Chapter 11 #2
He looked so vital and masculine, so at ease and powerful, that Melissande could not tear her gaze away from him. Indeed, her mouth went dry and she tingled anew in recollection of what they had done abed. She had become hungry for his touch and, worse, she could not regret it.
Amaury held up a hand. “I confess that I but followed behind and gathered the kill,” he said to those who gathered around. “’Twas Quinn who hunted with such success this day.”
“He is too modest,” Quinn protested, then surrendered a crossbow to his companion.
“His aim is true as might be expected of one carrying such a fine weapon.” There was a joyous shout at that and Quinn shook hands with those who pushed close to congratulate him.
He laughed at a word from the smith, then asked that man a question.
The smith indicated the miller’s son on the far side of the bailey, the one who had become his apprentice, and she guessed that Quinn had spoken to the miller about his family.
Then he turned, as if he had felt her gaze upon him.
Melissande might have been struck to stone as his gaze locked with hers. Then Quinn smiled, a slow potent smile that heated her blood to a simmer, and she felt as if they were alone in the bailey.
“What else could I do?” he asked those surrounding him without looking away. “My lady wife told me this morn that we had need of meat for the board. Her will is as my command.” And he bowed to her, his gesture making her cheeks heat and the villeins laugh.
Melissande could not think of a single word to say.
Quinn strode to her side, doffing his gloves, and paused beside her on the threshold. His eyes glittered and she fairly sensed his anticipation. “All is well at the mill?” she asked quietly, recalling their responsibilities.
“I believe it will be,” he replied in kind.
“You dismissed the guards that Gaultier assigned to defend the mill.”
“I did not trust them.”
Melissande parted her lips then closed them again.
Quinn smiled. “And you do not trust me. You need not say the words to make your concerns known to me, my lady.”
She felt herself flushing but could not be silent. “I do not know your intentions or much of your history...”
“And I did not know theirs. I learned long ago, my lady, to trust my instincts when it came to entrusting other men.” He shook his head as she watched him.
“There was something amiss, though I cannot name it. For the sake of the miller and his kin, I chose to be cautious. They have lost a son already.”
“Aye.” Melissande could not fault him for that choice, or for the sympathy in his gaze.
“But I would seek your advice in this matter, my lady.”
“Mine?”
“Yours.” His gaze clung to hers. “You know Annossy as no other, my lady,” he murmured, his voice no less intent that his expression. “Have you not discerned that this is a challenge we must conquer together?”
“And then what?” she dared to ask.
Quinn smiled. “And then, we shall conquer another.” He caught her hand in his and bent over it, kissing its back with a flourish.
Melissande felt a tumult inside herself and stepped back, retreating from his persuasive touch. “Berthe found my father’s tabard and cloak,” she said, her words falling in an uncharacteristic rush. “Perhaps both will suit you. And Michel has taken some of my father’s chemises for you.”
“I thank you, even though you will not meet my gaze when you speak of these garments.” He spoke in that thoughtful tone and she found her cheeks burning again. Quinn touched her chin, compelling her to look up. He studied her and she feared he could see all her doubts.
“I did not realize the tabard was yet here,” she admitted. “I thought it buried with him. And I forgot about the cloak.”
“And you do not wish me to claim them?” he asked, no judgment in his tone.
“That would be impractical. They go to waste, left in a trunk.”
Quinn shook his head. “They are the root of fond memory, Melissande,” he said with soft heat. “I would not influence that.”
It was curious to have him be the one who understood her emotions so well, but Melissande had been taught to avoid sentimentality. “You should wear them,” she found herself saying. “’Tis only right.”
“If you truly believe as much,” he said and touched his lips to her brow. She shivered to her toes, but with desire instead of cold. Quinn smiled as he looked down at her. “Your eyes have darkened, my lady,” he said lightly. “Is it possible that you will have an invitation for me this night?”
Melissande caught her breath and turned away, despising her own weakness. A kiss, a murmured confidence, a little understanding, and she was prepared to grant him all.
Perhaps women truly were weaker.
Quinn was not readily deterred. He claimed her elbow and entered the hall with her.
