Even the lady’s foul mood did not deter from the beauty of her heart-shaped face and slender form. Her green eyes were tipped upward at their corners and heavily lashed despite her fair coloring. They snapped with fury as she glanced toward him, as if he were guilty of some crime. Her very presence made Quinn aware of how long he had lived in the company of men. It seemed that she, too, had been rushed to this chamber, for a fine dark cloak lined with fur still hung over her shoulders and her gloves were yet in her hand.
She must have been in the small party that rode down the valley ahead of his own.
Quinn was not certain what to say to her or if he should speak to her at all. In all honesty, he recalled few of the niceties of polite society. The company of noble ladies was a distant recollection for him and he had never possessed the easy charm of a knight like his comrades Amaury or Niall.
He considered his own garb and knew he would have to improve his wardrobe before he sought a bride.
“Lord de Tulley?” he said, knowing his voice dropped lower in his effort to appear composed. The lord’s smile seemed genuine and Quinn dared to hope that all was not lost.
“Aye, Quinn. I suspect that you barely recall our last meeting.” The lord rose from his chair and rounded the desk to shake Quinn’s hand. “You were only a boy, then. You have grown tall these twenty years.”
“Aye, sir. And I thank you for your support.” Quinn regarded the older man with surprise at his unexpected familiarity. He recalled those bright blue eyes and the relentless set to the older man’s lips. He also recalled Tulley being stern and uncompromising. Although the thick mane of white hair was new, there was a vigor in the lord’s grasp that recalled a long-ago summer afternoon to Quinn’s mind.
“It was you who sent me to earn my spurs and bade me seek my fortune,” he said.
The lord nodded as he released his hand. “Aye. I always knew that you would grow up straight and true, despite the challenges laid at your door.” He looked Quinn in the eye again. “How are matters at Sayerne?”
Quinn flicked a glance to the silent lady, disliking that he had to confess the truth before her.
Although, it seemed impossible that she could think less of him.
“Neglected,” he admitted.
The lady sniffed at his admission and averted her face. Obviously, she thought the fault was his and Quinn immediately longed to defend himself. That she evidently thought little of him was something he should not find troubling. Bayard had warned him often enough of the fickleness of noblewomen for Quinn to let such a judgment concern him.
He fired a hostile glance in her direction when the lord turned away. She held his gaze boldly and something sparked between them, something that put a flush in her pale cheeks and a fire in his own blood. She averted her gaze again, tossing her head like a filly objecting to the bridle.
Tulley paced behind his desk. “You appear undaunted by Sayerne’s state,” the older man mused. His manner was much that of a cat toying with a mouse and Quinn eyed him before he responded.
Surely the lord did not intend to grant Sayerne to another? Quinn realized suddenly that the missive had only summoned him here. It had not mentioned his investiture, although he had assumed...
Quinn resolved to learn the truth in short order.
“Sayerne is my inheritance,” he said with care. “And there is naught wrong with the holding that hard work will not put right.”
The lady folded her arms across her chest. “And who will do this work, now that your abused villeins have fled?”
“It is only natural that villeins would leave an estate without a lord,” Quinn countered. “I am convinced that they will return when they hear that I have arrived and intend to rebuild.”
“You?” The lady scoffed. “Surely the arrival of the son of Jerome de Sayerne will have no appeal for his tenants!”
That he should be accused by a stranger of being like his father prompted Quinn’s anger as naught else could. He had never abused another. He had never cruelly taken whatever he desired and ignored the repercussions. He was as different from his father as a man could be, and he was different by choice.
“If the villeins cannot be troubled to learn the manner of man I truly am, then I shall rebuild without such fools in my service,” he retorted. “Should I be obliged to do so, my lady, you may rest assured that I will rebuild Sayerne, stone by very stone, with the labor of my own hands.”
Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him, but clearly her opinion did not change. Their gazes locked and held, that strange awareness crackling between them, and Quinn knew he had been without a woman’s touch too long.
