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

by Claire Delacroix

  Of course, he had yearned for her. He had watched her from across the threshold, his passion running higher with each glimpse. She was not a stranger to him, as he was to her. Though she was far from experienced in such deeds, Vivienne opened her mouth beneath his even as she trembled.

  And then his manner changed. It was as if her uncertainty had softened his desire, as if her cautious response awakened a tenderness within him. Indeed, he then courted her response. She felt it in his kiss, how he waited for her to become accustomed to the press of him against her, how he waited for her to respond before he deepened his kiss again.

  Vivienne was charmed. Only a lover true would command his passion so that his lady was not afraid.

  His fingers slipped into her hair, cupping her nape so that he could feast upon her lips. He drew her to her feet and the cloak she had only cast over her shoulders fell to the floor. He caught her against him before she could feel the chill of the night and she heard the thunder of his heart so close to her own.

  She felt his other hand trail over her, touching her curves with a feather-light touch, as if he found her to be the marvel. Her heart raced when his fingertips trailed down her throat, her nipple beaded when his hand swept over her breast, her belly tightened when his hand rested upon her waist. Something hot and unruly awakened within her, something Vivienne had the wits to recognize as desire. There was dampness between her thighs and hunger in her kiss, and she knew precisely what she desired of him.

  It mattered little whether they loved first or wed first, for both would be achieved in time. It could be no other way, for they were intended to be together.

  When he broke their embrace, she was breathless but anxious for more of this new pleasure. She thought she could see the glint of his eyes and she smiled at him, wondering whether he smiled back. “That was wondrous,” she said.

  “More wondrous than any had the right to expect,” he said, though Vivienne could not understand fully what he meant. Was lovemaking between destined lovers more potent? He cast off his cloak, letting it swirl in an arc before he cast it across her rough pallet with a graceful gesture.

  When he reached for her again, joy rose within Vivienne. She could do naught but acquiesce, for this was the grand passion that she desired beyond all else.

  It was Vivienne who stretched to her toes to demand more of him, Vivienne who let her hands cup his face to draw him closer. His jaw was smooth, like that of a mortal man who had just sheared his whiskers. Fairies, Vivienne knew, were eternally young. Perhaps their men did not even have whiskers.

  Her questing fingertips found the pulse at his throat, and she was shocked to find it racing as quickly as her own.

  “Surely you cannot be afraid of me?” she asked.

  He paused, as if regarding her, though Vivienne could not discern his face in the darkness. “How could I have expected such a welcome?” His words were so hoarse that Vivienne felt her breath catch in her throat.

  “How could I not welcome you fully?” Vivienne touched her lips to his and reveled in his gasp of surprise. She let her hands slide over him, as he had moved his over her, and knew that she had surprised him once again. He caught her close, and Vivienne let her hands slip into the silky thickness of his hair. She arched against him, bold in her newfound passion, and heard his sharp inhalation.

  He whispered something, then caught her up in his arms. He held her captive against his chest for a heady moment, and their kiss left Vivienne dizzy and hot. He knelt on one knee then, with her weight cradled in his lap, and his hand slid beneath the hem of her chemise and kirtle.

  Vivienne gasped into his kiss when the warmth of his hand landed upon her knee. His tongue danced with hers, fairly sending sparks along her veins, and Vivienne nigh forgot the weight of his hand.

  Then his hand slid up her thigh, his fingertips against her bare flesh, though his kiss did not cease. She gasped when his fingers moved in the heat that none other than herself had ever touched, then she moaned at the sensation. He nibbled at her ear, he kissed her earlobe, he traced a burning path of kisses down her throat, and Vivienne was lost.

  The sensations that assaulted her were magical, were surely beyond that savored by mere mortals, were the gift from him to her. Vivienne accepted all he granted and yearned for more.

