Chapter 12
The moon was riding high when Quinn heard Melissande roll over in the great bed. She sighed, as if her dreams saddened her, and the sound tore at his heart. Her breathing remained slow and deep, though, and he knew she had not awakened.
The most vexing thing about his wife was not that she was inclined to be outspoken. It was not that she challenged him, for Quinn welcomed that. The most irksome thing was that he lost his composure in her presence, like some brute, and then, invariably, had to acknowledge that she was right.
If only she did not set his blood afire. If only the sight of her—eyes flashing, color high—did not make him yearn to kiss her to silence, seduce her, tickle her and coax her laughter. If only every exchange did not make him yearn for a true marriage in every sense.
She loved Arnaud. He could not believe her to be inconstant, so her heart, once surrendered, would be Arnaud’s forevermore. Quinn did not have to like it, but he had to accept that truth.
His marriage was doomed to be unhappy, for the lady was right. A betrothal was as good as a marriage in terms of being an obstacle to wedding another.
He needed to talk to Tulley.
Quinn was not looking forward to that.
He was chilled to his marrow, despite the cloak, but he had given his word.
He dared not stamp his feet to warm them for fear of awakening Melissande, so turned back to stare out at the night.
He had sat vigil before and doubtless he would do so again.
He reminded himself that he had gone days without sleep and that he had lived all his life without the comfort of a great bed like the one his wife occupied.
Never mind the sweetness of Melissande tucked against his side. Even if she did not wish to be intimate, he could have been content to hold her. How long did a woman’s courses last? He had no notion, but he did know that her courses meant she was not with child.
It could all be put aside so easily, if Tulley could be convinced to see reason.
Quinn shivered and wrapped the cloak more tightly around himself, watching the night in the direction of the mill.
It was not the cold that left him feeling hollow and alone.
It was the knowledge that if he did right and defended his lady, he would be left with naught at all.
Though he had possessed naught until just days ago, he knew that this time, he would keenly feel the lack.
Then something fell.
It hit to the floor behind him, the sound muffled. It must have fallen to the rug by the side of the bed. Quinn looked and could see the glint of some item on the floor there. He rose and moved silently to retrieve it. If it had fallen from Melissande’s grasp, she did not miss it, for she slept on.
’Twas a knife in a jewelled scabbard and Quinn was certain he had never seen it before.
He spared a glance at Melissande, her braid cast across the linens, her skin as fair as ivory in the darkness.
He took the knife to the window and examined it in the moonlight.
The sheath was fine, etched with an elaborate design and studded with gems, and there was another larger gem in the hilt.
He drew the blade, noting that it was in excellent care, and drew the blade gently across his hand. Honed to perfection.
A lethal weapon.
Why did she have such a knife?
Why did she take it to bed—on the very night that she had told him not to join her? Surely she could not imagine that he would force his affections upon her?
He made to sheath the weapon again and the moonlight caught something on the blade. It was inscribed. Quinn held it higher and turned it in the moonlight.
To Gaultier—
With affection
upon the presentation of your spurs
—Marie
Gaultier.
Could there be two men with such name in Melissande’s acquaintance, both of whom were inclined to see her armed against her husband? Quinn suspected not. He had never believed in coincidence and his years at crusade had only confirmed his view.
He sheathed the weapon and silently replaced it on the rug, as if he had not seen it. Then he returned to the window, standing now as he looked into the night. Resolve filled him with new purpose, despite his exhaustion.
There were two questions for which he needed a reply and only one man could answer them. Why had Tulley ignored Melissande’s betrothal to Arnaud? And what was known of Gaultier, Captain of the Guard, that he had been recommended for such a post?
Quinn would ride to Tulley and have the truth of it from his wily overlord.
The sun would not set upon Annossy again without Quinn knowing both the location of his lady wife’s beloved and the allegiance of Annossy’s Captain of the Guard.
It might not set again with Quinn still in possession of Annossy’s seal, but that was a risk he had to take.
Bayard was awake when he heard quiet footsteps on the stairs.
His hand fell to his blade hilt by force of habit but otherwise he remained still, listening.
To his relief, the sound came from above, not below, and he recognized Quinn’s silhouette as that man descended from the solar.
