Chapter 1 #3
“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.