  His fingers moved, tempting, teasing, making Vivienne squirm with desire. He untied the lace of her kirtle and chemise with his teeth, he pushed the fabric aside with his nose and his tongue. His hair fell across Vivienne’s skin like a soft curtain, and she moaned that his fingers coaxed her to greater heat with every stroke.

  He kissed her pert nipple gently, then laved it with his tongue. Vivienne cried out softly and he chuckled. Vivienne smiled at his delight, then moaned when he suckled her. His fingers dove within her heat in the same moment, his thumb moving against her so surely that she clung to his shoulders. Some tumult rose within her, growing in intensity beneath his embrace. Vivienne rode the crest of desire, uncertain where it led.

  And suddenly, a thousand lights flashed in her mind’s eye, a heat of pleasure raged through her, singeing her from temple to toes. Vivienne cried out in pleasure at this new sensation, until he swallowed her shout with his kiss.

  Though she was breathing heavily, though she knew her flesh must glisten with perspiration, her lover granted her no respite. He laid her upon the pallet, removed her garb gently as she caught her breath, then cast his own chemise and chausses aside. Vivienne moaned and buried her face in the thick fur of his cloak, when he knelt down and tasted of the deluge he had just created.

  Desire stirred again as he caressed her with his tongue. She twisted and turned, but he held her fast, allowing her no escape from the pleasure he was determined to grant. Vivienne writhed, the climax coming more quickly this time, she grasped fistfuls of the cloak for her lover was out of reach. She knew the moment had come, she bit down into the fur to stifle her shout of release, she knew she locked her knees around him and shook like a leaf in the wind.

  This was what had made Madeline smile, she knew it well.

  He was stretched out beside her before the erratic pace of her heart had slowed and Vivienne caught him close. She ran her hands over him as possessively as he had touched her, exhausted but wanting him to share in the pleasure he had granted to her. She felt the muscles beneath his smooth flesh, felt again the strength he held in check.

  “Lady mine,” he murmured, even as he bestowed a kiss within her ear.

  Vivienne reached down, knowing full well what she would find, and let her hand close around his erection. She wanted to return his caresses in kind, though she was surprised when he gasped at her bold touch. He eased her grip upon him and she moved her fingers as he indicated, liking that she roused the same tension of desire in him as he had in her. Indeed, she felt her own passion kindling as his breathing changed. It was potent, to be able to grant such pleasure to him as he had lavished upon her, and she reveled in his every caught breath and moan of pleasure.

  Vivienne felt him shiver, saw the glimmer of intent in his eyes, felt his muscles tense. His breathing quickened and she laid her cheek upon his chest to hear his racing heart. She touched him with greater surety, learning quickly what he liked best, savoring her effect upon him.

  He muttered something and caught her waist in his hands. The strength of his hands nearly encircled her, making her feel small and feminine. He eased her to her back, and then he was atop her. He braced his weight upon his elbows, and the hair upon his chest tickled her breasts. His golden hair touched her cheek and Vivienne inhaled the scent of him, the taste of the wind that clung to his hair. She felt the length of him against her, his flesh so different from her own, and stretched out beneath him, arching against his heat.

  He laced his fingers with hers and she thought she saw his smile before his mouth claimed hers once again. His kiss was tender yet possessive, he kissed her thoroughly and with a languid ease. Tears pricked Vivienne’s eyes, for she had never e
xpected such sweetness between her and her mate, and surely not so soon.

  He settled between her thighs as he kissed her, the heat of him pressing against her. Vivienne parted her legs, knowing full well what had to happen. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping it was not as painful as rumor hinted, and willed herself to welcome her lover true.

  He eased into her with a care that told her he had heard the same rumors. Vivienne caught her breath at the size of him, then gripped his shoulders as she became accustomed to this new sensation. But the pain was only fleeting.

  Indeed, as he moved, she was awed by a sudden sense that they two were as one. She learned his rhythm and matched it with her own, even as she felt the heat rising within her once again.

