One Knight's Return, page 22
“Like a knight’s training, sir!”
Quinn smiled. “Not quite, but such skill as he can teach you will be of use no matter what your trade.”
The miller nodded approval, then took his wife’s hand and dropped to his knees.
“Let us pledge our fealty to the new Lord d’Annossy,” he said. His wife nodded and followed suit, and Quinn looked up in time to see Amaury’s nod of approval.
He would master this responsibility yet.
Niall had found tracks at the ford, hoof prints embedded in the frozen mud on the far bank. After the wood for the fire was laid and the miller supplied with tinder, Quinn made to take his leave. The knights conferred over the tracks and agreed that there was evidence of two or perhaps three palfreys. Two tracks were distinctive, one showing a nick from the shoe and a second in which a nail from the shoe made a larger impression. The tracks led into the forest on the far bank, then were lost in the undergrowth there.
“You see?” one of the men-at-arms said. “They escaped and, with horses, they could be in Rome by now.”
Quinn doubted that this man had been through the Beauvoir pass of late, but he merely nodded agreement and surveyed the surroundings. There was no place within any proximity for horses to be stabled or bandits to be hidden.
Save the mill itself.
Kudon, indeed.
“I would ask you two to take the road back to Annossy, and seek any signs of horses on either side of that path,” Quinn instructed the two men-at-arms. “Bayard will ride with you and explain my orders to Gaultier once you arrive at Annossy.”
The pair exchanged glances, their suspicion clear.
Quinn kept his expression bland. “The day is so fine that I would hunt before returning to Annossy. Such a forest as this must be thick with game!”
“Deer and pheasant abound, sir,” supplied Robert.
“Ah! How I have missed the hunt,” Quinn lied. “We have neither beaters nor dogs, Amaury, but I say we shall make a fine day of it all the same.”
“Indeed,” Amaury agreed with enthusiasm and they laughed together as if carefree.
Bayard led the pair toward Annossy, and Quinn spoke quickly to his fellows, telling them of Kudon.
“You think the villains might have circled back to the mill?” Amaury asked when they were alone.
“I cannot see where else three horses could hide.”
“Nor I,” Lothair said. “And that pair know more than they have confessed. You are wise to keep a closer eye upon them.”
“Better yet, I may dismiss them from service, should I find an excuse,” Quinn said. “I would be curious to know who they might tell of whatever they know.”
“And what of that second treasury?” Niall asked.
“When they are long gone, we shall leave a token within it,” Quinn said softly and Amaury laughed. “This task of administration is not so different from making war.”
“Not when there is a villain or a spy at loose,” Amaury agreed. Niall and Lothair returned to the mill, intent upon seeing all set to rights. Amaury gestured down the river toward the bridge. “Let us look for tracks.”
“Then a deer, if we can manage it. I see you brought your crossbow.”
Amaury smiled. “There is not so much meat in the larder. I thought to be a good guest, if my lord host were inclined to hunt.”
“Melissande told me as much this morn, but it was when she brought the stirrup cup. I did not fetch a crossbow.”
Amaury bowed and surrendered the weapon. “Your holding, Quinn, so you must loose the first bolt.”
“More than that, I would be of aid in seeing Annossy well-supplied.”
“You would win your lady’s favor, whatever the price,” Amaury teased.
“Can you blame me? She is my lady wife and her happiness is my sole goal.”
“You should tell her as much,” the other knight advised.
“I fear she would not believe me,” Quinn said. “Nay, I would tempt her affection with deeds not words.”
Amaury nodded and glanced back toward the mill. Bayard and the men-at-arms were out of sight. They two rode down the hill on opposite sides of the river, keeping their horses well back from the flowing water. “Here,” Amaury said, pointing to the ground at the same time that Quinn pointed down on the mill side of the river.
