The Ballad of Rosamunde (6 page)

It was time.

*

“
He spurred his horse, he galloped near

He seized the lady he loved so dear.

He stole her from the Faerie host

Claimed she Finvarra desired most.

The fey did scream, the horse did run,

Finvarra shouted ‘twould not be done.

‘
Hold fast, hold fast,’ Rosamunde cried

‘
For she would steal you from my side.’

And so he held with all his might

Even as Una unleashed her spite.”

*

The company jostled for position as they
began the descent. The fey were celebratory, and less disciplined
than when they had first left the hill. Their laughter was louder
and their songs more merry.

Padraig lunged through the company with
purpose. He dug his heels into the stallion’s side, and the horse
leapt with power. Padraig snatched Rosamunde from her steed, his
arm locked around her waist, and placed her on the saddle before
him.

Then he fled.

As the stallion raced down the hill, the
golden ring upon Padraig’s finger cracked in half. It fell from his
hand and was trampled beneath the horses’ hooves, leaving him
revealed to the fey.

“Impostor!” they cried. “Thief!”

“Fetch my mistress!” bellowed Finvarra.

Padraig gave the horse his heels. The steed
raced down the hill ahead of the Faerie host, running so quickly
that the ground was a blur beneath their feet.

“Faster,” Rosamunde urged, glancing back.
“Faster!”

Padraig heard Una’s song rise sweetly in the
distance, but did not trust her ode.

“Padraig!” Rosamunde said, locking her arms
around his neck. “She means to make you spurn me. Be not
deceived.”

Padraig guessed the test he would face a
heartbeat before it began.

*

“’
They will turn me to an ancient crone

A woman wrought of sinew and bone.

A cold, rotted body from the grave

Hold fast, my love, you must be brave.’”

*

In his embrace, Rosamunde turned to a hag,
appearing to have endured a thousand years of hardship. Her skin
was wrinkled like ancient leather, her eyes yellow and her teeth
missing.

She cackled at him, this apparition, and
looked fit to devour him. Padraig could see the bones of her skull
beneath the loose flesh of her face, he could smell the fetid
stench of decay, and he felt the clutch of her skeletal fingers on
his neck. Everything within him was repulsed and his urge was to
cast her aside with all speed.

Padraig told himself it was but a spell and
held fast.

*

“’
Next I’ll be a writhing snake

With a toxic bite your life to take.

I will be as slipp’ry as an adder

My release lies solely in your power.’”

*

Rosamunde changed then to an enormous snake,
green and slippery in Padraig’s grasp. The snake bared its fangs
and malice lit its eyes as it reared back to strike. He had not
doubt its bite was poisonous, but he did not release it.

There were, after all, no snakes in Ireland.
Padraig knew that this, too, was but a fey trick.

He heard Una’s song, realized it was growing
in volume, and knew there would be worse to come. Three tests there
would be, he guessed as much, and they would become more fierce. He
held fast to the writhing green snake and hoped he could keep hold
of Rosamunde. The horse ran, outdistancing the shouting host at its
heels.

The snake twisted in his grip, as elusive as
a fish, but Padraig held tightly. He reminded himself of
Rosamunde’s valor, how she had challenged more than one aristocrat
in the wrong, like the cheating bishop he had once served, and that
gave him the strength to persevere in his challenge to the fey.

The water of the lake drew ever more near
and he wondered what the horse would do. He thought to direct it
around the body of water, then Rosamunde changed shape again.

*

“’
And last I will become a flame,

As hot and fierce as ever came.

A Beltane fire, orange and hot

My love, my love, release me not.’”

*

In the blink of an eye, Rosamunde became a
fire in his embrace. The brilliant light of the flames nearly
blinded Padraig and surprise almost loosened his grip.

He cried out and tightened his grasp upon
her. The fire burned his skin, the flames licking at his flesh. He
closed his eyes to the sight of his own body burning, to the smell
of his destruction. He held fast to the column of flame, even as he
feared he could not have the strength to endure against the
fey.

Padraig thought of the way Rosamunde’s hair
looked in the sunlight.

