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

by Claire Delacroix

  “You wish to be forewarned.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  She could not. “I would have your pledge in exchange.”

  Quinn folded his arms across his chest and Melissande noted the sign of his rising impatience. She realized also that he had not hurt her or raised a hand toward her, no matter how much she had pressed him.

  Was it possible that he was not like his father?

  Or did he simply bide his time? How she wished she knew!

  “What vow?”

  “Not to touch me again,” she said. “Our match is consummated. Both you and Tulley have what you desire. Now I would have what I desire.”

  Quinn dropped his voice low. “You would have me never touch you as I did last night? You would not feel such pleasure ever again as we shared just hours ago?”

  Melissande blushed. “Nay.”

  Quinn placed that finger beneath her chin, then tipped her gaze up to hold his. His very touch sent a thrill through Melissande but she dared not let her gaze flicker. Some trace of her weakness must have shown in her expression, though, for suddenly Quinn smiled.

  “You lie, my lady,” he whispered. He waited, giving her time to recognize that he spoke the truth, then bent to kiss her.

  He was making a point and Melissande knew it. She wanted to defy him to prove his assumption wrong. But Quinn had anticipated her and as before, her body seemed to be on his side. She wanted his kiss and once his lips touched hers, she was lost anew. He was gentle, coaxing and tender. His kiss was beguiling and surrender was inevitable. It was frightening to Melissande how little difference the wine had made in her response.

  She wanted him again.

  Such weakness could not be borne. She must eradicate it before it became worse.

  Melissande broke their kiss with an effort and stepped away from temptation. “Nay!” When Quinn did not retreat but merely stood watching her, eyes ablaze with desire, the very look of him tempting her again, Melissande flushed at her own weakness.

  She could only make him retreat with harsh words.

  “You will not force me to your bed again,” she said with heat. “I will not become a slave to pleasure and forget all that I was raised to believe.”

  “I have never forced a lady in all my days.”

  “To be the first has no place of pride in this matter,” Melissande said. “Make no mistake, sir. You will not so weaken me again. You are forbidden to cross the threshold of my chamber from this day forth, whether we be wedded or not.”

  There was a terse silence, but Melissande turned her back upon Quinn. She sat on a stool and donned her stockings, ensuring that he could not see her bare legs and wishing that she were not so aware of his watchful presence.

  “We have need of a son, and there will be none this way,” he said, his voice taut.

  “You cannot know that. The feat might be accomplished.”

  “If not, you must invite me to your bed, my lady. To have no heir is a vulnerability that cannot be endured.”

  Melissande closed her eyes against this appeal, for she saw the good sense in it. Perhaps in time, she could meet him abed without losing her wits. Perhaps it was the novelty of this union and its pleasures that disarmed her.

  “Promise me,” she said instead and heard him growl beneath his breath.

  He paced the width of the chamber, his frustration clear. She strove to ignore him and failed utterly.

  “What is his name?” Quinn asked an eternity later.

  “I do not have your vow.”

  “I will touch you only when you desire as much,” he replied tersely.

  Melissande turned to study him, surprised to have him concede this. Quinn looked more grim than ever she had seen him. Even in his chemise, he was evidently a warrior, and one who would undertake any risk for the sake of justice. He looked powerful, formidable even, yet he surrendered to her request.

  Perhaps Quinn was precisely as he appeared.

  “I will have you pledge that you will not tempt my desire.”

  “The pledge you have is the sole one I will grant, my lady,” he said and his eyes flashed anew. “We are wed. I vow to let you decide the timing of our unions and will pledge no more.”

  Melissande dropped her gaze, knowing that she had won more than expected. It was not time to press for more.

  “Now, tell me the name of the man who holds your heart captive forever.”

  “Arnaud de Privas.” The name sounded hollow. Melissande tried to recall the face of the man to whom it belonged and could not.

  It had been so long. In all honesty, giving her word was all she recalled of the matter.

