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

by Claire Delacroix

  Gawain’s chuckle sounded again, so deep that it must have been coaxed from some secret refuge. “Did you?”

  I was shocked. “What reason had I to kill my spouse?”

  “What reason had you to let him live?” my companion asked. “Perhaps he discovered the truth of our liaison. Perhaps he kept you from wedding a lover true. Perhaps he abused you. Perhaps…”

  “I did not kill him.”

  “Then what stains your hands?”

  I felt my color rise. “The juice of a pomegranate.”

  “A pomegranate?” Gawain’s tone turned thoughtful and I had no doubt he would believe I had yearned for him. “I had no inkling that they could be found so far north.”

  I heard him saunter closer and took a step back. “They cannot,” I admitted breathlessly. “Save in exceptional circumstance.”

  Gawain’s laughter was a mere exhalation, a sound of surprise and pleasure. His voice dropped so low as to make me shiver. “It was indeed exceptional circumstance, my lady fair.”

  I averted my burning face, too mortified to summon a word to my lips.

  “Perhaps you imagine that I killed Fergus to win your favor.” The very prospect set Gawain chuckling again, a fact that no lady could find flattering.

  Understand that I had had what I desired of this man, that I had no maidenly fantasies of our living in nuptial bliss forevermore. I merely considered it graceless for him to boldly state that his sentiments were the same as mine.

  And I was insulted that he did not at least desire to bed me again, if you must know the truth of it. He was supposed to be consumed with lust for me. Men were always supposed to be consumed with lust for women above their station, and this affliction should be the worst for charming, handsome scoundrels and thieves of no good repute.

  I glared in Gawain’s direction, indignant that he did not think I was worth murdering another, then furious with myself for even desiring that a man should think as much.

  What a talent this man had for addling my wits!

  Gawain cleared his throat, apparently sensing my hostility. “Would you prefer that I lied to you?” His voice hardened when I said nothing. “Would you have me tell you sweet lies of how I love you, how I yearn for you, how no other woman’s beauty can compare to yours?” I heard him step closer, even as my traitorous heart leaped. “Would you have me fill the air with nonsense, with worthless pledges intended to coax you to my bed again?”

  “Of course not.” I was cross that he made me so aware of the muddle of my expectations.

  “Yet you bristle when I tell you the truth.”

  “You do not know how to tell the truth.”

  “Indeed?” Gawain leaned against the wall beside me and my pulse leaped at his cursed proximity. I struggled to keep from glancing his way, though I shivered when his voice dropped to a low caress. “I shall tell you a truth, Evangeline. You seduced me as no other woman has ever done and our nights together were both sweet beyond compare.”

  My heart lodged in my throat so I could say nothing.

  Gawain’s words heated. “I will not sully that truth with a lie, a lie that I seek to wed you or to win your heart for my own. I have no such quest. I never have and never will seek a bride.”

  I looked toward him, for I could restrain my curiosity no longer. “Then, what do you seek?”

  “Companionship and pleasure, for so long as matters are magical for both parties and not a moment longer.”

  “Marriage does not necessarily become burdensome.”

  His smile flashed in the shadows. “You can say this to me, given your own marriage? Do you not feel in some corner of your heart a measure of relief that ancient Fergus is dead?”

  I turned away, hating that he had guessed my secret. “I feel shame that I did not love him enough,” I said, for this too was true.

  “Your heart is your own, Evangeline,” Gawain said softly, his words all the more persuasive for being whispered in the shadows. “And so it should be, as mine is my own. One’s heart can never be commanded to love another, but duty or vow. I will never be shackled to any soul by a pledge, by a lie that tender feelings will never change.” His tone became harsh. “People change, circumstances change, feelings change. I will not let some foolish optimism trap me within the sentiment of days long gone.”

  I was more intrigued than I should have been. “You were wedded before,” I guessed. “And unhappy.”

  “No, not I. I have never stepped within the nuptial noose, for I learned young to avoid it.”

