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

by Claire Delacroix

  “Or perhaps he knows more about the bounty of the lord’s board than we do,” Quinn commented.

  “Woho! Now there is a thought!” Bayard’s brows rose at the promise of food. “Let’s hasten to this barn to take our ease, and thence to Tulley in the morning.” He, too, ruffled Michel’s hair and the boy’s eyes lit in anticipation.

  “If I did not know better, I might think you had only accompanied me to have food in your belly,” Quinn accused as they turned toward the stables.

  Bayard laughed. “I anticipate more than that pleasure now that we are home. Do you think Tulley has a pretty daughter?”

  “He has a niece, as I recall, but expect her to be well-defended from the likes of you.”

  Bayard grinned. “Any pretty maid will suit me, it must be said. A cook’s daughter perhaps, or a miller’s daughter. A maid from the kitchens.”

  “A woman who will see you fed.”

  “Among other pleasures.” Bayard’s dark eyes twinkled. “I would see her well-pleased, to be sure.” He sobered as he glanced over the ailing estate again. “Trust you to find a haven for us that will require solid labor from our hands.”

  “Such work will be good for you,” Quinn said. “You become too old to earn your way with a blade.”

  “Too old to fight? But not too old to work like a peasant?”

  “You do not have to stay.”

  “First I am old, now I am not sufficiently robust to move millstones. This is a sorry day for my pride.” Bayard poked Quinn on the shoulder. “Do not imagine that you will shake me from your side in this adventure,” he said, his voice gruff. “You may believe you owe me a debt, but to have a home would be the greatest gift a man might give to another. Should anyone be able to rebuild this place, it will be you, Quinn. I have never raised a blade beside a man of such will.”

  Quinn smiled, knowing the words came from the heart. “Then consider yourself at home, my friend. We have battled alongside each other for too long to part company now.”

  The two knights paused in the middle of the snow-filled bailey and shook hands under the bright winter sun. Then they hastened through the snow to their squires and steeds.

  The grain barn, with its warmth, fodder and food, was more than sufficient to entice them on this night.

  One

  Melissande was not pleased to be summoned to Tulley so early. Indeed, the messenger must have left that keep at first light, or even before. She had received word of another raid upon Annossy while breaking her fast, this time at the mill on the border, and had been conferring with her Captain of the Guard when the messenger arrived.

  Did Tulley himself know of it already? She would not be surprised if he did. Her overlord seemed to know every detail first of events in his holding.

  Her every attempt to see to her own concerns had been denied by the messenger, and she was commanded to escort him to Tulley immediately. Berthe had packed a few necessities—including a kirtle sufficiently fine to be suitable for a meal at her liege lord’s table—and the two women had left Annossy with the messenger and the one warrior who accompanied him. Gaultier, Annossy’s Captain of the Guard, had remained behind to learn more detail of the raid.

  Melissande did not like to be ordered to do any deed, and her mood was not improved by the presence of another larger party upon the road. They looked to be ruffians and followed behind, making her keenly aware that her own party was smaller and less well defended.

  In what peril was the world that a noblewoman could not feel safe upon the short stretch of road between her holding and that of her overlord?

  Perhaps these men were the brigands responsible for the attack on the mill.

  Melissande yearned to know, but she had not the confidence to confront them. They did not seem to be in a hurry and did not catch up to Melissande’s party before reaching Tulley itself.

  Lord de Tulley’s niece, Heloise, rushed to meet Melissande at the gates. Perhaps Melissande had been summoned because the younger woman was in need of companionship. She knew Heloise had come to Tulley at Yuletide, after the death of her parents, and could well imagine that the other woman found little to amuse herself. She also knew that Tulley doted upon his niece and would do whatsoever was necessary to ensure her happiness. Tulley had neither spouse nor child himself. Melissande had met Heloise several times over the years and knew the maiden enjoyed the hunt. The snow this winter was likely sufficient to limit that pleasure and the girl must be vexed to be trapped indoors, even at Tulley.