  And that glorious summer day. Her recollection of her father’s delight was more clear than any memory she had of Arnaud.

  Had Arnaud truly wed Marie or had Tulley lied? She did not know, so did not share that detail with Quinn.

  “Privas borders Annossy and Sayerne.”

  “Aye.”

  “How is it that I do not recall meeting its ruling family?”

  “It has been impoverished longer than Sayerne. Since the death of Arnaud’s father, who was a great friend of my father.”

  “And your betrothed?”

  “Left to seek his fortune, much as you did.” She turned to watch him, curious about his reaction.

  “Arnaud de Privas.” Quinn repeated the name once more under his breath, as though committing it to memory, then met her gaze. “I will keep my vow, but you will invite me to your chamber and soon, my lady.”

  “I will not!”

  “Aye, you will, for there is a passion between us that even you cannot deny, even though you clearly would like to.”

  “I say not.”

  Quinn smiled slowly and she rose to her feet, aware of him yet again. He strolled closer, his gaze fixed upon her, his smile alluring, his confidence unassailable, then tugged his chemise over his head and cast it aside. “You shall invite me now, my lady,” he murmured and Melissande’s heart fluttered.

  He was magnificent.

  And he was aroused.

  By the sight of her, in her chemise and stockings, her hair tangled about her shoulders.

  Melissande caught her breath, astonished yet again by Quinn’s effect upon her. It was a lie to leave him believing that Arnaud held her heart, but if it kept him at a distance, she could not afford to tell him the truth. The man had no lack of confidence in his own persuasive abilities—and his conviction was not without cause.

  He reached her side and lifted her hair, letting his spill over his fingers. “You are glorious, my Melissande,” he murmured and her breath caught when he said her name. He kissed the hair on his hand, his gaze rising to hers again. “As splendid as a goddess.”

  “I am not dressed,” she protested. “My hair is not braided...”

  He bent and grazed her cheek with his lips, then kissed her ear. She tingled at the brush of his whiskers and shivered at the heat emanating from him, thrilled by the power that he held in check. He was a man, such as she had never imagined a man might be. His breath fanned her throat and kindled her desire, and his hand rose to her nape again.

  “Glorious,” he whispered then kissed her ear. Her eyes closed in pleasure. When he grazed her earlobe with his teeth, Melissande heard herself moan with need. “With wine or not, you rise to my touch, just as I rise to yours,” Quinn whispered into her ear and she felt the flick of his tongue. His kisses brushed down her throat and she tipped her head, granting him access to whatever he desired of her. “It is a fair promise for our shared future.”

  Melissande tugged herself from his embrace and hastened backward. “Aye?” she asked, ensuring her tone was sharp. “Did you not realize that I only pretended to share your pleasure, husband? I thought it a fitting choice for a bride on her nuptial night.”

  Quinn shook his head slowly. “You did not.”

  “You do not know,” she said, then turned to choose a clean chemise. She kept her tone dismissive, though
her heart was thundering. “It is done. And I have your vow.”

  “It is not done, my lady,” Quinn said softly. “I will prove it to you, again and again, if necessary.” She saw his hand rise and guessed his intent, knowing he would be proven right if he did touch her.

  “Is your word worth so little, then?” she asked. “Does the pledge you have granted me mean naught at all?”

  Quinn dropped his hand. She turned to find him glaring at her. “We will journey to Annossy together, and should you not invite me to your chamber, I will slumber outside your door.”

  “Like an obedient hound.”

  “Like a husband who knows his rightful place.”

  “You might find more comfort in the stables. Or at Sayerne.”

  “Nay,” Quinn said with resolve. “You will not have the opportunity to forget about me, my lady.” He shook a finger at her. “And rest assured, the next time that I am between your thighs—and I will be soon—I will have been invited.”

  “I do not share your confidence,” Melissande said, but her husband only smiled that maddening smile, the one that made her catch her breath and...remember.

