One Knight's Return, page 32
“You survived well enough.”
“Survived?” Arnaud cried. “After Tulley seized Privas, I starved. After Tulley took every denier of my legacy, I had naught, not even a steed. I would have died if I had not had my wits. Even then, he spread poisonous lies about my nature, spilling them into every listening ear. I had to go far, nigh all the way to Paris, then come back slowly and with stealth.”
“You did not have to come back at all.”
“Privas is my legacy.”
“Not when Tulley holds the seal.”
“And I will hold it again,” Arnaud snarled.
“Marie de Perricault was useful, then.”
“She was rich and had a title.” His tone was gloating. “And she admired me greatly, a sign of her exquisite taste.”
“Sadly, she was wedded.”
He smiled. “Not for long.”
“I thought she had another suitor, Gaultier de Lonvaux.”
“He was too young to appreciate her advantages. I lured him away from her with tales of Annossy and your beauty, my Melissande.”
“Mine!”
Arnaud winced. “Marie, sad as it may be, was no beauty, although she had her passions.”
“You speak of your lady wife as if she is no longer of this world.”
Quinn could not believe that Melissande was speaking at such length with this villain—and then he realized that she must know of his presence. She must be ensuring that he learned the full extent of Arnaud’s crimes.
She must guess that he would strike, and she wanted Quinn to have no doubts.
Zounds, but his lady wife knew him well.
“She might not be,” Arnaud said. “I will be a widower before the sun sets this day. I might be one already.”
“I do not understand.”
“Marie was very fond of her wine. When I left Perricault three days ago, I left an allotment for her from my personal store. Quite special wine. You will appreciate that when I tell you it is from Annossy. I opened it to ensure its quality for my lady wife, then added an herbal augmentation for her pleasure.”
“Poison,” Melissande whispered. “Is that how her husband died?”
Arnaud laughed. “His time had come, unfortunately.”
“But surely a physician will treat her?”
“Ah.” Arnaud shook his head. “Tragically, the physician has gone to Lyons to acquire supplies and will not return for a fortnight. No one will remember that I suggested it would be a good time for him to go.” He shrugged. “No one recalled that I made the suggestion he make a similar journey just before Marie’s husband met his end.”
“But twice in succession,” Melissande said. “Surely, someone will suspect foul play?”
“Marie always has a sour stomach. It is likely a result of her continuous overindulgence. Even if there is suspicion, I am far away at hunt.”
“You do not hunt boar,” Melissande accused.
Arnaud chuckled. “Nay, I do not.”
He leaned forward, eyes shining. “Take my wager, Melissande, for then you will live to see the morrow.”
“Never!” she spat and ducked.
Quinn did not hesitate. He loosed the bolt.
And he was glad when it sank home.
One moment, Arnaud was taunting her.
The next, something whistled over her head, Arnaud’s sword fell into the river and he made a gurgling sound. Melissande straightened to see a crossbow bolt in his throat and his blood flowing. He looked suitably horrified and reached for the shaft of the bolt but she knew he would never dislodge it. She retreated with haste.
Quinn came charging through the undergrowth behind her, seized Arnaud from his saddle and hauled him down to the river. Arnaud fought him, but so ineffectually that he might have been wrought of straw. Quinn pulled his dagger and buried it in Arnaud’s chest.
“Cut out his filthy black heart,” Melissande said with fervor. She held on to the destrier’s reins with trembling hands.
Arnaud glared at Quinn through half-closed eyes. “Curse you,” he whispered, and the blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Without you, four estates would have been mine, if not more.”
Quinn grimaced. “Without your own cursed greed, you would have had the finest bride in Christendom and that should have been more than sufficient for any man.”
Arnaud gave a long low moan and his breathing halted. Quinn pulled out his knife and let the other man fall into the water. He shook his head and stepped away, then turned to study Melissande.
“I saw him. I feared he meant to kill you,” she said when he did not speak. “I could not let that happen.
