was spread across them, their cloaks were unfurled over them, the softness of her skin touched his own flesh in a thousand paces.
And Erik knew that they were entwined in more ways than that. He loved Vivienne, loved her impulsive nature and her confidence, loved that she was unafraid of any peril, that she would pay any price to see a just goal achieved. He loved how she opened like a blossom beneath his caress, loved how they seemed each wrought for the other. No other woman would ever touch his heart as she had done. He loved that she gave of herself unstintingly, fully confident that her gifts would be repaid in greater abundance.
He wanted to be the one to render the balance due to her.
He loved her, but he had not the right to tell her as much.
Not yet.
Erik would confess his love only in triumph. He feared that Vivienne would accept him for the offer of his love alone, even if he remained a failure.
But she deserved better than love alone. She deserved wealth and security, a home and a hearth, a husband and a future filled with promise. Erik could not offer the ending of the tale that she deserved, not on this morning, and if he never could offer it, then Vivienne would know nothing of his love for her.
He knew, however, that he would yearn for her for all his days and nights. He wanted to fulfill her maidenly dreams, he wanted to offer her those three nights of courtship and that red red rose wrought of ice. It might prove to be impossible, but Erik wanted the chance to try.
When Vivienne slept deeply again, Erik eased from her side. Praise be that Ruari had held fast to that saddlebag, for it contained the length of tartan, the yellow chemise and the sturdy leather boots in which Erik was more comfortable. He shunned the southern clothing that the Earl of Sutherland had granted to him, and dressed in his familiar garb. He retrieved his father’s blade from the tumble of Vivienne’s clothing, for he suspected he might have need of it, and shoved it into the back of his belt.
He stared down at her, watching the moonlight play upon her cheek, and committed her features to memory. He would never forget Vivienne Lammergeier, and he praised the instinct that had urged him to seek out the one woman who had spurned his brother.
He might have little to offer her in this moment, but he would not leave Vivienne without some token of him. Erik took the silver pin that had been his mother’s most prized possession, the silver pin that adorned his own cloak and had drawn Vivienne’s eye more than once, and laid it beside his lady’s hand.
Her fingers spread across the silver, then closed surely around it. She sighed in her sleep and rolled to her side, pulling the pin to her chest in her closed fist.
Erik took that small gesture as a good portent.
He reached out a fingertip and touched her cheek one last time, his heart aching when she smiled and turned her lips against his palm, her lashes barely fluttering. A tendril of her hair twined around his fingers, as if it would hold him fast by her side forever.
Vivienne sighed, her breath as light as a summer breeze, the stains of her tears yet upon her cheeks. Erik vowed to himself that he would return to her in honor or die trying.
The lady deserved no less than his all.
* * *
Erik silently roused Ruari, not allowing himself a backward glance. The older man seemed to sense his intent, for he dressed quickly and hastened to the deck behind Erik.
Ruari did not ask about Vivienne.
The coast rose ruggedly to their west, within easy proximity mist swirled in patches over the silvery sea. The fat moon sank toward the horizon and the few clouds to the east were already touched with pearly light. To Erik’s relief, Padraig kept the watch. As he anticipated, that seaman was readily bribed and an arrangement was made both swiftly and quietly.
Erik and Ruari rowed to the shore in the borrowed boat with Padraig huddled between them. None of the men spoke, and they exchanged the barest of nods when Erik and Ruari climbed out of the boat in the shallows. Padraig rowed back toward the ship with powerful strokes.
Erik strode through the water to the shore. He reveled in freedom of movement offered by his tartan, the way that his old boots with their perforations did not hold the water. His feet and his legs would be dry before they had walked a mile, while that southern garb left a man sodden all one day and the next.
Erik liked the feel of the rock beneath his soles, the shimmer of the heather, now in full bloom, across the hills. The River Helmsdale climbed before him, its every turn and leap as familiar as the lines in his own palm. He knew where to cast a lure for salmon, he knew where tiny sea pearls could be found, he knew where every ancient stone stood sentinel. He took a deep breath of the crisp cool air and felt an ease, a contentment, settle in his veins anew.
Erik was home.
He felt a new measure of hope, a new prospect of success. When last he had stood so close to Blackleith, he had been certain only of his ultimate and inevitable failure.
Vivienne had taught Erik to see promise where he had perceived there to be none. Vivienne had taught him to believe that all was possible. And now that his very sinews were healed and he was as hale as ever he would be, Erik found himself anticipating his encounter with his brother, however it might end.
Erik also found himself less persuaded that he approached his own doom. Perhaps it was folly, but that hope made it easier to turn his back upon Rosamunde’s ship and the lady who would hold his heart for all eternity, made it easier to turn his face toward Blackleith once more.
“Do you mean to go to the Earl of Sutherland’s hall from here?” Ruari asked, but Erik shook his head.
“We go to Blackleith. The Earl will not grant aid to me without the son he demanded as his terms.”
Ruari hesitated. “There is good and bad in the Earl, to be certain, but he might be amenable to a request for aid. Do not be so hasty to discard a potential ally, lad, for it is difficult indeed to find a man inclined to stand at one’s back.”
Erik shook his head again. “This battle is mine alone.”
