One Knight's Return, page 5
She wished she could see his worst before they wed. That was the truth of it. Then she would know better what to expect.
“Undoubtedly because they have all moved to the richer abodes,” he replied more harshly than he had thus far. His gaze bored into hers and Melissande took a step backward in trepidation. “Might I guess that some of them have moved no farther than Annossy?”
Melissande flushed. “I did not steal them, nor did I tempt them away. A villein of good sense will seek out a place where he might see his belly filled and his family sheltered. Your father ensured that most on his lands spent their nights in hunger.”
“Is it not an offense to harbor the villeins of another estate?”
He knew the law, against her expectation, and Melissande realized she would be a fool to underestimate him. “It is, but I merely showed charity to those in need of it.”
“Charity?” Quinn echoed and she felt her flush deepen.
“They were being abused. How could I turn them away?”
“And so your compassion was shown and appreciated. And now that they are no longer in peril, I will expect their return.”
Melissande caught her breath. “They are my villeins now.”
He arched a brow. “Will Tulley take your side in this, if I appeal to his court?”
“To what will they return? Ruined homes and empty larders, fields left fallow too long and no seed to plant? You must think beyond your own ambitions to their welfare. That is the task of a responsible baron.”
“I would ensure their welfare.”
“They would have to see it to believe as much of Jerome’s son. They are not fools, to be sure.”
Quinn folded his arms across his chest as he considered her, that slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Wretched man. She could not even think coherently when he looked at her thus.
She tingled.
“Perhaps I must ride to Annossy and make an appeal in your court, my lady. I wager you would like to see me kneel before you, as Lady of Annossy and source of justice there.”
The suggestion was surprisingly provocative and Melissande found herself at a loss for words. Quinn took another step closer, pressing his advantage, his gaze locked with hers. Melissande could not take a breath. She could feel his heat. She was snared by his intent gaze and she yearned for something she could not name.
Quinn could name it. Melissande would wager upon that.
“Do you mock the notion of me as judge?” she asked. “Or do you mock the notion of a woman as administrator?” She lifted her chin. “If so, I invite you to compare the state of Sayerne and Annossy, to see who fares better at this task.”
He raised a hand to her shoulder, resting its weight there as if he would draw her into his embrace. Melissande recognized the hunger within herself and knew that this would be war. They would battle for supremacy and, to her dismay, Quinn already had her body upon his side. She felt the shiver that rolled through her body, the heat that emanated from the weight of his hand upon her shoulder, and she knew that if he kissed her again, she would be lost.
She raised her hand to remove his. “We are not wed yet, sir,” she said with heat, knowing it was a feeble excuse.
He caught at her wrist and pulled her closer. “Nay, not yet,” he whispered, his voice so low and his tone so intimate that her knees were weakened. His gaze heated as he bent toward her and she felt a desire beyond what she had experienced before. Melissande was stretched to her toes, her breasts tantalizingly close to his chest. His proximity fanned the flames kindled by his earlier kiss, but Melissande would have died rather than confess this truth.
How could she be surprised that a barbarian knew best how to awaken her base urges?
Quinn bent and his lips were against her hair, his breath in her ear, and Melissande was shaken by the power of his touch. She averted her face in an attempt to hide her reaction, knowing it was only a matter of time before he had all he desired of her.
And then what? She would be discarded, like one of Jerome’s women, and left to fend for herself—without Annossy.
Her heart tore at the truth of it.
“Do not imagine, my lady, that you will compel me to defy Tulley,” Quinn whispered. There was steel in his tone and she heard the truth of his resolve. “I will not lose Sayerne. On this night, we must make our match and we must consummate it, by Tulley’s command. It need not be an ordeal, though you can make it so.”
Melissande twisted away from his whisper but glanced up. She was trapped then by the determination in his eyes. Despite herself, she recalled the brush of his lips over hers. Would he be gentle with her? Or did he seek only to disarm her? Her blood simmered, as if she was no better than a harlot.
“Scoundrel,” she whispered, hating how readily he fed such urges within her. “You care for only your own ends. I can see clearly that you are your father’s son.”
Quinn’s eyes flashed like lightning, but his grip did not tighten and his voice did not rise. Again, she glimpsed the power of his restraint and had to admire it. “My sire and I had naught in common,” he insisted. “You, my lady, will be the first to learn the truth of that.” Their gazes held for a long moment and Melissande knew she had engaged an opponent who would not readily retreat.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. He smiled that slow smile again, the one that undermined her belief in all she knew to be true, and she could scarce draw a breath.
“Perhaps we should seal our pledge anew,” he suggested, a rogue to his marrow. The mischievous glint in his eyes was so beguiling that Melissande did not move away in time.
Then Quinn bent and his mouth slanted across hers.
His kiss was firm, his lips coaxing, the strength of his hand on the back of her waist before she guessed what he was about. He did not claim, he did not possess: he invited, and that so astonished her that Melissande did not even consider making a protest.