  Their gazes locked and held once more across the chamber, the heat rising between them with an ease that Melissande despised. She wanted to look away but could not. She wanted to halt her own reaction, but she could not. She was powerless when this man simply looked upon her—when he smiled—and that sent terror through her veins.

  Quinn took a step closer, his intent clear, and Melissande fought her desire to flee. “Invite me now, my lady,” he murmured. “I will ensure that you begin your day most joyously.”

  Melissande knew she would appear more resolute if she held her ground, but if Quinn touched her again...

  He had no such chance, for someone rapped upon the door.

  “I come for the linens,” Tulley declared from the other side.

  Melissande seized a robe and donned it over her chemise, her heart pounding. Quinn tugged on his own chemise and turned to face the door. Was it coincidence that he ensured Melissande was shielded from view?

  God in heaven, this man would keep her emotions all a-tangle if she did not find a way to keep him at a distance.

  What was she to do?

  Six

  Arnaud de Privas.

  Quinn would never forget the name. He did have a vague recollection of his father hunting at Privas, but thought perhaps his father had not seen eye-to-eye with that holding’s lord. That would have diminished contact between the estates and even mention of Privas. It would scarce be surprising for the lord whose son was to wed the daughter of Annossy to have conflict with Jerome.

  To his own dismay, Quinn was irked, yet again, in the presence of his wife. Oh, he had wanted to convince her to invite him, and he knew he could have done as much—but the flash of fear in her eyes had been his undoing. How could she both fear him and provoke him? And how could Tulley have ignored her betrothal? Now, Quinn was caught between the fat and the fire, all to suit Tulley’s dictate.

  Indeed, Quinn had greater sympathy for Melissande now that he knew this detail. He could already see the importance she attached to vows, perhaps a trait learned from her father, and could understand how the situation would trouble her. Of course, she felt guilt over her reaction to his touch. Of course, she believed that she was disloyal to her betrothed. He understood all of this, and yet, he found it hard to believe that lovemaking could be so potent if they were not meant each for the other.

  Perhaps he was a romantic fool like his mother, just as his father had oft sneered.

  “Do I interrupt?” Tulley asked, with no care for the reply. His gaze flicked to the bed and back to Quinn. He smiled, the wily old lord, and Quinn’s irritation found its rightful target. “Is there perhaps an estate—or two—falling forfeit this morn?”

  Aye, Tulley would welcome that outcome. “The truth is evident, I believe.” Quinn gestured to the bed, then paced to the window. He dared not trust himself to say more.

  He tried to consider how he might take his lady’s cause as his own. He stole a glance at her to find her gaze downcast.

  Perhaps they had annoyance with their liege lord in common. The notion was almost sufficient to make Quinn smile.

  “Ah! Very good!” Tulley declared. “It is a pleasure to be mistaken on occasion.” He snapped his fingers and his châtelain hastened to gather the linens. Would they be washed or preserved as evidence? Quinn did not know.

  The silence grew in the chamber, until Tulley coughed in his precise manner. “It seems to me that all is not rosy this morn.”

  No one responded.

  “In fact,” Tulley continued. “I could not help but overhear your...discussion.”

  At that, Quinn looked up, as did Melissande. There was alarm in her eyes, which Quinn took as a warning. She knew Tulley far better than he did.

  “Perhaps I have not adequately emphasized the importance of this match.” Tulley looked between the two of them, his expression forbidding.

  Melissande blinked rapidly but did not speak.

  Quinn took that as a warning.

  Still, Tulley watched him, his manner expectant.

  “I understand our union is a matter of some interest to you,” Quinn managed to say.

  “This is more than a matter of interest!” Tulley said. “It is of the utmost import that this marriage be seen as unassailable.” He drove his fist into his palm, his emphatic gesture startling Quinn.

  “The match is made and consummated,” he reminded the older man. “As you have seen.”