Melissande found it reassuring to have his heat so close behind her back and was belatedly aware of how many watched them together.
She led him to the board, where she had finished her mending, his touch making her feel skittish.
“I think the tabard will fit you, for my father was broad of shoulder as well, and the insignia is already upon it. The cloak will keep you warmer than that worn one you have...”
As had so often been his wont, he silenced her with a fingertip. This time, he planted it upon the back of her hand, where she touched the tabard. “Who did this needlework?” he asked softly.
Melissande took a breath. “My mother.”
“And your father wore it?”
She nodded, then felt Quinn’s arm slide around her waist. He stood behind her and bent so that his lips were close to her ear.
“Tell me,” he invited.
“There is naught to tell. They are garments, no longer used. You should wear them.”
There was silence for a long moment. “You must feel as if everything that belonged to your father now comes to me.”
She straightened but did not speak.
“You must feel that to be unjust.”
“It is not my place to feel it to be just or unjust,” she said, her voice more sharp than she had intended. “I am only a daughter, a mere woman and a vessel. My sole merit lies in my womb.”
“Nay.” Quinn spoke with such conviction that she had to look up.
She found him watching her, his gaze warm, a smile of admiration upon his lips.
“You have so much merit, my lady wife, that I fear I do not deserve to have your hand in mine. I am pledged to earn your regard, no matter what the price, for I know that if we were truly allies, naught would obstruct our path.”
She stared into his eyes, wanting to believe him, then called herself a fool and turned away. “You say that to encourage an invitation,” she accused and he laughed heartily.
Despite herself, she loved the sound.
“If that were true, it would be no flaw,” he said. “Each night, I am more in your thrall, and I cannot regret it.”
Melissande looked back in surprise and Quinn smiled at her. Her resistance to him wavered anew and she feared that she would capitulate completely—in less than three days. What fortitude did she possess to withstand a siege? Not much in the end.
“I have my courses,” she lied on impulse, marveling all the while that he could make her forget herself so readily. “I would sleep alone this night.”
“But you will not bar the door against me,” Quinn said with conviction.
“What is this?”
He leaned closer and she saw again that resolve in his gaze.
“I will watch the mill from that vantage point. Success against these brigands may rely upon it.” He gave her a hot look, and once again, she was reminded of his military experience.
She nodded, surprised that she was disappointed that he cited no other reason, and he turned away, calling to Louis.
“I will have a bath, if you please, Louis, in the stables with my comrades. I would not offend my lady wife at the board.” He bowed to her again then crossed the hall with long strides. The boy Michel followed him, speaking of clean chemises, and he smiled with affection as he listened to the boy.
“And how shall we have the pheasants tonight?” Louis asked Melissande. “I recommend we hang the venison so it can be roasted in a week or so. The birds, though, we might stew for the evening meal. Perhaps with peppercorns? The last of the wine would make an excellent sauce...”
Melissande was shaken.
Quinn could understand that well enough.
Her father’s seal in his hand and now his tabard, the one made by her mother, would be on Quinn’s back, as well as his other garments.
Quinn was sharing her bed in the solar and directing the defense of Annossy.
Her list of responsibilities was diminishing with every passing hour, or so it must seem to her, and he knew she took great pride in what she could do, rather than how she looked.
He waited in the kitchen for Louis’ return, and saw that man’s eyes widen in surprise at the sight of him there.
“Sir! I sent word for your bath...”
“I know, Louis. You are most busy in this moment, but I would confer with you.”
“Of course, my lord.” Louis bowed, his manner expectant and prim.
Quinn led the older man to a quiet corner of the bustling kitchen. “I wish to ask your advice with regards to my lady wife.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“She has administered Annossy on her own for some time.”
“Since her father’s demise, sir, and to be sure, she did a great deal in his lifetime, as well.”
“And so, my arrival brings many changes to her life and routine.”
Understanding dawned in Louis’ eyes but he did not speak. He merely waited.
Quinn cleared his throat. “I should like to know which tasks were her favored ones, the better that I might ensure she keeps those responsibilities as we govern Annossy together. It is a fine holding, and I would see it continue to prosper. For that, I desire my lady’s expertise.”