Why else would this maiden of ice so stir his blood?
Tulley cleared his throat. Quinn spun to face the older man, heat rising on his neck that he had forgotten that man’s presence. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the lady’s cheeks tinged a brighter hue of pink.
How unexpected that they had something in common.
Perhaps she was not made of stone, as she might have him believe.
Quinn realized then that he did not know who she was. He scolded himself silently for neglecting his manners. He was certain that the lady had noted his error and would remind him of it, if she were ever given the chance.
“An assumption is being made,” Tulley said. His bright gaze flicked between Quinn and the lady. “Sayerne has not yet been invested upon anyone.”
Could the lord intend to grant Sayerne to this forthright lady? Why else would Quinn have been admitted to the lord’s offices in her presence? He slanted a glance in her direction, somewhat reassured that she looked as surprised as he felt.
“My lord?” Quinn asked.
Tulley smiled. “Do not worry, Quinn, my intention is still that you will hold Sayerne. However, times demand that I place a condition upon your investiture.”
This was no good tiding. “A condition, my lord?”
“I would see you married.”
“Married?” Quinn blinked.
“Aye, the line of Sayerne must be assured and I cannot let you take the reins of the estate without some succession—if it is not secured, then it should be in the process of being so.”
Quinn faltered, for he had not planned to take a wife so soon. “But I have no betrothed, no fortune...”
“Surely, Quinn, you intend to wed?”
“Aye, my lord,” he said with haste. “It is only the timing that is of concern. Sayerne is in need of repair and I would not expect any lady to endure such circumstances.” His voice gained assurance as he made his argument. “Grant me but a year, my lord, that my home might be fitting for a bride and then I will welcome your counsel.”
To his disappointment, Tulley frowned.
“Nay, Quinn, a year will not do. The matter must be resolved immediately or I cannot invest you with the estate.”
Quinn was shocked to have his fear so calmly presented as a possibility. Was he only to glimpse Sayerne then be denied it? He cast his thoughts back to Tulley’s missive, the one summoning him home, and realized the older man had promised naught.
He had simply notified Quinn of Jerome’s death and urged him to return to Sayerne.
Quinn felt as if a cold hand seized his innards.
Tulley seated himself and frowned. “Your marriage will solve more than you know.” The lord darted a glance to the lady. “Will it not, Melissande?”
The lady caught her breath in obvious disapproval. Quinn noted that she was even more affronted by the suggestion than he.
Indeed, she could not hold her tongue. She stepped toward Tulley and appealed to him. “Sir! Spare me your praise of this vagabond!” she said. “It is more than enough that some son of Jerome has come to claim that cursed family’s holding, without you greeting him as a saint!”
Quinn felt obliged to argue. “I may be no saint, my lady, but do not call my family cursed.”
The lady turned upon him with flashing eyes. “Whyever not?” she demanded.
“They might as well have been cursed, as a result of your father’s choices.”
“I cannot answer for my father...”
“Tell me then why villeins fled your father’s land at every opportunity. Tell me why no less than two dozen of his bastards born of serving wenches populate the countryside, each and every one denied the bounty of his hall. The women themselves were cast to the winds when their condition became evident. Explain to me, if you will, why every year until this one I have been obliged to argue with that foul man over the boundaries between Sayerne and Annossy. Perhaps you can tell me the fate of the grain that was stolen out of my warehouses every winter.”
Her lips tightened as her gaze swept over him and he found himself stirred by her fury. She was no ice maiden, but a dragon filled with fire and fury. Her eyes flashed and Quinn was entranced.
“Jerome de Sayerne was a dreadful neighbor and it is difficult to expect any better from his son!” She lifted her chin and glared directly into Quinn’s eyes. “Perhaps you, mercenary that you are, might explain to me who raids my estates even now.” She pointed her finger toward his chest and he noted how small and fine it was. “I would not put such a deed past the get of Jerome de Sayerne. One way or the other, he pledged to merge Annossy with Sayerne. Know this, sir, that I pledged to stop him from realizing that dream, no matter the cost.”
