“Intent.” Berthe clasped her hands together, sighed, then spun across the room. “I was thinking, my lady, that you might wish to wear something special, seeing as it is your wedding, and also that you would wish to look your best.” She cast a quick smile over her shoulder. “I am so glad I thought to bring your new kirtle made of the samite we purchased from that trader from the East. That green shade is most alluring, for it makes your eyes shine like emeralds and your hair look like spun gold.” Berthe stroked the kirtle as Melissande watched. “With the gold embroidery upon it and your red slippers, it is fitting enough for a royal bride. I have borrowed some red ribbons and pearls from Heloise’s maid, that I might dress your hair.” She smiled. “My lady, you will look beautiful.”
Beautiful. For a match she did not wish to make.
Melissande frowned. She hoped that her finery was not destroyed by the brute in his consummation of their match. Would she have time to disrobe? Or would her kirtle be torn in Quinn’s desire to claim his marital due? Although Melissande did not intend to lose Annossy, still she dreaded the inevitable.
Too late, she wished she knew more of these delicate matters.
She eyed Berthe but knew she could not possibly ask her maid.
She held out her cup to Berthe, knowing that boldness would come from wine. It had already made great strides in settling her fears.
“I am still chilled,” she lied, and Berthe’s expression turned sympathetic.
“Oh, my lady, I have ensured there would be plenty,” the maid said and hastened to fill the cup again.
By the time Melissande descended the stairs to the hall in all her finery, she was warm through and through. Two cups of Berthe’s spiced wine brew had almost dismissed every bit of her trepidation. Indeed, she felt a little unsteady on her feet. She stumbled on the bottom step but a strong hand caught her elbow.
Melissande glanced up to thank her benefactor, but fell silent when she met Quinn’s steady gaze.
At least, she thought it was Quinn. He had shaved and she saw the strong outline of his features for the first time. His hair was trimmed, his garments fine. His eyes alone remained the same. Melissande swallowed and found she could not look away.
How could she have questioned whether the man was handsome? In this moment, he looked every measure the noble knight.
A smile slowly curved his lips and Melissande knew for certain that she had drunk too much wine. Why else would it be so difficult to catch her breath?
Why else did she want to reach up and touch him with a fingertip?
“My lady, you are a vision,” he said. “That hue suits you most well.” His voice was low, his complement for her ears alone. That they exchanged a confidence, even over such an inconsequential matter, seemed intimate beyond belief.
It reminded Melissande of precisely how intimate matters would be between them before the night was through. At that thought, her knees weakened, but Quinn’s grip on her elbow was resolute.
“I thank you,” she said. “You, also, have managed to look reputable.”
There was an understatement. Quinn’s hair was combed to order and she could see that it was thick. The torchlight in the hall picked out coppery tones within it and it shone with good health. His shaved jaw was squared and determined, his nose straight and aquiline.
And still there were the attributes she had noted before. The green brocade tabard, though simple in pattern and cut, emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. The wool chausses of darker hue merely accentuated the lean strength of his legs.
“One glimpse and I feel I am to wed a queen,” he confessed, still smiling slightly. She sensed that he invited her to match his mood, but Melissande could not.
“My dowry might be as rich as that of a queen,” she said. “Annossy is a rare prize.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed slightly. Melissande caught her breath as he leaned toward her and her gaze dropped to his hand. He was neither small nor weak, yet his touch was gentle. She stared at his tanned fingers, noting the few calluses. He was a man who swung a blade to earn his way. He was a man, too, and would have a man’s appetites. Melissande tingled in sudden awareness of him.
“My lady,” he whispered against her hair. Melissande kept her gaze locked on his hand. “Surely we might call a truce for the duration of our wedding night, at least.”
The way he murmured “our” with such ease made Melissande’s heart skip a beat.
But she would not show him her weakness. She summoned a smile, took a deep breath and lifted her head to meet his gaze.
