One Knight's Return, page 17
Their gazes locked once more, the chamber seeming warmer than it had. “You try to beguile me,” she said quietly.
“If only that feat could be so easily done,” Quinn replied. He bowed, then turned to the door, only to find Melissande by his side, her hand upon his arm.
“I do not know whether to trust you or not,” she confessed. “I do not know what my place or my fate with be, but I thank you, Quinn, for the kindness of choices on this night.” With that, she stretched up and touched her lips all too briefly to his. Quinn caught his breath at her fleeting touch, amazed that she had kissed him of her own volition, but she had already stepped away. He watched her retreat and dared to hope for their future.
Then he left the chamber, shouting for Berthe from the corridor.
It seemed he had found a way to gain some increment of his wife’s affection and Quinn could only consider that a victory of the first order. No doubt the fire would be back in her eyes by the morning, but truly, he looked forward to that moment.
“A bath for your lady, if you please,” he said to the maid when she came bustling up the stairs. “She is tired from the journey this day.”
“And one for you, sir?” Berthe demanded.
“I will share the company of our guests for a while.” Quinn nodded once, noting the assessment in the maid’s eyes, then returned to his fellows. His appearance was greeted with a cheer and some teasing, but he called for a cup of ale and settled at the board again, most content.
Not every triumph could be achieved with haste, and in Quinn’s view, the richer prizes took time and strategy to conquer. Winning his lady’s heart and her trust would be the greatest victory of all and he was prepared to labor for it.
Quinn had left.
He had given her a choice.
Melissande was astonished, but then, he had surprised her before. She heard the roar of greeting from his companions in the hall below, and smiled that he was held in such affection, then Berthe was at the door.
“My lord Quinn says you desire a bath, my lady.”
“Indeed, I do.”
Berthe sniffed. “Yet he does not so indulge.” She shook her head as she untied the laces on the sides of Melissande’s kirtle. “It is not right. A man should be clean when he comes to his wife’s bed as a sign of respect...”
“I am not certain he comes to me this night,” Melissande said, a statement so shocking that it silenced her maid momentarily. She smiled at the younger woman. “I confessed myself to be tired, and he made to resolve the matter, by summoning you and a bath.”
“And joining his companions,” Berthe said.
“He wished to learn of their adventures, as well,” Melissande said mildly. She took off her boots and her stockings, then Berthe ushered her toward the bed.
“Be warm, my lady, while I make all ready for you.” She bustled around the chamber, stirring up the coals in the brazier, then hurried away. Melissande unbound her hair and combed it out, thinking of the heated glow of Quinn’s amber eyes.
She thought of his resolve to defeat the brigands and realized that she trusted him to accomplish that. Then she considered how she might be of aid to him.
What if she took him at his word?
Melissande found herself straining for the sound of Quinn’s voice when the door opened anew. The tub was brought into the chamber and filled with steaming water. Berthe added herbs and soon the solar was warm with steam and the scent of lavender. “It will ensure that you sleep, my lady,” Berthe said.
“My lord will ride out to the mill on the morrow,” Melissande said as she stepped into the bath water. “It is possible that he will leave early, Berthe. Please ensure that I am awakened in time to offer him a stirrup cup.”
“He does not ride far, my lady. It is not necessary.”
“Aye, but I think it is. I would have all at Annossy see that I support him as lord.”
“Aye, my lady. It shall be so.”
Melissande settled into the bath with a sigh of contentment and wondered at her new spouse. She smiled as he laughed at some jest in the hall, the rich sound of his merriment making her warm inside.
Perhaps she softened too much, for it was merely a night’s sleep and a bath he offered. Melissande felt her resistance to her new husband crumble even so.
Then she realized that he had ensured she could not talk to Gaultier this night.
Melissande’s eyes flew open and she almost sat up in the bath. Had that been Quinn’s intent? Had he been right about Gaultier’s reaction? Or had the two knights met before?
Was there some detail that Quinn did not wish her to learn?
Once she had the thought that Quinn might have been trying to steer her thoughts in his favor, Melissande could not dismiss it.
How irksome that she had to wait until morning to confer with Annossy’s Captain of the Guard.
But once Quinn rode to the mill, she would have ample opportunity for a private discussion with Gaultier.
By this time on the morrow, she would know the truth.
Berthe descended to the hall on her quest for her lady. It was strange to see so many knights in Annossy’s hall, and she did not like the change. It would have been one matter if she could have been certain of their intentions, but they were strangers, as well as allied with the new lord. Berthe could not dismiss a very similar suspicion to that held by her lady, that these knights might take from Annossy to see Sayerne enriched.
While Lord Quinn and his companions seemed merry, Berthe noted the resolve that often touched their gazes. They were men of war, men who would not hesitate to mete justice with their blades.
She hoped against hope that she would never have to battle with any of them.
Especially that Bayard. He was trouble to be sure.
Even as she arrived, he was teasing Lord Quinn.
“Surely you do not forgo your marital due on your first night at Annossy?” that knight demanded with a conviviality born of good ale.
Berthe bristled. Lord Quinn had been considerate of her lady and she admired him for that.