Annossy. She was the Lady of Annossy. Quinn remembered that the estate bordered upon Sayerne, before he resolved to set matters to rights with his neighbor.
When she made to enunciate her last point with another jab of her finger, Quinn snatched her hand out of the air. Her skin was surprisingly soft. She was so startled that her eyes widened slightly. She made to step back, but Quinn did not release her hand.
“And I tell you, my lady, that my sire and I parted ways twenty years past because of our differences,” he said in a low growl. “I am as unlike him as oil to water.”
Her fine eyes narrowed. “Your father was also deceptive, when it suited him.”
“I am not,” Quinn growled. No one called him a liar, even a beauty such as this.
“We shall see,” she replied, undaunted. She squared her shoulders and tried to tug her hand from his. Quinn held fast. “Mercenaries plague my borders,” she said through gritted teeth. “And you appear to be a mercenary.” She met his gaze in silent challenge. “I do not need such a man as a neighbor.”
“If Tulley wills it, you will have one all the same.”
“How much do you know about the raids on Annossy, Quinn de Sayerne?” she asked.
“Naught,” Quinn replied, admiring her spirit. “I have returned from the Holy Land this very week, my lady. You see not a mercenary before you, but a knight in sore need of a bath.” He smiled slowly, but the lady stared at him. She seemed disarmed by his jest and he savored the fact that he had surprised her.
He suspected it did not occur often.
Her gaze flicked from his smile to his eyes, then over his clothing. “You can be no knight,” she whispered. Her voice faltered and he did not doubt she was recalling the reference to his spurs.
“But I am.”
“He speaks the truth, Melissande,” Tulley interjected. “I sent for him upon Jerome’s death. Quinn speaks the truth, as he always did.”
At Tulley’s endorsement, Quinn’s smile broadened. He was surprised to see that rosy flush staining the lady’s cheeks again as she watched him. Indeed, her cheeks were afire, and she looked more alluring by the moment. She flicked a significant glance to her hand trapped within his and tried again to pull it free.
Quinn loosed his grasp upon her hand, then brushed his lips across its back.
She shivered at the touch of his lips and her eyes widened, their hue brilliant emerald before she dropped her gaze to hide her reaction.
But Quinn had seen it.
And he was intrigued.
“I beg your pardon for my appearance, my lady,” he said. “It is my pleasure to make the acquaintance of a neighbor.”
The lady’s lips tightened and she stood taller, that beguiling fire in her eyes once again.
Tulley cleared his throat and Quinn reluctantly turned his attention from the lady to his lord.
“Melissande d’Annossy will be far more than your neighbor, Quinn,” Tulley said. “She will be your wife.”
Too late, Quinn realized where this conversation had been directed all along. He felt like a fool for not guessing the truth sooner, and wondered if Melissande’s understanding had been responsible for her vehemence.
“My lord, nay!” she protested.
“You would refuse to wed me, despite the lord’s command?” he asked her.
Her sidelong glance was filled with disdain. “I would refuse to wed any man of your father’s seed.”
“And I would protest wedding a woman who fails to obey her feudal lord.”
She spun to face him, propping her hands upon her hips. “I am the one who understands how to administer a holding so that it prospers.”
“And I am the one who understands how to defend a border,” Quinn retorted, echoing her posture. “If Annossy is subject to raids, you should be glad of a spouse like me.”
“I am not!”
“Then you are a fool as well as a beauty,” Quinn said shortly. She gasped in outrage and he wondered if she would strike him.
Then her gaze flicked to Tulley and she fell silent with an obvious effort.
“Neither of your protests have any meaning at all,” Tulley said mildly. “For I have decided. You will be wed this very day.”
“This very day?” the lady echoed.
“Today?” Quinn repeated, thinking of his dirty garb.
