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

by Claire Delacroix

  “I heard that!” Berthe declared at the bottom of the stairs. She put down the bucket with such vehemence that the water sloshed over the side, then shook a finger at Bayard. “My mother warned me against your kind, sir! I was lucky to keep my wits about me right from the first, despite the gilding on your tongue.”

  Quinn’s brows rose in surprise. “You have a gilded tongue?” he asked his companion.

  Bayard shrugged. “It was cold last eve. I offered to keep her warm.”

  “You thought to give me more than warmth,” Berthe accused and Bayard looked discomfited.

  “You could have declined.”

  “I did decline, and then you tried to steal a kiss!”

  “You did not,” Quinn said, though he saw the truth in Bayard’s chagrin. “Melissande will have much to say of the matter.”

  “And it is neither her business nor yours,” the other knight retorted with vehemence.

  “Next time, Sir Rogue, I will blacken your eye.”

  “I do not doubt it,” Bayard replied, some admiration in his tone. “Someone taught you how to strike a blow. ’Twas only my own speed that saw me unbruised.” He smiled. “Next time, I shall need to be faster.”

  “There will be no next time!” Berthe glared at Bayard, but Quinn noted that her gaze was snared once she dared to look.

  “I think there might be,” Bayard murmured. Berthe flushed and the other knight’s eyes sparkled, then she seized the bucket and marched up the stairs.

  “Ah, Berthe, surely you do not give this rogue more of your attention than he deserves?” Niall asked as he appeared on the stairs. He smiled at the maid with all his charm, blocking her progress. “I must advise you that if you mean to choose a companion, I will grant you a merrier time than my sorry comrade there.”

  “You, sir, may keep your counsel to yourself,” the maid snapped and glared at Niall until he stepped to one side. He blew a kiss after her, but she ignored him.

  “She is this close, despite her chatter,” Niall murmured, holding his thumb and finger an increment apart.

  Quinn might have smiled at his comrade’s confidence but he noticed Bayard’s dark glance. “I would place my wager upon the maid,” he confessed.

  “That is because you know so little of the seductive arts,” Niall said, continuing down the stairs to the board. “Should you have need of advice, I could teach you tricks that ensure your lady wife will not permit you to leave the solar before noon.”

  That seemed unlikely to Quinn, but he left the matter be. His other comrades were descending to the hall and he conferred with them as they broke their fast together. He then indicated to Louis that he would welcome the villeins to hear what they knew of the raids.

  The brigands had to be routed for Quinn to have any chance of a happy future with Melissande. Unlike the challenge of winning her heart, this task, mercifully, was within his skills.

  Melissande could not believe she had been so wanton. There was something about Quinn that provoked both her trust and her desire. It made no sense that he should have such an ability to influence her when she knew so little of him. It made no sense that she could find herself so quick to abandon her concerns about his family.

  It was troubling indeed how readily she forgot her pledge to Arnaud.

  She rose with purpose, intending to be her usual disciplined self again. Quinn had agreed to seduce her only when invited: she would not invite him to do as much so quickly again. She wondered if he would turn to another woman for satisfaction, felt a twinge of dislike at the very notion, then knew he would not.

  How curious that she should be so certain of his honorable nature in that matter at least.

  Perhaps she had been misled. She would speak to Gaultier this very morn and learn what he knew or suspected of Quinn. She would take advantage of Quinn’s absence to muster her few resources.

  “Good morning, my lady!” Berthe said as she entered the solar. She had made the merest knock upon the door before entering. She threw open the shutters, making her way around the chamber, admitting both the chill of the wind and the sunlight.

  “Your lord husband already breaks his fast, my lady.”

  “Aye.” Melissande began to wash. “I will have the blue kirtle this day, the one wrought in the colors of Annossy.”

  “With the white veil and blue slippers,” Berthe said, knowing her lady’s taste well.

  “And that silver girdle, if you please.”