Indeed, she surrendered and it was bliss. Quinn’s kiss was gentle and intimate, yet tempting all the same. It hinted of greater pleasures to come and made her heart race. He smelled of sun and leather and horses, but beneath it all was the heady scent of his own skin. He made a sound of surrender that pleased her greatly, then locked his arm around her waist, drawing her to her toes. Her breasts were crushed against his chest and his mouth opened, claiming her more boldly.
Nay, he feasted upon her, coaxing her response, and she let him.
Melissande was overwhelmed and awed—and more desirous of his touch than she could have believed possible. She guessed that this was not the first time for Quinn to kiss like this, that he knew she was innocent in such matters and tempered his own desire for her, but that awareness still did not check her response.
When he deepened his kiss, that warmth spread within her, destroying her ability to deny him and feeding her own desire. Melissande was aware of every fiber of her being; she tingled from head to toe; she burned for more of whatever he might give. She found herself pressing herself against his strength, her eyes closed in pleasure. His fingers fanned out against the back of her waist, holding her captive to the pleasure he was determined to give. When her own fingers slid into his hair, pulling him closer, she realized her folly.
He was trying to disarm her.
He succeeded with great haste.
She would be valued for her beauty and her womb, for her ability to give him sons—if indeed she could—while her wits and skill would be ignored.
He would train her, claim all she possessed, and discard her.
Then he would sacrifice Annossy to Sayerne.
“Nay!” Melissande tore her lips from Quinn’s and laid her hands flat on his chest to push him away.
He obediently retreated, though he watched her closely.
“We are not wed yet, sir,” she repeated, hearing the tremble in her voice. She felt rumpled and flustered as she never had before. Her skin was flushed and she knew that her cheeks were stained crimson. Her lips throbbed and she felt a new heat in the depths of her belly.
“Yet I find more promise in our union than earlier,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. His eyes glinted and again, she was treacherously close to be being beguiled.
Melissande shook her head, her fear rising. How could she forget what she knew of his kin? She wagged one finger at him. “You will beat me, as your father beat his women.”
Quinn shook his head with reassuring resolve and propped his hands on his hips. “I told you that we two were different,” he said with such conviction that even she was tempted to believe him. There was something about this man that made his pledges weighty. “I will never lay a hand upon you in violence. I will never compel you to welcome me to your bed.”
Did he speak the truth, or was she a fool to give his words any credit at all?
He was resolute, to be sure.
What did she know for certain? That he loved Sayerne as much as she loved Annossy. And in that was the trouble. Melissande did not wager that Quinn’s objectives would be readily put aside, for any reason.
“Even if I deny you this night?”
“I hope you will not,” he said solemnly, his gaze locked with hers. “For it will cost us both dearly.”
Melissande exhaled at the truth in that.
Then he smiled crookedly and reached to brush a finger gently across her cheek. “Be warned, my lady. I reserve the right to attempt to convince you to welcome me.”
Again, there was a playfulness in his manner, one that disarmed her for its unexpectedness. And that intimate rumble of his voice when he murmured. God in Heaven, the sound heated her to her toes! Melissande struggled against the sense that she could rely upon Quinn, knowing full well that he was manipulating her.
And with ease.
She was a fool. Surely she could not abandon her suspicions that he was behind the raids on Annossy as readily as that? She would not have put it past Jerome to have arranged such attacks in order to see his goal achieved.
What of his son?
A year’s ride from Palestine? What if he had been returned for a month or two, yet had not declared his presence before?
“Nay, you will not,” she said. “Indeed, I must have your pledge before we wed this day.”
“What pledge?” he asked warily.
“I may be compelled to marry you, and I may be compelled to welcome you this night, but after this night, you will come to my bed only if you are invited. You said yourself that you would not force yourself upon me.”
Quinn’s voice dropped and already Melissande knew him well enough to be warned that his temper was thinning. “I do not intend to lose my estate,” he said. “Remember that Annossy also hangs in the balance, my lady.”
“I have already agreed to the consummation of our match, but that will be the sum of our intimacy, until I so choose.”
“Ever after you would deny me?”
“Aye.”
“You know Tulley will desire that we produce a son.”
“Then you had best make haste to win my trust, sir.” She shrugged. “Or perhaps that son will be conceived this very night.”
“Why?”
Melissande flung out her hands. “I know naught of you, sir, and what I suspect is not encouraging. I will not be reduced to chattel without a fight.”
Quinn eyed her for a moment, then stepped closer. Melissande retreated from the resolve in his gaze, but Quinn did not halt. He closed the distance until Melissande found herself backed into the wall. Then he leaned over her and she closed her eyes that he might not see how keenly aware of his proximity she was.
“I offer that pledge, my lady, and I take your wager,” he whispered. “We both have need of a son and I intend to be...persuasive.” His lips brushed her cheek again and Melissande held herself taut.
Curse Tulley! Had she been a man, she would never have been in this position. Curse all men for their need to lord their power over women.
Curse Quinn for making her want to surrender.
The thought was so clear and the truth of it so resonant that Melissande clenched her fists.
“I will not be readily convinced,” she managed to say.
