Still she did not so much as glance at him.
What manner of woman had Quinn agreed to marry? A maiden of ice or one of unexpected fire? A woman who dared to challenge him, and to vex him, yet one who stirred his blood as never before. A woman of keen wits, to be sure, and one with the tongue of a viper; one who believed naught good of him at all.
He wondered how he would survive this match.
He wondered if he could win her, with time. It would be a challenge, to be sure, but to have this lady fight on his side, by his side, would be an achievement of merit. It could be the kind of marriage his mother had told him about, when she had shared those old tales of chivalry, the kind she had urged him to seek for himself.
Quinn was skeptical of his success with this lady as his wife, but he was determined to try.
“I would suggest you both summon some enthusiasm in short order,” Tulley said, then left the chamber. His boots sounded in the corridor and Quinn heard him call for his châtelain.
Perhaps in this moment, he and Melissande could reach a detente.
Two
Melissande was humiliated. Not only was her pledge ignored but she was compelled to wed Jerome’s son within the hour. Worse, Tulley himself would check the linens in the morning for evidence of the match’s consummation. Her agreement was not sufficient to appease him and that irked her beyond all.
If only Jerome’s son had not returned with such haste, she might have found Arnaud herself. She did not believe that he had betrayed their vow and wed Marie instead. Why else would Tulley insist upon both haste and blood on the linens? Obviously, he feared that Melissande would learn the truth and demand an annulment. Tulley had a plan and meant to see it brought to fruition before either she or this warrior could choose otherwise. Once their match was consummated, they would be compelled to remain wed.
Until death did so part them.
It said much for her frustration that she wondered how soon that moment might arrive.
“This is your fault!” she said, turning her frustration upon Jerome’s son. “Could you not have remained abroad? Or lingered in some city to delay your return?”
“Me?” he echoed. “What man would not make haste to claim his inheritance?” He lifted a brow. “And truly, it has taken a year to ride from Palestine. I could not be expected to linger more than that, lest Tulley change his mind.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “I already feared I might come too late.”
It seemed he did know Tulley sufficiently well to recognize that their liege lord could be changeable. “Aye, why not hasten home, when you gain Annossy in the bargain?”
His eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed her. “I came for Sayerne.”
“And you are welcome to it.”
“It is a fine holding.”
“It is a ruin.” Melissande folded her arms across her chest, feeling that the chamber was too small with this large and masculine man beside her. She was aware of his attention and his mood, and even of the heat of his skin. “Sayerne is neglected beyond hope of repair and you are a fool to even imagine it can be rebuilt in a lifetime.”
He smiled, ever so slightly, and the sight made her heart skip. The expression softened his features and weakened her resistance with dangerous ease. “Perhaps I am a fool when it comes to matters of holdings and administration. Perhaps I have need of your counsel.”
“No woman finds it alluring to be considered useful.”
Quinn’s smile broadened and her heart skipped again. “That is a harsh summary, my lady. Do you not think a man and wife should confer together to decide what is best for their holdings?”
How could Jerome’s son know about a good marriage and how it might work?
“I do not think that the affluence of Annossy should be used to pay for the rebuilding of Sayerne.” There, she had said it aloud.
His expression turned thoughtful and she wondered if she had given him an idea. “When we are joined in marriage, the holdings will become one.”
Melissande closed her eyes at that prospect.
“And be administered as one,” he continued.
“Just as your father desired.”
“Perhaps. Of greater import is Tulley’s desire in this matter.”
Tulley. Melissande gritted her teeth in vexation.
Quinn took a step closer and lifted her hand in his, unfurling her fingers with a stroke of his finger. God in heaven, it was persuasive for such a powerful man to touch her so gently. “My lady, I think we have little choice but to cede to Tulley in this, and endeavor to make the best of a match neither of us anticipated.” His tone was yet more persuasive.
“Or desired,” she added.
“But it must be so. And perhaps there is advantage to be found in our union.” His words were compelling and his voice low. Melissande had a difficult time catching her breath. Quinn de Sayerne had a charm about him, to be certain. Having that amber gaze fixed upon her disturbed her more than she would have liked to admit, never mind having her fingers caught in the warmth of his hand. Her gaze lifted to the firm outline of his lips, but she glanced away before he could make more of her reaction than was justified.
Quinn de Sayerne had accepted her hand only to obtain his inheritance.
He needed Annossy’s wealth to restore Sayerne.
And what would be left of Annossy when he was done? Both she and her parents before her had labored too hard to lose everything at Tulley’s whim.
She tugged her hand from Quinn’s grasp. To her surprise, he released her fingers without a fight.
Melissande shuddered to think that Jerome had triumphed after all.
“Surely you cannot find my presence so loathsome as that?” Quinn asked. “We scarce know each other.”
“But I know your goal. How do you imagine that you will make Sayerne prosper again?” she asked. “The estate has been mismanaged for as long as I can recall. Where will you find the coin to do it? Do you have any notion of the cost? You would be better off to pledge your blade elsewhere and move on. You do not even have a villein to call your own.”
Color rose on Quinn’s neck. Melissande wondered whether she had pushed him too far, although she had done no more than state the truth. What was this man like when he was furious? She had a strange desire to know, to see his composure shattered, to know the truth of him in a temper.
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 a
re 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! M
elissande 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.
All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances Page 5