One Knight's Return, page 30
He swore again and stood, then Melissande heard the clash of steel on steel. The two pairs of boots quickly becoming indistinguishable as the men circled and fought with increasing vigor.
Who had come to her assistance?
It was beyond infuriating that she could not see the battle. The flames grew brighter and she squirmed across the floor, emerging on the other side of the bed. Gaultier battled a knight in a green tabard who still wore his helmet.
Melissande shook in her relief.
Bayard had guessed her fate somehow and she was heartily glad of it. She hurried around the bed and began to stamp on the carpet to put out the flames. Now she could see the bucket of washing water, not far away. She hurried to it and kicked it over so that the carpet was doused.
The fire went out, plunging them into darkness again.
The helmeted knight swore with gusto and Melissande turned to stare at him in astonishment. Quinn? Surely she had not recognized his voice. The knight wore Bayard’s tabard and helmet. He must have swung his blade, for she heard it whistle through the air, and she ducked, cowering against the wall. No doubt Gaultier would have been glad to seize her, and Melissande scarce dared to breathe. She heard blades clash and men grunt, then a heavy weight fell to the floor.
There was silence.
She feared the import of that. If it had been her benefactor who had fallen, she was at Gaultier’s whim. A boot tread sounded on the floor and she closed her eyes in dread.
“Zounds, my lady, but you could have let another measure of the carpet burn,” Quinn said with frustration. “I feared to miss the villain and there is no honor in an untidy execution.”
It was Quinn! Melissande made a choked sound of relief and heard him cross the chamber. She heard his helmet land on the carpet. A flint was struck and a lantern lit. She glanced down at the fallen man and it was Gaultier. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, and his blood flowing with vigor from his wounds.
She wished she had given him more than one herself.
Then Quinn blocked her view, ushering her to the other side of the solar. He removed the cloth bound over her mouth and untied her hands, his own brow furrowed in concern as he examined the rising bruise on her temple. He touched the rope burns on her wrists, his hands roving over her as he checked for injuries.
“I am well enough,” she said, hearing the quiver in her own voice. He met her gaze and she smiled at him. “I feared you trusted overmuch in your companion, but you never left Annossy.”
He grinned and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “There is no advantage in leaving the prize undefended,” he said and touched his lips to her brow. It was far less than she wanted of him in this moment.
“This was a trap you set,” she whispered.
“That it was.” He left her for a moment to open the portal and call for assistance from below, then stopped by the bed before he returned. He lifted Gaultier’s unsheathed knife, which he had retrieved from the floor. “I am glad I returned it to you.”
“I was surprised that you did.”
“I think it is right and good for a woman to be able to defend herself against a man determined to take what is not his to claim,” Quinn said, his voice a low rumble. “And I trusted you not to use it against me.”
“A confident assumption, sir.”
“One of us had to make a concession, if we were to establish a truce.” He raised a hand, humor in his expression. “I wagered it would have to be me.” He watched her, waiting.
Melissande nodded. “I think our truce is made. I am sorry again, Quinn, sorry that I have been too stubborn to appreciate your merit. I am sorry that I did not tell you of the second entry to the solar.”
“But you feared you might have to defend the prize of Annossy against me.” He eyed her. “Do you still?”
Melissande shook her head with vigor. “Nay, Quinn. Nay.”
He crossed the chamber with undisguised satisfaction and folded her into his embrace once more. Melissande felt then that he was shaking as well and closed her eyes at the steady sound of his heart. She wanted to be no other place in the world, and smiled when she felt his kiss against the top of her head.
It would steady him to tell her what he had done, so she asked. “What of the mill? Was it attacked?”
“Aye, but we surprised them. The brigands have been escorted to Annossy’s dungeon and I shall have the pleasure of seeing them again when first we hold court together.”
“Three days after next full moon is too soon,” Melissande said with heat. “Leave them wait until after the next one.”
Quinn chuckled, his breath in her hair and his arms tightly wrapped around her. “We think alike in this matter, my lady.”
She tipped back her head and found him smiling at her, that glint of lazy intent in his amber gaze. “We do,” she agreed. “I feared I would not have the chance to tell you that I love you, my lord husband.” She watched his brows rise and relief light his eyes.
“Surely you might call me by my name when you make such a declaration,” he teased and Melissande smiled.
She reached up and framed his face in her hands. “I love you, Quinn de Sayerne. I am sorry that I did not see sooner how well matched we are.” She shook his tabard a little. “Now, do what you must and do it quickly. I would have you come to bed that I might prove my love to you.”
Melissande saw Quinn’s eyes flash before he bent and captured her lips with his own, claiming her with another of his seductive and potent kisses. This time, however, she met him touch for touch, surrendering her all to him willingly.
She was well pleased when he groaned and lifted her against him, his kiss tasting of relief and a passion that answered her own.
It was not done.
Quinn felt as much in his bones, but he pretended that the death of Gaultier and the arrest of the brigands saw all questions resolved at Annossy. To his dismay, he discovered that Melissande’s confession of love did not set his final doubts to rest. Instead, he wondered if she strove to falsely win his confidence. How he hated his suspicions! But her confession had been timely, and she had not been the one to tell him of the way to enter the keep from the side opposite the gates. She also had not been able to recall the location of the path to Perricault, or so she insisted. As much as he wanted to believe her, Quinn feared he would regret granting his trust.
