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

by Claire Delacroix

  Quinn leaned closer as they climbed the stairs. “What troubles you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that made Melissande yearn for the weight of his hands upon her skin.

  “That Berthe and Bayard so provoke each other. What is his intention, do you think?”

  “Bayard? I expect he has none but pleasure,” Quinn replied easily.

  As if that were not a problem.

  Melissande stopped on the top step and her husband halted beside her. “You cannot mean that he will seduce my maid and leave her unwedded?” She kept her tone even with an effort, and was not reassured that Quinn seemed perplexed by her concern.

  “His actions are not mine to govern,” he said easily.

  “Though he is in your hall and eats at your board?” Melissande demanded, her voice rising.

  Quinn’s expression turned wary. “Bayard is my comrade, not my vassal. I have no right to command his behavior.”

  “But he is your friend! Surely he will act with honor!”

  Quinn indicated that she should precede him into the solar. He gave Michel a nod, for the boy had followed them, and shut the door, leaning back against it to watch her. “And how would you define honor in this instance?” he asked.

  That he could even ask such a question was no good sign. “Any man of merit would wed the woman he desires.”

  “Any man of merit would not wed without the means to support a wife and family,” Quinn countered, his tone reasonable. “Bayard has no holding and no fortune. He may well intend to continue to earn his way as a mercenary, which is no fitting fate for any woman.”

  Melissande put her hands on her hips. Though she agreed with this assessment, she still wished to defend her maid’s chastity. “Then you will look aside if he seduces her beneath the roof of Annossy?”

  “Surely Berthe can choose for herself whether to be seduced or not?”

  Melissande exhaled. She knew already how easily objections could be overcome by a man’s persuasive touch. Could Quinn have seduced her if they had not been wedded? She feared he might have found success. “Surely, your comrade should not even try to entice her,” she replied hotly.

  “Surely Bayard’s choices are his own to make!” Quinn countered, his voice rising.

  “This is not a camp of war, where all the women are whores. Nor is it some paradise where men can take their pleasure without regard for the consequences.”

  “I scarce think that one maid’s seduction could lead to such repute...”

  “This is a holding where maidens can come to give service to the lord and lady without fearing for their chastity!”

  “Berthe need have no fear for her chastity!” Quinn replied, his eyes flashing. “Surely she has the wits to say nay.”

  “Surely all women know that declining a man’s touch is not sufficient to turn him aside.”

  “Do you suggest that my companion would see his desires sated with violence?” he demanded. “If so, you insult both me and my companion with your assumptions about his nature...”

  “If he would seduce my maid without any thought of the future, your companion insults her with his assumptions about her nature.”

  Quinn flung out his hands. “Bayard’s assignations are not my concern!”

  “They are your concern,” Melissande snapped. “You are Lord d’Annossy. You have an obligation to every soul who takes shelter in this keep, to see him or her defended from violence, to see him or her fed and clothed, to see him or her protected.”

  Quinn stepped back, his eyes narrowed. “I do not.”

  “You most certainly do. They are your vassals and your villeins. Do you think their pledges of fealty come with no price? Do you imagine that you owe them naught for their loyalty and service?” Melissande spun on her heel and stormed to the other side of the solar. “I cannot imagine why I feared Annossy being bled dry for the sake of Sayerne. You simply choose to turn Annossy into a new Sayerne.”

  “I do not!”

  “What is the difference?” Melissande cried. “Your father’s hall was one of ill-repute, and many of his villeins fled here to defend their daughters from the lusts indulged in his hall. Should Berthe be compromised by your companion, that deed will cast a long shadow.”

  Quinn rubbed his brow. “I see.”

  Melissande feared he still did not. She counted on her fingers. “We have scullery maids in the kitchen who aid George in the preparation of the meals. We have more who tend the potage garden and yet others who do the washing. There are three in the hall at any given time who ensure that lanterns are filled and rushes are changed and linens are washed for guests. We need that labor, Quinn, and it is an honor for those pledged to Annossy to send their daughters to the hall. Your friends and comrades will depart at some point and I would still have Annossy well-maintained. You should desire as much, as well, as Lord d’Annossy.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Managing a holding is not solely about defending its borders.”

  He nodded and folded his arms across his chest as well, watching her. “I will speak with Bayard and express your concern.”

  “You will bid him leave Berthe alone unless he means to ask for her hand.”

  Quinn’s lips tightened. “I cannot command him.”

  “Then he should leave.”

  She saw the flash of his eyes and heard the fury in his tone. “Is there more?”

  Melissande took a breath and decided to share all of her concerns. Quinn was already annoyed and she perceived that she had little to lose. “I do not like that you brought the men-at-arms back to Annossy. It looks as if you push aside the traditions and people of Annossy in favor of your comrades.”

  “I can only solve the matter of the brigands with men I trust.” His tone was harder and she knew he did not welcome her comments.

  “Gaultier will be insulted.”

  “Then he may leave and I will welcome that.”

  “And you would insult Tulley, who sent him to Annossy!” Melissande retorted, flinging out her hands. “You must think of repercussions beyond your own whim!”

