One Knight's Return, page 9
It would be soon.
And there was no escape.
“Come along, my lady,” Berthe urged. “We do not want to keep your lord husband waiting. You have fared well in this match, my lady.”
“I think not,” Melissande managed to say.
“Aye?” Berthe’s cheer sounded forced to Melissande. “He is young and unmarred. He is handsome and strong, a knight no less, and an heir in his own right. You could have been wedded to an old friend of Tulley’s, a cripple of good lineage, or a man much enamored of his ale.” Melissande might have fought to remain in her garments, but she was helpless against Berthe’s efficiency. The maid turned her around and removed her clothing quickly. Even the hope of remaining in her chemise was overcome. “You might have been bound to widower with a houseful of children, all determined to despise you because you are not their mother. You might have been...”
All too soon, Melissande was nude and bathed and being hustled toward the bed.
“I thank you, Berthe,” she said as she climbed into the bed. At least the linens would offer some modesty. “I shall count myself fortunate, with your counsel.”
“You do not sound convinced, my lady.”
“I suspect you are sufficiently convinced for both of us.”
Berthe scoffed, then kneeled on the bed. She unbraided Melissande’s hair and combed it out. “Do not concern yourself with this night’s task, my lady,” she said. “Your lord husband is a kind man, any woman could see that, and I am certain that you have naught to fear on this night.”
He was Jerome’s son.
She had no notion of whether his nature was deceitful or not.
And they would be alone together all the night long.
Melissande gripped the linens in dread. The sound of men’s voices came from outside the door and her heart skipped. Any effect from the wine seemed to be dismissed, leaving her both cold and uncertain. The men fell into silence outside the door, then a knock resonated through the quiet room.
It sounded imperious to Melissande. Commanding. Would Quinn command all her choices from this day forth, as was his right?
“Good evening,” Berthe called.
“Good evening, my lady,” roared one who might have been Bayard. “We found a gift for you in the hall!”
“Wretch,” Berthe whispered, fighting a smile, and rose to open the door. She did not reach it, though before it burst open. Quinn was shoved into the chamber, laughing and protesting. He clutched his tabard in one hand and his chemise was torn open. Laughter carried from the men outside the chamber. Melissande flushed as rude jests were made, knowing they would be seeking a glimpse of her.
“Spare the lady’s gentle ears!” Quinn insisted, but he was ignored.
Melissande could not look away from the skin revealed by Quinn’s gaping chemise. His skin was bronzed, no doubt from the sun in the East, and there was a dark patch of hair upon his chest. His sleeves were pushed up and she could see his forearms. She blinked and stared, even as Berthe made a quiet hum of approval.
A lady should have no interest in her husband’s physical charms. Melissande burrowed beneath the covers, feeling the weight of every curious male eye upon her.
“Come, Quinn,” Bayard said. “It is time to put you to bed with your bride.”
He might have followed his comrade into the chamber, but Berthe blocked his progress. His eyes twinkled as he surveyed the maid, but she held her ground. Indeed, she braced her hands on her hips. “You will do no such deed, sir,” she said, though she did not seem like a formidable obstacle to the knight.
“Do you deny me, wench?” Bayard said.
“Aye, I deny you and all your kind,” Berthe said, making a shooing motion with her hands. “Away with you, all of you rogues and knaves!”
“But we must put Quinn to bed,” Bayard said with a grin.
Berthe swatted his shoulder and he blinked in surprise. “You will not!”
“I can manage the feat alone,” Quinn interjected. There was determination in his tone and he moved to stand beside Berthe.
“But...” Bayard protested.
“It is time that you were leaving, sir rogue,” Berthe said.
“Sir Rogue!” the other men echoed, then laughed.
Berthe did not smile. “My lady welcomes only one man to her chamber and it is a finer man than you.”
“But it is tradition!” Bayard argued. He yelped when Berthe reached up and grasped his ear. Evidently, she was not gentle. The other men erupted into gales of laughter as she tugged Bayard toward the door.
“But naught,” she said. “Out with you, Sir Rogue. It should be clear to even the most dim-witted soul that a man and a woman need their privacy at this moment. How much of a fool are you that you cannot see the truth?” Berthe hauled him into the corridor by his ear, much to the delight of the other men.
They chanted “Sir Rogue” as they followed, laughing.
“I am no fool,” Bayard argued. “And I am no rogue.”
“And how would I know?” Berthe demanded. “I might have expected finer behavior from a knight, especially one who has taken up the cross and gone to the Holy Land, but it is clear that I have overestimated you...”
Berthe continued her lecture, Bayard continued to object and the other men kept chanting.
Quinn flicked the door closed with his fingertips. He dropped the latch, then turned to face Melissande. She watched him over the linens, her palms damp.
“Alone,” he said softly.
“Aye.”
The fire crackled and Quinn slowly smiled. That smile would be Melissande’s undoing, she knew it well.
“Hail, my lady wife,” he said softly. “Well met.”
Perhaps it would be his low murmur that tumbled her defenses forever.
Melissande swallowed. “Hail, husband,” she replied in a whisper.