  I waited for a long moment but he told me no more. Indeed, he seemed to have become somewhat melancholy, as if an old, unhappy memory gripped him. I was curious. I wondered whether Gawain had once loved a woman trapped in a loveless match and had never had the chance to win her hand for himself.

  Indeed, I sighed quietly at the tragic romance of it all, for such a history could have made him the apparently carefree scoundrel that he was. I felt a strange unwelcome sense of companionship with him, as if we were kindred souls instead of adversaries.

  Perhaps that was what prompted my impulsive confession.

  “I will grant you then a truth that you deserve to know,” I said. “I seduced you because I wished for a son and my husband got no child upon me in five years.” I felt Gawain’s scrutiny upon me, as if he assessed both me and the tale, but I did not look up.

  “Fair enough,” he murmured. “And did you succeed?”

  “Adaira says as much, but it is early days to be certain.”

  “If it was of such import that you bear a son, then why did your father insist that you wed so ancient a man as Fergus?”

  “My father believed that he owed Fergus a debt.”

  “Why?”

  I sighed, then reasoned that we had nothing but time. “Fergus came to Inverfyre some three summers after the Titulus was stolen. The falcons were without issue and food was scarce. Fergus came to pledge himself to the Laird of Inverfyre, if the laird would have him, for he had been driven from his lands by the crown. All he had to surrender as a gift were forty chickens and a cock.”

  “A rich gift by any accounting.”

  “A richer one still, given the emptiness of our bellies. We have never grown many crops at Inverfyre, for the land is steep and ridden with stones. And we always had coin from our trade in falcons to acquire much of what was needed. Without trade in the birds, our treasury emptied with startling speed.”

  “The arrival of Fergus was timely, then,” Gawain mused. “And your father deemed this so great a favor that he pledged his sole daughter to this keeper of chickens?”

  I flushed. “To save my father’s vassals and his pledge to sustain them was no small thing. Fergus served my father for many years after that, too. I suppose my father respected his counsel.”

  “And you?” came his quiet but relentless question. “Did you respect Fergus?”

  I caught my breath and turned away, even though I knew he could not see me. “He was my lord husband and his word, my command.”

  My declaration hung between us, unpersuasive even to me. I licked my lips, but could add nothing more compelling to what already I had said.

  The truth was that I savored this unexpected honesty between us and would not destroy it with a lie, however well-intentioned it might be. I spoke with impulsive haste. “In this spirit of sharing truths, will you pledge to never lie to me?”

  Gawain sounded amused. “Why?”

  “It is good to have one person to rely upon for the truth.” I half-laughed. “It might not be so onerous a pledge, for we may not survive long.”

  “You can only rely upon me for the truth if you can believe my pledge.” He came to lean his shoulder against the wall beside me.

  I was unable to read Gawain’s expression in the shadows though I felt the weight of his gaze. I had difficulties drawing a full breath. “Assume that I can,” I whispered.

  I felt him study me, felt the intensity of his stare. He hesitated so that
I wondered whether anyone had ever said they would believe him before. “Fair enough,” he finally said, his words husky. “You have my pledge of honesty, Evangeline, for whatsoever you decide it is worth.”

  “Swear it.”

  Gawain caught my hand in the warmth of his, then planted a kiss in my palm. He folded my fingers over the heat of his touch, then lifted my hand to his chest. I could feel his heartbeat beneath my hand and I caught my breath, even as the passion stirred within me. “I swear to you, Evangeline of Inverfyre, that only truth shall pass from my lips to your ears.”

  He bent then and kissed my ear with delightful languor. His heartbeat skipped beneath my fingers when his lips touched me and I found my face turning, to welcome his embrace upon my lips. There is something about darkness that encourages intimacy, something about shadows that makes one bolder than might be possible beneath the sun’s bright eye. I could not resist his touch, for with a simple caress he summoned the wanton in me.

  I had been taught to surrender nothing to a man, taught that my own desire was not of import, and yet Gawain could make me forget all I knew.

