One Knight's Return, page 25
“I think you will only earn his ire,” Bayard said. “Mind that the gate is closed after him and secured. I will join you there as soon as I am dressed. I will not fail to provide that list on his return.”
Amaury nodded and left the great hall. Bayard returned to the chamber above and donned his mail tunic and tabard, dressing quickly. He heard the echo of hoof beats even as he buckled on his sword, then took his gloves and helm. He eyed his saddlebag, then opened it on impulse, removing the glass vial that was carefully packed within it. The liquid was still trapped in the bottle, for he had taken care with the gift.
Marcus had been the first in many years to grant Bayard a gift. Now, Quinn offered him another, a much greater one, if only he would cede to Quinn’s desire. Was the price truly so high as he argued? A home was a dream beyond all else. A home and a wife, a hearth of his own, honest labor, and perhaps a son. ’Twas enough to steal his breath away—especially if that wife had flashing eyes and no compunction in telling him when he erred.
Bayard turned the bottle so that it caught the light and wondered if Marcus had spoken aright. If he could only claim one woman, he rather thought the maid Berthe might do well.
He tucked the bottle into his purse and strode to meet Amaury, wondering how he might put Marcus’ gift to best use.
“Gone?” Melissande repeated when Berthe brought hot water. “How can my lord husband be gone?”
Where had Quinn gone?
And why?
Yet the foremost question in Melissande’s thoughts was why had he not told her of his plan.
Of course, she had been shrewish the night before and she was troubled that she could not apologize to him this morn. The dagger given to her by Gaultier was on the rug beside the bed, as if it had fallen from beneath her pillow, and she feared that Quinn might have seen it. She still wore his ring, but Melissande was afraid.
“He rode out before the dawn, my lady. Doubtless his men know his destination, but they do not share it. The gates are secured and they will allow no one to enter or to leave until my lord Quinn’s return.”
What madness was this?
Melissande dressed in haste and swept down the stairs to the great hall with purpose. She found no one there but the maids who swept the rushes, for it was the day that they should be changed. Berthe hustled behind her. Melissande did not pause in the kitchen but went straight through the bailey to the gates, where she found Bayard and Amaury. The two knights were fully armed and stood before the barred gates to Annossy, arms folded across their chests. They looked formidable and somber.
The skies were overcast and she could smell the difference in the wind. The rains would begin soon, perhaps even before midday. Soon it would be time to sow. Would Quinn abandon Annossy for Sayerne? The fields had always been more fertile there.
Gaultier came to her side in the bailey, following her to the gates when she did not pause. “It is unreasonable, my lady. No one is permitted to leave, and this for another day. Your lord husband is a tyrant...”
Melissande held up a hand for his silence. She addressed Amaury. “Is it true that my lord husband has left Annossy?”
The knight inclined his head. “But not for long, my lady. He had an errand.”
An errand.
“Did he ride to Sayerne?” she asked, thinking Quinn might have wished to look upon it.
“I cannot say, my lady,” Amaury said, but Bayard’s quick look made Melissande doubt that had been Quinn’s destination.
“Did you not visit that holding upon your arrival?” she asked him, remembering how Quinn’s party had been behind her own on her ride to Tulley. They had come from further down the valley and as there was no access, they must have visited Sayerne.
And likely found it inhospitable.
“Aye, my lady.” Bayard bowed slightly and his gaze flicked to Berthe.
“And?”
“It was in need of much repair, my lady.”
Why would Quinn return to Sayerne so soon? Melissande could not imagine. Sayerne was a ruin and that could not have changed in these few days. She could not imagine him to be sentimental, or in need of a plan for restoring that holding. Every single task had to be done and every shelter rebuilt.
The only other destination he might have had—unless he intended to abandon her completely—was Tulley.
But why? Quinn could not seek an annulment. Tulley had ensured that. Melissande had told him that she had her courses, though, which meant that he would conclude that she was not with child, even after two nights together. The truth, of course, was that she might be.