  “Aye, my lady.” The maid moved to the chest where Melissande’s kirtles were stored, then hesitated. She turned. “Your lord husband does not have a tabard in the colors of Annossy.”

  “We can hardly be faulted for that, as we did not know he would be Lord d’Annossy but two days past,” Melissande noted with a smile.

  Berthe nodded. “Aye, but should one be made for him?”

  Melissande had not truly considered Quinn would be a permanent resident of Annossy, but she supposed she should. She simply had not progressed so far in understanding the changes that resulted from her marriage. “We should,” she said then, thinking of the stores of cloth. “Is there not a short length of deep blue wool?”

  “I believe so, my lady,” Berthe said, bringing the kirtle to her. “I will search for it today.”

  “Thank you, Berthe.”

  The maid frowned. “Does Lord Quinn intend to reside here or at Sayerne?”

  Melissande paused. “What have you heard?”

  “The knight Bayard was most eloquent in the kitchen last night about Sayerne and his comrade’s intention of restoring it to its former glory.”

  Melissande refrained from making a skeptical sound. Sayerne had never been glorious, at least not in her lifetime.

  “He vows he will live there.”

  “I thought you did not speak to Sir Rogue?”

  The maid blushed. “He has a charm about him, to be sure. And I thought there could be little harm in talking to him in the kitchens last evening. Truly, there were others present.”

  Her kirtle laced, Melissande turned to survey her maid. She had never seen Berthe so determined to avoid her gaze. “Tell me you have not been seduced by my lord husband’s companion?”

  Berthe flushed crimson. “Bayard de Neuville,” she said. “That is his name.”

  Melissande felt her brow rise. “You did not answer me.”

  Berthe sighed and slipped behind Melissande to braid her hair. The move also ensured that Melissande could not see the maid’s features and she doubted that was mere coincidence. “Do you not think he is handsome beyond all?” she asked after a moment’s silence. “A woman could readily lose her head when he fixed his attention upon her, no less when he endeavors to steal a kiss.”

  “He did not!”

  “He did.” Berthe sighed. “Already I wonder if it was folly to evade him.”

  Melissande blinked. “But you chide him so, as if you dislike him.”

  “It is all I can do to keep my wits about me.” Berthe tugged Melissande’s hair tightly. “If he ever guessed that I have any regard for him at all, he might be bent on seducing me then, and I might succumb.”

  “That would be most unwise.”

  Berthe nodded unhappy agreement. “He says himself that he has no inclination to wed.”

  “So, you think him a rogue.”

  Berthe winced. “I am not so certain, my lady. The other one, the fair one with the accent, now he is a rogue to be sure.”

  “Niall,” Melissande said.

  “Aye, and since his arrival, I can see that Bayard is not so selfish as I had thought him to be.”

  “I had no idea of your regard.”

  “And with any luck he does not, either.”

  Melissande nodded. She was uncertain of the intentions of Quinn’s companions. Did Bayard have a holding? Without one, she doubted he intended to take a wife, although he might welcome a woman’s attentions abed. She was not even certain if he planned to remain in Quinn’s service, but she did not want B
erthe to be seduced and abandoned. She would have to ask Quinn, though he might not welcome the discussion. Doubtless men of war were not accustomed to concerning themselves with all those beneath their hand, but he would have to learn to do as much as Lord d’Annossy.

  For the first time, Melissande wondered if Quinn was also coming to terms with the implications of their hasty marriage.

  “I would ask you to resist the advances of all my lord husband’s companions,” she said to Berthe. “At least until I can learn more of their natures and intentions.”

  “Do you not think that a knight who took the cross and rode to crusade must have a noble nature?” Berthe asked, her tone wistful.