  And worse, I did not care.

  I finally summoned the will to step away from the temptation he offered, snatching my hand from his grip. I asked what I most wished to know, thinking this truth would cool this dangerous ardor between us. “Did you kill Fergus?”

  I heard Gawain’s smile in his words, but he spoke with a compelling certainty. “I am a thief, Evangeline, perhaps a rogue and a scoundrel, perhaps a forger and one to make much of opportunity…”

  “A formidable list of talents.”

  Gawain ignored me. “…but I am not a killer. In fact, I have only once killed another, and even then did not do so with my own hands. You may rest assured that my victim was not your recently deceased spouse.”

  I wished that I could discern his features clearly. This confession should have frightened me, I suppose, but I have lived all my life in the company of men unafraid to mete justice with their own blades. The weight of the king’s hand is light in these territories, and even my father’s justice had only prevailed without contest inside the high walls of Inverfyre’s keep. Honorable men could be relied upon to do what needed to be done to ensure peace and justice.

  On the other hand, a murderer—or so it always seemed to me—is another manner of man, one with a thread of viciousness or evil, a reckless man. Gawain was not reckless or vicious, it was clear, nor was he inclined to violence.

  You may think it odd, but I found his confession reassuring. I had thought Gawain carefree and frivolous, a man concerned solely with his own survival and comfort. I was glad to know that he was a man as I knew men—that he was unafraid to wield his blade but did so with temperance.

  Gawain continued in that casual manner. “The repercussions for murder are too dire for my taste so, as a rule, I avoid it. Murder tends to agitate the common people, as you have witnessed this very day, which interferes with my labor.”

  “But if you did not kill Fergus, then what did your missive to me mean?”

  “Ah!” I heard the scuff of his boots upon stone as he paced the width of the chamber, paused, then sauntered back to my side. “In the name of chivalry, I grant you the chance to rescind your demand for honesty, for you may not like my reply.”

  “I would hold you to your pledge.”

  “Very well.” Gawain tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch sure and warm. “I have dreamed of you, Evangeline.” His voice was low and intimate, seductive. I shivered anew at his sudden proximity

  He was a thief, I reminded myself, an untrustworthy scoundrel even if the most alluring man that ever I had met. Despite my own reminder, my mouth went dry.

  “I have remembered you over and over again.” Gawain seemed as surprised by this as I was, and I guessed it was not common for him to think of a woman once he had savored her charms. A dangerous thrill went through me, though I knew such a man as he was not wrought for me.

  He might have been the serpent in the garden, beguiling Eve with what she most wished to hear, with false promises of what could be. I knew this, knew I should not listen, but could not halt myself.

  Then Gawain’s fingertip touched my cheek and a shiver roiled over my flesh. As much as I would have liked to step away, I found myself powerless from the caress of that single finger. “I was convinced that you could not possibly choose to abide here,” he whispered. “I was certain that you merely wished to be persuaded to leave this wretched place…”

  “Inverfyre is beautiful!”

  “If cold and impoverished and lacking in what some might consider essential amenities,” he added, clearly unpersuaded. “I thought that you protested overmuch at my offer to take you south when last we met.” That fingertip traced a beguiling path to my ear, then down the side of my throat. I leaned my head back, suddenly unable to draw a full breath, and he traced the outline of the hollow of my throat.

  I swallowed and he quickly kissed that hollow, his kiss searing my flesh. My resolve wavered. It seemed foolish to protest his amorous assault.

  “I merely intended to return to Inverfyre and repeat my offer,” he whispered, his lips somehow having landed on the tender place beneath my ear. “Perhaps somewhat more persuasively.” He kissed my earlobe and my knees nigh melted at the sweet heat of his touch.

  His words only gradually made sense to me, and when they did, I ducked the caress of his fingertip and lips. “You meant only that I should flee to be your whore until you tire of me.”

  Gawain clicked his tongue. “It sounds so vulgar put thus.”

  “It is a vulgar offer.”