“It would only be civilized,” she said with a resolve she was far from feeling. “Shall we see the deed done?”
“That is hardly in the spirit I intended,” he said. Melissande felt bereft when he turned away, his lips set in a hard line instead of the smile she found so beguiling. “But it shall be your way, my lady. The worst may as well be done sooner rather than later.” He offered his elbow with deliberate politeness and Melissande slipped her hand into it.
The worst? By her accounting, he made the better bargain. Melissande lifted her chin, determined not to show Quinn how he had pricked her pride, and walked into the chapel with him. Tulley awaited them at the altar, along with his priest. Heloise already smiled through tears that she would witness their union. It was clear that she yearned for her own wedding day, and Melissande could only hope that Tulley chose better for her. Another knight stood on the groom’s side of the chapel, and she could only assume that he was a comrade of her husband. He had dark hair and dark eyes and looked confident in his own allure.
Quinn said naught. He did not look left or right, nor did he hesitate in leading her directly to the priest.
He wanted Annossy and Sayerne united, just like his father before him. He wanted her, but only as a means to his end. She did not doubt that matters would proceed from bad to worse.
Melissande might be forced to wed this man, but she would grant him no more than necessary.
On this night or any other.
Tulley looked satisfied when Quinn and Melissande entered the chapel.
Quinn was not surprised. The old lord was as fond of getting his own way as Quinn recalled.
Neither was he surprised that his intended looked as reluctant as earlier. He suspected that she and Tulley shared a determination for shaping their circumstances. In a way, Quinn marveled that Melissande would have such an expectation, for few women of his acquaintance would have been accustomed to make their own choices.
What was her history? How long had she been alone at Annossy? He had assumed that her parents had recently died, but now he wondered. It was clear that she resented the loss of command over her family holding, but why had she expected it to remain hers to administer?
Quinn had a hundred questions but doubted she would confide in him.
If he had hoped for his intended to approve of the change in his appearance and be more welcoming as a result, Quinn was to be disappointed. She took his arm as if she could not bear to touch him and Quinn’s annoyance rose. He saw Bayard note the lady’s reluctance and did not doubt his comrade would have advice for him on the morrow. He was irked and marveled again that this lady should have the power to so rile him when he was known for his temperance.
She did not appreciate his assets and that was the sum of it.
Quinn was not so foul to look upon, and he was a knight. He would hold Sayerne, though it had no wealth in this moment, but he was resolved to rebuild it. He was prepared to labor for his goals and to treat his lady wife with the respect such a woman deserved. But it was evident that Melissande had condemned him.
Was her hatred of his father so profound as that? If so, they shared that view. One would think they might be able to build upon that common ground.
Of course, they could only do as much if his wife spoke to him.
He had to wonder what precisely she knew of his father’s deeds. Was her attitude the result of some old crime? Or did she simply look down
upon all who were not of the line of Annossy? It could well be that such a lady had been raised to believe that no man was deserving of her charms.
Quinn did not know whether to take reassurance from the possibility that her dislike of him was not personal.
Indeed, there was something about this lady that annoyed Quinn, yet at the same time, he felt an uncommon desire for her. It was dangerous for a woman to have such power over him, and he could only hope that it diminished in time.
Perhaps their wedding night would see his characteristic calm restored. Her beauty made him keenly aware that he had been celibate for the entirety of his journey on crusade. Was that the reason for his annoyance? That he was more than ready to celebrate their match and she was not? Was it merely pride?
Ye gods, what if she denied him this night? What if there was no evidence of consummation to show Tulley in the morning?
Should he feign it, by shedding his own blood on the sheets?
He was caught to be sure, between the lady’s desire and that of Tulley. Tulley, however, could exact the higher cost.
Quinn led his bride to the altar, wondering if he made a dreadful a mistake in taking this frosty lady to wife at all. Would he rue this day for the rest of his life? The priest began to bless the match with the familiar words.
