All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances

by Claire Delacroix

  If only Melissande would meet him halfway.

  “But mercifully for the two of you, I am not without compassion.” Tulley held up a finger. “You have one year to produce a legitimate heir and when you do—” he nodded to Quinn “—Sayerne will be yours.”

  Melissande’s lips twisted, her doubt clear, but she held her tongue.

  “But, my lord...” Quinn began to protest, only to have Tulley interrupt.

  “But naught!” the older man said with force. “This matter is serious beyond all. My holdings are at risk due to the vulnerability of Annossy. I will not tolerate such a risk!”

  “But...” Melissande began, but Tulley glared at her until she fell silent again.

  “Understand this,” he said to Quinn. “It is beyond gracious of me to hold your estate in trust for an entire year and considerably more than your due. You should thank me for the opportunity to prove yourself. See that you do not disappoint me again.” With that, Tulley spun on his heel and left the room.

  “If naught else, he ensures that we know what is at stake,” Melissande said.

  “Is he always so irksome?”

  She smiled with obvious reluctance. “He is a warrior and a man who knows his desire. I would wager you have known many of his ilk.”

  “Aye, but I have not had the misfortune to be required to please many of them.”

  Melissande clearly fought her urge to laugh at his grumpy confession. Their gazes met and he found hers twinkling, and he was glad to have amused her in this moment.

  “You will have to invite me,” he noted and her laughter faded.

  She inclined her head to Quinn, her composure restored. “I would suggest, husband, that we ride to Annossy as soon as might be, before the Lord de Tulley feels compelled to make more demands.”

  “Aye, my lady, you speak the truth in that.” Quinn reached for his chausses and boots, well aware that she had not agreed with him. “I will send your maid to assist you.”

  She nodded agreement, her lips tight, and he doubted he would see the fire in her eyes anytime soon.

  He might hold Annossy’s seal, but he had lost all favor with its lady.

  Tulley was a fool.

  Melissande could not believe Tulley’s choice.

  How could her liege lord surrender the seal of Annossy to Quinn, and so readily as this? She as yet knew little of her lord husband—yet he held the greatest prize in Christendom within his grasp, by her accounting. Five years she had administered Annossy, and so flawlessly that Tulley had been fulsome in his praise.

  And now he gave the holding away.

  Worse, with that surrender, she had become no more than Quinn’s possession. She had no standing, no legal rights beyond his own, no argument to make in her own favor. Oh, Tulley’s choice burned.

  Their agreement was moot, as well. She would be compelled to invite Quinn to her bed, for she had to conceive a son to protect even this position of weakness. Melissande felt cornered and filled with a new fear, one she had never hoped to experience. All depended upon her womb—not her wits, not her talents, not her experience. How she hated to have her future dependent upon Fate and whim and her husband’s inclination.

  Melissande had Berthe draw her hair back tightly, choosing to look stern and cold. She could not bear for Quinn to touch her and reduce her to a wanton, not on this day. She had need of solitude to accept the change in her stature and fortify herself for the challenge ahead. She donned a thick gown of deep blue wool and a sturdy wimple, blaming the cold for her desire to hide herself away. She descended to the hall and broke her fast in silence.

  She could not even look at Quinn in her consternation.

  Did her father weep in his grave? She could imagine so. Sayerne had begun to devour Annossy, after all.

  They departed immediately after breaking their fast, though Quinn had a short conference with Tulley. Of course, Melissande was not privy to the discussion. She fought her sense of injustice and kept her gaze downcast even as she seethed.

  Her mare was saddled and waiting in the bailey, and Quinn lifted her to the saddle. She avoided his gaze, for she knew that if he smiled at her, she might forget herself. A company of Tulley’s men escorted their party down the winding road to the gates of Tulley’s town. At the gates, they were left to their own, and took the road that led east and slightly north.

