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

by Claire Delacroix

“It is no gift to return what was the recipient’s own,” I said fiercely. When she glanced to me in surprise at my fervor, I glared back at her. It was shocking how readily Gawain could coax my blood to boil. “It is a taunt, no more than that.”

  “But who…?”

  Even my words shook, falling in tremors from my lips. “A thief and a scoundrel sent this to me, upon that you can rely.”

  “But what of the missive itself?”

  In my dismay, I had forgotten that there might be a message inscribed on the parchment as well. I unfurled it hastily, my eyes narrowing as I read the text.

  Never let it be said that I failed to understand

  the secret desire of a lady’s heart.

  The shameless cur!

  “Where is the messenger who brought this missive?” I crumbled the message in my fist, then stood as tall and frosty as a queen. I was outraged that I should be mocked like this, but I knew without sudden certainty that Gawain would have entrusted this errand to none.

  Why else would the messenger have asked to deliver the missive himself? No, he had brought it himself, so confident was he that his deed would escape repercussion, so certain was he that he could outwit any soul who confronted him.

  I intended to prove his lofty assessment of himself wrong.

  Again.

  “He takes a respite at the board.”

  “Bring him to me.” I turned to change my garb, dismissing Fiona with a gesture, then thought better of it when she inhaled in disapproval.

  “My lady, it would be most improper!”

  I almost laughed. There was little improper that Gawain and I could do together that we had not already done, though Fiona knew nothing of that. Her objection, though, made me think better of my course. Knowing Gawain, he might have seized an opportunity to collect the Titulus, and this time, I had not been prepared for his presence.

  I pivoted, giving her the appearance of a concession, and forced a thin smile. “How kind of you to remind me of such details. Truly, I forgot myself in my annoyance.”

  “You know this piece?” Fiona eased closer, her expression revealing her lust for gossip.

  “Clearly.” I strode past her, savoring her dissatisfaction with my reply. Her gaze flicked over me, her curiosity roused by my heated response.

  I reminded myself of the cool decorum I should exhibit, but could not make enough haste to the hall even so. As irked as I was, I had to admit that something crackled to life within me at Gawain’s proximity. I felt vibrant as I had not of late. My thoughts were as clear as a spring lake, my reflexes alert, my body taut.

  Indeed, I felt like a woman awakened from a long slumber, refreshed, invigorated, and prepared to whatever challenge this unpredictable man might cast my way.

  If I had thought Gawain might don a disguise to visit the very abode he had robbed once successfully and once less so, I had called the matter wrong. Similarly, if I had expected him to cower in the shadows, I would have been disappointed. He sat, nay, he lounged, in Inverfyre’s hall, his back against the far wall, his gaze locked upon the stairs to the solar.

  He dressed with the flair of one accustomed to fine garb—his tabard was of emerald silk and I had no doubt that the hue had been deliberately chosen to match the hue of his eyes. His chausses were black, his boots blacker still and even from a distance, I could discern the fine quality of foreign leather.

  His cloak was a marvel, wrought long and full, cut from wool so dark that it seemed he had the midnight sky thrown across his shoulders. The shade made his hair gleam bright gold in contrast and showing his tanned skin to advantage. The cloak was lined with miniver, silken silvery pelts that looked thick and soft.

  Gawain was as magnificent a man as I recalled. His shoulders were broad, his legs long, his languid ease not disguising his strength and vigor. His hands were elegant, long-fingered and tanned, and he held a cup of ale with easy grace. His golden hair gleamed in the light of the hall, a smile teased his firm lips, his eyes twinkled with barely contained amusement as he watched those around him.

  Lust lit in my innards like a flame, startling me with its intensity. Three months of coupling dutifully with an old man had seemed an eternity. Three months of feeling heat kindle deep within me at just the memory of what we had done, three months of savoring the fading scent of Gawain’s flesh upon my linens had left me starving for more of his touch.