Curse her impulse to deceive him! Her father had always said that lies only bred more lies, and Melissande wished that had not proven so very true.
Surely he did not mean to question Tulley about her betrothal to Arnaud? He had been vexed by those tidings, to be sure, as a man of honor might be. She could not fully explain the fear that rose within her at the possibility that Quinn might succeed in putting her aside.
She would be neither wife nor widow, yet not a maiden either. What if she became a mother? By her own word to him, that child could not be his. She might be called a harlot, as a result of her own claim.
Her wits were addled, to be sure. What was it about this man that gave him such power to put her emotions in turmoil? Was it the same ability that made her body respond to the very sight of him and rise so quickly to his touch?
“Did he give any indication of when he would return?” she asked Amaury.
That knight nodded. “He vowed it would be this day, my lady, but guessed that the hour would be late.”
He could ride to Tulley and back in that time, if he rode with purpose.
She supposed she should be relieved that his scheme was to return.
“But there are brigands in the valley,” she said to Bayard. “Surely, he did not ride out alone?”
“He did, my lady.” The knight, to his credit, looked discomfited by this and Melissande guessed that he and Quinn had disagreed about this course. Why would he take such a risk? She already knew that Quinn tended to be prudent.
Unless he was angry.
How much had she vexed him with her sharp tongue the night before? God in Heaven, but she hoped that her words had not prompted him to be careless.
“He also insisted that the gate be kept closed in his absence,” Amaury added.
“It is unreasonable,” Gaultier began to argue, but Melissande glared at him.
“It is not your place, Gaultier, to challenge the command of the Lord d’Annossy,” she said coldly. “My lord husband must have good reason for his decision and his order, and so his command shall be obeyed.” She turned and nodded to the two knights. “I thank you for these tidings. Please ensure that my lord husband’s will is done.”
“Aye, my lady,” they said in unison and she could not miss the satisfaction both showed.
She also did not miss that Gaultier was displeased.
Tulley was at the board when Quinn arrived, and invited the arriving knight to join him with a gesture. “Your timing is superb. There is a boar stew this day and some of the wine of Annossy.” Tulley’s niece was seated by his left hand and smiled at Quinn but did not speak.
“In truth, sir, I come for tidings, not sustenance.”
“Tidings?” Tulley’s brows rose. “Of what?”
“I would know more of Gaultier, the Captain of the Guard at Annossy.”
Tulley blinked. “I know naught of him. The one before him, Millard, he I knew for many years.” He nodded, though Quinn did not know if his approval was of that knight or the wine poured into his cup. He sipped the wine and nodded again. “A good man from the king’s own demesne in Paris, but a younger son. Well-trained and well-bred, but lacking in coin and opportunity. He served me for a decade then Annossy for another thirty. A most excellent warrior. I deeply regretted his loss. ’Twas just over a year ago.”
“My lady wife told me that you sent her current Captain of the Guard to her, to replace the warrior who passed.”
“I did not!”
Quinn was taken aback. “Then from whence did he come?”
“How am I to say? She employs him. Try the meat, Heloise. It is most fine this day. This piece, not that one.”
“Aye, Uncle. I thank you.”
Quinn cleared his throat. “But she employs him because he came at your recommendation.”
“Well, she has erred in that, as women are like to do. I did not send him.” Tulley savored his stew with satisfaction. “You must join us. This is a fine meal.”
He waved to the châtelain, who set another place, while a squire took Quinn’s cloak. He was brought a bowl of water to wash his hands and his stomach grumbled as he took his place at Tulley’s right hand.
“What was his name?” Tulley asked when they were all eating.
“Gaultier.”
“Gaultier,” Tulley repeated, then shook his head. “Has he no holding of origin or town or family name?”
Quinn shook his head. “If so, I do not know it.”
“Lonvaux,” Heloise said and both men turned to look at her. She flushed a little. “His name is Gaultier de Lonvaux. I remember him.”