The hoof prints were evident on both banks, the steeds having gone down the river on the far side and returned on the side where the mill stood. Amaury and Quinn followed the returning tracks into the forest, lost them again, then rode back toward the mill slowly. Quinn dismounted outside the small barn beside the mill and crouched down, considering the tracks left by the three horses that had left for Annossy. There was fresh mud there and new tracks from the palfreys of the men-at-arms.
He indicated a nick in the shoe of one horse and the mark of a protruding nail in another print, then met Amaury’s gaze. The other knight nodded. The tracks were the same.
“You have your brigands,” Amaury murmured.
“But not their leader,” Quinn said. “There might well have been three. Let us speak to the miller for a moment before we ride to hunt.”
Chapter 11
Melissande could not give credence to Gaultier’s accusation.
She might not have wed Quinn of her own accord, but she could not believe that he would contrive such a wicked scheme. She was not even certain he had spoken to Heloise before the wedding feast, and he might not have even known that Tulley had a niece. As vexed as he had been with her, he had never injured her. Indeed, he had been gentle, and had introduced her to the marital debt with much patience. She could not imagine that he meant to ensure her demise.
It could have been readily done by now, if so.
It was curious that she already possessed such a strong conviction of Quinn’s sense of honor and his reliability. Truly, if he had not been Jerome’s son, she might have chosen him of her own accord.
There was a startling realization.
Melissande sat down hard in the great hall to consider how readily she abandoned the truths that she knew. Was she detecting the truth of her new husband, or was he deceiving her with great skill?
Berthe came bustling down the stairs in that moment, much her usual self in the knights’ absence. “Look, my lady!” she cried, shaking out a length of blue cloth.
Melissande was glad to be sitting down for the realization of what her maid carried was like a knife to her heart.
It was her father’s tabard, embroidered with the insignia of Annossy. The wool was blue of deepest sapphire and Melissande recalled her mother fussing over the hue in the market at Tulley, then choosing the deepest blue. Berthe came and spread it proudly on Melissande’s lap and she fingered it, with tears in her eyes. Her mother had embroidered the insignia and Melissande had been entrusted with the hem.
She had seen the tabard last when her father had died at the board, not three paces from where she sat in this moment.
“I thought he was buried in it,” she managed to say.
Berthe shook her head. “I remember the priest thought it wasteful for the cloth is good and he said there would be a new Lord d’Annossy. He ordered the tabard removed before the coffin was sealed.”
“I do not recall that detail.” Melissande looked up at her maid, who smiled.
“Because you did not know, my lady,” she said gently. “Louis took charge of all in those few days when you mourned your father, as was good and right. You could not have found a better man to trust with your responsibilities.” She shook out the tabard. “And there has not been a single moth! There is a sign that it was meant to be worn again.”
“Or that the sweet woodruff has been placed in the trunk.”
“Aye.” Berthe held up the garment. “Do you think it broad enough for Lord Quinn’s shoulders?”
“Perhaps,” Melissande said. “There is but one way to know.”
“Indeed!” Berthe beckoned toward the stairs and the small fair squire, Michel, came down, carrying another burden. “I asked for his aid and his counsel as to Lord Quinn’s requirements. He is a good boy,” she whispered to Melissande.
Michel carried another length of wool and Melissande recognized it as well. It was the fur-lined cloak that her father had worn, of generous cut and heavy wool. Its hue was deep blue, as well, and the fur lining was silver miniver.
“Still in good repair,” Berthe said. “’Twould be a shame for Lord Quinn to be cold when there is no need.”
“Indeed,” Melissande said, though she felt as if the breath had been stolen from her lungs. “I suppose there are chemises and chausses, as well.”
Michel nodded. “The chemises will be most welcome, my lady, if you can spare them. Lord Quinn possesses only two plus the one granted to him by Lord Tulley. It is a bit small and the other two are much mended.”
“Then take them, of course.”
“Aye, my lady.” He bowed and smiled, then at Berthe’s nod, returned to the solar.