  There is something glorious about a man with confidence, a man who can sit in the midst of his enemy’s lair with the ease of one with no concerns, a man indeed who has the audacity to invite himself fearlessly into the very core of that lair. It was not because Gawain was a fool—on the contrary, it was because he had a scheme, and doubtless a brilliantly conceived one.

  Something had required that he be gone for three months. I was ridiculously pleased that he had returned to match wits with me—then annoyed with myself for forgetting the provocation of his taunting me with my mother’s own jewel.

  Gawain paused in that moment, in the act of lifting a cup of ale to his lips, and his gaze found mine. We both froze. It seemed to me that a cord drew taut between us and the hall grew warmer from the heat of our locked gazes.

  There was a glimmer in his eyes, one that resonated of the same vigor I felt in his presence, and the realization that we held this awareness in common brought a flush to my cheeks. My mouth went dry as I greedily sought changes in his appearance.

  His hair had grown slightly, so slightly that none but a lover might note it, none but a lover might desire to brush it back from his collar. He had found sun wherever he had been, for his skin was more golden a hue that it had been when last we met.

  Sicily was my immediate thought. Was it possible in so short a time? I thought of the fruits he had spoken of, of sweet juice on hot tongues, and licked my lips without any intent of doing so.

  He arched a fair brow and sipped casually of his ale, his gaze still holding mine. He seemed to read my thoughts, unsurprised by my response to his presence and perhaps even bemused by it. I felt my pulse flicker in my throat. When he smiled, his expression was so knowing that I feared that even the slowest of wit in this hall would guess what had passed between us.

  Then I was mortified that I could so forget my place. I was the Lady of Inverfyre. I was an heiress and a noblewoman and no ruffian from Sicily’s shores would make me lower myself to the conduct of a common whore! I forced myself to recall Gawain’s transgressions and added to his crimes that of embarrassing me before all the vassals in my hall.

  Heart thumping, I marched down the stairs and crossed the hall with decisive strides. Even in this, I betrayed myself, more than one whisper beginning at my high color and my haste.

  And my garb. I had never appeared in the hall in such informal attire, never descended without my hair neatly arranged and my features composed to banality.

  Worse, I had not even thought of it when I heard that Gawain awaited here. Adaira had spoken rightly—something had been loosed that would not be readily recaptured. I made an effort to behave with my usual poise.

  “Who is this foreigner?” I demanded.

  Gawain’s lips quirked with amusement that I should feign ignorance of his identity. I hoped for a moment that he would choke upon his cursed ale.

  Our elderly castellan came forward and bowed deeply. “He is but a messenger, my lady, who brought a missive to you…”

  “She knows who I am,” Gawain murmured, his voice so low and certain that all fell silent at his words.

  Every soul in the hall watched the two of us with undisguised curiosity. I cursed the heat that suffused my face, for it launched a bevy of new whispers.

  “I know who he is in truth,” I said firmly, my gaze unswerving from Gawain’s. “I asked only which lie he had told you to gain admission to Inverfyre.”

  “My lady!” Fiona huffed. “It is not seemly to call a guest, even a messenger, a liar.”

  “It is seemly to call matters as they are,” I said with vig
or. The castellan looked to me with surprise. “I received his missive and it tells his identity more clearly than anything else could.” I opened my palm, showing the castellan what I held.

  Hamish caught his breath, his fingers easing toward the crucifix before he halted and pulled them back. “But it cannot be…”

  “But it is, Hamish. It most certainly is.”

  He touched it with a tentative fingertip. “But how can this be? Your mother lost it in the forest.” He fumbled with his words for a moment, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of this gem’s presence.

  Gawain unfolded himself from his seat and sauntered closer. He propped his hands upon his hips when he halted before me, the scent of him nigh weakening my knees, the twinkle in his eyes telling me that he knew the fullness of my lust. “How pleasant to discover that this trinket is welcome here.”

  “It was stolen from here,” I snapped.

  “My lady!” Hamish’s eyes were wide with shock and dismay.

  “My mother did not lose this gem in the forest,” I informed Hamish. “It was stolen from her, stolen by a man and his son who came to Inverfyre some fifteen years ago. My father asked her to hide the truth to ensure that strangers still found hospitality as guests in his hall.”