  “I would hope so, but he might only have learned to savor every pleasure while he could. Some men take the cross for the hope of plunder, since there is naught for them to inherit. Some take it out of genuine piety.” Melissande reached out and laid her hand over the other woman’s. “My concern is for you,” she said. “Bayard might have no holding or fortune so that he might make a home for a bride. He might be the manner of man to pursue a woman with sweet words and empty promises. We do not know, and I would be more certain of your future.” Berthe turned abruptly away and Melissande was afraid it was already too late. “Tell me that you have not yielded to him.”

  “I have not, my lady.”

  “I will speak to my lord husband about this matter.”

  “But he might tell Bayard of my regard!”

  Melissande smiled to encourage Berthe, for the maid was clearly distraught at the prospect. “I have no doubt that my lord husband can be convinced to keep your secret,” she said, before she realized that Quinn might have a very obvious price.

  An invitation.

  For he needed a son.

  What would happen to their marriage if she conceived, bore a son, and Quinn was entrusted with the seal of Sayerne? Would he abandon her here at Annossy to rebuild his family holding? Did Bayard know more of Quinn’s intentions than she? Melissande had not considered the possibility, not before Berthe’s question, but as she descended to the hall, she wondered.

  It might be expedient to bear that son, if she wished Quinn to leave Annossy.

  Melissande found him at the board, surrounded by his companions, his attention fixed on a villein who spoke to him. Her heart leapt in a most unruly and unwelcome way at the sight of her husband, the man who coaxed her pleasure and seemed determined to win her trust.

  He glanced up then and smiled, his pleasure at her appearance obvious, and Melissande could scarce take a breath.

  She told herself that she was a fool, as much a fool as Berthe, who lifted her chin at Bayard’s smile. They had lived without men for too long, it was clear.

  She headed for the kitchen to review the inventory, curtseying to her husband as she passed through the hall, even as she strove to envision a menu for the coming days.

  They had need of meat, to be sure.

  Who could she send to hunt?

  It was clear to Quinn that Melissande had become a lady of ice once again. Her gaze was steady and cool when she descended to the hall and he was struck by how little similarity there was between her composure outside of the marriage bed and her playful manner within it. He knew which version of his lady wife he preferred. When she responded to his touch, when her hair was unbound, she seemed more vividly alive and more honest to him. When her hair was braided back and hidden beneath her veil, her lips drawn to a resolute line, she might have been a stranger—a queen or an abbess—and her thoughts were impossible for him to read.

  When she curtseyed before him, as she had this morning in the hall, he could scarce believe she was the same woman who met him touch for touch, much less that he might conquer her heart.

  The villeins knew little of import, though it was clear they were glad to have the opportunity to speak with him. Quinn was reminded of the gathering of information before battles in foreign lands—one never knew when there might be a detail that provided some illumination.

  He did not see Melissande again until he mounted Fortitude in the bailey and she appeared with a stirrup cup. It was filled to the brim with spiced wine and was in itself a fine vessel of silver. She brought it to him first and he bent from the saddle to sip of it.

  ’Twas then he saw the shadow in her gaze.

  “What is amiss?” he murmured before touching his lips to the cup.

  Her gaze flicked but she shook her head minutely. “I will see it resolved.”

  Quinn reached for the cup, closing his gloved hand over hers. “Tell me,” he murmured.

  She eyed him for a moment, then nodded. “We have need of meat,” she confessed quietly. “I do not know who to send to hunt.”

  “No one,” Quinn replied, more sharply than he had intended. He still was uncertain who could be trusted in the holding and who should not be. “I have ordered the gates to be kept closed.”

  Her eyes widened and he knew she had forgotten this detail. She frowned. “But your guests...”

  Was she truly only concerned with the administration of Annossy and the welfare of his guests? Quinn was well aware that Gaultier lingered in the bailey and feared that his clever lady might have some scheme to be rid of him. More than one unwanted husband had met his demise at the hunt, presumably by accident. Surely she would not, but once he had the thought, it was not readily dismissed.