“Ah, I just wanted to taste the ale,” Lord Quinn said as Michel placed a filled tankard before him. “I had not the fortune to do so earlier.”
“For you drank Annossy’s wine instead,” one of the knights, Amaury, teased.
“And it was fine indeed. I have high hopes for the ale.” Lord Quinn lifted the tankard to his lips.
“Surely you do not choose our company over your lady’s charms,” insisted Bayard.
“My lady has need of her rest this night,” Lord Quinn said firmly. He raised his tankard to Berthe to salute her. “And the attentions of her loyal maid.”
The men turned to look at her and Berthe bowed for Annossy’s new lord even as she felt her cheeks heat. “I think this a fine acknowledgment for a man to make for his wife,” she said and granted Lord Quinn an approving smile. “I’m glad to see that some men understand how to treat a lady with respect.”
“I should think a lady charged to bear an heir with all haste would welcome her lord husband to her bed to ensure that goal was accomplished,” Bayard said.
“And you, Sir Rogue, would indulge in that quest?” she demanded.
He grinned, more handsome than should be permitted. “Aye! I would plunder my lady’s charms and leave her smiling in the morn.”
“And what of the child?” Berthe demanded. “I suspect that a man of your ilk cares only for his pleasure. You would like be gone in the morn.”
“And why should he not be?” the fair knight demanded. Niall was his name, Berthe believed, and she thought him much enamored of his own charms. “A night of pleasure is well and good in itself.”
“A rogue and a scoundrel,” Berthe scoffed. “I expect naught better from the likes of you.”
“And you shall find you better, my pretty maid,” Niall said, lifting his tankard to her. He winked and Berthe turned away from him. “You know where to find me if your curiosity has the better of you.”
“I shall not!” Berthe fired a glance at Bayard and their gazes held for a long moment. He was most serious and if she had not known better, she might have thought him insulted by his companion’s words to her. “Nor will I seek you, Sir Rogue,” she added with disapproval and that knight smiled just a little before he developed a keen interest in his ale.
Berthe told herself that she did not care if the newly arrived knights bedded all the maidens in Annossy.
Although she hoped Sir Rogue did not.
“My lord, my lady would offer you a stirrup cup on the morrow when you depart,” she said to Lord Quinn. “I would ask that you see me roused when you prepare to ride out, that I might summon her.”
Lord Quinn blinked, as if surprised, and seemed to bite back a smile. “It is not necessary.”
“My lady says it is, sir.”
“I will see you roused,” Niall whispered, but Berthe stood straighter as the other knights chuckled. “Or better yet, awake all the night long.” She felt her cheeks heat but she would not so much as glance at that man.
Bayard said something and began to rise to his feet, and the others teased him.
Lord Quinn looked between them, quelling them with a glance, then shook his head. “I will not, Berthe. It will be too early, for I mean to ride out early. Louis will bring those with tales to share after I break my fast, then we shall visit the mill.”
“But my lady requests...”
“And your lord commands,” he said with such quiet force that she fell silent. He held her gaze. “You know as well as I that dawn will be too early to rouse her. These past days have been a challenge for her.”
Berthe hesitated. She knew that Lady Melissande did not like to have her commands questioned, yet she was herself bound to obey the Lord d’Annossy.
“I will tell her of my command, Berthe,” he said, clearly seeing her uncertainty. “You will not be left to face my lady’s wrath alone.”
“My lady knows her mind, sir.”
“And I know mine. As my wife, she is my responsibility. I would see her linger abed on the morrow.”
There was such resolve in his tone that Berthe knew he would not be shaken.
“She will not be pleased, sir,” she dared to say.
Against all expectation, he smiled. “I shall welcome the discussion, Berthe.”
She marveled at that, then thought of the arguments she had already overheard between the pair. It seemed that he was untroubled that her lady had views of her own, and indeed, she had seen him invite Lady Melissande’s council.
She bowed low, knowing she had no choice but to do as instructed, and hoped that he truly did have his lady’s best interests at heart. It would not be all bad for Annossy to have a happily wed lord and lady, much less children in the hall.
“Do not tell her, Berthe. Not this night.”
“She may ask, my lord.”
His gaze was steely. “And you will not tell her of my plan. I will do so.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Perhaps it is wise for a man to keep his lady wife abed,” Niall murmured when Berthe passed him and she paused to glare at him. “Especially when he has need of a son with all haste. They say that any woman can be tamed with pleasure.” He was watching her, his eyes dancing with devilry.
“You may rest assured that it is not unnatural, but civilized for a man to show a care for his lady wife,” she informed him haughtily. “Should you heed your companion instead of your lust, you might learn something of merit.”
“I have no need to learn of proper treatment of a wife,” Bayard contributed. “For I do not have one.”
“Nor will you, if you continue to listen to that one, and a fine thing that will be for women everywhere,” Berthe informed him.
Bayard blinked in surprise at that, but she turned away, marching to the kitchens. The sound of his companions’ laughter echoed behind her but Berthe did not smile.
She was thinking of a knight who was less of a rogue than his fellow.
Did that still make Sir Rogue too much of a rogue for her?