He recalled her bold stance on the ship as
they sailed to adventure. He thought of the light in her eyes when
first they had met. He thought of her determination, even when the
spriggan Darg had stolen her charts and trapped the ship in a
calm.

He recalled her pride in her nieces and her
joy in seeing them well wed. He thought of her passion and her
pride and he fortified himself with the truth of why he loved this
woman with all his heart. Padraig squeezed his eyes shut as the
pain built to a crescendo.

He could not lose his love.

He recited the
Paternoster
, on
impulse, recalling his mother’s counsel. Tears stung his cheeks as
he said the familiar prayer.
Our father…

The horse halted abruptly, reared, then it
ducked its head. Padraig was thrown over its neck and gasped aloud
when he landed in the lake with a splash.

He sank low, still holding fast to
Rosamunde, and the cold dark water of the lake embraced him. He
felt the flame in his embrace turn to a woman again.

A naked woman.

A naked woman he loved more than life
itself.

And Padraig knew he had triumphed. They
broke the surface together, Rosamunde’s smile enough to light
Padraig’s nights forevermore.

When they might have spoken each to the
other, a man cleared his throat at close proximity.

Finvarra stood on the shore, holding the
bridle of the stamping black stallion. “And so the contest goes to
you,” the High King of the Faerie said. He stroked the horse’s nose
with affection and the beast nuzzled him. Finvarra smiled and his
eyes glinted. “I shall take this horse into my care, seeing as it
was once stolen from us and is rightfully returned.”

Padraig understood why the horse had not
been startled by the fey, why it had been so at ease joining the
host. Recognition was possibly why it had been allowed to join the
company in the first place.

He understood then why it had thrown him and
saved Rosamunde. Padraig fancied that the horse had intended to
reward him for bringing it back to Finvarra.

“You are a man of more cunning than most.”
Finvarra smiled. “I should have liked to have played chess with
you.”

“With respect, my lord, I have little to my
name and nothing I would choose to lose.” Padraig kept his arm
around Rosamunde, noting how the king’s gaze flicked between the
two of them.

“Should his devotion falter,” Finvarra said
to Rosamunde. “You are always welcome at my court.”

“I thank you, my lord, and thank you also
for your hospitality,” Rosamunde said with a bow.

“You and your fellows will always find
welcome at our home,” Padraig added with a bow of his own.

Finvarra smiled, his gaze trailing to his
wife, who remained upon her steed and at a distance. “It is no
crime to covet a beauteous gem,” he said softly, “but a rare
triumph to possess one. I salute you, Padraig Deane. May your love
never be tarnished.”

With that Finvarra turned and led the
prancing horse back to the company. Padraig felt the chill of the
night air on his wet skin as he stood with Rosamunde fast at his
side, but he could not tear his gaze away from the departing
company. He doubted he would ever see them again. They rode forth,
passing over the hills like a vision, leaving only the echo of
their silvery laughter behind.

And Rosamunde.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at
him.

“You are welcome. I am glad to see you hale
again.” Padraig stared down at her, knowing his desire but afraid
to speak of it too soon.

Rosamunde, as was typical of her, showed no
such restraint. She twined her arms around his neck, sliding her
fingers into his hair. “I am sorry, Padraig, that I erred so badly.
I love you, I think I have always loved you, but I wish I had seen
the truth of it sooner.”

Padraig bent to touch his lips to hers, his
heart swelling that his dream should be his own. “I know that I
have always loved you,” he murmured against her mouth.

Rosamunde laughed. “Then I shall have to
spend the rest of our lives atoning for my error.”

“I do not think it will be so onerous.”

“Nor do I!”

Padraig laughed at the prospect, then he
sobered. Rosamunde’s eyes were richest green, filled with a
conviction that stole his breath away. “Marry me, Rosamunde. Marry
me and seal our bond for all to see. I have little to offer you but
myself.”

“Your ship.”

“
Your
ship, and the contents yours as
well. I have only myself.”

“And it is more than enough. I will wed you,
Padraig, and I will honor your love every day and night of my
life.

It was everything he had ever wanted, and
yet more.