“Remember him?” Tulley repeated, his tone cross. “How could you remember him? And when did you see him?”
“Last year, in the autumn. It must have been just before he went to Annossy. He was here, at Tulley, lodged in the inn in the town.”
Quinn saw Tulley’s brows rise and was surprised that the older man had missed this detail.
Heloise continued. “I saw him when I arrived, for he stood outside the inn, on the road, as my party passed. He spoke to me.” She blushed a little.
“Audacity,” Tulley muttered.
“Nay, Uncle. We had met before my parents died. There was a notion that we might become betrothed, but I was glad that my father was much against it.”
“Why was he?” Tulley demanded.
“He said that Gaultier had no hope of inheritance, not since his aunt had wed again.”
“Marie,” Quinn said almost to himself, recalling the inscription on the blade in Melissande’s possession.
“Indeed!” Heloise agreed with pleasure. “Marie de Perricault is his aunt and her former husband trained Gaultier for his spurs. She was said to be fond of him and sponsored him even after her husband’s death. People said the most wicked things.” She shook her head and her expression turned prim.
“What wicked things?” Tulley asked.
“Uncle!”
“Tell me. We seek news of this man and even rumor may hold a germ of truth.”
Heloise blushed crimson. “That Marie would have wed him if he had not been her own kin. They said, they said, that their relations were most improper.” She looked disapproving after confessing this much.
Tulley sipped his wine, then nodded slowly. “I remember this,” he said. “It was most scandalous, but I did not know the young man’s name.” He snapped his fingers. “And then Marie did wed again, so the rumors fell silent. I suppose that might have been when Gaultier had to leave Perricault to find his fortune.” He nodded, well content with this version of events and returned to his meal. “It is most fine, is it not? I tell the gamekeeper to take a boar whenever he can. It is by far the finest meat.”
“Where is Perricault?” Quinn asked for he did not know of it.
“To the north,” Tulley said. “En route to Paris. It lies on the other side of the mountains that mark the north side of this valley.” He lowered his voice. “Not quite so well favored by the sun and so less prosperous as a result, but still fine territory. They make a passable wine.”
Quinn leaned forward so that he could see Heloise. “Why were you glad that your father had objections to Gaultier, if I might be so bold as to ask?”
Tulley looked at his niece as if also interested in her reply.
She blushed again. “He was called Gaultier le Beau by some, because he was handsome to look upon. But I neither liked nor trusted him. There was something in his gaze that made me shiver.”
Quinn nodded understanding. “I do not like him either, my demoiselle, though I cannot say precisely why.”
“That is why you came to ask Uncle about him, for you knew that Uncle would not recommend a man who was untrustworthy.”
“Indeed,” Quinn agreed, though he was not so certain as that. He was convinced only that Tulley would not make a choice that might adversely affect his own situation, which was not the same matter at all. He frowned and cleared his throat. “My lord, my lady has mentioned that she was betrothed to another before our vows were exchanged...”
“Arnaud de Privas,” Tulley said with disdain. “Another wastrel, I am sad to say. She is well rid of him, to be sure.”
“But surely their betrothal has weight as an earlier bond...”
Tulley surveyed him, his gaze cool. “It would, if Arnaud had not wed another woman first.”
Quinn was startled. “Does my lady wife know of this?”
“I told her, but she chose to believe me mistaken.” Tulley sipped his wine and his lips tightened. “I am never mistaken about matters of such import.” He glared at Quinn and Quinn dropped his gaze.
Relief surged through him. His match was legitimate and he was sufficiently honest with himself to be glad. There was no legal impediment—the sole obstacles remained his lady wife’s affection and the conception of a child. These were not small obstacles, but Quinn found his heart lightened.
Tulley, meanwhile, shook a finger at him. “And I am reminded that I meant to speak to you about seeing Sayerne’s fields tilled this year. They have lain fallow too long and we have need of the grain...”