  “While death in Inverfyre’s aptly named Hole is so much more civilized?” He was close enough that I could see his brow arch high. I spun away from his wry tone—and the temptation he offered—and paced the width of the cell and back.

  “Dungeons are not meant to be hospitable places,” I informed him. “If I could only escape, I could fetch Adaira and have her tell the truth of what happened. If only she granted her testimony, the true murderer could be uncovered…”

  “Why would any heed her pledge?”

  “What would they not? She would be telling the truth!”

  “Ah, Evangeline.” Gawain chuckled and I imagined that he shook his head ruefully. “If I understand correctly, this Adaira is an old woman who lives in the woods, perhaps a healer.”

  “Yes, a healer, an alewife, a wise woman. What matter?”

  His chuckle came again, though this time, it was low and affectionate. I could find no mockery within it. “Can you not see, Evangeline, how very convenient it is to be rid of you?”

  “No!”

  “Releasing you, or giving credence to any evidence that you might muster, could only put any man’s claim to Inverfyre in jeopardy. I predict that you will be left to rot in this charming chamber.”

  “They could not,” I fumed. “They would not.”

  “They have,” Gawain interrupted flatly.

  Indeed, they had. I was trapped in the dungeon of my grandsire’s construction and unlikely to ever be invited to depart it alive. They would let me die. Alasdair and Fergus’ other kin only wanted Inverfyre, a holding to which they had no right but one they could make their own by force.

  Without me, without my inevitable protest to the king, they possessed my family holding without contest.

  My son would die before he even came to light.

  “But that is not fair!” I cried, knowing how little that mattered but vexed all the same.

  “Perhaps you now understand why I have little interest in what is right and legal—it is seldom fair.”

  I clenched my fists in outrage, not liking my powerlessness a whit. “If only we could escape! Then justice could be served. I could send word to the king. I could muster troops. I could…” I scrabbled ineffectively at the rock face, but it was impossible to catch a grip, precisely as my forebear had planned.

  I spun upon Gawain
in annoyance. “What pathetic manner of thief are you that you cannot steal us away from this place?”

  Again I heard the smile in his voice. “It is not a question of whether I can pick that excuse for a lock, my Evangeline, it is a question of when it would be best to do so. Captors, in my experience, like to gloat.”

  He could pick the lock.

  I stared in Gawain’s direction, aghast, even as the lock was turned and the door high above flung open. The finger of light that fell into the Hole gave me a glimpse of Gawain’s confident smile—and no doubt he had an eyeful of my gaping astonishment—before Fiona shouted with glee.

  “I have a gift for you, my fine lady,” she sneered, then hurled the contents of a bucket into the dungeon.

  Gawain moved like lightning. He seized my wrist and pulled me out of the way, when I might have stood there like a startled hare. He folded me against his heat and backed me into the wall beneath the door.

  The slops splashed noisily against the far wall, the smell enough to curdle milk. I buried my nose in Gawain’s shoulder and inhaled hungrily of his scent instead.

  I forgot completely about the slops.

  Fiona laughed and locked the door with gusto. She whistled merrily as she left us trapped, no doubt swinging her bucket as she trudged back to the hall.

  I did not push Gawain away. The tickle in my belly that had awakened with first sight of him grew to a roar. I could feel the muscles of his back beneath my hands, feel the strength of his thighs against mine. My battle against temptation was well and truly lost.

  “Evangeline,” Gawain whispered, a throaty purr that melted the last of my resistance. There was desire in his whisper and in his chausses. Perhaps he found his desire for me as unexpected and fathomless as I found mine for him.

  I felt gloriously, vibrantly alive, as I had when we met afore. I turned my face slightly and let my lips graze Gawain’s neck, boldly touched my lips to his mouth. He shivered and I could not have cared less about Fiona.

  “It never serves one to be absent when the captor comes to check on their prey,” Gawain murmured into my hair. His breath made my flesh tingle and the heat that only he could kindle spread through me. “Escaping too soon can oft lead to unfortunate results.”