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

by Claire Delacroix

  “But one with appeal?”

  Her eyes twinkled so merrily that Quinn dared to believe in their shared future. She flushed a little and smiled at him. “Indeed, sir. Though I fear you may start an argument apurpose in future.”

  “Nay,” he said solemnly. “’Twill be you who do as much.” She gasped again in mock outrage, then laughed. Quinn kissed her soundly, the time for words being well past.

  Her husband was a sorcerer.

  Or perhaps he was an elixir that once sampled, left a woman desperate for more.

  Either way, Quinn kindled a need within Melissande, satisfied it, yet could readily make her yearn for his touch again. It was the reverence in his expression and his caress, as if he feared she might fade to naught before his very eyes. He was so gentle, despite his strength. The fact that he tempered himself in order to give her pleasure was a concession that fed her own confidence in this deed.

  Indeed, their coupling was more pleasurable each and every time.

  She indulged her impulses this time and surrendered completely to their lovemaking. She felt his surprise when she took the lead, but could not mistake his approval. How could their passion be more potent each time? It was a puzzle she could not explain, but Melissande did not care.

  She wanted Quinn.

  She did not mind that he knew the truth of it.

  She met him touch for touch, demanding more and more, and they exhausted each other in their quest for pleasure. The culmination was a marvel beyond marvels and she collapsed atop him in the bed, wondering how many had heard their triumphant cries.

  “I have a confession to make,” Quinn said when they were entangled together and sated.

  “Not another,” Melissande teased and he chuckled.

  He lifted a tendril of her hair and twisted it between finger and thumb, then wound it around his fingertip. “I like what you teach me,” he said.

  Melissande rolled to lie atop him. “It seems that in matters abed, you teach me, sir.”

  “Nay, it is not so simple as that, but that is not what I meant.”

  “What then?”

  “I thought of your inventories.”

  “Which is why you brought fish and wine. That was most welcome. How many more comrades do you expect to arrive at our gates?”

  “None. For there is only one more and he is said to be wed.” Quinn lifted a finger. “But when Tulley insisted that Sayerne fields should be tilled this year, I thought of my practical wife and her ledgers.”

  “And you negotiated.” She smiled as she watched him, liking his pride in his accomplishment. He should be proud to have won a concession from Tulley.

  “Aye.”

  “You did not insult him, I hope.”

  Quinn shook his head. “I think he respected the novelty.”

  Melissande laughed and Quinn joined her merriment.

  “He vowed that he will send the seed, and men to rebuild the homes of the villeins, and provisions for those who choose to go to Sayerne from Annossy to till the land.”

  Melissande pursed her lips. “Yet he will take only a third of the harvest. However did you win such a concession? I am certain he wished for more.”

  “Half,” Quinn admitted and she winced. “I told him that Annossy should not be diminished for the sake of Sayerne.”

  “You say this to seduce me fully.”

  “I say this because it is good sense.” Quinn kissed the tip of her nose then rose from the bed with purpose. “I have much to learn, Melissande. Will you teach me more? Louis says you find satisfaction in keeping the ledgers and I would be glad if you so continued, but I would like to learn of them myself.”

  “Aye, of course.”

  He granted her a look. “What do you know of Perricault?”

  Melissande felt her eyes narrow. “It lies to the north and is the holding of the widow, Marie, said to have wed my betrothed, Arnaud de Privas.”

  Quinn in the act of donning a chemise spun to face her. “Marie?” he repeated. “The same Marie who wed Arnaud is of Perricault?”

  “Aye.” Melissande blinked. “Why is that of import?”

  “I am not certain,” he confessed with a frown. “But this is twice I have heard tell of Perricault in rapid succession.” He crossed the room and drew the blade that Gaultier had entrusted to her, showing her the inscription.

  Melissande frowned. “Marie is Gaultier’s aunt?”

  “And the woman Heloise said he courted after his uncle’s death.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Nor do I, but Gaultier is said to have come to your gates, without Tulley’s recommendation, after Marie wed Arnaud de Privas.”

  “Thereby breaking my betrothal to him.” Melissande shook her head. “If that were true, it would be a most curious coincidence.”

  “Nay. I do not believe in coincidence, not any longer. It is a hint of a scheme.”

  “But what manner of scheme?”

  He met her gaze. “Surely you do not imagine that I am the sole one with the ambition to claim Annossy?”

  Melissande’s thoughts spun with the implications. This tale lent credence to the one of Arnaud wedding Marie, though she still had difficulties believing Gaultier to be so deceptive. “But if Arnaud is wed to Marie, he governs Perricault. Why would he send Gaultier here?”

  “Naught says he did. Gaultier, however, might have sought another noblewoman of property in the hope of making a fortuitous match.” Quinn handed her the sheathed dagger as she considered this possibility again. If Gaultier had intended to court her, she had never guessed as much. If she had done so, she would have seen that notion dismissed from his thoughts.

  “You should keep this,” Quinn advised. “For it is a good blade.”

  Melissande nodded.

  “Though I hope you do not need to defend yourself, I am glad to see you armed.” Quinn spoke with confidence and Melissande understood that he trusted her not to use the knife against him. She would not. “I shall see this matter resolved with as much haste as possible.”