  “Whim?” he roared. “I must be surrounded by men I trust!”

  “Alas, I am not to have that luxury!” she replied before she could stop herself. “I am to stand aside while you claim every iota of affection and loyalty, while you push aside people chosen by me in favor of your own choices, while you turn Annossy into a hideous echo of Sayerne. I am to stand aside in silence while you make your father’s fondest dream come true, even as you destroy all that my forebears and I worked to achieve.”

  “You scarcely stand in silence, my lady.”

  “I will scream at the injustice, should it be necessary!” she countered. “I will not cede all to you so willingly as you might wish, whether you be my lord husband or nay.”

  “I am your lord husband and this match is consummated!” Quinn bellowed.

  “Nay.” Melissande shook her head. “It can still be dissolved, because I had a previous betrothal.”

  Quinn growled beneath his breath and took a step closer, his eyes burning with fury. Melissande feared a moment too late that she had pushed him overmuch, but then he shoved a hand through his hair, pivoted and paced the width of the solar and back. When he spoke, his voice still thrummed with emotion, but he was more controlled. “Is that the root of it? You do not trust me and my comrades?”

  “I do not know them, and I do not know you that well.”

  Quinn paced more quickly. “As opposed to Arnaud, the knight who holds your heart in thrall,” he said with some heat. “What if he had been the one to change the guard at the mill for his comrades? Would you welcome that choice whether you knew them or nay, simply because he is your beloved?”

  Arnaud. The mention of that man’s name stopped Melissande cold. What manner of woman was she that she had forgotten all about him so quickly as this? She turned her back upon her husband. “Berthe thinks you intend to abandon Annossy for Sayerne,” she said, not having intended to breach that topic at
all.

  “Does she? I suppose that would suit you well enough,” he said, his voice a low growl of dissatisfaction.

  “Is that what will happen if we have a son? You will leave?”

  What would happen if they did not have a son?

  He did not reply. Melissande looked over her shoulder to find him watching her intently, his lips set. The air fairly crackled between them and when he spoke, his low words surprised her. “You would rather I had never returned from Palestine.”

  “I would rather I had not been compelled to wed you,” she replied curtly. “Beyond that, I have no concern for your survival or location.”

  Quinn averted his gaze and she saw a muscle work in his jaw. She feared anew that she had said too much, especially when his hand clenched into a fist at his side, then relaxed again. He took a breath and lifted the fur-lined cloak, swinging it over his shoulders and wrapping it around himself. “Now this is a fine garment. I thank you for it.”

  Melissande watched warily as Quinn strode around the perimeter of the solar. What did he mean to do? She could not imagine that her blunt speech would create no repercussions. He closed all of the shutters across the windows, save the one that faced the mill, then drew a chair beside it. Wrapped in the cloak, he sat there, watching over the forest to the distant mill.

  As if she did not exist.

  As if she had been forgotten.

  Melissande knew she should not have been surprised that Quinn did precisely as he had said he would. She had told him not to come to her bed. He had said he would watch the mill.

  She was surprised by her own annoyance with the situation. Their dispute had made her keenly aware of him, as arguments had done before. That he could ignore her so completely indicated that he was not so powerfully affected by their lovemaking. It was a warning of what might be, and she told herself to be glad to have seen the truth of it so early.

  Berthe knocked on the door then and came with hot water. She spared a glance at Quinn, but she did not speak to him and he never glanced her way. It might have been Melissande’s forbidding expression that silenced any question that might have fallen from the maid’s lips, and she was quick about aiding her lady to prepare for bed. Still, Quinn did not change his posture or look her way. Melissande laid abed after the maid was gone, watching him, but he might have been alone for all the attention he showed her.

  She was a fool to feel its lack.

  Melissande did not think she would sleep, but to her surprise, she did.

  Twelve

  The moon was riding high when Quinn heard Melissande roll over in the great bed. She sighed, as if her dreams saddened her, and the sound tore at his heart. Her breathing remained slow and deep, though, and he knew she had not awakened.

  The most vexing thing about his wife was not that she was inclined to be outspoken. It was not that she challenged him, for Quinn welcomed that. The most irksome thing was that he lost his composure in her presence, like some brute, and then, invariably, had to acknowledge that she was right.

  If only she did not set his blood afire. If only the sight of her—eyes flashing, color high—did not make him yearn to kiss her to silence, seduce her, tickle her and coax her laughter. If only every exchange did not make him yearn for a true marriage in every sense.

  She loved Arnaud. He could not believe her to be inconstant, so her heart, once surrendered, would be Arnaud’s forevermore. Quinn did not have to like it, but he had to accept that truth.

  His marriage was doomed to be unhappy, for the lady was right. A betrothal was as good as a marriage in terms of being an obstacle to wedding another.

  He needed to talk to Tulley.

  Quinn was not looking forward to that.

  He was chilled to his marrow, despite the cloak, but he had given his word. He dared not stamp his feet to warm them for fear of awakening Melissande, so turned back to stare out at the night. He had sat vigil before and doubtless he would do so again. He reminded himself that he had gone days without sleep and that he had lived all his life without the comfort of a great bed like the one his wife occupied.