And so, more of her father’s possessions were claimed by Quinn. Melissande knew she should not place too much value on old garments that could be put to use. They were only cloth, though they carried many memories for her.
“The hem is torn,” she said, fingering the tabard. “If you will fetch my sewing needles, I can mend it before my lord husband’s return.”
“Of course, my lady,” Berthe said with approval.
Melissande’s heart sank. This would be her life. Waiting for her husband, plying her needle and doing as she was bidden.
She supposed it would be worse if she did not conceive.
Gaultier could not be right about Quinn’s intentions.
There was a sound of horses stamping in the bailey and the maid’s head snapped up, her attention seized by the rumble of men’s voices. Melissande watched as one voice became clear, then Bayard strode into the hall, his expression grim, with two men-at-arms fast behind him.
It was the two men that Gaultier had sent to defend the mill.
What was this?
Berthe’s eyes lit and she remained at Melissande’s side as the knight approached. He spared the maid no more than a glance, then bowed before Melissande. “My lady, my lord Quinn bids me tell you that all is well at the mill and he has ridden to hunt. He will return as soon as possible.”
Melissande stood, her gaze flicking to the two men-at-arms standing behind Bayard. “But how can all be well?” she asked. “These are the men assigned to guard the mill.”
“My lord Quinn has chosen to leave two of his comrades there instead,” Bayard said. “Niall and Lothair will see to the mill’s defense now.”
One of the men-at-arms inhaled sharply and the lips of the other had drawn to a thin line. It was clear that they did not approve of their lord’s choice. She did not have to look for Gaultier: he had stepped into the hall, his expression dark and his arms folded across his chest. She met Bayard’s gaze and found his attention locked upon her, his eyes seeming even darker than she knew them to be.
This was a test of her loyalty to her husband’s command. She did not doubt that her response would be reported to Quinn in detail.
Melissande inclined her head, hiding the rebellion that rose hot within her. She would tell Quinn her opinion of this in private. “I am glad to hear that my lord husband has had such success on this day and eagerly await his return.” She sat down, arranging her skirts, and picked up the tabard to mend it. “I can only assume that you have instructions for Gaultier regarding these men’s duties now that they are returned to Annossy?”
“Aye, my lady,” Bayard said with approval.
“Then I grant you leave to deliver them and thank you for the courtesy of bearing me tidings.” It took all within Melissande not to ask more questions of Quinn’s plans, but she reminded herself that the defense of the holding was the lord’s responsibility.
Bayard bowed and retreated, the men behind him. Gaultier gave her an intent look, which she ignored, then spun to follow the three of them with quick steps.
“Audacity,” Berthe whispered though Melissande did not know whether she meant Bayard’s message to her or his refusal to acknowledge her presence. She was staring after the men, bright spots of color burning in her cheeks, and her fists were clenched at her sides.
Perhaps Melissande did know what infuriated her maid.
“Do you remember where I left my embroidery needles?” she asked pointedly. “This hem should be mended before my lord’s return.”
Berthe spun away, then stamped up the stairs. Her passage was audible the entire way to the solar and back again, though her temper might have been slightly improved by her return.
“A lantern, if you please,” Melissande said quietly when the maid might have said more. The hall was falling dark as it always did after noon, for the rays of the afternoon sun did not come through the few windows. Berthe hastened to fetch a lantern and had the boys stir up the fire as Melissande settled to her mending.
Quinn had replaced the men assigned by Gaultier with his own comrades. That was just as Gaultier had predicted. He might simply intend to push her aside and take her place in the administration of Annossy. That would be sufficiently harsh to trouble Melissande. She frowned and wondered what course she could possibly take that would both fulfill her obligations as her father’s daughter and Quinn’s wife.
All paths led back to the conception of a child.
But what would she sacrifice herself if she surrendered repeatedly to Quinn’s touch? She had no desire to become an ornament or a brood mare or wanton who hungered for her husband’s attention abed. She scowled at the cloth and worked fiercely, stabbing her finger more than once due to her lack of expertise.