  Tulley’s holding filled the valley between two ranges of mountains. At the lowest point of the valley ran the river Helva, its headwaters far ahead of their party. The peaks of the mountains defined the boundaries of the territory on three sides, the slope on the northern side cultivated in tiers that basked in summer’s sunlight. The southern slope was thick with trees, which were mostly conifers. The distant end was lost in rocky outcroppings and jagged peaks. On this day, the river was glazed with ice in areas, and both trees and fields were covered with snow. From its position at the widest and lowest point of the valley, the keep of Tulley defended the entire valley.

  Annossy lay ahead and to the left of the main road that followed the river’s course. It perched on higher land, that vantage point offering a view toward Tulley and to distant Sayerne. Sayerne was beyond Annossy and had once been larger, but in these days, it was Annossy that prospered. Melissande’s family holding’s most valuable crop was wine. Privas was larger, perhaps larger than Annossy and Sayerne together, but it was almost completely forested, being on the south side of the road, opposite Annossy and Sayerne. There were more holdings further up the valley, and indeed, more between Tulley’s keep and Martinach, but this was the part of the valley Melissande knew best. She could see those three keeps if she narrowed her eyes against the winter sunlight, in their various states of repair, though a banner flew only from Annossy’s tower. Indeed, it was the only tower of the three that stood whole, with a roof. From this distance, the banner’s silver and blue hues could not be distinguished but she could see its flicker against the snow of the fields.

  Behind them, the road and valley continued to descend toward the junction with the river Darke at Martinach, a town administered by Tulley but plagued with flooding in the springs. The crops were rich there, though. Melissande knew it only as the place to turn south to take the road to the Beauvoir Pass, beyond which lay the Italian states, Rome, and sunshine. She had never journeyed through that pass. Beauvoir, too, was governed by Tulley and she did not doubt that its tolls contributed significantly to Tulley’s treasury. Following the Darke River north led to Geneva and thence to Paris and the lands of the French kings. Perricault lay in that direction, sheltered in the next valley to the north, and she wondered anew if Tulley’s tale of Arnaud was truth. Again, she had not travelled that road. Tulley had been the limit of her journeys. Beyond the mountains to the north and end of the Helva valley was the domain of the Holy Roman Emperor and his courts. Tulley answered to him, but as he had suggested to Melissande, neither king nor emperor looked closely at this corner of Christendom.

  The air was already cold, and Melissande knew that as they continued, it would become colder yet. The valley rose toward the headwaters of the Helva and the mountains there were difficult to cross even in summer. The sunlight was fiercely bright on this day, the sky clear and the wind wicked. She was dressed for the weather, though she doubted that the cloaks of Quinn and his companion, Bayard, were thick enough.

  Their blood must have thinned in Palestine and for a moment, she felt sympathy for them. She did not even know from whence Bayard had come.

  She rode beside her husband in silence. Berthe was at her left and Bayard on Berthe’s left, so that the men flanked the two of them. The four squires in service to both knights followed behind. Quinn made several attempts at conversation, but it seemed that his words froze in the air before him.

  “You are vexed with me,” he murmured finally and Melissande knew that only she could hear the softly-uttered words.

  “I am disappointed in the Lord de Tulley’s choice,” she confessed, keeping her tone even wi
th an effort. “But as a mere woman, my opinion is of no import.”

  He slanted her a glance and his eyes glowed gold, as she already knew they did when he was intent upon some matter. “I shall have need of your counsel, wife.”

  “Will you, sir? I should think a man would only be granted the seal to a holding when his own skills were such that he could administer it in his own right.” Her voice had risen and she was aware that Bayard was watching her. Berthe’s lips had thinned.

  Quinn exhaled, evidently aware of the same. “We shall speak of this in privacy, my lady.”

  Melissande did not reply. She could well imagine how he would convince her to be of aid to him. She liked to believe that she would be able to resist his touch, but already knew that battle to be lost.

  It was unfair!

  It was approaching noon when a party of riders appeared on the road before them. Melissande caught her breath and felt Quinn glance her way.

  “A party from Annossy?” he asked and she shook her head.