  Was Heloise’s boredom the reason for Tulley’s imperious summons? It was vexing to be considered no more than entertainment for a maiden with naught to do, but Melissande smiled for Heloise. She was a pretty and cheerful maiden. Melissande liked her and would not have wanted to be alone in Tulley’s hall herself.

  But she had scarce greeted Heloise than the Lord de Tulley’s châtelain urged her toward the small chamber where Tulley conducted his business. Heloise was left in the hall with Berthe. Melissande found herself alone with her liege lord, and that so quickly that she scarce had removed her gloves. She had time to fear that something was sorely amiss, then he spoke.

  Tulley, at least, was not inclined to be evasive.

  “It is past time for you to wed, Melissande,” he said crisply. “And you will do as much this very day.”

  Melissande was shocked by his blunt declaration but he held her gaze with resolve.

  “Indeed, sir?”

  “Indeed.” Tulley seemed to have aged since she had last seen him the previous fall. Though his blue eyes were bright, the lines were etched more deeply in his brow. He looked smaller than he had, but no less determined than ever.

  Melissande knew it was Tulley’s right to choose her spouse since her father was dead. She supposed she had been foolish to hope that he had forgotten his obligation since he had not insisted on her taking a spouse sooner.

  Tulley forgot naught.

  He sat then in his great chair, his tidings delivered, and eyed her when she remained silent. “I thought you might have more to say of this matter, Melissande. You have never been reluctant to share your opinion before.” He seemed amused by this, which irked her.

  “I did not realize Arnaud de Privas had come to Tulley as well,” she said.

  Her lord snorted in a manner that was a reply in itself. “I have already told you to forget that whimsy of a betrothal.”

  Melissande stood taller. “A pledge is not whimsy, sir.”

  Tulley held Melissande’s gaze. “If your sire were alive, he would have seen that pledge dismissed long before now. You were but a child! There is more at stake here than you might guess.”

  The implication that she could not understand the repercussions of her choice annoyed Melissande as little else could have done. Her tone was less temperate when she replied. “My word is at stake and that, sir, is of immeasurable value to me.”

  “My borders are imperiled by your lack of spouse,” Tulley countered. “You will wed.”

  Melissande straightened. “My lord, when my father died, you promised me the opportunity to administer Annossy alone and prove my abilities. I am grateful for your trust. I had hoped that you might have invested me with the seal of my father’s estate by now.”

  “I cannot entrust you with the seal. You are but a woman!”

  Melissande kept her tone even with an effort. “I am my father’s daughter, trained in Annossy’s administration from the moment I could read.”

  “And yet a woman still.”

  “My mother held the seal while my father rode to war and administered the holding in his stead.”

  “On the assumption that he would return, and he did. If he had not done so, I would have ensured she wed another. The compromises made in the instance of war cannot be construed as permanent solutions, Melissande.”

  “My mother was an excellent administrator...”

  “And you have taken a lesson from her, for which I am glad. But these recent attacks upon Ann
ossy show that the holding is vulnerable!” Tulley spoke with heat. “The marauders know the holding is governed by a woman. You know as well as I that their actions reflect their perception of weakness.”

  “I am not weak!” Melissande protested. “The villeins are satisfied and the tithes have been beyond expectation. Annossy is well-ruled...”

  Tulley interrupted her. “But not sufficiently well-defended.”

  “I could hire more men-at-arms,” she began but Tulley waved off her suggestion.

  “They will follow a man, and you know that as well as I do.” He leaned forward and his tone softened slightly. “I hold these lands for the emperor by grant of the Count of Arles. Should any of them be lost, my own position would be compromised. You know that I cannot risk that. The attacks upon Annossy compel me to make a choice, Melissande. I have let you temporarily administer your family holdings, but I will not invest you with the seal.”

  Melissande glimpsed the warrior that the Lord de Tulley had once been, and appreciated anew his reputation as a man who would see his will done against all obstacles.