“But I am not to take the seal of Sayerne for another year,” Quinn felt obliged to note.
Tulley smiled. “Then you shall ensure the fields are tilled for me.”
Quinn cleared his throat, recalling Melissande’s practical questions, and strove to ask some of his own. She did not wish to see Annossy pillaged for Sayerne’s sake, and he did not wish to see either plundered for Tulley’s sole benefit. “If you are to claim the harvest, my lord, then who shall pay for the seed?”
Tulley harrumphed. “I could command that you do as much.”
“But that would scarcely be fair, my lord, and you are known for your justice. Surely you know that Sayerne no longer has any villeins to do the labor, either.” Quinn shook his head. “I recall that the fields were fertile, but they have not been tilled in recent years. This is a considerable labor to undertake, particularly with no promise of gain.”
Tulley glared. Quinn held his gaze, ensuring that his own expression was bland. He was well aware that Heloise was endeavoring to hide her smile.
“I will send the seed,” Tulley said finally. “But the villeins must come from Annossy.”
“But where shall they live, my lord?” Quinn asked. “It is too far for them to journey back and forth each day, unless they are to labor for no more than an hour.” He nodded. “And I visited Sayerne just this week. You may not be aware that there is not a single structure of integrity there, save the old grain barn on the border where we spent that night. The hall is not bad, but the roof of the solar is damaged...”
“I know the state of Sayerne,” Tulley fairly growled.
“I cannot ask the villeins to abandon the comfort of their homes to labor without shelter. ’Twould be most irresponsible.”
Tulley’s lips tightened. “I will send men to help with the building, after the rain stops.” He pointed at Quinn. “But you shall see that all is defended.”
Quinn inclined his head. “They will need provisions, as well, for it will be months before the harvest. Although if you intend to claim it all, then they will still be hungry then. And there must be knights for the defense, who will also need shelter and provisions, as well as their steeds and squires.”
“You would have me pay to rebuild all of Sayerne!”
“I would not impoverish Annossy to rebuild Sayerne, particularly when I do not hold the seal of Sayerne.”
Their gazes locked for a potent moment and Quinn did not dare to take a breath. He was aware of Heloise’s keen interest and Tulley’s vexation, but did not blink.
“Half,” Tulley snapped, casting his napkin upon the board. “I desire half. The rest you may divide for seed for next year and flour for your villeins.” He sighed with annoyance “And I will send provisions for all when the ploughing begins, along with men to build. Are you satisfied?”
“I should think a third might be more fitting,” Quinn said mildly. “For a tenth must go to the church.”
Tulley inhaled.
Tulley exhaled.
Tulley glared.
And then he ceded. “You drive a hard bargain, Quinn de Sayerne. A third it will be then. Now are you satisfied?”
“I am certain I will have more questions, my lord,” Quinn said. “Such tasks of administration are new to me, after all.”
Heloise giggled.
Tulley cleared his throat. “That is as may be. On this day, however, you will undertake an enquiry for me.”
“But I intend to ride for Annossy, my lord, that I might be gone but a day.”
“Nonsense. You will remain here in Tulley this night, for it is the only sensible course.”
“But...”
“The rains will begin shortly, Quinn. I smelled as much in the air this morn as soon as I rose. Indeed, they might have begun already. And when the first spring rain falls in Tulley, it is no time for man or horse to be on the road. There will be a veritable deluge. The river Helva will swell its banks by the dawn, and tomorrow, after noon, the sun will reappear.” He nodded with confidence. “It is always thus. The snow will have vanished within a week.”
“All of it?” Quinn asked, skeptical. He recalled violent rains in Sayerne in his boyhood, but could not believe the entire valley experienced such a rapid thaw.
“All of it,” Tulley said. He wiped his mouth on his napkin. “And so this day, instead of riding forth in such inclement weather, you will undertake a small task for me.” There was steel in his tone.