  Hamish’s expression turned thoughtful. “Avery Lammergeier was here at that time,” he mused. “Indeed, his visit was one unlikely for any to forget. Such tales he told! Such coin he had!”

  “Indeed,” I agreed sourly, holding Gawain’s unrepentant gaze. I had a sudden urge to shock them all by kissing the smile from the lips of this cursedly confident man.

  He winked at me, as if guessing my thoughts. Curse the man, he made me blush with renewed vigor! Two impulses were at war within me, neither one consistent with the cool demeanor I should show.

  Curse him and curse him again!

  Hamish appeared oblivious to the crackle of heat between the guest and I. “I remember thinking how odd it was that Avery and his son departed so early and that they wished for no aid with their steeds. But they were foreigners and one cannot know what to expect from foreigners.” He turned his gaze upon Gawain, studying him now as he had not before. “Avery’s son was fair, and surely must have grown to manhood by now.”

  “I assure you that he has.” Gawain smiled, knowing every gaze was upon him and surely reveling in it. He claimed my hand, then bent low over my fingers. “Gawain Lammergeier, at the service of my most beauteous lady Evangeline. I look forward to sampling the hospitality of Inverfyre yet again.”

  Gawain kissed me with the leisure of a man with no need for haste, boldly letting his lips linger on my knuckles. The assembly gasped that he would be so audacious. I felt Fiona bristle behind me, but took longer than I should have to pull my hand away from his teasing lips.

  Clearly, Gawain intended to make trouble for me and just as clearly, he enjoyed that he succeeded.

  “This man is a thief!” I said, then Gawain began to chuckle. “What makes you smile before such a serious accusation?”

  Gawain leaned closer, dropping his voice to a merry whisper. “What have I stolen, my lady fair?” he asked, his eyes dancing with merriment. “Even if the locale of this crucifix has been in doubt, it cannot be argued that I am the one who returns it to your own hand.”

  I opened my mouth and shut it again when I realized the truth. I could not reveal that Gawain had stolen the Titulus, not without revealing that my father had shown his people a forgery for years afterward. I could not even claim that he had tried to steal the Titulus the last time he was here, as I had anticipated him and the relic was precisely where it belonged.

  Gawain and I knew his crimes, but I had not a scrap of evidence to prove my accusation. Worse, any claim on my part would prompt questions as to how I knew so much of this handsome stranger and his deeds.

  He had me cornered and the ruffian knew it.

  So he smiled, his gaze knowing, challenging me to condemn him.

  “Fifteen years of holding a stolen gem is no prompt return,” I said, disliking the sense that he commanded this situation, not I.

  Gawain shrugged with an ease I envied. “Perhaps I found it in the forest on my way here. Did your mother not say that she had lost it there?” He stepped closer, eyes gleaming. “Perhaps I should be greeted with that reward, instead of rude accusations. A kiss from you, my lady, would suffice to ease the affront of your words.”

  His gaze dropping boldly to my lips.

  The assembly whispered, but Fiona had no need to intervene. I slapped the smile from Gawain’s face with one crisp strike, the crack of my blow loud enough to echo in the shocked silence that followed.

  IX

  “He lies,” I said in a low voice. When Gawain smiled coolly, I could have cheerfully shredded the meat from his bones. “This man is not only a thief, but insolent as well.”

  “Indeed, I have never seen you so agitated, my lady, so your accusation must have some grounds.” Hamish spoke soothingly, then inclined his head slightly. “Of course, you would find this matter troubling, as women are wont to do.”

  “My accusations have every ground,” I informed him, my tone so fierce that Hamish flinched. “By all that is holy, Hamish, I swear to you that this man stole this jewel fifteen years past and must be punished for it!”

  “The laird will decide his fate,” Hamish said, again speaking to me as if I were a difficult child. “Perhaps you should retire to your chamber, my lady, and see to your attire.”

