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

by Claire Delacroix

  What travesty was this? Who dared to assault the Lady d’Annossy in her own chamber?

  Even as she struggled, her heart chilled. Her assailant must have known of the other entry. Whoever assaulted her, he had scaled the tower in the darkness. Too late she wished she had confided in Quinn.

  Her attacker kicked her feet out from beneath her and she fell hard to the floor. He was overwhelming Melissande easily, which terrified her. She could never defend herself, not with force, for her attacker was much stronger.

  Panicking, she thought of Quinn and his experience at war. She thought of how he turned matters on their heads to gain the element of surprise and realized this man expected her to fight him to her last.

  Instead, Melissande gasped and pretended to faint. She collapsed on the floor and heard her attacker grunt with satisfaction.

  He bent over her, reaching to bind her wrists. She felt the heavy rope upon one wrist and she did not know whether he intended to capture her or violate her. She gave him the chance to do neither. With her other hand, she pulled Gaultier’s dagger from its sheath in her garter. She stabbed upward, not bothering to cast back her skirts lest the knife blade shine in the dark. Her hand was beneath his mail hauberk, for it brushed the back of her wrist. She felt the blade sink home—into his thigh, perhaps—and warm blood run down her arm as her attacker swore.

  “Deceptive whore!” he snarled and Melissande froze in recognition of his voice.

  Gaultier!

  She tried to stab him again, but he caught her wrist and twisted it backward. If she could have made a sound, she would have cried out in pain. She was compelled to drop the blade and heard it clatter to the floor. She could not see it in the darkness and wondered how she would retrieve it.

  Gaultier meanwhile bound her wrists together with savage force. His breath was coming quickly and his anger was palpable. Melissande’s heart raced with fear. How had she allowed this serpent to live within the walls of Annossy? How could she have failed to see his true nature?

  But Quinn, Quinn had guessed it from the outset. Melissande could have wept that she had so misplaced her trust. Because of her own failure to confide in her lord husband, she might meet her end at the hands of this villain.

  She stumbled when Gaultier dragged her to her feet and pushed her toward the bed. She inadvertently kicked the knife, but it was gone, dancing across the floor. Gaultier must have heard it, as well, for he bent to retrieve something even as he shoved her toward the bed.

  “My own dagger,” he muttered. While he was distracted, Melissande tried to twist out of his grip. He grabbed her, shook her, then struck her across the face. “Faithless bitch!”

  Melissande fell backward and slipped so that she nearly collided with the pillar of the bed. She blinked, astonished that he had struck her, then felt new fear for her survival. She scrambled across the floor, trying to move around the bed even as she fought to recall every item in the solar. Had Berthe left the pail of water or the one for slops? If so, where were they? The last coal glowed in the brazier on the far side of the bed, but where were the tongs? How could she defend herself when her hands were bound?

  And what was Gaultier’s scheme?

  She was a fool a hundred times over and if she survived this day, she would spend her life making amends for her mistake.

  Melissande could only hope she had the chance to do as much.

  “I hear you, my lady,” he whispered, his tone taunting, and her heart fluttered like a caged bird. “You will not evade me. You can come quietly or not. The choice is yours.”

  What did he intend to do to her?

  Melissande tried to quell her rising terror. She heard a rustle and Gaultier’s boot on the floor again. She was sure he would find her by the erratic thunder of her heart, or the sound of her breath. She could smell him drawing closer. Why had she told Berthe to remain in the hall? She eased around the bed, trying to stay out of his reach. She reached the side of the bed with the brazier beside it and managed to hook her foot beneath it. It was weighty and top-heavy. Could she kick it with sufficient accuracy to injure Gaultier?

  She would certainly try.

  She huddled against the bed, trying to become one with it. She held her breath and remained motionless. She thought she could see Gaultier, just barely, a dark silhouette against the shadows. She heard his footstep and waited for what seemed like an eternity. She heard a distant cry and the creak of the gates, then the sound of horses in the bailey. Quinn and his party returned! There was a cheer from those awaiting him.