Rosamunde’s kiss sent a welcome heat through
Padraig, a heat that her presence would never fail to kindle.
Padraig knew that whatever he had suffered had been worthwhile, for
he had gained his heart’s desire.

When he lifted his head, her eyes were
sparkling and her cheeks were flushed. She glanced about herself
and shivered. “Tell me, though, that we can sail to warmer
climes.”

“I thought Sicily,” Padraig said, smiling as
pleasure lit her expression. “With the morning tide. All is
prepared.”

Rosamunde laughed. “A man of confidence, and
one in pursuit of my own heart.”

“I thought I possessed that prize already,”
he teased, loving the sound of her answering laughter.

“You do, you do.” Then Rosamunde raised a
hand to his cheek, as solemn as he had ever seen her. Her voice
dropped to a fervent whisper. “Oh, Padraig, never doubt that I am
yours.” A tear glistened in her eye, a tear that he knew was rare
for this bold woman. “I may have been late to see the truth, but I
shall never forget it now.”

“I shall never let you forget it,” he
retorted, then winked. Rosamunde smiled and he swung her into his
arms, then strode from the lake. He had an idea of how they might
warm themselves before the walk back to town.

One glance at his lady told him that their
thoughts were as one. Yet again, they would challenge convention.
Yet again they would follow their hearts. But from this day forth,
they would do so together.

It was as close to heaven as Padraig Deane
ever expected to be.

*

“
Padraig gained his lady’s heart,

She vowed they’d never be apart.

Rosamunde was a pirate queen

With hair red gold and eyes of green.

Her lover true did hold her fast,

Showed all the fey his love would last.

They ne’er forgot those of Faerie,

And lived out their days most happily.”

*

Dear Reader –

As you might have guessed in reading this
short story, I’ve written about both Rosamunde and Padraig before.
The story of Rosamunde is linked to my Kinfairlie trilogy - in
fact, we first met Rosamunde as a child in the Ravensmuir series.
Those books are:

The Rogues of Ravensmuir
Trilogy

The Rogue

The Scoundrel The Warrior

The Jewels of Kinfairlie
Trilogy

The Beauty Bride The Rose Red Bride The Snow White Bride

Rosamunde was left in limbo when the
subsequent four books that I had planned for the Kinfairlie series
were not acquired by the publisher. I was very excited to have the
opportunity to tell her story – and give her an H.E.A.! – and am
even more excited to be able to offer the story in its entirety to
you here. (It was shortened considerably for including in the
Mammoth book.)

Recently, I have been writing the books for
the other siblings at Kinfairlie. The Renegade’s Heart is the first
book in the new series - which is called
The True Love
Brides
- and there’s an excerpt from that book included
in this edition. It’s Isabella’s story and I hope you enjoy the
teaser. Next up will be Annelise’s story, which is called The
Highlander’s Curse.

Until next time, happy reading!

Claire

*

Ready for more of Kinfairlie?

Read on for a taste of THE RENEGADE’S
HEART

Book #1 of the True Love Brides series.

*

Excerpt from The Renegade’s Heart Copyright
2012 Claire Delacroix, Inc.

Kinfairlie, Scotland - January 1424

Isabella had not managed a reply to her
sister when the sound of hoof beats carried through the window.

“Destriers!” Elizabeth said. She raced past
Isabella and flung open the shutter, admitting the chill of the
morning. “Knights!” she breathed in awe. She grinned at Isabella
and lowered her voice, her eyes sparkling with new merriment.
“Husbands!”

“You think of only one thing!” Isabella
teased.

“Alexander must have summoned them. Or they
come to beg his favor. I must be in the hall to greet them!”
Elizabeth hastened out of the chamber, her footsteps pounding on
the stairs as she descended to the great hall.

Isabella, always cursed by curiosity, went
to the window to look.

Two horses galloped along the road to
Kinfairlie’s gates, their manes and tails flying in the wind. They
were magnificent steeds, so large and muscled that Isabella knew
them to be destriers. Elizabeth had doubtless been right about
knights, for the warhorses were richly caparisoned. Isabella saw
the gleam of sunlight on armor.