Chapter 9 #2
Quinn’s glance slanted to meet hers, his eyes glowing gold. “Aye, you, my lady wife.” He kissed her hand in that increasingly familiar gesture, closing her fingers over the burning imprint of his lips upon her palm. “And I am your most willing vassal.”
Melissande laughed at his whimsy and savored this moment of accord.
At his encouragement, she nestled against him, liking how he tucked them both beneath the linens.
It was still not dawn and Melissande found herself dozing anew.
She knew that she smiled, for she was cradled against the solid heat of Quinn as he pressed a kiss into her hair.
Perhaps they would make a good match, after all.
Quinn carefully eased out of Melissande’s embrace.
He had erred.
He had no devious intent, but neither had he intended to seduce Melissande again so soon. He knew that she loved another and that she had a high code of ethics. He had planned to talk to her more about this Arnaud, and endeavor to prove his own merit before they coupled again.
But her exploration of his body had set him aflame.
He should have stopped with one kiss, but her delight in her power over his body had given her such satisfaction.
He had wanted to see her gain confidence in her own allure, and also to see her pleased.
He had been unable to resist her. He stood by the bed, watching her sleep, and wondered in all honesty whether he could have stopped.
He frowned, considering that she had not called him by name in that moment.
Had she imagined herself in the embrace of her beloved, Arnaud?
The notion troubled Quinn deeply.
Doubtless she would regret their lovemaking. That prospect troubled him even more. He washed hastily in cold water and dressed, knowing he had much to accomplish this day. Perhaps a successful routing of the brigands would win her true favor.
He could only hope.
He left Melissande sleeping and descended to the hall. Louis met him at the foot of the stairs, and they conferred about the villeins who had tales of the brigands to share. True to his word, Louis had summoned them all and they awaited him in the bailey.
“There is bread and honey and ale and cheese, my lord,” Louis said. “Unless you have other tastes for breaking your fast.”
“That will be most welcome, Louis. I thank you. My lady wife sleeps yet, but perhaps Berthe should take hot water to her.”
“Of course, my lord. Berthe is already awake.” Louis hurried away and Quinn went to the board.
Michel brought him a tankard of ale and he wished the boy a good morning.
“I will ride out after speaking with the villeins,” he told the boy.
“If they are awake and willing, I would have Bayard, Niall, Lothair and Amaury accompany me.”
“Aye, my lord.” The boy bowed and hurried away with purpose.
“Aha!” Bayard’s voice made Quinn jump.
“What possesses you to startle an old friend so early in the morning?” Quinn asked with a smile.
Bayard joined him at the board. “What kind of newly wedded man are you to avoid the pleasure of awakening with your lawful wife?” He nudged Quinn companionably.
“I should not be so quick to abandon such pleasures.” Michel hastily brought more ale and Bayard sipped of it with satisfaction.
Then he dropped his voice low. “Does the lady resist your charms?”
“Nay.” Quinn dropped to a seat and sipped his ale. It might clear his head, if naught else. “It is not so simple as that.”
“Nay?”
Quinn spared his companion a suspicious eye. “What makes you so inquisitive this morn? What manner of mischief have you been making in this hall?”
“Surely, Quinn, you must jest. You should know that I have done naught but slumber in this marvel of a hall.”
“Alone?”
Bayard choked slightly. “How could you think otherwise of me? I am as sober a companion as ever you have known.”
“Aye, that is true enough.”
The other knight lowered his voice. “It is another of our comrades who shares his charm with much generosity, to my thinking.”
Quinn took a draft of ale watching his comrade all the while. “And you do not approve.”
“It is not my place to approve or disapprove of another man’s choices,” he said, sounding remarkably prim.
Before Quinn could comment, Bayard leaned forward, his eyes glinting with curiosity.
“Truly, it is long since we have known such hospitality. You have landed upon your feet, Quinn, to be sure.”
“The matter is not secured as yet.”
Bayard studied him. “Do you not make progress in the courtship of your lady wife?”
“There is a complication.”
“So, tell me the whole tale,” the other knight urged. “Your secrets are safe with me. Does the lady spurn you?”
“Nay,” Quinn said again. Perhaps Bayard could help him in this puzzle. “You see—” he leaned forward, dropped his voice and Bayard followed suit “—it seems the lady had pledged herself to another.”
“Nay! It could not be so!”
“But it is so. She insists upon it.”
Bayard looked as shocked as Quinn felt. “Are you certain the tale is true? Surely Tulley would not have forced her to break her word?”