  Gaultier made a low hiss. He took another step and she heard a rustle of cloth.

  Could she stall until Quinn came to the solar? She feared not.

  “Come here, my lady,” Gaultier whispered as if she were so witless as to be enticed to her own doom. “We have not much time. I do not want to injure you. Trust me.”

  Trust him. The very suggestion sent fury through Melissande. What did this vermin know of trust? No man of merit kidnapped a woman or struck her. A knight vowed to defend those weaker than himself! She heard a faint sound of a boot on stone and knew it was too distant to be Gaultier.

  Who else was in the solar? If he had an accomplice, she was lost.

  But Gaultier froze and she thought he turned toward the sound.

  He was surprised. Did someone come to her aid?

  Melissande scratched her nail against the floor, trying to convince him that he had heard her and not another. He chuckled and took a step closer. “There you are,” he murmured, and when he took the next step, Melissande kicked the brazier with all her might.

  It fell with a thud, scattered coals and debris from the fire across the floor. Gaultier swore again and she hoped it had injured him. She saw one fiery coal began to smolder as it came to a rest on a carpet, but it was too far away to reach. The smoke rose immediately and the flame sparked to life shortly afterward.

  In its light, Melissande saw Gaultier lunging toward her, rage in his eyes. She hurled herself under the great bed. She heard him roar then snatch after her, but she scurried to the opposite side to evade him. Her eyes widened when she saw a second pair of boots appear behind Gaultier.

  He swore again and stood, then Melissande heard the clash of steel on steel. The two pairs of boots quickly becoming indistinguishable as the men circled and fought with increasing vigor.

  Who had come to her assistance?

  It was beyond infuriating that she could not see the battle. The flames grew brighter and she squirmed across the floor, emerging on the other side of the bed. Gaultier battled a knight in a green tabard who still wore his helmet.

  Melissande shook in her relief.

  Bayard had guessed her fate somehow and she was heartily glad of it. She hurried around the bed and began to stamp on the carpet to put out the flames. Now she could see the bucket of washing water, not far away. She hurried to it and kicked it over so that the carpet was doused.

  The fire went out, plunging them into darkness again.

  The helmeted knight swore with gusto and Melissande turned to stare at him in astonishment. Quinn? Surely she had not recognized his voice. The knight wore Bayard’s tabard and helmet. He must have swung his blade, for she heard it whistle through the air, and she ducked, cowering against the wall. No doubt Gaultier would have been glad to seize her, and Melissande scarce dared to breathe. She heard blades clash and men grunt, then a heavy weight fell to the floor.

  There was silence.

  She feared the import of that. If it had been her benefactor who had fallen, she was at Gaultier’s whim. A boot tread sounded on the floor and she closed her eyes in dread.

  “Zounds, my lady, but you could have let another measure of the carpet burn,” Quinn said with frustration. “I feared to miss the villain and there is no honor in an untidy execution.”

  It was Quinn! Melissande made a choked sound of relief and heard him cross the chamber. She heard his helmet land on the carpet. A flint was struck and a lantern l
it. She glanced down at the fallen man and it was Gaultier. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, and his blood flowing with vigor from his wounds.

  She wished she had given him more than one herself.

  Then Quinn blocked her view, ushering her to the other side of the solar. He removed the cloth bound over her mouth and untied her hands, his own brow furrowed in concern as he examined the rising bruise on her temple. He touched the rope burns on her wrists, his hands roving over her as he checked for injuries.

  “I am well enough,” she said, hearing the quiver in her own voice. He met her gaze and she smiled at him. “I feared you trusted overmuch in your companion, but you never left Annossy.”

  He grinned and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “There is no advantage in leaving the prize undefended,” he said and touched his lips to her brow. It was far less than she wanted of him in this moment.

  “This was a trap you set,” she whispered.