There had been one brigand who had escaped at the mill.
It was not done.
But in the meantime, Quinn and Melissande labored together so amiably that he wished their marriage had been made of their own choice, for then he could have trusted his wife. She taught him of ledgers and of Annossy’s courts. He learned of measures and makers, while he taught her about arms and defense. At night, each night, they met abed in mutual pleasure. His men worked upon strengthening the defenses of Annossy and he came to better know the villagers.
By May, the execution of the brigands was a memory of another time. The coin he had placed in the miller’s second treasury had not appeared. None of the caught brigands had it, and indeed, there was a discrepancy between the hoard in their possession and the miller’s inventory. Quinn made light of it, but he wondered at the identity of that escaped rider. When he rode to hunt, he sought a path to Perricault through the mountains.
There were only two reasons in his estimation that Melissande would not have told him of it: either she truly did not know, or she was complicit with whoever used that path.
He knew which answer he preferred.
If it had not been for that detail, Quinn might have always been Lord d’Annossy, for he seemed to have been accepted by all. There was a goodly company of villeins wishing to accompany him to Sayerne to till the fields, more than enough to see the work done. Most of them had come from Sayerne, fleeing his own father’s abuse, and wished to rebuild the homes they had known. He was honored that they trusted him to govern them fairly—and truly, he had learned so much from Melissande about such matters that he had more confidence in his own ability to do so.
Something had gone awry between Bayard and Berthe, for it seemed that Niall was the one most often talking to the maid, while Bayard glowered at the pair from the board. Perhaps Bayard had chosen not to court Berthe. Perhaps she had spurned him. Quinn felt he had said more than enough.
His fellows had begun to watch for Rolfe, for none of them could imagine that he would miss the promised meeting. There was much jesting about Rolfe with a bride, and considerable curiosity about that lady’s appearance and nature. His comrades made plans to continue north after the reunion, making their own progress home, and Quinn knew he would miss their companionship. He had offered them all employ, if they chose to stay, but thus far, only Bayard had indicated that he might do as much.
Three months to the day after his marriage to Melissande, Quinn awaited his lady wife in the bailey. He held the reins of her palfrey and as ever, his heart leapt at the sight of her as she appeared in the hall. She was more than a beauty. She was clever and just, protective of those beneath her hand and a competent administrator. Her passion had been awakened by their marriage and he thought that she was a little quicker to reveal her feelings to others than she had been.
She smiled at him as she reached his side. “I thank you for your patience, sir,” she murmured. “And apologize for the delay.”
“You know I would have waited until noon,” he said gallantly and her smile broadened.
“Even though you wished to leave at dawn.”
He lifted her into the saddle and she bent to whisper in his ear. “It is the child,” she admitted softly. “I am ill in the mornings, because of the child.”
Quinn blinked, astonished.
Melissande laughed, clearly pleased with his response.
“When?” he whispered to her, well aware that the company awaited them.
“Who can say? It has only just begun. I suspect the babe will arrive in January, well within Tulley’s dictate of a year from our nuptials.”
Sayerne would be his, if the child was a boy.
Quinn went to his own steed in a daze, realizing that he did not care as much as once he had about claiming the seal of Sayerne. He hoped that Tulley would surrender it to him in time, but his concern was for the welfare of Melissande and the health of the child, regardless of its gender. Was there a midwife in Annossy? There must be, and he must ensure her skill. He might wish to send to Tulley for one of greater experience.
They rode out as he marveled at these tidings, the company trailing behind them in a long ribbon. Quinn rode at the front, Michel carrying his standard before him, Melissande on his left. His comrades, Thierry and Bayard, rode behind them and on either side. Amaury and Luc remained at Annossy to ensure its defense in his absence. There, the villeins had begun to tend the vines, pruning away winter’s damage. There were wagons aplenty in the party, burdened with palettes and linens, food and crockery for Quinn’s stay at Sayerne. Louis accompanied them, as did George’s apprentice and two serving maids from the kitchen, as did Berthe.
The villeins who had chosen to move followed the supplies, with their carts and children and horses. In many cases, they brought all their possessions. Lothair and Niall rode at the vanguard of the party with their squires. The party was filled with an optimism for the future, one that was fed by the bright sunlight and the greening of the meadows.
They would reach Sayerne by noon and then the work would begin.
A child!
Truly all goodness came to Quinn’s hand. He smiled at Melissande and she smiled back at him, her eyes alight. He dared to wish that trust would blossom fully between them.
And soon.
Arnaud de Privas watched the procession leave Annossy’s gates. Although he stayed under the shadow of trees that he might not be spied, he could still identify Melissande’s figure.
His gaze lingered upon the man by her side. A champion and a knight, a crusader and her legal husband, as dictated by Lord de Tulley. Quinn de Sayerne was the obstacle to Arnaud gaining all that he desired—he had also dispatched Gaultier. Arnaud hoped that Marie’s nephew had been loyal to the last and held his tongue.