The moment of their consummation was upon her and the wine had abandoned her to her fate.
She supposed it was too late to pray.
His wife resembled nothing more than a cornered and terrified rabbit. Quinn laid his tabard aside, moving slowly that he might not frighten her even more.
She peeked over the linens and her gaze was locked upon him. Her eyes were wide and of a darker emerald in her uncertainty. Quinn knew then that this consummation would not be achieved as easily as he had hoped.
Sayerne hung in the balance. That was both a sobering and a fortifying thought. The certainty that Tulley would rap on the door with the very dawn in search of his evidence did little to help.
The deed must be done, though the lady was afraid.
Perhaps she knew little of what must transpire. Perhaps she had been told dire tales.
Either way, it was his responsibility to gain her trust in this. He must prove himself different than whatever she feared he would be.
“Ah, that Bayard is such a rogue!” he said, ensuring his tone was light. He considered his torn chemise and shook his head. “He never misses an opportunity for some jest or another. Mercifully, your maid treated him as he deserved. Sir Rogue,” he said and shook his head, laughing. “It is an apt title for him.”
Melissande remained silent but Quinn would not be so readily discouraged.
“What is her name? She looks to be a loyal one.”
“Berthe.”
A single word but it was more than before. “Was that not a fine meal?” he asked. “I could scarce believe Tulley’s cook concocted such a feast with such little notice. Tell me, are all cooks hereabout so talented, or is Tulley particularly fortunate?”
Melissande cleared her throat. Quinn did not look toward her, but removed his belt and set it aside.
“Tulley’s cook is particularly gifted even among those in the region. He has been here long.” Melissande spoke slowly and with care and Quinn imagined that she was still feeling some effect of the wine. He could see her lips now, above the barrier of the linens.
“Then I shall have to ensure I do not become plump, now that I am home,” he said amiably. Quinn heard a soft rush of his wife’s breath that might almost have passed for a laugh.
“I doubt that will transpire,” she said, with some of her earlier fire.
“Nay?”
“Given those raids, you will have labor aplenty defending Annossy’s borders.”
“Excellent. I have no desire to be idle. A knight should use his skills to good end, lest his abilities fade.” Quinn pulled off his shirt, unable to keep from glancing over his shoulder to see her reaction. Melissande hastily averted her gaze, but there was new color in her cheeks.
The evening showed more promise than just moments past.
Quinn strode over to the bed and sat on its edge, leaving on his chausses. Melissande put distance between them. She lay on her back, clutching the linens before herself like a shield.
She did not flee, though. Quinn took his time removing his boots before he turned to her anew. He leaned on the mattress, easing closer to her, and her eyes widened. She did not retreat, though.
“Do you think that I am too plump now?” he asked. Melissande did not seem able to keep her glance from darting over his bare chest.
“I think you are vain,” she replied, but her voice was breathless.
Quinn grinned as he leaned closer.
“Are you plump?” he asked.
“You know I am not.”
“Are you vain?”
“If you think I will display myself to you like a whore, you are doomed to disappointment, sir.”
So much for the effect of the wine. Her eyes were flashing with vigor.
“What needs to be done cannot be done with the linens between us.”
She glared at him. “Perhaps it need not be done. Perhaps an annulment would suit us both better.”
Quinn touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “Then you can greet Tulley in the morning and confess that truth to him.”
She smiled with obvious reluctance. “Do not tell me that a knight and crusader of your repute fears Tulley.”
“Of course, I fear him. He holds all that I desire in his grasp.” Quinn sighed. “If we do not consummate the match, I will put my own blood on the linens to ensure that Sayerne is not lost.”
She sat up abruptly then, forgetting the linens. “You would not!” The sheet slipped lower, revealing the softness of her throat and shoulders. He could see the gleam of her hair, but strove to hide his body’s reaction to her beauty.
Instead, he spoke deliberately. “I am willing to meet you abed. I am willing to do as Tulley decrees. I am not willing to lose my family holding. Are you?”
She exhaled. “Of course, you are willing,” she said with impatience. “You will have no pain.”
“Is that it?”
She held his gaze and nodded. “I am told it hurts.”
“Ah.” Quinn reclined beside her, apparently at ease, even as his thoughts flew. “I am given to understand that it is only the first time that hurts, and that only if there is haste.”
“I will not linger over this obligation,” she said through her teeth. “If it must be done, I would have it done and over and...”
“Oh, but I will linger,” Quinn vowed softly. He saw her inhale and reached out to touch a fingertip to her arm. He felt her go taut, then she compelled herself to relax. “Indeed, I would savor.” He let his finger wander toward her shoulder and the softness of her skin fairly made him dizzy with desire.
“Your eyes grow darker.”
“That is not the sole change, my lady.”
Her gaze swept over him and her eyes widened. “Close your eyes and I will cast away the sheet. Then we might put the ordeal behind us and sleep.”
Quinn chuckled. “Close my eyes? Never!”
“But...”