  “That it was.” He left her for a moment to open the portal and call for assistance from below, then stopped by the bed before he returned. He lifted Gaultier’s unsheathed knife, which he had retrieved from the floor. “I am glad I returned it to you.”

  “I was surprised that you did.”

  “I think it is right and good for a woman to be able to defend herself against a man determined to take what is not his to claim,” Quinn said, his voice a low rumble. “And I trusted you not to use it against me.”

  “A confident assumption, sir.”

  “One of us had to make a concession, if we were to establish a truce.” He raised a hand, humor in his expression. “I wagered it would have to be me.” He watched her, waiting.

  Melissande nodded. “I think our truce is made. I am sorry again, Quinn, sorry that I have been too stubborn to appreciate your merit. I am sorry that I did not tell you of the second entry to the solar.”

  “But you feared you might have to defend the prize of Annossy against me.” He eyed her. “Do you still?”

  Melissande shook her head with vigor. “Nay, Quinn. Nay.”

  He crossed the chamber with undisguised satisfaction and folded her into his embrace once more. Melissande felt then that he was shaking as well and closed her eyes at the steady sound of his heart. She wanted to be no other place in the world, and smiled when she felt his kiss against the top of her head.

  It would steady him to tell her what he had done, so she asked. “What of the mill? Was it attacked?”

  “Aye, but we surprised them. The brigands have been escorted to Annossy’s dungeon and I shall have the pleasure of seeing them again when first we hold court together.”

  “Three days after next full moon is too soon,” Melissande said with heat. “Leave them wait until after the next one.”

  Quinn chuckled, his breath in her hair and his arms tightly wrapped around her. “We think alike in this matter, my lady.”

  She tipped back her head and found him smiling at her, that glint of lazy intent in his amber gaze. “We do,” she agreed. “I feared I would not have the chance to tell you that I love you, my lord husband.” She watched his brows rise and relief light his eyes.

  “Surely you might call me by my name when you make such a declaration,” he teased and Melissande smiled.

  She reached up and framed his face in her hands. “I love you, Quinn de Sayerne. I am sorry that I did not see sooner how well matched we are.” She shook his tabard a little. “Now, do what you must and do it quickly. I would have you come to bed that I might prove my love to you.”

  Melissande saw Quinn’s eyes flash before he bent and captured her lips with his own, claiming her with another of his seductive and potent kisses. This time, however, she met him touch for touch, surrendering her all to him willingly.

  She was well pleased when he groaned and lifted her against him, his kiss tasting of relief and a passion that answered her own.

  It was not done.

  Quinn felt as much in his bones, but he pretended that the death of Gaultier and the arrest of the brigands saw all questions resolved at Annossy. To his dismay, he discovered that Melissande’s confession of love did not set his final doubts to rest. Instead, he wondered if she strove to falsely win his confidence. How he hated his suspicions! But her confession had been timely, and she had not been the one to tell him of the way to enter the keep from the side opposite the gates. She also had not been able to recall the location of the path to Perricault, or so she insisted. As much as he wanted to believe her, Quinn feared he would regret granting his trust.

  There had been one brigand who had escaped at the mill.

  It was not done.

  But in the meantime, Quinn and Melissande labored together so amiably that he wished their marriage had been made of their own choice, for then he could have trusted his wife. She taught him of ledgers and of Annossy’s courts. He learned of measures and makers, while he taught her about arms and defense. At night, each night, they met abed in mutual pleasure. His men worked upon strengthening the defenses of Annossy and he came to better know the villagers.

  By May, the execution of the brigands was a memory of another time. The coin he had placed in the miller’s second treasury had not appeared. None of the caught brigands had it, and indeed, there was a discrepancy between the hoard in their possession and the miller’s inventory. Quinn made light of it, but he wondered at the identity of that escaped rider. When he rode to hunt, he sought a path to Perricault through the mountains.