  If she had been a man, she would have openly defied him. If she had been a man, there would have been no criticism of her administration. If she had been a man, she would have chosen her own spouse freely. Or taken none at all.

  She could not remain silent. “I will choose...”

  “Nay, Melissande,” Tulley said with impatience. “You will wed and, as befits my right as your liege lord, I have decided to whom.”

  “It would please me to keep my pledge to wed Arnaud de Privas, my lord.” That was an understatement in the extreme. Melissande’s word was her bond, a habit taught by her beloved father, and a source of pride. “When he returns from winning his fortune...”

  “He will not return,” Tulley said briskly. “At any rate, the gaining of his fortune ensures that he cannot wed you.”

  “I do not understand, sir.”

  “Do you think, child, that after all these years I would ignore what I know to be important to you?” he demanded. “I did seek out that rogue Arnaud and I found him.”

  Melissande’s heart leapt even as she noted that the lord’s tone was disparaging.

  “That rogue has taken a wife himself.”

  “A wife?” Melissande echoed.

  “A wife. A rich wife.” Tulley nodded. “It would appear that your loyalty has been misplaced.”

  This could not be. She and Arnaud had been sworn to each other as children. Though Privas had fallen upon hard times after the death of Arnaud’s father, still the match had been the wish of all four parents, and Melissande could not simply ignore what had been promised.

  She doubted that Arnaud would have done as much either. It was true that she did not know him well—she scarce remembered the boy who had taken her hand in his on that long-ago afternoon and repeated the words of the priest—for he had left soon after their betrothal to train for his spurs with a distant uncle. By the time he had been knighted, Privas had been desolate, and Arnaud had sent word that he would seek his fortune then return for her.

  Melissande had waited, refusing all suitors for the man her father had chosen.

  What if Tulley was trying to remove her objection, even with a falsehood, so that she cede to his plan? He did not approve of Arnaud, she knew it well, although she could not understand why.

  “That must be untrue,” she said before she could consider the wisdom of her words.

  Tulley’s gaze turned cold. “The source was reliable beyond doubt,” he said. “Arnaud wed Marie de Perricault a year past.”

  “Marie!” Although Melissande had not seen the older woman in years, she remembered her testy manner. Perricault was over the mountains and to the north of Annossy, closer to the court of the French king. “Arnaud would not break his word to me!”

  “I regret to tell you that he did just that.”

  “Might your source be deceived in this?”

  Tulley gave her a warning look.

  Melissande took a steadying breath. She had to speak her thoughts aloud. “All these years, you have treated me with respect and honesty. Please do not abandon that path now, my lord.”

  Tulley’s expression remained impassive.

  “Tell me that you did not find Arnaud,” she dared to continue. “Tell me that you refuse to seek him out for whatever reason; tell me what flaws you find in his nature or why you find our fathers’ scheme to be a poor one, but do not lie to me about his fate. I know that I must do as you dictate. Do you think that deception will reconcile me to your will?”

  “If you do not wed my choice, you will lose all this very day.”

  Melissande was startled. “I shall see your word tested, sir. I shall appeal to the emperor himself!”

  “Whose authority is thin this far from his court,” Tulley responded. “Do you think that he will strain his relations with me over the pleas of a landless noblewoman, however beauteous she might be? Annossy is mine to grant as I see fit. I could easily make an argument that your refusal to wed threatens the security of my borders.” The lord settled back in his chair again. “Do you truly imagine that he would take your side?”

  Melissande stared at her shoes. “I made a vow at my father’s behest.”

  “And now you will make another.” Tulley’s gaze was resolute.

  Melissande would be wed, regardless of her own will.

  Soon.

  And likely to a man whom she did not know.

  Melissande could imagine no worse fate than this. She had been tutored by both her parents to administer Annossy, due to their lack of a son, and she knew she excelled at the task. It was unfair for her abilities to be discarded, simply because of her gender, and her blood simmered at the injustice of her situation.

