One Knight's Return, page 29
“Then why dismiss him, never mind leaving him with both horse and weapons?”
“We have but baited the trap, my lady. I doubt it will be long before it is sprung.” Quinn whistled to himself as he dressed, though Melissande stared at him for a long moment, the weight of the dagger in her hand.
“A trap?” she echoed. “God in Heaven, will you risk your own life to see Annossy rid of the brigands?” she whispered and he turned to survey her.
“Would you mourn my loss if I did?” he asked softly.
“Aye,” she admitted. “I would.”
“Well, then. That is something.” He nodded once and turned his back upon her, whistling once more.
He did not mean to confide in her.
That choice filled Melissande with new doubts. ’Twas true Quinn had insisted she keep the blade and that he seduced her well abed, but on this day, he had also dismissed Annossy’s Captain of the Guard and the men he had hired, without consulting Melissande. She felt control of the holding slip away and did not like it a whit.
Melissande hastened from the bed, thinking this was no cause for merriment. She crossed the chamber and took his arm. “Tell me of your scheme.”
“What scheme, my lady?” Quinn asked lightly and she knew he would not share the details with her. Her heart chilled that he did not trust her fully. “My sole scheme is the defense of Annossy.” He turned then to confront her. “Are there any other ways into the keep, beyond the gates and the sewers?”
This time, it was Melissande who turned her back. If he would keep his secrets, then she would keep hers as well. “I do not know of any,” she said, keeping her tone even. “Perhaps Louis knows more.”
Perhaps she would have to defend Annossy’s solar against its new lord.
“Perhaps. I will ask him.” Then Quinn left the solar, still whistling, while Melissande stood and wondered whether she had erred.
Ten nights after the departure of Gaultier and his comrades, Annossy’s mill was attacked.
Quinn was more than ready.
The moon was new, the night darker than dark. He sat at the window of the solar, fully armed, well aware that Melissande watched him from the bed but did not sleep herself. Though they had worked together since his return from Tulley, and they were intimate each night, there was a barrier between them.
She had lied about ways in and out of the keep.
Quinn had guessed as much immediately, for her eyes revealed when she disguised the truth. His wife was not an accomplished liar, which he admired greatly—though it grieved him when she did mislead him. He had been disappointed to learn from Bayard shortly after leaving the solar that his impression had been correct. There was another way into the solar, designed to ensure that the lord could retake it after an assault, and it could even be reached from outside the walls, if one knew where to look for it.
Quinn was certain that Melissande did.
At its root, this was the same issue. She feared to trust him fully. She feared to lose her import at Annossy. Though Quinn understood her feelings, he could not do more to overcome her doubts than he had. He would prove himself in deeds, and could only hope that in time, when his lady’s worst fears did not come to fruition, it would prove to be sufficient.
The compromise did not content him, but the lady had to make her own choice.
In the short term, however, he had a holding to defend.
In a way, it was a relief when the flame appeared in the distance. It flared orange, and flickered as Quinn rose to his feet. He could have no doubt of its import, though, for the fire raged higher as the wood caught and cast sparks into the sky. Niall and Lothair would already be fighting the brigands.
Quinn did not waste a moment. He spun from the window and strode for the stairs. “I shall return when I can, my lady.”
Melissande rose from the bed and seized his sleeve. “You cannot mean to ride out yourself! I thought you would send your comrades and defend Annossy yourself.”
“I ride with my comrades.” Quinn chafed at the delay, though he could not be rude to her. He did not wish to spoil an accord that he feared was fragile. “The defense of all of Annossy is my responsibility.”
“But you could be injured!”
“I have been injured before and lived to tell of it.” He tugged his sleeve free of her grasp.
“But you could be killed,” she said with a distress that appeared genuine. “Send another in your stead, Quinn!”
Her use of his name was like a blow to the heart, but Quinn knew what had to be done. “I gave my word to the miller that I would defend his abode as my own,” he insisted with heat and turned away.
This night might change all between them. He prayed that it might and hurried to the portal, pausing to glance back.
Melissande said no more, but folded her arms across her chest, watching him go. She bit her lip as she watched him and he saw tears glisten in her eyes. As ever, the sight of her vulnerability affected him powerfully. He hoped with all his measure that she truly was concerned for him.
“Is there some detail you would tell me?” he asked and she shook her head, her tears flying.
Still she withheld the tale of the second entry.
That told Quinn all he needed to know.
It disappointed him deeply.
On impulse, he reached into his purse and removed the one item he knew Melissande desired above all else. He tossed it to her as if it were a trinket of far less value than it truly was. He saw her catch the seal, then look down. There was no doubting the moment that she realized what she held, for her eyes lit and then she frowned.
“You should not surrender this to me,” she whispered even as her fist closed over it.
“I spare you the trouble of seeking it, should I not return,” he said, disappointment in his tone. She only stared at him. That displeased him—he would rather have parted with a kiss—and he turned to march down the stairs. His cloak flared behind him and he found his comrades already on their feet, awaiting him in hall and bailey.