  There were only two reasons in his estimation that Melissande would not have told him of it: either she truly did not know, or she was complicit with whoever used that path.

  He knew which answer he preferred.

  If it had not been for that detail, Quinn might have always been Lord d’Annossy, for he seemed to have been accepted by all. There was a goodly company of villeins wishing to accompany him to Sayerne to till the fields, more than enough to see the work done. Most of them had come from Sayerne, fleeing his own father’s abuse, and wished to rebuild the homes they had known. He was honored that they trusted him to govern them fairly—and truly, he had learned so much from Melissande about such matters that he had more confidence in his own ability to do so.

  Something had gone awry between Bayard and Berthe, for it seemed that Niall was the one most often talking to the maid, while Bayard glowered at the pair from the board. Perhaps Bayard had chosen not to court Berthe. Perhaps she had spurned him. Quinn felt he had said more than enough.

  His fellows had begun to watch for Rolfe, for none of them could imagine that he would miss the promised meeting. There was much jesting about Rolfe with a bride, and considerable curiosity about that lady’s appearance and nature. His comrades made plans to continue north after the reunion, making their own progress home, and Quinn knew he would miss their companionship. He had offered them all employ, if they chose to stay, but thus far, only Bayard had indicated that he might do as much.

  Three months to the day after his marriage to Melissande, Quinn awaited his lady wife in the bailey. He held the reins of her palfrey and as ever, his heart leapt at the sight of her as she appeared in the hall. She was more than a beauty. She was clever and just, protective of those beneath her hand and a competent administrator. Her passion had been awakened by their marriage and he thought that she was a little quicker to reveal her feelings to others than she had been.

  She smiled at him as she reached his side. “I thank you for your patience, sir,” she murmured. “And apologize for the delay.”

  “You know I would have waited until noon,” he said gallantly and her smile broadened.

  “Even though you wished to leave at dawn.”

  He lifted her into the saddle and she bent to whisper in his ear. “It is the child,” she admitted softly. “I am ill in the mornings, because of the child.”

  Quinn blinked, astonished.

  Melissande laughed, clearly pleased with his response.

  “When?” he whispered to
her, well aware that the company awaited them.

  “Who can say? It has only just begun. I suspect the babe will arrive in January, well within Tulley’s dictate of a year from our nuptials.”

  Sayerne would be his, if the child was a boy.

  Quinn went to his own steed in a daze, realizing that he did not care as much as once he had about claiming the seal of Sayerne. He hoped that Tulley would surrender it to him in time, but his concern was for the welfare of Melissande and the health of the child, regardless of its gender. Was there a midwife in Annossy? There must be, and he must ensure her skill. He might wish to send to Tulley for one of greater experience.

  They rode out as he marveled at these tidings, the company trailing behind them in a long ribbon. Quinn rode at the front, Michel carrying his standard before him, Melissande on his left. His comrades, Thierry and Bayard, rode behind them and on either side. Amaury and Luc remained at Annossy to ensure its defense in his absence. There, the villeins had begun to tend the vines, pruning away winter’s damage. There were wagons aplenty in the party, burdened with palettes and linens, food and crockery for Quinn’s stay at Sayerne. Louis accompanied them, as did George’s apprentice and two serving maids from the kitchen, as did Berthe.

  The villeins who had chosen to move followed the supplies, with their carts and children and horses. In many cases, they brought all their possessions. Lothair and Niall rode at the vanguard of the party with their squires. The party was filled with an optimism for the future, one that was fed by the bright sunlight and the greening of the meadows.

  They would reach Sayerne by noon and then the work would begin.

  A child!

  Truly all goodness came to Quinn’s hand. He smiled at Melissande and she smiled back at him, her eyes alight. He dared to wish that trust would blossom fully between them.

  And soon.

  Arnaud de Privas watched the procession leave Annossy’s gates. Although he stayed under the shadow of trees that he might not be spied, he could still identify Melissande’s figure.