In truth, Quinn had no choice. The dream of Sayerne had sustained him for years. He supposed it was no surprise that Tulley had guessed the truth.
Those attacks upon Annossy’s borders must vex the old lord more than Quinn had realized. Tulley must believe his holdings were at risk, which made Quinn and Melissande pawns in the older man’s game.
If Melissande did not thaw this night, Quinn resolved, he would avoid her. He would cut his own finger to give Tulley the sign he desired, then Quinn and the lady would separate. Between their two estates and the work required to rebuild Sayerne, it should be simple to do.
There was an old saying: wed once for duty and thence for love. Perhaps his next match would be one of the heart. He found himself thinking of his mother, and his heart filling with sadness as the priest blessed them.
If naught else, Quinn could do better than his own father.
“And the ring?” the priest invited.
Quinn realized he had not planned for this exchange, but then he had been given little opportunity to do as much. He looked down at the golden ring on his smallest finger and resolved to offer it in the spirit of a joined future. “It was my mother’s,” he said quietly to Melissande, then removed it from his hand. He held it over her left hand, over each finger in succession. “In the name of the Father, of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Then he pushed the ring onto her middle finger, the same finger his mother had worn it upon.
“Is it your sole token of her?” she asked, looking down at the ring.
Quinn could not read her mood. “Aye. She surrendered it to me as a token when I left.”
Melissande nodded and eyed the ring, her thoughts hidden from Quinn. Something in her seemed to have softened at the mention of his mother.
“You may seal your pledge with a kiss of peace,” the priest said.
Quinn glanced down to find Melissande watching him intently. Her eyes flashed, though he could not have said whether it was fear or desire. Then she dropped her gaze, hiding her thoughts from him once more.
But she had responded to his touch before. Could there be promise in this match?
A man could only try.
“Aye,” he replied to the priest. “One must adhere to tradition.”
Melissande inhaled sharply. Did she dread his kiss or her own reaction to it?
There was only one way to know for certain.
Quinn touched a fingertip beneath Melissande’s chin. Her gaze rose to his and she turned to him, both of them taking a step closer in the same moment. Quinn liked how they moved instinctively together and chose to see promise in that. He moved slowly, determined to reassure whatever fears she might have. Her eyes closed when he cupped her face between his hands, but Quinn did not intend to let her hide from him so easily.
“Open your eyes, my lady,” he whispered. “I would have you certain of which man you wed.”
She did as he requested and he glimpsed uncertainty in those magnificent eyes. Had she been abused in the past? Or was she innocent and unaware of what must come between them? Either way, her response launched a protective urge within him. Quinn smiled at her, his heart leaping when she tentatively smiled back.
She might meet him halfway, after all.
“To the future,” he murmured then bent to brush his lips across hers.
Melissande quivered, then sighed. She tasted like wine and cinnamon and her kiss filled Quinn with the same sweet warmth as earlier that day. Well aware that they were watched, he slanted his mouth across hers to demand a little more while they were in company. She hesitated, then leaned against him, her hands upon his chest and her lips parting in unexpected invitation. Quinn’s hand slid to her nape and he lifted her closer, deepening his kiss with satisfaction. The lady froze, then responded with an ardor that made Quinn’s heart thunder.
It was only with the greatest effort that he recalled their place and put her aside. To his pleasure, the lady’s eyes were shining when he lifted his head. She smiled at him, her expression more welcoming than it had been thus far. Quinn was tempted to toss her over his shoulder and make for a private chamber before this moment passed, but the priest cleared his throat.
“Is it not wonderful?” the other noblewoman said with a sigh. Her eyes were shining. She was fair, like Melissande, but younger.
“My niece,” Tulley said gruffly. “Heloise von Idelstein.”
Quinn bowed over the lady’s hand and she smiled at him and Melissande. “I love weddings,” she confessed. “I cannot wait for my own.”
That comment, Quinn noted, banished his lady’s smile. Melissande sobered, regal again, and slipped her hand into his elbow. They might have been strangers and he saw Bayard’s brows rise as that man noticed the change, as well.