“Today,” Tulley agreed. “Might I remind you, Quinn, that you are not invested yet with your estates. Should you not do my bidding, as any obedient vassal should, I will be obliged to find another to whom I might entrust Sayerne.”
Quinn dropped to one knee and bowed his head, but Tulley was not done.
“I have arrived at a solution that will serve the needs of you both. I charge you, Quinn, to eliminate the raids on Annossy as your first responsibility.”
It appeared that Tulley had a list of tasks. Quinn did not argue, but listened. Marriage first, brigands second. He hoped at some point, the seal of Sayerne would land within his grasp.
He bowed over Tulley’s hand. “As this is your condition, my lord, I will make this marriage in good faith.”
The lady hesitated before she spoke. Tulley cleared his throat and she spoke, her tone filled with resignation. “As will I.”
Quinn felt his eyes narrow. He was not that foul a choice of spouse.
Tulley’s gaze flicked between the two of them. “It seems that there is a lack of enthusiasm for this match. Perhaps even now one or both of you harbor plans of annulment.”
No one denied the accusation.
Tulley leaned forward, his manner intent. “Understand me well: there will be no annulment. Do not expect otherwise, for I will demand proof of consummation at first light tomorrow morning.”
“My lord!” the lady protested.
“It is only good sense,” Tulley concluded.
Quinn could not look at the lady after such a deliberate mention of intimate matters. Indeed, he felt a warmth spread through him, and he recalled his first impression of her beauty. It might not be all bad to consummate this match.
Should she allow it. He would not force her, to be sure.
“Perhaps I named the wrong man barbarian,” she muttered, as though she could not restrain herself from comment.
Quinn’s gaze flew to Tulley, certain she would be chastised for her rudeness, but the older man only smiled.
“Since I have known you so long, Melissande, and understand the strain of this situation, I will let your audacity pass.” He stood and brushed at his tabard before smiling at them both. “Shall we say within the hour?”
Quinn nodded. He saw the lady do the same, with reluctance.
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Tulley smiled. “I should think that commitment to wed would be sealed with a kiss.”
The lady’s cheeks blazed crimson. Quinn swallowed and felt clumsy. It had been so long since he had touched a woman, and the lady’s manner was less than encouraging.
But Tulley watched and waited. Quinn had little choice.
All hung in the balance.
He would meet her in good faith.
The lady did not aid in the endeavor. She stood motionless, waiting, fists clenched at her sides. Quinn knew that he would have to initiate this embrace. He stepped closer and the softness of her scent caught him by surprise. Did she wear perfume? He had forgotten such feminine charms. Something tightened within him, but she did not so much as meet his gaze.
Curse her! They were both beholden to Tulley and it would be simpler if she met him halfway. Riding into battle was less of a challenge than this. Quinn hoped that she mustered some enthusiasm for his touch by the time they met abed.
In truth, it mattered little.
He would not sacrifice his inheritance.
He took a step closer and heard her catch her breath. Still, she stared fixedly ahead. He lifted his hand and gently touched two fingers beneath her chin. She shivered, but did not otherwise move. He coaxed her chin upward so that he might meet her gaze, but she closed her eyes. No doubt she wanted to leave him ignorant of her thoughts.
Would she defy him in every matter, every day? He began to suspect as much.
Would she vex him with such vigor for the rest of his life? Quinn already wondered.
But he would not be deterred. Quinn bent and brushed his lips across hers. He felt the lady shiver again, though there was no other change in her posture.
It was after his hand had dropped away that he saw her single tear. It shimmered as it slipped through her lashes then over her cheek and she did not wipe it away.
Quinn felt like a knave, although he did not truly understand her response. Surely one light kiss could not be so burdensome as to cause a tear?
Tulley cleared his throat. By the time Quinn glanced to his overlord and back to the lady, that tear might never have been. Melissande exhaled shakily and opened her eyes.
All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances Page 4