  “Yet already there will be talk in the kitchens about the arguments between the pair of you,” Tulley replied. He paced the width of the chamber and back, so clearly agitated that Quinn wondered what he would say next. “Such chatter will travel like the wind. You will share your bedchamber—you must!—and to ensure as much, I insist upon an heir within the year.”

  Quinn saw Melissande’s hands tighten into fists and knew that she too was fighting her impulse to argue with Tulley. He moved closer to her side, feeling that they should battle as one.

  “That allows but three months for conception,” Quinn said, knowing he sounded more mild than he felt.

  “Indeed!” Tulley agreed. “What deterrent to these raids is a crusading knight taking the title of Lord of Annossy if you, Quinn, do not express your claim in every possible way?”

  Melissande’s head snapped up. “Lord of Annossy?” she echoed. “Naught was said of Quinn becoming Lord of Annossy! I understood that this match was to assure his claim to Sayerne!”

  “Surely you understood that the two estates will be merged with this match?”

  Melissande paled.

  Quinn did not appreciate Tulley’s manner with her, for the older man spoke as if she were a witless child. Quinn knew that his wife was keen of intellect, and even he had not made what Tulley assumed was an obvious conclusion.

  Tulley had not made his intention clear.

  No doubt on purpose.

  He was to be lord of both estates? Quinn was astounded. For the first time, he wondered whether he was adequately trained to administer a manor. Surely such a fact as the merging of the estates would have been obvious to him otherwise?

  “Merged?” Melissande repeated. “I never agreed for Annossy to merge with any other estate. My father would have forbidden as much...”

  “Your father is dead,” Tulley said, interrupting her. “And the choice is mine to make.”

  “Had that always been your intent, you should have made the matter clear from the outset,” Melissande dared to say.

  Tulley’s lips thinned. “The seal of Annossy has never been granted to you, Melissande. It is yet mine.” Indeed, he produced the seal in that moment, and Quinn realized the lord had been holding it in his hand. “Annossy is mine to rule and its seal is mine to grant.”

  Melissande, with a pride that Quinn could only admire, extended her hand in obvious expectation. She might have bee
n a queen, or even a goddess.

  But Tulley shook his head. “Throughout all of Christendom, a woman cedes her property to her spouse upon her nuptials and you should not imagine that Annossy or you would be treated differently.” Tulley offered the seal to Quinn. “Annossy will be your sole holding for the time being,” he said when Quinn had accepted its slight burden.

  Melissande gasped and Quinn frowned.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord?” he asked. “I returned at your summons to govern Sayerne.”

  “You returned at my summons that your father had died,” Tulley corrected. “I do not intend to grant Sayerne to you as of yet.” He turned to leave the chamber. “I expect you both at the board shortly.”

  “What is this?” Quinn demanded, following his liege lord. “The entire point of this match was to bring Sayerne to my hand! I journeyed from Palestine at your summons!”

  “You cannot do this!” Melissande charged and Quinn was glad to see that she took his cause. “You gave Quinn this expectation, whether you declared it outright or not.”

  “I can do whatsoever I see fit to do,” Tulley replied, pivoting in the doorway to survey them. “And I will see this match made in truth before I grant Sayerne to anyone.” His gaze narrowed as he eyed them. “I would strongly suggest that you never challenge me thus again.”

  Quinn’s heart sank. He had been used by this wily lord, tricked into taking a wife who would drive him mad, and all for naught. Melissande had been compelled to break her vow, only to have Annossy surrendered to him. And now, Tulley was insulted, as well. The future could bode no darker fate for him than this.

  Sayerne was not to be his, ever if at all.

  Perhaps it would have been better if he had gone to his grave with Bayard at that fateful battle at Acre. He would have been spared the burden of this disappointment.

  Of course, then he would never have spent the night just past with a bride more fetching and passionate than he had ever expected to take to his side. Surely that match was worth a battle or two, even some sacrifice?