  “But you dismissed Gaultier and his comrades.”

  He smiled with a confidence she did not share. “I do not think we have seen the last of him. Such a lofty ambition will not be readily abandoned.”

  “Then why dismiss him, never mind leaving him with both horse and weapons?”

  “We have but baited the trap, my lady. I doubt it will be long before it is sprung.” Quinn whistled to himself as he dressed, though Melissande stared at him for a long moment, the weight of the dagger in her hand.

  “A trap?” she echoed. “God in Heaven, will you risk your own life to see Annossy rid of the brigands?” she whispered and he turned to survey her.

  “Would you mourn my loss if I did?” he asked softly.

  “Aye,” she admitted. “I would.”

  “Well, then. That is something.” He nodded once and turned his back upon her, whistling once more.

  He did not mean to confide in her.

  That choice filled Melissande with new doubts. ’Twas true Quinn had insisted she keep the blade and that he seduced her well abed, but on this day, he had also dismissed Annossy’s Captain of the Guard and the men he had hired, without consulting Melissande. She felt control of the holding slip away and did not like it a whit.

  Melissande hastened from the bed, thinking this was no cause for merriment. She crossed the chamber and took his arm. “Tell me of your scheme.”

  “What scheme, my lady?” Quinn asked lightly and she knew he would not share the details with her. Her heart chilled that he did not trust her fully. “My sole scheme is the defense of Annossy.” He turned then to confront her. “Are there any other ways into the keep, beyond the gates and the sewers?”

  This time, it was Melissande who turned her back. If he would keep his secrets, then she would keep hers as well. “I do not know of any,” she said, keeping her tone even. “Perhaps Louis knows more.”

  Perhaps she would have to defend Annossy
’s solar against its new lord.

  “Perhaps. I will ask him.” Then Quinn left the solar, still whistling, while Melissande stood and wondered whether she had erred.

  Ten nights after the departure of Gaultier and his comrades, Annossy’s mill was attacked.

  Quinn was more than ready.

  The moon was new, the night darker than dark. He sat at the window of the solar, fully armed, well aware that Melissande watched him from the bed but did not sleep herself. Though they had worked together since his return from Tulley, and they were intimate each night, there was a barrier between them.

  She had lied about ways in and out of the keep.

  Quinn had guessed as much immediately, for her eyes revealed when she disguised the truth. His wife was not an accomplished liar, which he admired greatly—though it grieved him when she did mislead him. He had been disappointed to learn from Bayard shortly after leaving the solar that his impression had been correct. There was another way into the solar, designed to ensure that the lord could retake it after an assault, and it could even be reached from outside the walls, if one knew where to look for it.

  Quinn was certain that Melissande did.

  At its root, this was the same issue. She feared to trust him fully. She feared to lose her import at Annossy. Though Quinn understood her feelings, he could not do more to overcome her doubts than he had. He would prove himself in deeds, and could only hope that in time, when his lady’s worst fears did not come to fruition, it would prove to be sufficient.

  The compromise did not content him, but the lady had to make her own choice.

  In the short term, however, he had a holding to defend.

  In a way, it was a relief when the flame appeared in the distance. It flared orange, and flickered as Quinn rose to his feet. He could have no doubt of its import, though, for the fire raged higher as the wood caught and cast sparks into the sky. Niall and Lothair would already be fighting the brigands.

  Quinn did not waste a moment. He spun from the window and strode for the stairs. “I shall return when I can, my lady.”

  Melissande rose from the bed and seized his sleeve. “You cannot mean to ride out yourself! I thought you would send your comrades and defend Annossy yourself.”

  “I ride with my comrades.” Quinn chafed at the delay, though he could not be rude to her. He did not wish to spoil an accord that he feared was fragile. “The defense of all of Annossy is my responsibility.”

  “But you could be injured!”

  “I have been injured before and lived to tell of it.” He tugged his sleeve free of her grasp.

  “But you could be killed,” she said with a distress that appeared genuine. “Send another in your stead, Quinn!”

  Her use of his name was like a blow to the heart, but Quinn knew what had to be done. “I gave my word to the miller that I would defend his abode as my own,” he insisted with heat and turned away.

  This night might change all between them. He prayed that it might and hurried to the portal, pausing to glance back.

  Melissande said no more, but folded her arms across her chest, watching him go. She bit her lip as she watched him and he saw tears glisten in her eyes. As ever, the sight of her vulnerability affected him powerfully. He hoped with all his measure that she truly was concerned for him.

  “Is there some detail you would tell me?” he asked and she shook her head, her tears flying.

  Still she withheld the tale of the second entry.

  That told Quinn all he needed to know.

  It disappointed him deeply.

  On impulse, he reached into his purse and removed the one item he knew Melissande desired above all else. He tossed it to her as if it were a trinket of far less value than it truly was. He saw her catch the seal, then look down. There was no doubting the moment that she realized what she held, for her eyes lit and then she frowned.

  “You should not surrender this to me,” she whispered even as her fist closed over it.