  “At least, you have seen the wisdom of holding your tongue,” Tulley muttered.

  Melissande took three deep breaths before she trusted herself to speak. “Who would you insist I wed, my lord?”

  A rap at the door to the lord’s office interrupted whatever Tulley might have replied. The lord smiled, his expression prompting Melissande to glance toward the portal.

  A knight filled its frame.

  Nay, not a knight but a renegade.

  Foreboding touched Melissande’s heart. Not a ruffian. Surely Tulley would not wed her to a man far beneath her social status. She said a silent prayer as the room, which had seemed too warm just a moment past, felt suddenly chilly.

  Was this one of the men in that ragged party they had glimpsed on the road? Nay, it could not be. They had ridden in the same direction and there were several holdings east of Annossy, as well as abandoned Sayerne and high mountain passes blocked with snow.

  Nay, her first impulse had to be wrong. This had to be some man-at-arms in Tulley’s employ. A messenger or a mercenary. His arrival at this moment was naught but a coincidence. He brought a message, no more than that.

  But still Melissande looked.

  He was tall and broad of shoulder, though his travel-stained garb made him look rough and disreputable. His mail glinted in the candlelight, half-hidden beneath a tabard with a torn hem. A well-worn cloak was tossed over his shoulders, its hem dirty, and his thick leather gloves were scuffed from years of heavy wear. His boots were worn and dirty. His armor was not grand and it was not for appearances only.

  He was a warrior, one who had meted death and confronted it.

  Melissande shivered, intrigued despite herself.

  He carried his helmet and ran one hand through the length of his untrimmed hair as she surveyed him, as if he sought to groom himself. It was an ineffective effort. His hair was wavy but clearly unclean, falling to his shoulders. There was stubble on his chin and a streak of mud across his cheek. His eyes were the most remarkable hue of amber and they lit with appreciation after his gaze swept over her.

  Indeed, the corner of his mouth lifted, as if he might smile, and the expression was more beguiling than it had any right to be.

&nb
sp; Melissande told herself that he must be plagued with lice, and took a step back.

  Perhaps he had sought out Tulley to pledge his blade to that lord’s service.

  But the châtelain would never have shown him into this chamber while she conferred with Tulley, if that had been the case. The vagabond would have been left to wait in the hall.

  God in heaven, nay.

  “My lord,” intoned Tulley’s châtelain. “Quinn de Sayerne, son of Jerome de Sayerne, as you requested.”

  Son of Jerome de Sayerne! Melissande regarded the arrival with new horror as the truth proved to be even worse than her suspicions. Jerome de Sayerne was finally dead, but his son arrived to plague her anew. That lecherous serpent could only have spawned a son of no greater merit than himself.

  Melissande had believed Annossy’s troubles over when Jerome died. Though it was not difficult to believe Jerome’s son might sell his blade as a mercenary. The thievery Jerome had initiated against her family’s holdings had nearly destroyed Annossy.

  Now the son would finish what the father had begun.

  Indeed, if sire and son were cut from the same cloth, it was not unlikely that this man was behind the recent raids on Annossy.

  Surely, Tulley would not compel her to wed him.

  But her overlord’s resolute expression left no doubt that he would do exactly that.

  Quinn de Sayerne would be Melissande’s husband and, if she did not miss her guess, their vows would be exchanged without delay.

  She and Annossy were lost forever, and worse, there was naught she could do about it.

  It was troubling to see such a beautiful woman displeased, and worse to recognize that Quinn himself was the source of her dismay.

  The noblewoman in Tulley’s office had long fair hair, although it was twisted and braided so that its golden glory was difficult to see. She frowned at Quinn when he entered the chamber, her expression making him well aware that Tulley had granted him no opportunity to bathe before the meeting. He had been troubled enough about that fact, but the châtelain had insisted he bend his knee first, and so Quinn had complied.