  Never mind the sweetness of Melissande tucked against his side. Even if she did not wish to be intimate, he could have been content to hold her. How long did a woman’s courses last? He had no notion, but he did know that her courses meant she was not with child.

  It could all be put aside so easily, if Tulley could be convinced to see reason.

  Quinn shivered and wrapped the cloak more tightly around himself, watching the night in the direction of the mill. It was not the cold that left him feeling hollow and alone. It was the knowledge that if he did right and defended his lady, he would be left with naught at all. Though he had possessed naught until just days ago, he knew that this time, he would keenly feel the lack.

  Then something fell.

  It hit to the floor behind him, the sound muffled. It must have fallen to the rug by the side of the bed. Quinn looked and could see the glint of some item on the floor there. He rose and moved silently to retrieve it. If it had fallen from Melissande’s grasp, she did not miss it, for she slept on.

  ’Twas a knife in a jewelled scabbard and Quinn was certain he had never seen it before.

  He spared a glance at Melissande, her braid cast across the linens, her skin as fair as ivory in the darkness. He took the knife to the window and examined it in the moonlight. The sheath was fine, etched with an elaborate design and studded with gems, and there was another larger gem in the hilt. He drew the blade, noting that it was in excellent care, and drew the blade gently across his hand. Honed to perfection.

  A lethal weapon.

  Why did she have such a knife?

  Why did she take it to bed—on the very night that she had told him not to join her? Surely she could not imagine that he would force his affections upon her?

  He made to sheath the weapon again and the moonlight caught something on the blade. It was inscribed. Quinn held it higher and turned it in the moonlight.

  To Gaultier—

  With affection

  upon the presentation of your spurs

  —Marie

  Gaultier.

  Could there be two men with such name in Melissande’s acquaintance, both of whom were inclined to see her armed against her husband? Quinn suspected not. He had never believed in coincidence and his years at crusade had only confirmed his view.

  He sheathed the weapon and silently replaced it on the rug, as if he had not seen it. Then he returned to the window, standing now as he looked into the night. Resolve filled him with new purpose, despite his exhaustion.

  There were two questions for which he needed a reply and only one man could answer them. Why had Tulley ignored Melissande’s betrothal to Arnaud? And what was known of Gaultier, Captain of the Guard, that he had been recommended for such a post?

  Quinn would ride to Tulley and have the truth of it from his wily overlord.

  The sun would not set upon Annossy again without Quinn knowing both the location of his lady wife’s beloved and the allegiance of Annossy’s Captain of the Guard.

  It might not set again with Quinn still in possession of Annossy’s seal, but that was a risk he had to take.

  Bayard was awake when he heard quiet footsteps on the stairs. His hand fell to his blade hilt by force of habit but otherwise he remained still, listening. To his relief, the sound came from above, not below, and he recognized Quinn’s silhouette as that man descended from the solar. Bayard and Amaury still slept on the second floor of Annossy’s tower, and there was room for the younger squires now that Lothair and Niall remained at the mill.

  To his surprise, Quinn moved quietly across the chamber to his side instead of continuing down the stairs. He seemed to expect that Bayard would be awake, for he looked down upon him, his features lost in shadows, and nodded once. Then he returned to the stairs and went down the stairs to the hall.

  Bayard understood that he had been summoned. He tugged on his chausses and boo
ts, but otherwise wore only his chemise. By force of habit, he took his dagger in its scabbard.

  He found Quinn at the board alone in the shadows before the dawn. The keep was yet quiet, although there was some activity in the kitchen. He sat down opposite his companion and friend, wondering what was amiss.

  Quinn’s expression was so serious that Bayard did not tease him about leaving his wife’s bed or the lack of ale.

  “You must choose,” Quinn said softly. He was serious and his expression intent, as if he anticipated an argument from Bayard.

  “Choose?”

  “We are no longer at war, and no longer moving from place to place. We no longer need fear that we will not awaken on the morrow...”

  “No man knows when he will breathe his last.”

  “But we do not battle for our survival each day,” Quinn said with resolve. “And so we must choose.”

  Bayard sensed he would not like his options in this choice, whatever it was. He sat back, folding his arms across his chest, and waited.

  Quinn traced a pattern in the wood with a fingertip. “I intend to remain in this place, to maintain my pledge as Lord d’Annossy and to rebuild Sayerne, if God wills it.”

  “You mean if Tulley wills it.” Bayard earned a look for that. “It seems that he has more influence in this valley than any other.”

  Quinn frowned and continued. “And that means that we must look upon the others in this valley as our neighbors, villeins and even friends, not as resources.”

  “This is about the maid,” Bayard guessed, irked that his comrade would attempt to govern his behavior.

  “’Tis.”

  “This is about your wife. She will see you gelded, if you allow it, and then if Annossy is attacked, where will you be? Timid at her feet, like a dog well-trained...”

  Quinn cleared his throat and Bayard fell silent. “My lady makes a fair point. Women must be treated with courtesy, maidens in particular, when we have need of their services in the hall. Fathers will not entrust them to such service if they are to be abused or left with child.”