It was unfortunate to have lost such an ally within the very walls of Annossy, but Arnaud had no doubt of his own success. Within days, his plans would come to culmination. He smiled in anticipation of delivering the death blow to Quinn himself. They would have to hunt to feed this company at the wasteland that was Sayerne, and accidents at hunt were so easily arranged.
Indeed, Arnaud had an affection for the hunt. This time, however, he would hunt neither boar nor stag. He would hunt the Lord d’Annossy himself but no one would ever convict him. He had done as much before, having dispatched the Lord de Perricault, and he would do it again.
It was so simple.
Arnaud was already Lord de Perricault and would be a widower before the day was out. He would wed Melissande after Quinn’s demise, become Lord both of Annossy and Sayerne, and Tulley would be obliged to return Privas to his hand. Melissande could administer them for him, for she was skilled with such details—unlike Marie, who had proven to be only a demanding expense—and he could do whatsoever he chose for all the rest of his days and nights.
Perfect.
Or it would be, once Quinn was dead.
Arnaud could not wait.
Sayerne.
Melissande had not visited the holding ever in her recollection and she was uncertain of Quinn’s ultimate plan. Did he mean to make his court at Annossy or Sayerne? Or had he not decided as yet? He had been vague when she asked, but perhaps he wished to assess his father’s holding with a clear eye.
She could be of aid in that.
Melissande studied the holding as they rode closer, striving to see its merits instead of the taint of its history. Tulley wished the fields to be tilled and she could see by the furrows that the fields were extensive. The soil was dark and she eyed the angle of the sun.
“Well?” Quinn asked, evidently having taken note of her survey.
“It seems that the fields must enjoy many of the same advantages as those of Annossy,” she said. “The crops will be in bright sunlight all the day long, and the soil is so dark that it must be most fertile.” She nodded. “And most of it has lain fallow. You could till as much of it as you desire this year.”
“As much of it as can be tilled,” he agreed. “I spoke with one of the older villeins and he suggested a plan which was used with success in the past. There was a scheme as to which third was left fallow each year and I would follow with tradition.” He gestured to the north. “He said the oats did best in those fields.”
“Tradition oft is a good place to begin,” she said.
“And he said the barley did best to the south.”
“And the construction?”
“I will have them begin with the homes for the villeins and a rudimentary hall for our own use. The keep can be repaired and extended once the villagers have good shelter.”
“The forests are thin here,” Melissande noted. “Especially close to the keep itself.”
“Aye. We will have to ride far to the south to hunt with success, I would wager.”
“Do you mean to ride to hunt?”
“I thought to go on the morrow. Will you join me?”
Melissande touched her belly. “I think less time in the saddle might be better than more in these days.”
He frowned immediately. “Are you in discomfort?”
“Nay, nay.” She spoke quickly to reassure him. “But I find I prefer to have my feet on the ground.”
He nodded and looked at Sayerne again, his anticipation clear. “There is much to be done and I welcome your assistance.”
“Of course.”
“What do you think of offering some of the wood from Annossy here, when the road is widened to the mill?” Quinn suggested. “The firewood would be most welcome next winter and the villeins will have much labor this summer already.”
Melissande smiled agreement, liking his concern for those pledged to serve him. “It would be, and Annossy does not have need of it all.” They smiled at each other. “And I have a gift for your villeins, from Annossy, as well.”
Quinn turned to her with surprise.
“There is a collection of seeds from Annossy, so that they can begin their pottage gardens. They must eat before the crops are harvested.”
“I shall decree that they can trap hares,” Quinn said. “Doubtless there will be an abundance of them.”
“And the swineherds vowed to bring piglets to Sayerne for those who wished one.” She nodded as they entered the village, sobering at the condition of the homes. “It will be a hard summer, Quinn, but the Yule will be a merry one this year.”
“They seem glad to return.”
She nodded, glancing back to note their reactions. Some were in tears, joyful tears. “Many lived here for generations. Their kin are buried here. Their memories are here.” She reached out and placed her gloved hand upon his. “You are not the only one coming home, sir.”
Quinn turned his hand over so he could grasp her hand, and gave her fingers a squeeze. “I would not know where to begin without your tutelage these past months.”
She could see that he was assessing the damage and choosing where best to begin.
“Keep Louis with you, for his counsel is most good,” she advised and Quinn nodded. “And if you can hunt on the morrow, or send your companions to do as much, a feast in Sayerne’s hall for those who have returned will be most welcome.”
“Your counsel is good, as ever, my lady,” Quinn said, lifting her hand and placing a kiss upon its back. “I am fortunate beyond all men in my bride.” Their gazes met and held and she almost asked for his plans.
But there was a shout from the vanguard and Quinn looked over the company, his eyes narrowed.
“A party arrives!” Niall shouted, gesturing to the road. Sure enough, there was a cloud of dust on the road to Tulley, and a group of horses riding hard for Sayerne.
Melissande recognized Tulley’s banner and caught her breath. “God in Heaven,” she whispered. “I hope that he has brought provisions to aid in the feeding of his company.”