  “I spare you the trouble of seeking it, should I not return,” he said, disappointment in his tone. She only stared at him. That displeased him—he would rather have parted with a kiss—and he turned to march down the stairs. His cloak flared behind him and he found his comrades already on their feet, awaiting him in hall and bailey.

  “Sir! You cannot mean to die this night!” Melissande called from behind him.

  He pivoted to find her on the stairs, her hair unbound and her chemise more sheer than she realized, her gaze filled with concern. She was a vision of loveliness, one that made his throat tighten, and he knew he would always remember her thus.

  But she had not used his name.

  “Few men mean to die when they meet their end, my lady.” He bowed then and continued to the stables, his comrades quick behind him.

  He risked more than she knew this night and he wished he could have trusted her fully.

  The plan was made and now Quinn could only hope for its success.

  Quinn’s sense of duty would be his undoing. The man was as vexing as the first day Melissande had met him—nay, more so, for now she cared about his survival and recognized that much was reliant upon him. Honor and duty. The very words made Melissande grit her teeth. As Lord d’Annossy, it was not his personal obligation to strike the killing blow against the brigands.

  He should send his comrades or his men-at-arms.

  He should delegate, not risk his own hide!

  Melissande dressed in haste, lacing the sides of her kirtle and tugging on her boots without stockings. The keep was filled with activity, though no one raised their voice. All was being prepared in stealth. Despite her haste, by the time she reached the hall, Quinn and his men were gone. She raced into the bailey to see the rump of Quinn’s destrier as he led the company through the gates.

  Curse him. He even wore her father’s tabard this night, making himself an easy target. She bit her fist, her fear rising high, and hoped that she would have the opportunity to chastise him, then welcome him abed.

  Nigh all of his comrades rode with him. They were armed and helmeted, their dark cloaks hiding their mail from view. She spied the steeds of Luc and Thierry, right behind Fortitude, then Amaury touched his fingertip to his helmet in salute as his horse cantered past her. Melissande stared after the men as all the many squires on their palfreys, each and every one armed, rode around her and filed out the gates. They had been prepared this night, and likely all the nights of late, to ride out at Quinn’s command with little notice.

  A movement at the top of Annossy’s wall, above the gates, drew her eye. A knight was silhouetted on the balustrade, his helmet and his raised gloved hand catching a glimmer of light as he waved off Quinn’s party. She realized it was Bayard by his green tabard and the shape of his helmet. She saw him gesture for the gates to be closed after Quinn’s departure, then take up his stance above the gates.

  One comrade left in Annossy’s defense.

  One.

  Melissande’s sense of foreboding grew at that, even though she knew Quinn’s expertise with warfare was far beyond her own. She knew also that Bayard must be a competent warrior and a trusted one for Quinn to have assigned him this task. Quinn had said he set a trap and he must have allowed for all the possibilities. Still, she was fearful.

  She compelled herself to think of practical matters. The company would return hungry, at the very least, if not injured. She went to the kitchens to rouse the cook and urge him to set soup upon the fire. She sent to the village for the healer, for she was uncertain whether Quinn’s companion Lothair would return to the keep or not. She consulted with that woman to make preparations in the hall, and wished she knew what was happening. The hall was filled with quiet purpose, women and men working as silently as shadows, their expressions fearful.

  Quinn had given her the seal instead of a kiss farewell. How could he believe that only the seal of Annossy was of importance to her?

  Melissande wished she had thought more quickly and spoken
the truth to him. She wished she had told him about the old pathway to the solar, even though she was not certain of its existence. She had been compelled to wed him, she had challenged him and fought him, and Quinn had countered her objections with persistence, patience and honor.

  She could love him.

  She feared again for his survival and knew she already did.

  Melissande wished with all her heart that she would have the opportunity to tell him so.

  Fifteen

  When all was made ready for the return of the knights, Melissande returned to the solar, hoping she could see something of what happened at the mill from the high windows. She bolted the door behind herself, leaving the solar in darkness as she crossed to the window. The new moon meant the night was dark and she wanted to see whatever could be discerned. There was no lantern lit in the solar and the brazier, which had been stirred up when she had first come to bed, was now nigh cold. Only a coal or two glowed faintly orange within it.

  When she looked toward the mill, there was only the silence of the night. The bonfire had been doused. She could not hear a single sound of battle, but she did hear men’s voices. She leaned out the window as she spotted lights on the road to the mill. A party was returning to Annossy, a large party by the sound of the horses. There were torches being carried alongside, and she guessed that the squires lit the way.

  The men were singing and she leaned against the frame with relief. Quinn’s men had triumphed. Doubtless, they returned to Annossy with the brigands captive or injured. She had to admit that Quinn had been right about leaving only one knight behind. Annossy had not been assaulted, much to her relief.

  The challenge to Annossy’s borders was resolved, and Quinn had done it.

  She stepped back from the window, intent upon ensuring the soup was hot for the returning party, then heard the stealthy sound of a boot on the floor behind her.

  Melissande spun quickly, but not quickly enough. A man seized her from behind and shoved a cloth into her mouth. She struggled against him but he was more powerful than she. She was enraged by his audacity.