“Apparently that is precisely what he did.”
“Aie.” Bayard leaned back and ran his hand through his hair. “And when did she tell you of this?”
“When she wept, the morning after the match had been consummated,” Quinn admitted grimly.
“This is not good,” Bayard informed him.
Quinn arched a brow. “I thank you for that counsel.”
“And so all rides upon one night,” Bayard said. “Or upon one knight’s ride.”
Quinn shook his head. “Not quite.” He sighed. “She seduced me this morn.”
“Which surely is progress.”
“I fear she will regret it and blame me.”
Bayard shook his head and drained his ale. “But tell me this: does she have any regard for this other man?”
That was a reminder Quinn did not need. “She says she loves him.”
Bayard gave a low whistle. “What do you intend to do?”
“I do not know.” Quinn frowned. “What is worse, Tulley overheard our argument yesterday morning. He demands an heir within the year and that before he invests me with Sayerne.”
“So, should you proceed with honor, you lose all.”
“Aye.”
“And should you claim your due, she may despise you for it.”
“Aye.”
Bayard pushed his tankard across the board. “Then, it seems to me that you have little choice.” His voice was low and thoughtful, a tone that gave Quinn hope that he had a plan.
“Aye?”
Bayard looked directly into Quinn’s eyes. “You must compel her to love you,” he said. “You must make her forget this other man and see no one but you.”
The plan was too like his own poorly formed idea to be reassuring. Quinn spread his hands out in frustration. “I do not know how to begin.”
Bayard leaned forward intently. “Did you see her pleasured this morn?”
“Of course!”
“Has she ever called you by name in that moment?”
Quinn could not hold his friend’s gaze. “Nay.”
Bayard frowned and tapped his finger on the board. “It seems you have a daunting task before you,” he mused. “But the prize is well worth the effort.”
“Not to mention that of a marriage without strife.”
His companion studied him. “You already care for this lady, unless I miss my guess.”
Quinn did not meet his companion’s perceptive gaze and when he spoke, his voice was gruff. “We have similar values,” he said stiffly. “I like her wit. She surprises me. And it pleases me to see her smile.”
“Aha!” Bayard was triumphant. “The truth will out!” His voice dropped.
“That is an advantage unexpected. It is my understanding that women love to be adored. It flatters their vanity and I cannot imagine that your Melissande is different. Do not worry, Quinn, we shall see the lady enamored of you yet.”
“My lord Quinn!” Berthe’s voice echoed as she entered the hall with a steaming bucket of water. Her expression was grim and her attention fixed upon Bayard. “I should advise you strongly against taking the advice of this ruffian, for Sir Rogue knows naught of what pleases a lady in truth.”
Quinn looked to his companion to find Bayard’s ears glowing a dull red.
“Surely you did not try to make sport with my lady’s maid last night?” he asked.
It was not reassuring that Bayard’s ears turned an even brighter shade of red.
Instead of responding to Quinn, he lowered his voice to a whisper, no doubt anticipating that Berthe would hear.
He sighed in a most affected manner as she crossed the hall with her burden.
“Ah, Quinn, the pleasure of avoiding this lady’s sharp comments buoyed my spirits this morn, but now the day is lost.”
“I heard that!” Berthe declared at the bottom of the stairs.
She put down the bucket with such vehemence that the water sloshed over the side, then shook a finger at Bayard.
“My mother warned me against your kind, sir! I was lucky to keep my wits about me right from the first, despite the gilding on your tongue.”
Quinn’s brows rose in surprise. “You have a gilded tongue?” he asked his companion.
Bayard shrugged. “It was cold last eve. I offered to keep her warm.”
“You thought to give me more than warmth,” Berthe accused and Bayard looked discomfited.
“You could have declined.”
“I did decline, and then you tried to steal a kiss!”
“You did not,” Quinn said, though he saw the truth in Bayard’s chagrin. “Melissande will have much to say of the matter.”
“And it is neither her business nor yours,” the other knight retorted with vehemence.
“Next time, Sir Rogue, I will blacken your eye.”
“I do not doubt it,” Bayard replied, some admiration in his tone. “Someone taught you how to strike a blow. ’Twas only my own speed that saw me unbruised.” He smiled. “Next time, I shall need to be faster.”
“There will be no next time!” Berthe glared at Bayard, but Quinn noted that her gaze was snared once she dared to look.
“I think there might be,” Bayard murmured. Berthe flushed and the other knight’s eyes sparkled, then she seized the bucket and marched up the stairs.