And his sister was gone, although Tulley had not seen fit to confide the truth of her situation to Quinn.
Although, to be sure, he had sufficient to keep him occupied.
Perhaps he should be glad that his siblings were absent.
A brother. Quinn could not help but think that another knight’s strength would have been welcome in the task of rebuilding Sayerne.
“But why did Annelise leave the convent at all?” he asked, fearing that his sister had experienced abuse similar to what Jerome showered upon his mother.
Melissande shrugged. “Perhaps she was summoned. Perhaps there was to be a match made for her. I was not privy to the dealings of Sayerne.”
“And clearly you do not know all that the Lord de Tulley considers beneath his influence,” Amaury noted quietly, then changed the subject. “I must say that your concern about the Beauvoir Pass in winter was well deserved, Quinn.”
Quinn smiled. He was aware of Melissande’s curiosity and explained to her. “When I rode to crusade, I went through the Beauvoir Pass in the winter. The snow was so deep that I feared we should never see the other side. The wind was fiercely cold and I was determined never to repeat that journey again.”
“But you did?”
“Aye. On our return, we rode from Jerusalem to Constantinople, intending to travel by land into the Holy Roman Empire. Our scheme was to approach Tulley from the north, following the path of Godfroi de Bouillon, but we did not manage to make Constantinople.”
“It was besieged,” Amaury informed Melissande, clearly noting her confusion.
“And we chose not to join another battle,” Bayard said. “I had no desire to see a Saracen prison again, though Quinn might have risked it.”
Quinn could feel his lady’s surprise.
“And I had no desire to tend another injury,” Lothair noted to Quinn’s dismay.
Melissande looked between them and Lothair indicated Quinn. “He healed well enough, for he is large and stubborn, but still, it was not easily done. An injury so fierce and untended so long required all my skill. Perhaps even an increment more.”
“You were injured?” she asked Quinn and he dared to hope she felt some concern.
“And imprisoned at Acre,” he confessed, noting the flicker in her gaze. “Bayard fought at my back, and chose not to abandon me when I fell, for which I am eternally grateful.”
“And I shall haunt him for all his days and nights in return,” Bayard said, prompting the other knights to laugh.
“We were imprisoned together,” Quinn admitted. “Another feat that saved my sorry hide, and all thanks to Bayard’s quick thinking. He convinced the enemy that we could be ransomed, and otherwise, we would never have left that battlefield alive.”
The lady had paled and Quinn folded his hand around hers once more. Did she tremble?
“Clearly, the rumor of Quinn’s manners had preceded us, though,” Bayard jested. “For there were no offers of ransom for these two sorry knights.”
“You were a sorry sight when you were freed,” Lothair agreed. “Sores and pustules.”
“Lice and fleas,” Amaury said with a shudder.
“And filth beyond measure,” Niall said.
“But all is well that ends well,” Quinn concluded, not seeing the merit of sharing more of this truth with his lady, and drank a tribute to that with his comrades.
“You were right about that pass, though,” Amaury said again. “I was certain the guides led us astray and that the road could have no summit. The snow!”
“The cold!” Lothair agreed.
“The supposed hospitality of Beauvoir keep,” Niall said and rolled his eyes. “Has ever there been a more forbidding and cold tower as that one? And the welcome was scarce warmer.”
“Never mind the price of a simple repast and a night’s lodging,” Lothair noted. “I thought the horses were to be bedded down in gold!” The knights laughed together.
“Praise be we had only to stay the one night,” Niall said.
“Lord de Tulley knows his advantage, to be sure,” Amaury said. “I would wager his treasury overflows, simply from the tolls at Beauvoir.”
Niall shook a finger at Quinn and Bayard. “But it was worth every penny when he confessed that, in the past fortnight, only two other knights had dared to climb the pass.”
Amaury laughed. “And that they had four squires, one of whom had never seen snow before.”
“Michel!” the knights crowed in unison and the boy bowed before them, his ears glowing red. He carried a pitcher of ale and brought it to the high table, pouring into the proffered cups.
“Michel was born in the Holy Land,” Quinn told Melissande.
“And yet he is in your service.” She smiled at the boy. “How is this so, Michel?”
“I am an orphan, my lady,” the boy confessed, bowing deeply to her. “When my parents were killed, the bishop meant to surrender me to a monastery as an oblate, but I ran away. I wanted to go to Jerusalem to serve the knights and become one myself.”
“You did not wish to become a priest or a monk?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I would wield a sword, my lady, for God is better served by deeds than prayers.”
“I am not certain of that. We each have our roles to play in His scheme.”
“My parents farmed in the Latin Kingdoms, my lady. My father had no sword and when the war came, he died.” The boy’s eyes shone with a conviction that Quinn had noted before. “I will not die so easily, my lady.”
“I see,” she said softly and Quinn watched her smile at Michel. The boy bowed again and continued to serve the ale, though Quinn indicated that he would have none.
“The hour draws late, my lady,” he murmured and her gaze flicked to him with some wariness.
She nodded and stood, her agitation clear to him and more than a little disappointing. He must convince her that he would not be a husband like his father.