“Sir! You cannot mean to die this night!” Melissande called from behind him.
He pivoted to find her on the stairs, her hair unbound and her chemise more sheer than she realized, her gaze filled with concern. She was a vision of loveliness, one that made his throat tighten, and he knew he would always remember her thus.
But she had not used his name.
“Few men mean to die when they meet their end, my lady.” He bowed then and continued to the stables, his comrades quick behind him.
He risked more than she knew this night and he wished he could have trusted her fully.
The plan was made and now Quinn could only hope for its success.
Quinn’s sense of duty would be his undoing. The man was as vexing as the first day Melissande had met him—nay, more so, for now she cared about his survival and recognized that much was reliant upon him. Honor and duty. The very words made Melissande grit her teeth. As Lord d’Annossy, it was not his personal obligation to strike the killing blow against the brigands.
He should send his comrades or his men-at-arms.
He should delegate, not risk his own hide!
Melissande dressed in haste, lacing the sides of her kirtle and tugging on her boots without stockings. The keep was filled with activity, though no one raised their voice. All was being prepared in stealth. Despite her haste, by the time she reached the hall, Quinn and his men were gone. She raced into the bailey to see the rump of Quinn’s destrier as he led the company through the gates.
Curse him. He even wore her father’s tabard this night, making himself an easy target. She bit her fist, her fear rising high, and hoped that she would have the opportunity to chastise him, then welcome him abed.
Nigh all of his comrades rode with him. They were armed and helmeted, their dark cloaks hiding their mail from view. She spied the steeds of Luc and Thierry, right behind Fortitude, then Amaury touched his fingertip to his helmet in salute as his horse cantered past her. Melissande stared after the men as all the many squires on their palfreys, each and every one armed, rode around her and filed out the gates. They had been prepared this night, and likely all the nights of late, to ride out at Quinn’s command with little notice.
A movement at the top of Annossy’s wall, above the gates, drew her eye. A knight was silhouetted on the balustrade, his helmet and his raised gloved hand catching a glimmer of light as he waved off Quinn’s party. She realized it was Bayard by his green tabard and the shape of his helmet. She saw him gesture for the gates to be closed after Quinn’s departure, then take up his stance above the gates.
One comrade left in Annossy’s defense.
One.
Melissande’s sense of foreboding grew at that, even though she knew Quinn’s expertise with warfare was far beyond her own. She knew also that Bayard must be a competent warrior and a trusted one for Quinn to have assigned him this task. Quinn had said he set a trap and he must have allowed for all the possibilities. Still, she was fearful.
She compelled herself to think of practical matters. The company would return hungry, at the very least, if not injured. She went to the kitchens to rouse the cook and urge him to set soup upon the fire. She sent to the village for the healer, for she was uncertain whether Quinn’s companion Lothair would return to the keep or not. She consulted with that woman to make preparations in the hall, and wished she knew what was happening. The hall was filled with quiet purpose, women and men working as silently as shadows, their expressions fearful.
Quinn had given her the seal instead of a kiss farewell. How could he believe that only the seal of Annossy was of importance to her?
Melissande wished she had thought more quickly and spoken the truth to him. She wished she had told him about the old pathway to the solar, even though she was not certain of its existence. She had been compelled to wed him, she had challenged him and fought him, and Quinn had countered her objections with persistence, patience and honor.
She could love him.
She feared again for his survival and knew she already did.
Melissande wished with all her heart that she would have the opportunity to tell him so.
Chapter 15
When all was made ready for the return of the knights, Melissande returned to the solar, hoping she could see something of what happened at the mill from the high windows. She bolted the door behind herself, leaving the solar in darkness as she crossed to the window. The new moon meant the night was dark and she wanted to see whatever could be discerned. There was no lantern lit in the solar and the brazier, which had been stirred up when she had first come to bed, was now nigh cold. Only a coal or two glowed faintly orange within it.
When she looked toward the mill, there was only the silence of the night. The bonfire had been doused. She could not hear a single sound of battle, but she did hear men’s voices. She leaned out the window as she spotted lights on the road to the mill. A party was returning to Annossy, a large party by the sound of the horses. There were torches being carried alongside, and she guessed that the squires lit the way.
The men were singing and she leaned against the frame with relief. Quinn’s men had triumphed. Doubtless, they returned to Annossy with the brigands captive or injured. She had to admit that Quinn had been right about leaving only one knight behind. Annossy had not been assaulted, much to her relief.
The challenge to Annossy’s borders was resolved, and Quinn had done it.
She stepped back from the window, intent upon ensuring the soup was hot for the returning party, then heard the stealthy sound of a boot on the floor behind her.
Melissande spun quickly, but not quickly enough. A man seized her from behind and shoved a cloth into her mouth. She struggled against him but he was more powerful than she. She was enraged by his audacity.
What travesty was this? Who dared to assault the Lady d’Annossy in her own chamber?
Even as she struggled, her heart chilled. Her assailant must have known of the other entry. Whoever assaulted her, he had scaled the tower in the darkness. Too late she wished she had confided in Quinn.