Quinn nodded ruefully. “And so you prove to me that I should not have withheld my trust. I think, my lady, that we are better allied than at odds.”
She smiled, for their thoughts were as one. “Aye, Quinn, that we are.”
“A veritable force to be reckoned with,” he said, giving her that seductive slow smile. Melissande could not look away. He held out his hand to her and she seized it, so grateful for his constancy and strength. She clung to his fingers and Quinn must have felt her tremble. He swept off his cloak and wrapped it securely about her shoulders, then lifted her into his arms. “Are you hurt?”
“Cold and wet. No worse than that.”
“And I shall see both resolved with all haste.” Quinn carried her to Fortitude, then led the destrier back to the path. He found Niall and the boys there and sent them to load Arnaud’s corpse onto his horse.
They returned to Sayerne in quiet triumph, a slow but successful procession, with rather more kill than had been expected. Niall had also taken a stag in addition to the one Quinn had felled, and between him and the boys, they had dozens of hares, pheasants and even a brace of eggs. The sun was setting when they approached the gates and Bayard led a party out to aid them.
Quinn carried Melissande to the solar where Berthe helped her to change to dry garb, and he himself was glad of a wash and a change. By the time he led her to the hall, he could smell roasted meat and hot soup. Tulley was at the board, with Heloise by his left hand, and had been apprised of the entire tale by Niall. The older man was nodding with satisfaction.
Quinn could not help but notice that Heloise was gazing at Niall with adoration.
He winced when he noted that Niall bowed and smiled at her.
“And so our champion returns in triumph!” Tulley said, standing to applaud Quinn. “Not only have you routed the brigands from Annossy’s borders, and begun to rebuild Sayerne, but you have dispatched this villain.” He seized his cup and held it high.
Michel hastened to bring a cup of ale to Quinn and another to Melissande. He felt a surge of heat when she smiled at him, her magnificent eyes filled with pride.
“All hail, Quinn de Sayerne, Lord d’Annossy,” Tulley said, then chuckled before he continued. He lifted his cup a little higher. “And Lord de Sayerne.”
Melissande lifted her glass to Quinn. “All hail,” she said and sipped of it.
Quinn nearly choked. “But I am not Lord de Sayerne,” he whispered to Melissande.
The lady’s smile did not waver. Indeed, she looked most pleased with herself.
“Indeed, Quinn, you speak aright,” Tulley said. He cleared his throat and removed a familiar item from his purse. “Your lady wife made a most ardent and persuasive argument on your behalf this day while you were at hunt. Indeed, if I did not already agree with her assessment of your abilities, I might have been insulted.”
The company laughed lightly, though Quinn doubted it was a jest.
“As it stands, however, I do agree.” Tulley waved the seal. “Come here, Quinn, bend your knee and be endowed with your legacy and your heart’s desire.”
He still could not believe it, but Melissande squeezed his hand. “Go,” she whispered. “Lest he change his mind.”
They shared a smile before Quinn bowed before Tulley. Tears pricked at his eyes when the weight of the seal was in his hand, and he could scarce catch his breath. He felt as if his mother was watching him with pride, and that was potent, indeed. Then he turned to offer his hand to Melissande who crossed to his side with a smile that filled him with mingled pride and desire. He knew then that his wife possessed an even more potent sorcery, and his heart swelled with joy as he kissed her hand before the company.
“If only Rolfe were here,” Thierry said. “Our company would be completely assembled in Tulley.”
“Rolfe?” Tulley himself said. “Rolfe de Viandin?”
“Aye, the last of our comrades,” Quinn confirmed.
“Of course, he is not here. He is Lord de Viandin and has returned home with his mother and his bride to administer his holding,” Tulley huffed. “I saw them wed myself at Beauvoir at the Yule.”
“You might say the match was of your doing, Uncle,” Heloise contributed.
“It was the match I made, but not when I made it,” Tulley complained. He shook his finger at Heloise. “And there is the evidence that people, particularly unwed people, should do as they are bidden from the outset.”