If this was to be her life, she had best become accustomed to it.
She did not, however, have to like it.
The shadows were longer when there was a roar of greeting in the bailey and the sound of horses once more. Melissande rose to her feet and smoothed her skirt, her heart skipping at the sound of Quinn’s voice. He laughed aloud and she found her lips curving, so complete was the spell he had cast upon her.
Intrigued by what might make her husband so merry, she left the board and went to the portal. Her breath caught at the sight of Quinn, his eyes flashing gold fire as he laughed. He had a deer slung over the back of his saddle, while Amaury had two bunches of pheasants bound to his. Both destriers’ nostrils were flaring, but the creatures held their ground, more accustomed to the scent of blood than was often the case with horses. Louis was clapping his hands, calling for boys from the kitchen to take the kill, and it was clear that Quinn had secured his popularity with this deed. Someone jested at the size of the stag he had felled and Quinn turned to help remove it from behind the saddle.
He looked so vital and masculine, so at ease and powerful, that Melissande could not tear her gaze away from him. Indeed, her mouth went dry and she tingled anew in recollection of what they had done abed. She had become hungry for his touch and, worse, she could not regret it.
Amaury held up a hand. “I confess that I but followed behind and gathered the kill,” he said to those who gathered around. “’Twas Quinn who hunted with such success this day.”
“He is too modest,” Quinn protested, then surrendered a crossbow to his companion. “His aim is true as might be expected of one carrying such a fine weapon.” There was a joyous shout at that and Quinn shook hands with those who pushed close to congratulate him. He laughed at a word from the smith, then asked that man a question. The smith indicated the miller’s son on the far side of the bailey, the one who had become his apprentice, and she guessed that Quinn had spoken to the miller about his family.
Then he turned, as if he had felt her gaze upon him.
Melissande might have been struck to stone as his gaze locked with hers. Then Quinn smiled, a slow potent smile that heated her blood to a simmer, and she felt as if they were alone in the bailey.
“What else could I do?” he asked those surrounding him without looking away. “My lady wife told me this morn that we had need of meat for the board. Her will is as my command.” And he bowed to her, his gesture making her cheeks heat and the villeins laugh.
Melissande could not think of a single word to say.
Quinn strode to her side, doffing his gloves, and paused beside her on the threshold. His eyes glittered and she fairly sensed his anticipation. “All is well at the mill?” she asked quietly, recalling their responsibilities.
“I believe it will be,” he replied in kind.
“You dismissed the guards that Gaultier assigned to defend the mill.”
“I did not trust them.”
Melissande parted her lips then closed them again.
Quinn smiled. “And you do not trust me. You need not say the words to make your concerns known to me, my lady.”
She felt herself flushing but could not be silent. “I do not know your intentions or much of your history...”
“And I did not know theirs. I learned long ago, my lady, to trust my instincts when it came to entrusting other men.” He shook his head as she watched him. “There was something amiss, though I cannot name it. For the sake of the miller and his kin, I chose to be cautious. They have lost a son already.”
“Aye.” Melissande could not fault him for that choice, or for the sympathy in his gaze.
“But I would seek your advice in this matter, my lady.”
“Mine?”
“Yours.” His gaze clung to hers. “You know Annossy as no other, my lady,” he murmured, his voice no less intent that his expression. “Have you not discerned that this is a challenge we must conquer together?”
“And then what?” she dared to ask.
Quinn smiled. “And then, we shall conquer another.” He caught her hand in his and bent over it, kissing its back with a flourish.
Melissande felt a tumult inside herself and stepped back, retreating from his persuasive touch. “Berthe found my father’s tabard and cloak,” she said, her words falling in an uncharacteristic rush. “Perhaps both will suit you. And Michel has taken some of my father’s chemises for you.”