Bayard and Amaury still slept on the second floor of Annossy’s tower, and there was room for the younger squires now that Lothair and Niall remained at the mill.
To his surprise, Quinn moved quietly across the chamber to his side instead of continuing down the stairs. He seemed to expect that Bayard would be awake, for he looked down upon him, his features lost in shadows, and nodded once. Then he returned to the stairs and went down the stairs to the hall.
Bayard understood that he had been summoned. He tugged on his chausses and boots, but otherwise wore only his chemise. By force of habit, he took his dagger in its scabbard.
He found Quinn at the board alone in the shadows before the dawn. The keep was yet quiet, although there was some activity in the kitchen. He sat down opposite his companion and friend, wondering what was amiss.
Quinn’s expression was so serious that Bayard did not tease him about leaving his wife’s bed or the lack of ale.
“You must choose,” Quinn said softly. He was serious and his expression intent, as if he anticipated an argument from Bayard.
“Choose?”
“We are no longer at war, and no longer moving from place to place. We no longer need fear that we will not awaken on the morrow...”
“No man knows when he will breathe his last.”
“But we do not battle for our survival each day,” Quinn said with resolve. “And so we must choose.”
Bayard sensed he would not like his options in this choice, whatever it was. He sat back, folding his arms across his chest, and waited.
Quinn traced a pattern in the wood with a fingertip. “I intend to remain in this place, to maintain my pledge as Lord d’Annossy and to rebuild Sayerne, if God wills it.”
“You mean if Tulley wills it.” Bayard earned a look for that. “It seems that he has more influence in this valley than any other.”
Quinn frowned and continued. “And that means that we must look upon the others in this valley as our neighbors, villeins and even friends, not as resources.”
“This is about the maid,” Bayard guessed, irked that his comrade would attempt to govern his behavior.
“’Tis.”
“This is about your wife. She will see you gelded, if you allow it, and then if Annossy is attacked, where will you be? Timid at her feet, like a dog well-trained...”
Quinn cleared his throat and Bayard fell silent. “My lady makes a fair point. Women must be treated with courtesy, maidens in particular, when we have need of their services in the hall. Fathers will not entrust them to such service if they are to be abused or left with child.”
“But a man must have his pleasures!”
“Must he? Is it not a consequence of war that a man takes no responsibility, that he pays for his pleasure and moves on?”
“We have been chaste while on crusade, Quinn,” Bayard reminded his friend with impatience. “It was a choice but it is done. A man must satisfy his base needs...”
“Is such behavior not the mark of a mercenary who does not know if he will live another day? And if he does, he is unlikely to be in the same keep or town. By virtue of his trade, he chooses to abide in the moment.” Quinn held up a finger when Bayard might have protested.
“But we are no longer on crusade or at war. I vowed that I would give you a home, Bayard, and I will keep that pledge. I will grant you honest employ, as a man I trust above all others. I will have need of you and would not see us part. You may labor here or at Sayerne, but I will ensure that you do not lack, except if you seduce the maidens who serve in the hall.”
“But...”
“Should you have need of such pleasures, then journey to Tulley or even beyond, but you will not so indulge in my holdings. I know you are more temperate than you would have others believe, but you may not indulge here.”
Bayard heaved a sigh and attempted a jest, hoping that he might convince Quinn to soften. “You have been tamed by your lady, indeed,” he began but Quinn interrupted him.
“I have been tutored by her, and she speaks good sense in this. My father’s repute was fed by his tendency to treat women as whores.
I must be different. I must choose differently to convince all in this valley that I am different.
And that means that you, and all men in my service, must do the same. ”
“Or?” Bayard invited, feeling rebellious before this demand.
Quinn gave him an intent look, one that Bayard knew meant his companion’s decision was made. Quinn did not reply, but gestured to the portal. Beyond it were the gates, the valley, Tulley and the Beauvoir Pass.
Or he could leave.
Bayard frowned. “It is unnatural for a man to be chaste.”
“But not for a man to pledge to one woman.”
“Now I am to wed as well? You push me overmuch, Quinn!”
“Why not wed?” Quinn sat back and raised his hands. “It might please you well.”
“You and your lady wife argue with fervor!”