Heloise eyed Niall and sighed. “Aye, Uncle.”
“I do not understand,” Quinn said.
“I matched them,” Tulley admitted. “But Annelise would not wed a man she had not met, even though he was a knight. Truly, Quinn, your sister did not inherit your mother’s obedient nature...”
“Praise be to God for that,” Melissande murmured.
“Annelise?” Quinn repeated, unable to contain his incredulous response. “My sister, Annelise, is wedded to Rolfe de Viandin?”
“Aye,” Tulley said easily. “First she intended to return to the convent and Yves was to escort her there before riding to Paris, but evidently, meeting Rolfe aided her in seeing the merit of my scheme.”
“My sister is wedded to Rolfe?” Quinn repeated, his voice rising.
“You know him?” Melissande whispered.
“As the greatest rogue of all,” he replied. “Your maid would not know where to begin, were she to chastise him.”
“Oh!” Melissande replied.
“We should all have the good fortune to be rogues like Rolfe but well-wedded in the end, all the same,” Niall said with merriment. He began to laugh, and his other companions soon followed.
Tulley looked between them all without comprehension. “It is a good match,” he said, his tone insulted. “And I believe she is with child already.”
Melissande leaned on Quinn’s side and gave him a warning glance. Aye, it would not do to insult Tulley in this moment. Quinn bowed. “I thank you, sir, for ensuring my sister’s welfare.”
“I was most glad to do it,” Tulley said.
“And I will kill Rolfe myself if he serves her poorly,” Quinn growled, much to the amusement of his fellow knights.
“Oh, he will not,” Tulley said. “His mother is most fierce in ensuring that women are treated with dignity.”
“And what of my brother, Yves?” Quinn asked. “Do you know his location?”
“Nay. He intended to return to the tourneys near Paris. I have no doubt he will fare well and gain the attention of a pretty heiress.” Tulley did not appear to be concerned, though Quinn had a hundred questions about his younger brother. The older lord sniffed the air with appreciation. “Is that the soup at last?”
There was naught more tragic, in Berthe’s view, than catching the eye of a man of merit then losing it again. Since Bayard had given her the vial of perfume, she had been unable to think of any man other than him. If the scent within it was possessed of power, though, it was fickle. For Bayard appeared to have no further interest in her—indeed, he had scarce spoken to her since that evening—while his companion, Niall MacGillivray, could not be avoided. He taunted her in the kitchens, when she was en route to serve her lady, when she passed through the hall and when she was in the gardens. Each time she turned around, there was Sir Niall, always ready with a compliment or a pretty word, not a one of them worth the trouble of listening.
And she had thought Bayard a rogue. The word might have been invented to refer to this knight, with his seemingly endless appetite for charming women. Even when he seemed bent upon seducing her, Berthe saw his gaze drift over her shoulder when another maiden passed by. His fulsome praise was without merit. His flattery was as dust for its worth and nigh as plentiful.
If Bayard had deigned to speak with her, she might have granted him more encouragement than once she had. But he was always with Lord Quinn or taking an errand for him, following his lord’s dictate or tending his steed. He seemed most serious since the arrival of their companions, and while Berthe appreciated this side of his nature, she would have liked more of his attention. It was no wonder his armor shone so brilliantly, for he was always polishing it, though she thought that was the task of a squire.
She had hoped to speak to him on the ride to Sayerne, but he had never so much as glanced her way in the bailey of Annossy. She had ridden alongside Sir Niall in the vanguard, hoping that might vex Bayard into speaking with her, but he did not appear to have noticed. And now, Sir Niall was encouraged that his pursuit of her might bear fruit. She had been glad when he had ridden to hunt with Lord Quinn at first light—though still Bayard had eluded her company all the day long.
To her surprise—and relief—Sir Niall had taken one look at the Lord de Tulley’s niece and appeared to have forgotten all others in the hall. He even seemed to have forgotten how to speak, for no pretty compliments fell from his tongue. He simply stared at the maiden and it had only been the tale of the success of their companion in wedding Lord Quinn’s sister that had recalled him to his senses.