  He slipped one hand between them and touched Vivienne once again, his fingertips making her writhe beneath him. Her body responded to his touch so surely that they might have met thus a thousand times, and Vivienne knew this to be the mark of their entangled destiny. A wild joy seized her heart, for she had won the fate she desired more than anything else.

  Even while she marveled at this gift, the heat rose between them to a relentless crescendo. She laid her hand upon his chest and felt his heart thundering in an echo of her own. Two hearts beat as one, two mouths tasted deeply of each other, two bodies felt the spark of the quickening in the same moment, two voices cried out together in ecstatic release.

  And when Vivienne fell asleep in the warm embrace of her lover true, she did indeed smile the smile she had yearned to smile.

  He awakened to the sound of a cock’s cry in the village, so suddenly alert and filled with an unfamiliar sense of wellbeing that, for a moment, he could not name where he was. It was yet dark, though there was a smudge of pink along the eastern horizon. That light was sufficient to reveal the features of the woman who slept beside him, a smile curving the fullness of her lips.

  Then he remembered.

  Vivienne’s russet hair was strewn across the pair of them like a fisherman’s net. He stared at her, savoring the chance to study her unobserved. She was wrought tall and amply curved, though he had felt as much the night before. Her lips were full, her eyes thickly lashed, her complexion fair. He could discern a few freckles across the bridge of her nose, and again across her collarbone, which made her look young and vulnerable.

  And the blood of her maidenhead stained the linen chemise tangled about her hips. Guilt stabbed him once again, though he dared not indulge it. He rose abruptly, putting distance between them, knowing that truth would do little to ease what must necessarily follow.

  Truly, it was his own weakness that plagued him. He had not been wrought to use other people to his own ends, however justified his goals might be. He dressed with curt movements, his gaze fixed upon the woman who curled into the hollow of warmth his body had left, reminding himself of what he was compelled to do.

  He was not truly surprised to find himself hating what he had become, though he hoped with all his heart and soul that the reward would be worth the price.

  His daughters, after all, deserved no less than his all.

  Three

  Vivienne awakened, feeling slightly chilled, and nestled deeper into the fur lining of her cloak. She was well content, for she had learned the import of Madeline’s secretive smile. She smiled herself and stretched out a hand for her lover true, more than amenable to feeling his caress once more.

  Vivienne’s fingers closed upon emptiness, and her eyes flew open. Surely he had not returned to his fairy realm without sparing her a word?

  Only the first touch of the dawn lit the sill of the chamber and shadows yet lurked in the corners. The cold of night emanated from the stone walls. Shapes were discernible as shadows against the shadows, including one large male silhouette before the window. Vivienne sighed with relief.

  He stood with arms crossed and feet braced against the floor, the sky behind him a rosy luminescent pearl. His hood was drawn over his head and cast his features in deeper shadow, though Vivienne knew he watched her avidly. She might have been fearful of his size and stillness, if he had not introduced her so tenderly to the delights of the marital bed.

  But she knew sufficient of this man to feel no such fear. She granted him a smile, though she could not see whether he responded in kind.

  She sat up, knowing her hair would have crept free from her braid and her chemise tangled around her waist, knowing she looked like a maiden thoroughly sampled and sated. For once in her life, she did not care that she was not so orderly as Madeline.

  “Surely you cannot mean to leave so soon?” she asked. “It is still dark. Surely you can return to my side for a few moments yet.” She eased back, making space for him on the pallet, but he did not move.

  “It is late enough,” he said, his words terse. He spared the barest glance to the window, and his tone did not soften. “Garb yourself. We depart immediately.”

  Vivienne struggled to make sense of both his words and his manner. “Depart? But we have only spent one night abed.”

  “And it is sufficient to require our timely departure.” He crossed the chamber and lifted her discarded kirtle from the floor, shaking it out with impatience before offering it to her.

  Vivienne pushed her hair back from her brow. “But this is not my expectation,” she argued. “The tale clearly declared that there would be three nights of courtship, not one, and a red rose as a bride price before the nuptials.”