He rolled closer, letting his fingertip rise to her cheek. As before, his gentle touch seemed to disarm her or at least halt her protests. She stared at him, her eyes wide. He let his finger trail down her throat and surveyed her, liking that the line of her lips had softened slightly. “If I am to be condemned to only one night of lovemaking for the rest of my days, then be assured, my lady, I shall not keep my eyes closed.” He leaned closer and touched his lips briefly to hers. “And I pledge to do my utmost to ensure that it is not an ordeal.”
“After this, you will await an invitation,” she said, breathless.
“Then you cannot fault my scheme to be persuasive.”
Melissande pulled away. “I know that you will not sleep in a cold bed, even if mine is forbidden to you.”
Quinn sat back in surprise. “On our nuptial night, you are convinced that I will be unfaithful to you?”
“Like sire, like son,” she said. “Your father seldom slept alone, should the number of his bastards be any indication.”
“I have already told you that my father and I have naught in common. I left Sayerne because he and I did not agree. On that day, I vowed that I would not return while he drew breath and so it has been.”
Her lips worked as if she would ask a question of him but did not have the courage. He knew what question it must be, yet he did not have the urge to speak of his father’s crimes in this moment. “You offer only sweet words to see the deed done. Once you have had your way and your possession of your holding is secured, you will not be so sweet.”
His father had left a long shadow, indeed.
“Nay, Melissande,” he whispered, willing her to believe him. “That is not so. I will always treat you with dignity and honor, but I can only do as much if you grant me the opportunity.”
“If I surrender.” She bit out the words, her opinion of that most clear.
“If you meet me halfway,” Quinn countered and she met his gaze anew. “This is our wedding night. You cannot in fairness ask me to close my eyes. You cannot accuse me of infidelity before our match is even made. All I ask of you, Melissande, is a chance.”
She said naught.
He leaned toward her and she closed her eyes.
“If this is to be the only time we couple,” he murmured. “I would make the mating sweet. And I would look upon your beauty, if only this once.”
Melissande swallowed.
“I do not mean to hurt you.” Quinn lifted her fingers from the linens and took her hand within his. Her fingers were cold. “But you know that this task cannot be avoided on this night.”
She took a deep breath then she nodded, a decision clearly made. “You speak the truth,” she said. “Come to bed, husband, and do your deed.”
With that, Melissande flung back the linens and lay back against the sheets. She closed her eyes and placed her hands at her sides, her hands locked into fists.
She might have been a corpse.
Quinn’s astonishment was not enough to keep him from noting either her slender perfection or the ripe curve of her breasts.
It was certainly not sufficient to keep him from being insulted. A man of merit did not inflict his desire upon his wife—and he had told her that he would not. Quinn shoved to his feet and paced the width of the chamber.
“You do this apurpose,” he accused, shoving a hand through his hair.
“Apurpose?” she echoed, then sat up. Her eyes were bright with indignation. “Of course, I submit apurpose!”
Quinn found her vehemence reassuring. He understood her better when she was annoyed.
“Is that not what Tulley and now you want of me? I simply do your bidding from this day forward, like any dutiful wife.” This last was spat with a vigor that Quinn might have heeded under other circumstances.
“A dutiful wife!” he replied instead. “Now there is something I am not destined to enjoy!”
“Oh!” Melissande bounded from the bed to shake a finger beneath his nose. “If obedience in every matter is what you desire of me, then you should forgo Tulley’s test and let the match be annulled! I submit to this deed, sir, but I will not surrender every measure...”
Quinn barely heard her words, so transfixed was he by the cloud of gold that followed her leap from the bed. Melissande’s hair hung loose to her hips, fair gold with the sheen of the finest silk. It shimmered as she moved as though it possessed a life of its own, and in that moment, Quinn could think only of touching it.
He had never seen the like. Since he had left the Continent fifteen years past, Quinn had not glimpsed any sight so fine.
“What ails you, husband?” she asked, halting before him.
“Your hair,” he whispered in awe.
“You are not listening to my words.”
“I am too enchanted for mere words.”
Melissande folded her arms across her chest and retreated. “It is simply hair,” she said, but Quinn knew that she was flattered.
“There is naught simple about such beauty, my lady,” Quinn said. “It is like spun gold.” He reached out a hand. “May I touch it?”
Something of his wonder must have shown in his expression, for Melissande considered him for only a heartbeat before she nodded agreement. She turned slightly and Quinn stared at the majesty of the golden tresses cascading down her back. Her hair gleamed in the firelight and bounced slightly as she moved.
He took a step closer and was surprised to find a tightness lodged in his chest. Quinn reached out, noting how rough and heavy his hand looked in contrast to his lady’s splendor.
He hesitated, but he could not deny himself the temptation.
Her hair ran over his hand like a golden waterfall and slipped over his fingers as though it possessed a will of its own. It was soft beyond soft, silky and smooth. Quinn lifted a gleaming handful to his gaze and the sweet scent of his wife rose to tease his nostrils.
His body responded with a healthy vigor that caught him by surprise. He looked to his bride, but she kept her face studiously averted, her hands folded before her like a Madonna. Quinn glanced down and saw the rosy curve of her buttocks.
Then he could not help but look. He lifted her hair away, loving the feel of it as it spilled over his fingers.