  “We are too far as yet. And no soul lives at Sayerne any longer. It is too early for anyone to have ridden this far from one of the further keeps.”

  “A supplicant, coming to Annossy?” Quinn suggested.

  “They may be thieves. There is no reason to be on this road in this time of year.” Melissande swallowed. “If so, they can only be desperate.”

  The knight’s destriers immediately eased closer to the women’s palfreys and Melissande seized the reins of Berthe’s horse. The two women exchanged grim glances and Berthe began to unlace the sides of her kirtle.

  “Time it is that I am with child again,” the maid muttered.

  “What madness is this?” Bayard asked but the women ignored him.

  “Thieves so close to Tulley’s own holding? In daylight?” Quinn asked Melissande, his eyes narrowed as he studied the party. “Are they so bold as this?”

  “I have never heard tell of them here, but that does not mean they do not ride through the valley at will. The road is to be governed by Sayerne’s lord from that last marker, and there has been none of late.” Melissande bit her tongue lest she say that his father had nigh encouraged lawlessness within his boundaries.

  Naught would be aided by provoking an argument when her husband held all assets.

  Berthe meanwhile had taken the small pack of valuables from Melissande’s saddle and shoved it beneath her chemise and kirtle. Her hands disappeared inside her kirtle and Melissande knew she bound her belt beneath her chemise to keep the bundle in place. Satisfied with her knots, Berthe then laced the sides of her kirtle again, and looked for all the world as if she was six months into a pregnancy.

  Bayard gave a low whistle. “That is quick work,” he said with admiration. “You could have three babes by the Yule at this rate.”

  Berthe laughed at his jest, but Melissande did not. “Only the most depraved ruffian would look there for riches,” she explained.

  “I feel most depraved in this moment,” Bayard said with mock solemnity. He winked at Berthe and she swatted his shoulder.

  “You are a scoundrel and a ne’er-do-well, that much is clear. A gentleman would never make so lewd a comment to a lady...”

  “But is a maid a lady?” Bayard countered.

  “A man of merit treats all women, regardless of station, with honor,” Berthe informed him. “Sir Rogue.”

  “I have been taught a lesson this day, Quinn,” Bayard said and bowed to Berthe. “I thank you kindly for the instruction.”

  “How did you win your spurs, sir? In a game of draughts?” Berthe demanded and Bayard laughed.

  “This is no jest!” Melissande snapped. “We are to be robbed, sir.”

  “We are not to be robbed,” Quinn said with resolve and she had time to fear what he might do to defend them.

  Then the other party urged their steeds to a gallop and charged closer. Quinn gave his destrier his spurs and the beast surged forward, leaving the women and Bayard behind. Melissande’s heart skipped a beat that they were to be abandoned to Bayard’s defense. Then Bayard gave a shout of delight and raced after Quinn. The squires hooted and galloped their palfreys toward the party as well, leaving Melissande and Berthe to stare at each other in astonishment.

  “Faithless wretches,” Melissande muttered and pulled her small eating knife.

  “Of what merit are knights who leave us undefended?” Berthe demanded, her outrage equal to Melissande’s own. “And this is the new Lord d’Annossy. Much changes, my lady, that much is certain, and the changes are not welcome...”

  It was then that Melissande realized the men ahead were laughing.

  All of them.

  Quinn, Bayard, and each man in the approaching company laughed as if they celebrated a feast. Quinn leaped from his saddle, as did the man leading the approaching party. They embraced and patted each other on the back, shook hands and embraced again. There was no disguising the merriment of a company of friends well met: though Melissande could not have anticipated it, in hindsight, it made sense.

  “Their companions aimed to meet them at Sayerne,” she guessed and Berthe nodded. They had ridden to Sayerne, found it vacant, and retraced their course.

  “More of them,” the maid said wearily. She rolled her eyes and both women sighed.

  The women walked their horses closer, in no rush to encounter the party of rough-looking men. Melissande assumed that the three most heavily armed men must be knights, despite their humble garb, which meant the other five riders were squires. She had no doubt her husband would invite them to Annossy, for truly, they could not be expected to take comfort at Sayerne.