“Nicholas might have men aplenty in his hall, for any fool can hire mercenaries.”
“I shall face him alone, and the better man will win.” Erik granted his companion a glance. “The choice to accompany me is yours, Ruari, for I would not commend you to a fool’s journey. It would be unfair to demand as much of you, after you served my father with such loyalty.”
Ruari bristled visibly, and glowered at the younger man. “You will not face this injustice without me, lad, upon that you can rely. I swore a pledge upon the gem in that Sinclair blade, and I have wits enough to know that such a pledge cannot be broken without dire repercussions. Win or lose, I match my steps to yours, to be sure.” The older man’s lips set grimly and he tightened his belt. “I owe your father no less.”
It was a sentiment Erik appreciated, though it was not the best omen for success. The two men exchanged a glance, then headed into the forest in grim silence.
* * *
Vivienne awakened alone, something cold in her hand. Erik was gone, she saw immediately, as was Ruari.
As was the saddlebag Ruari had carried.
She opened her hand and gasped to find the silver pin that Erik had worn on his cloak within her grip. She guessed then that he had abandoned her, that he had granted her this beautiful trinket as a gift.
But they had a handfast.
Vivienne dressed in haste and climbed to the deck. It was early, so early that the sky was just barely touched with morning’s light. It looked as if the weather would be fair, and the seamen were already stirring. They spoke of raising the sails, of turning south, of the prospect of a port soon.
But Vivienne grasped the rail, her gaze snared by two figures in the shallows. She knew those two male silhouettes, just as she recognized the man rowing the small boat back toward the ship. She met Padraig at the rope ladder, knowing what she had to do.
“Padraig, I beg of you, row me to the shore as well.”
That man paused on the ladder, the rope from the small boat in his hand. There was a sheen of perspiration on his face from rowing against the waves and his expression was not encouraging. “You know better than to ask as much of me,” he said gruffly, then climbed to the deck itself. “Rosamunde would feed me my own liver if I left you alone upon a deserted shore.”
“I would not be alone,” Vivienne insisted, grasping his sleeve when he would have brushed past her. “Please, Padraig, my path lies with Erik. I have need of your aid.”
That man shook his head heavily. “You cannot ask me to endanger you, Vivienne. Such a deed would betray every obligation I owe to your family.”
“But Erik and I have pledged a handfast.”
“I care nothing for such pledges.” He granted her a piercing glance and his tone softened. “He left you behind, Vivienne, do you not see the import of that?” He turned away them, clearly meaning to leave her there.
Vivienne lifted her chin. The import of that was that Erik meant to reclaim Blackleith alone, she knew it well, just as she knew that he had need of her aid to succeed. She was not certain what she could do, but she knew they were destined to be together.
Even if she had to help destiny.
“If you do not aid me, then I will persuade Rosamunde to do so,” she said, not certain she could manage any such feat. “And she will take me to Blackleith, perhaps vexing the fairy with her delay in returning to Ravensmuir.”
Padraig granted her a dark glance over his shoulder. “You will not so persuade her,” he said. “Not when I and the fairy argue the opposing side.” He shook his head and his voice softened again. “It is no easy circumstance you face here, Vivienne, though a woman of sense would accept the truth before her.” He turned his back upon her once again, striding back toward the middle of the ship.
Vivienne was not prepared to accept this circumstance. She took a deep breath and looked down, seeing then the glint of silver in her hand.
“I will pay you,” she cried with sudden vigor.
Padraig paused and turned slightly, a smile of amusement touching his lips. Indeed, his manner was slightly mocking, which only irked Vivienne. “With what? You have no coin with which to tempt me.”
“I have better than coin.” Vivienne took a deep breath and held out her hand, offering him the silver pin that Erik had just granted to her.
It was clear that Padraig recognized the pin. His eyes narrowed and his gaze looked between it and Vivienne. He swallowed then and shook his head, taking a backward step as he did so. “You cannot surrender that to me. It is your sole gift from him, of that I am certain. There are items, Vivienne, that have a value beyond their market price. You cannot grant that to me.”
“I will,” Vivienne insisted, though the words nigh stuck in her throat. “It is but a trinket and as nothing compared to being with him. I need to follow him, Padraig. This price is small.”
Padraig swore. He spat upon the deck, he glared at Vivienne, and when he spoke, he fairly growled. “Keep your treasure,” he muttered.
Vivienne feared he would deny her in truth, but he strode abruptly back past her and seized her elbow. “You had best have every item of which you have need, for we leave immediately. I would not have Rosamunde witness me at this deed.”
“Thank you, Padraig!” Vivienne said, jubilant at his agreement. She stretched up and kissed his rough cheek. “All will be well, Padraig, you will see.”
“All will be as it will be, that is all that we know for certain.” He wiped at his cheek, then aided her to climb over the rail. “Do not waste time with such foolery as gratitude,” he said gruffly when she thanked him again, but the gleam in his eyes told Vivienne that he appreciated her thanks.
She sat in the boat, willing herself to be as light as possible. She fastened the pin upon her cloak and studied the coast as Padraig rowed closer, her heart leaping when she spied the two men climbing the rocks.