Berthe reminded herself that she had no need of any man, but felt disgruntled with her situation as she seldom was. She knew what was right. She knew what men such as these desired of women like her and had little doubt of what would happen after pleasure had been claimed. She was neither innocent nor a fool.
Still, she felt the lack of a man in her life as never she had before.
That was the fault of Sir Rogue, as well, and all the more reason to avoid him.
Melissande slept deeply.
She awakened when the solar was still dark and rolled to her back with satisfaction, feeling restored. The keep was quiet as the household slept on and the shadows were deep in the corners. Melissande heard no sounds of activity from kitchen or village and guessed that even the animals had not been tended yet. It was not yet dawn and the brazier had burned down to cold embers.
She should rise, if she meant to offer that cup to Quinn, although the bed was so wondrously warm that she was reluctant to abandon it.
She stretched, savoring her situation, and her hand brushed against warm muscled flesh.
A man’s chest.
Her fingertips had brushed a tangle of curly hair in its midst that she knew must be russet.
Melissande’s mouth went dry and she pulled her hand back in alarm. Quinn had come to bed after all? There could be no doubt of it for he was beside her, his breath deep and even. She had assumed he would remain in the hall, but he had not said as much.
Of course, the lord slept in the lord’s solar. Of course, Quinn had joined her abed, for there was but one bed.
She had slept with her lord husband by her side. He had not seized her in the night, much less demanded the marital due. Nay, he had let her sleep, as he had vowed.
Melissande turned to study his profile in the shadows. She could barely discern it, but then that seemed a perfect echo of her view of her husband’s truth. When would she be certain that she had married a man of merit or a deceptive villain intent upon claiming all advantage at Annossy? How could she be certain whether he told her the truth? Quinn had thus far, as far as Melissande could determine, but they had not even been wed two days. That was not long to pretend.
She wished she could read his thoughts and intentions as readily as he seemed to be able to read her own. She listened to his breathing, and knew that he was yet asleep.
His scent surrounded her like a cocoon. There was something reassuring about his size and his presence, and Melissande knew she could easily come to rely upon Quinn, should she allow herself to do as much.
Should she?
The man had a power over her, even in sleep, for she doubted her choices with vigor. She might have found that vexing, but at this hour, in this place, she could not be irked. His presence beside her, so large and warm, awakened her curiosity—and more.
Aye. The hum of desire he had stirred on their wedding night reawakened, turning Melissande’s thoughts to their need for a son. She could reach out and touch him again. Stroke him. Awaken him with a kiss, like an enchanted prince in an old tale. The notion made her smile a little. Would he greet her with pleasure? Or would he spurn her?
Melissande was quite certain that his eyes would glow with satisfaction and he would touch her with all the persuasive power of two nights before.
That made her yearn.
His chest and shoulders were bare, as evidently he wore no chemise to bed. Was he completely nude? Melissande had a desire to look upon him. The truth was she had seen very little on their wedding night, admittedly because she had been too frightened. Yet her fear of Quinn was vastly diminished and it was true that she knew little of men’s bodies. Surely it could not hurt to peek now, before he awakened? Curiosity, her mother had always said, was a healthy attribute.
She took a deep breath, half certain the sound of her heart would awaken him, then reached out. Her gaze flew to Quinn’s face, her hand hesitating above his shoulder. He lay on his side, facing her, one arm folded beneath his head, the other lying between them. He looked less imposing in sleep with his hair tousled and his lips twisted in a half smile. She wondered what delights filled his dreams to make him smile so. She reached up on impulse and touched one fingertip to his lips, just as he had touched his finger to her mouth.
His lips were soft, like her own, despite the hardness of the life he had lived.
But there any similarity between them ended. Quinn had seen the world while she had stayed home and administered Annossy with breathtaking predictability, from one season to the next.
That awareness made Melissande feel very sheltered.
Her finger strayed through the prickly stubble of beard on Quinn’s chin, across his cheek and traced the outline of his jaw. His skin seemed heavier than her own, more robust, as well as tanned by a southern sun. He was even more handsome to her than the day before and she admitted his appeal in the privacy of her thoughts. Her other fingertips joined the first as she let her hand trail down the strength of his neck.
They encountered the puckered end of a scar.
Her fingers halted uncertainly, hovering above the heat of his flesh. She had not noticed this on their wedding night, but then, she had been overwhelmed. The wound was old and long-healed, although its mark still marred his shoulder. It was lengthy, extending down his chest, and she guessed the wound had been deep. She recalled his tale of being injured and imprisoned with Bayard, and Lothair’s comments upon the challenge of healing his injury.
She could not doubt it, now that she studied the scar.
It was impressive that he had survived.
This was vivid evidence of how different Quinn’s life had been from hers, and how vigorous he was.
Her gaze flicked to his face, but he still slept.
She tentatively touched the scar. She could not imagine what it would be like to be injured and imprisoned far from home. His comrades had spoken of dirt and darkness and she guessed that he might have felt despair. She could not imagine that this powerful and resolute man would take kindly to being at less than his full capabilities. She traced the length of the scar, knowing the injury and his recovery must have been an ordeal.