  “Your bride price was considerably higher than a single rose,” he said sharply and tried to hand her kirtle to her again.

  Vivienne stared at him in astonishment and a dreadful sense assailed her. Had she mistaken a tale for some other truth?

  What had Alexander done?

  “Hasten yourself. There is no time to delay.”

  Vivienne rose reluctantly to her feet and took the garment from him, hoping her fears proved groundless. She tried to touch his hand in the transaction, but he pulled his fingers away. Whether it was by accident or design, his gesture made Vivienne’s confidence falter further.

  “You cannot mean that you have already paid a bride price,” she said, her heart fairly in her throat. “Surely you but know its value and intend to pay it two days hence.”

  “It is paid, and doubtless half spent.”

  “What price did you pay?” She thought he might not answer her, so continued, her tone firm. “Surely I have a right to know my own supposed merit?”

  “A sack of silver coins, one that your brother was quick to claim for his own.”

  Vivienne winced at his harsh tone and made to defend her brother. “Alexander did not accept coin for my hand!”

  “He most certainly did.” Her lover pointed to the floor with impatience. “Your belt lies on that side of the pallet, your boots on this side. I said we had need of haste.”

  Vivienne tried to discern the features hidden with his hood. “You are not a fairy suitor,” she said, though already she knew the answer.

  That made him halt and she guessed that he studied her anew. “Of course not. Why would you believe such whimsy?”

  Whimsy. Too late, the truth was perfectly clear. Vivienne stared at the kirtle in her hands and felt a fool beyond compare. Alexander’s tale had been no more than a ruse to persuade her to sleep in the tower. It had not been coincidence that Alexander unbarred the door last evening.

  Her brother had played a jest upon her, as so oft he had done. Vivienne had been deceived, and her choice in this matter had been stolen from her. Worse, her own impulsive nature had betrayed her, for her maidenhead was lost.

  Worse again, it had been lost—and she had been sold—to a man whose name she did not know.

  “Alexander is a wretch beyond belief!” she declared, not troubling to disguise her anger. It was better than revealing her fear. “How dare he sell my hand? He pledged to Rhys that he would not repeat his error…”

  “So we know the merit of his word,” her lover noted dryly. “There is a plague of deceit in our
land, it seems.”

  But Vivienne did not care what he thought of her brother. She thought of her aunt Rosamunde, who refused to follow the dictates wrought by men, and lifted her chin in defiance.

  “I will not indulge Alexander, or you, by ceding to this arrangement,” she said firmly. Her lover stilled again, as watchful and wary as a hawk on the hunt. “I was not privy to this arrangement and I will not stand by whatever terms were agreed upon.”

  “What is this?”

  “I will not accompany you.” Vivienne glared at the man who had seen fit to purchase her, disliking that he hid his face from her. Was he a stranger in truth, or a man who did not wish her to recognize him before she abandoned herself to his protection?

  “You have no choice,” he said. “Your brother has sold you like chattel, and like chattel, you have no choice when or where you go.”

  Chattel? He could not have chosen a less appealing word!

  “Only a fool of a woman would leave her family abode with a stranger who surrenders neither his name nor his destination, a man who does not even reveal his visage.”

  When he did not move or speak to soothe her doubts, Vivienne hauled her beautiful kirtle over her head and laced the sides with savage gestures. “No matter what price you have paid, I would suggest you depart from Kinfairlie afore I summon sentries against you.”

  He closed the distance between them with a decisive step and caught her chin in his hand. His touch was not forceful, despite the anger she could feel thrumming through him, and Vivienne felt a dangerous weakening of her will beneath his touch. It was too simple to recall how he had caressed her, how he had coaxed her response, how he had cajoled her participation in their lovemaking.

  She realized that only that act or these words must reflect his character, not both. Tenderness and harshness could not both be his nature.