“I think otherwise,” he whispered, his breath fanning her cheek. Melissande kept her eyes closed, knowing that if he was smiling slightly, she would be lost. “I shall make you shiver,” Quinn vowed softly and she knew it was true. She felt his lips touch her cheek, as gentle as a butterfly, and it took all within her to keep from turning her head for another kiss. “I shall make you moan and I shall make you beg me to touch you. You will not invite me to your bed; you will entreat me. And we will conceive a son.” He kissed her ear and she found her back arching toward him, her hunger for his touch making her burn. “And then, we shall conceive another.”
His lips touched her jaw, his kiss leaving a trail of fire that made Melissande gasp with need.
His power over her was terrifying.
She had to stop his assault, no matter what it took.
“Never!” she said with vehemence. “I will never yield willingly to your embrace and I will never entreat you, sir!”
Quinn, of course, smiled that wretched smile.
“I shall take this as a challenge, my lady,” he murmured. His gaze swept over her features, his eyes glowing with such heat that he did, in fact, make her shiver.
He leaned closer and Melissande knew his intent. Desperate to escape his kiss, she ducked beneath his arm and fled for the door.
“You were not invited,” she whispered and saw his eyes flash. She lunged for the doorway, certain that Quinn would catch her and take his vengeance.
To her relief, she safely gained the portal. She flung herself into the corridor without a backward glance, then ran down its length. What had she done? What was in her mind to taunt him? Within hours, they would be alone, and he would beat her, just as Jerome had beaten his women.
She might not see the morning.
Melissande’s heart nigh stopped when Quinn bellowed from behind her. “My lady! You would test the patience of a saint—and I have already told you, I am no saint!”
She had finally prompted him to lose his temper.
And it was as fearsome as she had thought.
She ran.
It was only once Melissande had raced up the stairs to her assigned chamber, and locked the door behind herself, that she dared to halt and catch her breath. She listened, but no one pursued her.
Was it possible that Quinn’s fury only made him shout?
Or did he restrain himself until they were alone?
Melissande’s hands were shaking. She sat on a stool opposite the door and struggled to compose herself. In that moment, she realized that she had not thought once of Arnaud after Quinn had walked into Tulley’s chamber.
How fickle was she? One kiss and her word was worthless. Nay, one look and her vow was forgotten. At Quinn’s touch, she had forgotten her own reserve and even her dignity.
Much of what she valued was lost already—and their nuptial vows had not even been exchanged. Quinn de Sayerne would be the ruin of all she held dear.
Worse, Melissande was powerless to halt what Tulley had begun.
Quinn stormed into the bathing chamber near the stables, kicking open the heavy wooden door then slamming it behind himself. Three unfamiliar servants, as well as Michel, jumped and turned to regard him in surprise.
Ye gods, but Melissande d’Annossy could set his blood to boiling as never it had before! He had never been so infuriated—and that within a heartbeat of being so consumed with desire. Quinn felt vexed and challenged and ardent, all at the same time. It was a most confusing combination and one that left him riled beyond all.
And he had barely made the lady’s acquaintance. If she had been welcoming, this fire in his blood could have bode well for their match. As it was, he feared that he would yearn every day and night of his life, and she would ignore him.
But Tulley could not be denied. Quinn had to wed Melissande and he had to bed her, and he had to convince her to make their marriage one of merit.
He simply did not believe in this moment that it could be done.
She had granted him one night to conceive an heir. Oh, he would have to ensure that her pleasure was complete. Quinn shoved a hand through his hair in frustration. If only he had possessed an increment of Niall’s charm, or a measure of Amaury’s confidence with women. Quinn knew he was an unpolished suitor and Melissande’s refinement made him more keenly aware of his lack.
Surely this marriage could not cost him all?
Bayard was yet bathing, characteristically taking his leisure in the hot water. The room was filled with steam and the smell of wet cloth. A fire blazing within a brazier was the only source of light, but none of this tranquility soothed Quinn in the least. He paced the width of the chamber and back, ignoring the watchfulness of the others.
Could he successfully seduce Melissande?
Could he win her favor?
Michel approached him cautiously, the boy’s manner proof that Quinn’s bout of temper showed. “Would you bathe, my lord?”
“Aye.” Quinn bit out the word.
“Then we will need more hot water.” Michel gestured to one of Tulley’s servants, who hesitated. When Quinn glared, the man bowed hastily and fled the chamber, bucket in hand. Bayard laughed but Quinn did not so much as smile. He eyed the other servants who followed their comrade with haste.
“And what did the Lord de Tulley say that vexed you so mightily?” Bayard asked.
“It was not Tulley who vexed me,” Quinn admitted. “Though he struck the tinder.”
The other knight’s dark eyes gleamed with curiosity. “Bad tidings?”
“Bad enough.” Quinn shed his cloak and unbuckled his belt, aware of the filth layering his skin. He had to court Melissande and win her favor—though he doubted the extent of his charm and he felt the press of time.
Could the feat be done?
Or was Sayerne already lost?
“I do not think I have ever seen you in such a foul mood,” Bayard commented.