Her attacker kicked her feet out from beneath her and she fell hard to the floor. He was overwhelming Melissande easily, which terrified her. She could never defend herself, not with force, for her attacker was much stronger.
Panicking, she thought of Quinn and his experience at war. She thought of how he turned matters on their heads to gain the element of surprise and realized this man expected her to fight him to her last.
Instead, Melissande gasped and pretended to faint. She collapsed on the floor and heard her attacker grunt with satisfaction.
He bent over her, reaching to bind her wrists. She felt the heavy rope upon one wrist and she did not know whether he intended to capture her or violate her. She gave him the chance to do neither. With her other hand, she pulled Gaultier’s dagger from its sheath in her garter. She stabbed upward, not bothering to cast back her skirts lest the knife blade shine in the dark. Her hand was beneath his mail hauberk, for it brushed the back of her wrist. She felt the blade sink home—into his thigh, perhaps—and warm blood run down her arm as her attacker swore.
“Deceptive whore!” he snarled and Melissande froze in recognition of his voice.
Gaultier!
She tried to stab him again, but he caught her wrist and twisted it backward. If she could have made a sound, she would have cried out in pain. She was compelled to drop the blade and heard it clatter to the floor. She could not see it in the darkness and wondered how she would retrieve it.
Gaultier meanwhile bound her wrists together with savage force. His breath was coming quickly and his anger was palpable. Melissande’s heart raced with fear. How had she allowed this serpent to live within the walls of Annossy? How could she have failed to see his true nature?
But Quinn, Quinn had guessed it from the outset. Melissande could have wept that she had so misplaced her trust. Because of her own failure to confide in her lord husband, she might meet her end at the hands of this villain.
She stumbled when Gaultier dragged her to her feet and pushed her toward the bed. She inadvertently kicked the knife, but it was gone, dancing across the floor. Gaultier must have heard it, as well, for he bent to retrieve something even as he shoved her toward the bed.
“My own dagger,” he muttered. While he was distracted, Melissande tried to twist out of his grip. He grabbed her, shook her, then struck her across the face. “Faithless bitch!”
Melissande fell backward and slipped so that she nearly collided with the pillar of the bed. She blinked, astonished that he had struck her, then felt new fear for her survival. She scrambled across the floor, trying to move around the bed even as she fought to recall every item in the solar. Had Berthe left the pail of water or the one for slops? If so, where were they? The last coal glowed in the brazier on the far side of the bed, but where were the tongs? How could she defend herself when her hands were bound?
And what was Gaultier’s scheme?
She was a fool a hundred times over and if she survived this day, she would spend her life making amends for her mistake.
Melissande could only hope she had the chance to do as much.
“I hear you, my lady,” he whispered, his tone taunting, and her heart fluttered like a caged bird. “You will not evade me. You can come quietly or not. The choice is yours.”
What did he intend to do to her?
Melissande tried to quell her rising terror. She heard a rustle and Gaultier’s boot on the floor again. She was sure he would find her by the erratic thunder of her heart, or the sound of her breath. She could smell him drawing closer. Why had she told Berthe to remain in the hall? She eased around the bed, trying to stay out of his reach. She reached the side of the bed with the brazier beside it and managed to hook her foot beneath it. It was weighty and top-heavy. Could she kick it with sufficient accuracy to injure Gaultier?
She would certainly try.
She huddled against the bed, trying to become one with it. She held her breath and remained motionless. She thought she could see Gaultier, just barely, a dark silhouette against the shadows. She heard his footstep and waited for what seemed like an eternity. She heard a distant cry and the creak of the gates, then the sound of horses in the bailey. Quinn and his party returned! There was a cheer from those awaiting him.
Gaultier made a low hiss. He took another step and she heard a rustle of cloth.
Could she stall until Quinn came to the solar? She feared not.
“Come here, my lady,” Gaultier whispered as if she were so witless as to be enticed to her own doom. “We have not much time. I do not want to injure you. Trust me.”
Trust him. The very suggestion sent fury through Melissande. What did this vermin know of trust? No man of merit kidnapped a woman or struck her. A knight vowed to defend those weaker than himself! She heard a faint sound of a boot on stone and knew it was too distant to be Gaultier.
Who else was in the solar? If he had an accomplice, she was lost.
But Gaultier froze and she thought he turned toward the sound.
He was surprised. Did someone come to her aid?
Melissande scratched her nail against the floor, trying to convince him that he had heard her and not another. He chuckled and took a step closer. “There you are,” he murmured, and when he took the next step, Melissande kicked the brazier with all her might.
It fell with a thud, scattered coals and debris from the fire across the floor. Gaultier swore again and she hoped it had injured him. She saw one fiery coal began to smolder as it came to a rest on a carpet, but it was too far away to reach. The smoke rose immediately and the flame sparked to life shortly afterward.
In its light, Melissande saw Gaultier lunging toward her, rage in his eyes. She hurled herself under the great bed. She heard him roar then snatch after her, but she scurried to the opposite side to evade him. Her eyes widened when she saw a second pair of boots appear behind Gaultier.