  I was being dismissed by the castellan! I should not have been so shocked. For five years, Fergus had undermined the authority that my father had allowed my mother and me to exercise, and I, trapped in the shell of passivity I had been taught to don, had never protested.

  My days of docility were now behind me, though only Fergus himself could command that my word have weight. It was ironic, for he was only laird because he had wed the heiress, while I, who carried the blood of Inverfyre in my veins, was powerless in my hereditary hall. By wedding, I had ceded all authority to my spouse. I fumed at my own impotence. I was not so angry that I did not realize that any word I uttered would only make matters worse.

  My father would have been appalled by this change.

  Perhaps he would take to haunting Fergus instead of me.

  A flick of Hamish’s finger and two guards stepped out of the shadows to seize Gawain’s elbows. To my astonishment, he did not struggle. His gaze was fixed upon me, his expression somber. I felt that he alone realized what a blow I had taken this day.

  I averted my gaze. I did not want the sympathy of a renegade.

  When the guards tugged at Gawain, he seemed insulted. He pulled one arm from a guard’s grip and had time only to fastidiously brush his sleeve before the guard seized his arm again, this time with greater force.

  “And what of Inverfyre’s famed hospitality?” Gawain asked.

  Hamish waved the two men out of the hall. “We would be remiss to not let your savor the delights of the Hole, at least until the laird’s return.”

  “The Hole,” Gawain repeated. “Why does such a chamber not sound alluring?” When no one replied, he accompanied his captors with apparent willingness, only breaking one arm free to blow me a jaunty kiss as they left the hall. “Until later, my lady fair,” he called gallantly and I flushed as I turned my back upon him.

  I was shaken that Hamish would cast Gawain into the vile dungeon that had been my grandfather’s pride, even though I wanted him to pay for his crime. I ran a hand across my brow, shocked that my feelings could be so mingled as this.

  What if Fergus demanded that the father of the child in my womb be executed? The very prospect made me fear that Adaira’s rabbit stew would soon be scattered at my feet. I felt hot, then chilled, then unsteady upon my feet.

  “He is bold beyond belief,” I said firmly, but was dismayed to note assessment in more than one pair of eyes.

  I turned, intending to retreat to my chamber to change my garb—and smooth m
y roiled emotions—but there was no opportunity to do so. I was not halfway across the hall before a shout carried from the courtyard.

  “The laird is wounded! Clear the way!”

  My heart stopped cold.

  Fergus? Fergus could not be wounded!

  Indeed, Fergus was not wounded.

  He was dead.

  I raced to meet the party bearing his body and fell to my knees beside him when they lowered the litter to the ground. The men stood around me in awkward silence, for they knew it was too late to aid their laird.

  Fergus was so still and gray that there was no doubt.

  I whispered my husband’s name in shock. Three arrows were driven deep into his neck, and the blood had run profusely from the wounds, staining his tabard and flesh. The flow had slowed now and the blood was drying. His skin had taken an odd pallor but still I searched for his pulse. The hue of his flesh, the lack of blood within him and his stillness made him look ancient and frail, as he had not looked in life.

  Or had he?

  I sat back on my heels, for there was nothing to be done. The rest of the household had come on fleet feet and edged closer for a glimpse of their fallen laird. Already the whispers had begun.

  “Did anyone see this transpire?” I asked, alarmed by the flutter of my heart. Although I had never wished Fergus dead, although I would never have wished for this death for him, I could not deny the relief that flowed through me.

  He would never heave himself atop me again. I would never avert my face from the smell of ale and meat upon his breath, never have to listen to the rasp of his quest for release, never dread that he would strike me the next time with more force than ever he had.

  And I was ashamed to find myself glad of that.

  My childhood friend Niall, tall and stalwart, answered me. “He spurred his steed in pursuit, and left us in his dust. I am sorry, Evangeline. We heard him shout, but thought he cried at the capture of the boar, or the retrieval of his falcon.”

  “Then there was only silence,” grim Malachy said with a shake of his head. “If he had only shouted again, we might have found him in time.”