“Louis has prepared the chamber above this one for you all,” she informed the knights and Quinn saw the châtelain in the portal, listening. “And you are welcome to retire there at your leisure. There is yet ale and I would not curtail your enjoyment of it. If you have any need, please ask it of Louis, as you are the guests of Annossy.”
There were fulsome thanks all around then both Lothair and Amaury went to the stables to check upon their steeds. Quinn stood and offered Melissande his hand, bending to murmur to her. “I will see that the gates are secured and the sentries at their labor,” he said to her. “And will come to you shortly, my lady.”
She nodded, pale again, but did not flinch from his touch.
Perhaps he could make progress in this campaign on this night.
Perhaps ensuring the safety of Annossy, which she clearly held dear, would gain him some credibility. Tulley had commanded him to end the raids, and truly, warfare and defense were details he understood well. This would be the advantage he brought to Annossy, and Quinn knew already that his lady was sufficiently keen of wit that she would see his merit when it was done.
Berthe was gone and Melissande was alone in her chemise, her hair brushed, when she heard Quinn’s voice in the hall. The low rumble both reassured her and troubled her. She turned to watch the door, her hands knotted together.
Would she always dread his appearance at night? She had claimed the solar of Annossy after her father’s death and it was a fine chamber. It was at the summit of the tower with views in all directions. There was a great pillared bed in the middle of the room, with heavy drapes in silken velvet, woven in the blue of Annossy with silver embroidery along the hems. The wooden pillars rose to join the beams that held up the roof of the lofty chamber, and Melissande had always thought it looked like a crown in the midst of a treasury. Now that Tulley had commanded an heir, the import of the bed was unmistakable.
She had been born in this bed, and her parents had consummated their own marriage within it. In a way, her marriage would seem more real when she an
d Quinn had coupled in this bed, and more unassailable when she delivered a child here.
She heard him speak to his fellows, then the sound of his boots on the stairs. He dismissed a squire by the sound of it, tapped on the wooden door, then entered the chamber alone. He nodded to her, his eyes gleaming, then closed the portal to survey the chamber. “Now this is a fine refuge,” he said, his admiration clear. He considered the iron latch, which was formidable, and secured the door, then went to the window that looked toward Tulley. He leaned out of it, confirming how much he could see from its vantage point, then closed the shutters over the opening. He went to each window in turn, repeating his movement, and she thought he lingered at the one that faced Sayerne. He completed his survey with the window that faced the gates. When it was shuttered, he turned to nod at Melissande. “Most clever. I assume one of your forebears built the keep?”
“My grandfather, although my family was in possession of Annossy before that. He was the one who built the tower.”
“With considerable thought toward its defense.”
“The tale was that he had fought to protect Annossy from others who wished to seize it. Tulley’s line was not yet ascendant, so the valley was filled with warring factions.”
Quinn nodded and set his sword aside. He removed his belt. “And the mill that was attacked two nights past? Where is it?”
Melissande went to the window that faced the northern slope and opened it again. Quinn came to stand beside her, and she jumped when his hand landed on the back of her waist. “There,” she said, pointing to a faint light.
“It is solitary.”
“But not previously believed to be vulnerable. It is a hard path up from the main road.”
“And escape would be hampered by both snow and forest,” he mused. “And there is no abode in the forest beyond?”
She shook her head. “I do not know of one.”
“Is there a pass through the mountains where they rise above it?”
Melissande shook her head again. “It is steep. I remember goatherds appearing once, but it was midsummer. They were pursuing the goats and had followed a narrow path as I recall.”
Quinn nodded and latched the shutters again. “Raids and battles are matters I understand, Melissande. I will see this resolved and Annossy secure.” His voice dropped low. “I accept the challenge of proving to you that both of Jerome’s sons are as different from their father as might be.”
He had been stung by her endorsement of Yves’ character, she realized that, yet the words had also encouraged him to believe that he could undermine her expectations. When he spoke with such conviction, as if he swore an oath to her, Melissande found herself yearning to believe him. That frightened her, for she knew so little of him, but before she could dismiss her response, he leaned toward her.
“What is it that you fear, wife of mine?” His gaze was piercing, those golden eyes seeming to see her deepest secrets.
“Why would you ask as much?”
“Because I wish to know. I cannot dismiss your uncertainty without knowing its precise root.”
Melissande could not think of a short reply, much less one that would not reveal her own vulnerability. He needed no ideas of how to compromise her in her own home. “I expect events of this night may dismiss it,” she said, then felt her cheeks burn.
Quinn nodded once and did not seem to be in haste to retire to bed. Indeed, the man possessed patience in rare abundance. He crossed the chamber, removing the seal of Annossy from his purse, and set it upon the largest table. Melissande could not help but stare at it, and she guessed her desire showed, for he smiled at her. “Have you never touched it?”
“Not since my father died. Tulley claimed it then.” She took a breath. “As was his right.”
“You sound as if you remind yourself of that.”
“Perhaps I do.”
Quinn picked up the seal and offered it to her on the flat of his hand.