  “I will see the matter resolved myself,” he said, wondering how it might be done. “No one leaves Annossy in my absence, my lady.” He let his gaze bore into hers. “No one.”

  She dropped her gaze and curtseyed, but not before he saw the flash of her eyes. “Aye, my lord,” she said, apparently demure, but Quinn could not silence his newfound doubts.

  Bayard, Lothair, Niall and Amaury all were in their saddles, ready to ride out with him to the mill. He wanted and needed their protection and expertise, though he wondered if one should remain behind. Annossy was well-defended, though—so long as the gates remained closed. And the boys were within the walls. He did not doubt they would keep their eyes open and bring any tales to him upon his return.

  Still, he could not silence his doubts.

  When they rode out, Quinn looked back to ensure that the gates were closed. His last glimpse was of Melissande, still holding the empty stirrup cup, with Gaultier close by her side.

  It was not the most reassuring sight and his mood turned grim.

  Ten

  Melissande did not have to seek out Gaultier. He was at her elbow before Quinn and his party had even passed through the gates. She felt a twinge of guilt when Quinn glanced back, but reminded herself that she had done no improper deed. She had shown her husband the respect due to him as Lord d’Annossy.

  He could not know the doubts in her heart.

  Gaultier indicated that the gates should be secured, just as Quinn had decreed, then bent to murmur to her. “My lady, I would confer with you in private, at your leisure.”

  “In private?” Melissande echoed, turning to consider the knight.

  He frowned, his gaze flicking over the bailey. “I would not have my meaning misconstrued, my lady, but I am concerned.” He met her gaze steadily and she nodded.

  “I wished to speak with you, as well, Gaultier.” She indicated the hall. “Perhaps in my father’s favored chamber, by the hall.” Louis met her as soon as she entered the hall, a question in his eyes. “My lord husband has been told of the larder,” she told him, for they had discussed the details that morning. “He insists that no one shall leave Annossy in his absence.” She did not add that Quinn meant to try to solve the lack of meat, for she could not imagine how he would have the time to hunt. She also did not know of his skill in the pursuit of game. The hunt was somewhat different than war. She smiled for Louis when he looked skeptical. “He has told me, Louis, that his companions will be grateful of whatever is offered, for they have shared times of shortage together.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Louis said with a bow, his
skepticism remaining. “Perhaps a fortifying soup with each meal?”

  “A most excellent suggestion, Louis.” She gestured to the small room adjacent to the hall. “Gaultier and I will confer for a moment. Please see that we are not disturbed.”

  Louis, to her surprise, flicked a glance at the Captain of the Guard that was not filled with approval. Perhaps there was another soul whose counsel she should seek.

  “I thank you, my lady, for your trust,” Gaultier said when they were closeted together. Though Melissande retreated around the large table that nigh filled that chamber, she felt keenly aware that Gaultier was both larger than she and armed.

  Quinn’s suggestion that the other knight had harbored ambitions could not be pushed from her thoughts.

  She remained standing herself, not wanting the further disadvantage of taking a seat. “I had the impression, Gaultier, that you might know something of my lord husband or his reputation when he arrived yesterday. If so, I would invite you to share it with me.”

  “In confidence?”

  “Aye.”

  “I would not have the man made Lord d’Annossy think me disloyal,” he said, some bitterness in his tone.

  “He will not know of it. I give you my word.”

  Gaultier nodded. “I know naught of Quinn de Sayerne himself, my lady, though I found his arrival as your lord husband most astonishing.”

  “Aye?”

  “Aye. Have you not always advised me that Jerome de Sayerne meant to unite Annossy with Sayerne? Annossy has been plagued by brigands upon her borders both before and after Jerome’s death, which implies that Jerome himself was not the villain responsible—or not the sole one.”

  Melissande waited, for this thinking was much like her own.

  “And who should be better allied with Jerome than his son and heir?” Gaultier raised a hand. “Here he is, returned. The timing cannot be a coincidence...”