“Yet wait you shall,” Tulley said to Heloise. He adroitly steered his niece to his side, ensuring that she was distant from Bayard, whose eyes gleamed with mischief. “The cook has assembled a wedding feast on short notice,” he continued. “Let us proceed to the hall and savor the results of his efforts.”
Disappointment at the change rose within Quinn until he recalled that Melissande had not smiled during their first encounter. He made progress in easing the lady’s concerns already and would take each victory as it came.
Perhaps she feared the night ahead. Any maiden would. He would have to ensure that their mating was enjoyable—for a fine wedding night would set the right tone not just for their shared future but their happiness.
Clearly what Melissande needed was a goodly quantity of wine to dismiss her reservations.
Quinn would ensure that she had it.
Four
If the wedding feast had been a war, Melissande would have lost before the first foray.
It was clear that Quinn launched an assault against her senses, and it was one she could neither deny nor evade. He had the experience in this endeavor, which left Melissande susceptible to his every assault. He was seated beside her, on her right, with Tulley on her left. Quinn’s comrade, Bayard, was on Quinn’s right, and Melissande guessed that to be a choice by Tulley intended to keep his niece Heloise at the greatest distance from that knight. Heloise was on Tulley’s left.
She had seen at first glance that Bayard had a twinkle in his eye and more than a measure of good looks. Heloise was already casting glances at the two knights, which Tulley either blocked or ignored. Melissande had seen him glare at Bayard once and that knight seemed to have taken a warning. He flirted with Berthe, who appeared to take umbrage from his attention, a reaction that prompted him to tease her yet more. If Bayard thought to make an easy conquest there, he would have to think again. Berthe would never indulge him.
Caught betwe
en Tulley and Quinn, Melissande felt surrounded by those who desired her match to be a success, and worse, who cared little for her own view.
She was snared, and by the time the night was through and the match consummated, she would be secured as Quinn’s prize.
The meat was good, the wine was better, and the occasional brush of Quinn’s elbow against hers was enough to keep her tingling from head to toe. The marriage vows had been exchanged before witnesses and she was bound to respect them. She felt the weight of his ring upon her hand, an unfamiliar burden. The gold had been warm when he granted her the ring and she had seen the grief light his eyes when he spoke of his mother. How and when had Jerome’s wife died? Melissande did not recall exactly, and wished she had paid more attention. She had been young. She knew Jerome had had a daughter but not met Annelise, for she had been sent to a convent as a young girl and had only returned briefly to Sayerne. Was that of import? How Melissande hated that she did not know. She could feel the heat of Quinn’s thigh close beside her own and was well aware of the hard strength of him. She heard his low voice at close proximity—indeed, she felt it as a vibration deep within her. The sensation was not unwelcome.
It might have been the wine and not the allure of her new spouse.
In fact, Melissande was certain her cup was enchanted. No matter how much wine she drank, there was always another sip remaining. It was most curious and a puzzle well beyond her current capabilities to explain. Had she ever consumed so much wine in one evening? She could not recall ever drinking more than a cup or two, but on this night, she had no reliable tally.
Two from Berthe in her chamber, then this cup which seemed to have no bottom. Why, there was yet another mouthful within it! Melissande drank the wine and when next she looked, the cup was full again.
Worse than the muddle of the wine—or perhaps because of it—Quinn could not be ignored. He placed his hand upon the back of her waist when he leaned forward to confer with Tulley and the weight of it felt both proprietary and thrilling. He offered her the best parts of the meat—indeed, he even fed morsels to her, his eyes twinkling with an admiration that had to be feigned. He laughed at Bayard’s comments and told Heloise about Palestine’s wonders and captivated all at the board. He neither provoked her nor ignored her, but seemed to approve of whatever she chose to do. The man sought to beguile her and Melissande was shocked by his success.
All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances Page 8