  She was reviewing inventories in Annossy’s stores when she reached her husband’s side. Quinn glanced up, his eyes alight with joy such as she had never seen before and she was struck anew by how very handsome he was.

  “My lady wife,” he said, gesturing to her as he claimed her palfrey’s reins. “Melissande, I would have you meet three of our comrades. We battled together in the Holy Land and had been journeying home together.”

  “Until Amaury took ill in Venice,” a fair-haired rogue said to her with a wicked smile. “He has a feeble constitution for a knight.” He bowed low before her. “Niall MacGillivray, at your humble service, my lady.” He had an accent that compelled Melissande to concentrate in order to understand his French, but his smile was ready.

  And he knew well enough that he was handsome, to be sure.

  “She is my lady, Niall, and you had best recall as much,” Quinn said and that man grinned. Niall even had the audacity to wink at Melissande and she imagined that he found many a maid to appreciate his charms. Berthe already sat straighter in her saddle, though Bayard glowered at his companion when Niall took note of her.

  The next man was dark of hair and blue of eye, a strikingly regal man with a steady gaze. “Amaury de Montvieux,” he said, also bowing low before her. “Who might have imagined that our Quinn would make such a fortunate alliance?” His French was more readily understood.

  “It is not the fortune of the alliance that makes it admirable,” Quinn protested gruffly. “But the charm of my lady wife.”

  Melissande found herself blushing, but the men nudged each other companionably. Quinn gestured to the third knight in the party, a very tall and blond man with a quelling gaze. “Lothair is a talented healer,” Quinn said. “He remained in Venice to ensure Amaury’s complete recovery.”

  Lothair bowed but did not speak.

  “As Niall certainly would not,” Amaury said.

  “Not if there was any company more interesting than yours,” Niall agreed.

  “And there were women aplenty in Venice,” Bayard added. “However did you choose?”

  Berthe inhaled sharply at this.

  “Choose? Where is it writ that a man must choose only one?” Niall protested. They laughed easily together, obviously at ease with each other’s natures.

  Berthe glared at them all. “Sir Rogue, it seems your compa
nions share your views,” she said and the men laughed.

  “Sir Rogue,” Niall echoed and his brows rose. “This lady has taken your measure.”

  “I have taken no measure of him,” Berthe snapped and Niall was quick to apologize.

  Melissande felt the weight of Quinn’s gaze upon her and knew what she had to do. “You must have invited your companions to visit you at Sayerne,” she said quietly to him.

  “Aye. We would have arrived together, had Amaury not fallen ill. I could not have known that Sayerne was a ruin, for Tulley did not tell me as such in his missive.” His lips pursed. “It seems that his brevity meant that many details were omitted.”

  Melissande prayed silently that there would be enough food in Annossy’s storerooms, but smiled as if unconcerned. Hospitality could not be compromised. Her father had been adamant about that. “Have you invited them to Annossy?”

  “I await your blessing, my lady,” he replied, a smile in his eyes.

  “You do not need my blessing, sir,” she reminded him gently.

  Quinn frowned briefly, but did not avert his gaze. “Yet I still desire it,” he confessed in an undertone. His hand fell to her knee and just the weight of it there made Melissande catch her breath. She stared into his eyes and realized that she would have to welcome him abed this very night, lest his friends suspect the truth, even as she knew in her heart that she did not entirely dread it.

  “My home is now yours and you know it well, sir,” she replied. Quinn studied her for a moment, then cleared his throat when she looked away.

  “Friends and comrades!” he cried, interrupting their conversation. “I invite you all to Annossy.”

  “Annossy?” Niall echoed. “Where is that?”

  “Just ahead of us, before Sayerne. It is the ancestral holding of my lady wife. You see the pennant flying from its tower.”

  “You are Lord d’Annossy as well?” Lothair demanded, his surprise more than clear. His French was spoken with a clipped accent and Melissande guessed that he hailed from the more eastern territories held by the Emperor.