A fellow rogue, apparently, but one Berthe hoped was reformed.
The men then went to wash before the meal, and Berthe wondered if Lord de Tulley would consume it all before their return.
Lady Heloise could not seem to tear her gaze away from Sir Niall as he left. “Knights,” she whispered to her maid.
Sir Niall for his part, turned in the portal to grant her a charming smile and a bow.
Berthe heard the lady’s sigh of yearning.
She did not tell Tulley’s niece that Sir Niall could never be the knight of her imagination. He would never be content with one woman for more than a night.
If even that long.
For her part, she watched Bayard, wishing he would glance her way again. She would not so waste the opportunity if it came once more.
But he was striding after Sir Niall, his brow dark.
Berthe followed, intrigued.
Sir Niall halted when Bayard tapped him on the shoulder. He pivoted to find Bayard in his path.
“You!” Bayard said, pointing at Niall with such annoyance that Berthe was intrigued.
“Me,” Niall replied with a smile, gesturing to himself. He held up his hands, as if inviting all to admire him. “One glance and the lady is nigh mine. This will be a conquest of the heart to eclipse all others.”
“Make no jest of this,” Bayard fumed. “You treat a maiden with indignity and you think the matter no more than a moment’s amusement.”
Niall flicked a glance toward the hall. “I treat no lady with indignity,” he began, but Bayard strode closer and shook a finger beneath his nose.
“I speak of Berthe,” he growled and she felt her heart flutter.
“Berthe?” Sir Niall echoed, as if he had forgotten her existence.
“Aye, Berthe,” Bayard said with force. “All these months, you have courted her and tried to seduce her. I stood back when she seemed to welcome your attention...”
“As well you should,” Niall replied, folding his arms across his chest. “A wise man always cedes to greater expertise.”
“Greater expertise?”
“Aye. All know that I am the champion on the field of love. You might have watched more closely and learned something.” Sir Niall shook his head. “But that one, that maid, she is a frosty one. No man will ever slip between her thighs.”
“While you think Tulley’s niece will welcome you?” Bayard retorted.
Sir Niall smiled. “Perhaps I will wed her with Tulley’s blessing. If Rolfe can win that man to his side, it clearly can be accomplished with charm and persistence. Rolfe has no more a measure of either than I do.”
“And what of Berthe?”
“What of Berthe? She is pretty enough, but she is a maid not a noblewoman. She can give me little but a merry night, and she did not even give me that. Indeed, I have not had a kiss. It was well enough to amuse us both over the lonely winter months, but now there are better prospects. What of Berthe, indeed?”
Berthe gasped that he could be so callous, but neither man heard her for Bayard struck Sir Niall. The other knight swore as blood spurted from his nose then swung at Bayard. Within a moment, they were grappling for supremacy, but when Berthe stepped out of the shadows and cleared her throat, they froze and looked up.
“What a pair of ruffians you are,” she said with disapproval. “Sir Rogue and your even more roguish companion. You ought both to be ashamed of yourselves, fighting like this in Lord Quinn’s abode.”
“Even more roguish,” Sir Niall repeated, obviously affronted.
Bayard cast him aside and stepped forward with a smile. “I take it that you do not approve of rogues,” he said, his voice low and his eyes dark.
If Berthe’s heart had fluttered before, that had been but a precursor to its wild movement now.
“I do not approve of rogues,” she said, bracing her hands upon her hips. “I do not approve of men who make promises they do not intend to keep, and I do not approve of men who take what they desire and grant naught in exchange.”
“I give plenty in exchange,” Sir Niall protested.
“Confide as much in Lady Heloise,” Bayard scoffed.
“I will.”
“Or better yet, to Lord de Tulley,” Berthe added. “He will be most interested in what you intend to grant. The confession might see you hanged.”
“Or gelded,” Bayard added.
Niall had the grace to flush. “You know little of it...” he began but Berthe dismissed him with a wave.