Melissande met his gaze in surprise, then went to his side. She took the familiar seal and turned it in her grasp, well aware that Quinn watched her closely. It seemed impossibly intimate to be standing beside him in this chamber, the great bed behind her, the lantern’s light flickering over both of them. The fire crackled in the brazier and she shivered a little at the sound of the wind in the shutters.
“When was that?” he asked in that gentle tone.
“Five years ago. It will be six in the autumn.” Melissande did not look up for she felt her tears rising. “He died at the board, in the middle of his meal. One moment, he was laughing at a jest, and the next, he was dead.”
“It must have been a shock to you.”
“In more ways than one.” She handed him the seal again.
“And your mother?” he asked again.
“When I was nine summers of age. My father had ridden to war and she had administered Annossy in his stead. When he returned, she conceived again.” Melissande shook her head. “They were overjoyed, for they had hoped for years to have a son.” She took a deep breath and nodded toward the bed. “She died there, bringing that boy to light, my father at her side. The babe died two days later.”
“No son.”
“No son.” She looked up at him, and knew the tumult of her emotions showed. “Only me.”
Quinn shook his head. “Do not discount your measure, Melissande. The state of Annossy five years after your father’s passing, after five years of your administration, must be the surest measure of your skills. I am easy to impress in such matters, for I do not share your expertise, but my comrade, Amaury, is awed by your administrative talents. You learned your lessons well.”
Her mouth was dry, her heart full of his praise even as she feared its import. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Will you not call me by my name?” he asked. He gestured. “Especially in this chamber?”
Melissande met his gaze again. She swallowed, then licked her lips. “Quinn,” she whispered and he smiled with pleasure.
His fingertip landed on her lips and she froze, shaken by the tumult of her heart. “I like how you say it,” he murmured, then bent to touch his lips to her cheek. “Will you say it again, my lady?” he whispered in her ear.
“Quinn,” she said with greater confidence, her voice more sure.
“I thank you,” Quinn murmured and touched his lips to her ear, sending shivers over her flesh.
She stepped back and might have turned away, but Quinn caught her hand in his and she froze again. “What do you fear, Melissande? Tell me.”
She swallowed and confessed the truth. “Only one thing. That you truly are your father’s son.”
“Is that all?”
“Is it not sufficient?” she asked, a challenge in her tone and the flash of Quinn’s eyes made her wonder if she knew all of the tale.
Or if the fullness of the truth was even worse than she feared.
“Why did you leave Sayerne?” she asked and he bowed his head. “What drove you away from your home? Why did Tulley see fit to take you beneath his care?”
Eight
Quinn was snared. He wished to confess all to his new wife, but was not at all certain that the truth would gain her support. Filling any gaps in Melissande’s knowledge might cast his own merit in doubt. “What did my father do to make you despise him so?”
“You must know.”
“I have my suspicions. Let us tell each other the truth this night, my lady, and for each day and night after this.”
Their gazes held for a moment and there was uncertainty in her fine eyes. How Quinn wished he could dispel it forever.
Then she took a breath, squaring her shoulders, her stance becoming regal. He already recognized that she stood thus when she felt obliged to do something she would rather not, and he admired her strength of will.
She was much stronger than his mother had been.
The realization was startling, but true.
“While my parents were alive, Jerome abused his vass
als by taxing them too much, feeding them too little and working them too hard.” Melissande spoke without inflection, as if reciting an inventory. “He bedded every woman he could catch and when those women conceived, he cast them out to starve.”
“And you know this by experience or rumor?”
She flicked a glance at him but Quinn remained silent. He would wager upon experience, given that look. Melissande’s lips tightened before the words spilled from her lips. “Jerome spotted a maid of mine on a visit to my father, a nobleman’s daughter lent to our service, and seized her. We searched for her, but she was well-hidden, and he lied to my father’s man when asked if she was at Sayerne. In truth, she had been abducted by your father, hidden at Sayerne, and cruelly used for his pleasure.” She touched her fingers to her brow. “Perhaps your father would have said she was savored.”
Quinn winced.
“She returned two months later in rags and tears, with bruises upon her body and a child in her belly. Indeed, my mother said she scarce recognized her. She would not name the abuser, for she was afraid, but my parents gave her shelter and care.” Melissande swallowed. “She had been my nursemaid when I was a child and was much loved here at Annossy.” She looked across the chamber. “She was never the same. I remember her being a merry soul and the sound of her laughter, but there was none after her return.”
“What happened to her?” Quinn asked, thinking she might have been wed to a man in service to the estate.
Melissande caught her breath and shook her head as though she could not speak. Quinn did not know what to do to ease the hurt of her recollection, but wished that he did. He waited in silence, despising his father anew.
“She died in labor,” she admitted finally, and Quinn’s heart clenched. “Your father never acknowledged the child or provided for it. He sent no regrets for her loss, either. The child sickened and died the next winter, despite all efforts. And that was the end of her tale.” She raised her gaze. “Because she had the misfortune to be pretty and merry of heart and to have caught Jerome’s attention, she was injured and died too young.”
All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances Page 16