Chapter 12 #2
“There is much at stake and all has changed for my lady.” Quinn’s expression turned rueful before Bayard could ask for details. “What of the maid? You watch her as keenly as she watches you, and you match wits with her. There is more than a pretty smile prompting all of this.”
Bayard dropped his gaze, unwilling to share his secrets. “It has been too long since I savored a woman. She is here and she is pretty. It is no more than that.” He scowled when Quinn cleared his throat and ceded another increment. “I like that she is keen of wit, and fearless.”
“She does not fear you, that is for certain. Perhaps she sees your truth.”
“Yet she calls me a rogue,” Bayard retorted. “She might be disappointed to know that I am nigh as chaste as you have been.”
“Perhaps not. You do not like when Niall talks to her.”
Bayard frowned, feeling disgruntled. “Perhaps you make much of little.”
“Perhaps you have forgotten the gift that Marcus granted to you.”
Bayard fairly growled that Quinn spoke of it. He had hoped that his comrade might have forgotten. “A perfume that will win the heart of the most reluctant maiden,” he said, repeating the innkeeper’s words. “I have not forgotten.”
“Then think upon which maiden it shall be.” Quinn made to rise, evidently believing the matter to be concluded.
Aye, they knew each other well.
“Where do you go so early in the morn?” Bayard demanded. “All are yet asleep.”
“I mean to ride to Tulley. There are matters I would discuss with my overlord.”
“Details he neglected to share?” Bayard raised his brows but Quinn did not confide in him. “And you will ride alone?”
“Aye. I intend to return this day, although the hour will be late.” Quinn nodded as Amaury came down the stairs, as neatly attired as if he had risen hours before.
Bayard immediately felt as if he looked to be a mercenary of no repute, perhaps one who ravished maidens and abandoned them with his seed ripening in their bellies.
“I would ask you two to ensure that the gates are not opened in my absence. Until I know more, I would have all at Annossy remain at Annossy.”
“You cannot ride alone when there are brigands abroad,” Amaury protested.
“I carry neither coin nor treasure, and Fortitude is swift.” Quinn was adamant. “I will arm myself and none shall trouble me. I will not wait for any other rider to join me.”
Bayard and Amaury exchanged a glance. “I will go with you,” Bayard said, but Quinn shook his head.
“I do not like how we are divided,” Amaury noted. “Quinn, think of it. Solitude makes you vulnerable.”
Quinn shook his head. “Not so much as you fear. So long as the gates are closed, there will be no peril to me. See that it is so. And I will grant you a task for this day.”
“Any deed!” Amaury said.
“You have but to name it,” Bayard agreed.
Quinn tapped his fingertip on the board, even as he lowered his voice. “I would know every way in and out of this keep, even if it is only a passage of sufficient size for a rat.”
“Not all rats are small,” Amaury murmured as the men exchanged glances.
“There must be more than the gate itself,” Quinn said. “And there may be breaches in the wall.”
“The sewer,” Amaury mused.
“The kitchens,” Bayard said and the others looked at him. “The keep itself may have more entries than you realize. Any soul in the village might be able to reach the solar.”
“Aye. I would know them all.” Without allowing for further discussion, Quinn left them there, walking to the kitchen with purpose.
“I never knew him to be impetuous,” Amaury said.
“I never knew his confidence to be misplaced,” Bayard agreed. “Until, of course, we reached Tulley.”
The pair exchanged a glance. “I might ride after him,” Amaury said.
“I think you will only earn his ire,” Bayard said. “Mind that the gate is closed after him and secured. I will join you there as soon as I am dressed. I will not fail to provide that list on his return.”
Amaury nodded and left the great hall. Bayard returned to the chamber above and donned his mail tunic and tabard, dressing quickly.
He heard the echo of hoof beats even as he buckled on his sword, then took his gloves and helm.
He eyed his saddlebag, then opened it on impulse, removing the glass vial that was carefully packed within it.
The liquid was still trapped in the bottle, for he had taken care with the gift.
Marcus had been the first in many years to grant Bayard a gift.
Now, Quinn offered him another, a much greater one, if only he would cede to Quinn’s desire.
Was the price truly so high as he argued?
A home was a dream beyond all else. A home and a wife, a hearth of his own, honest labor, and perhaps a son.
’Twas enough to steal his breath away—especially if that wife had flashing eyes and no compunction in telling him when he erred.
Bayard turned the bottle so that it caught the light and wondered if Marcus had spoken aright. If he could only claim one woman, he rather thought the maid Berthe might do well.
He tucked the bottle into his purse and strode to meet Amaury, wondering how he might put Marcus’ gift to best use.
“Gone?” Melissande repeated when Berthe brought hot water. “How can my lord husband be gone?”
Where had Quinn gone?
And why?
Yet the foremost question in Melissande’s thoughts was why had he not told her of his plan.
Of course, she had been shrewish the night before and she was troubled that she could not apologize to him this morn.
The dagger given to her by Gaultier was on the rug beside the bed, as if it had fallen from beneath her pillow, and she feared that Quinn might have seen it.
She still wore his ring, but Melissande was afraid.
“He rode out before the dawn, my lady. Doubtless his men know his destination, but they do not share it. The gates are secured and they will allow no one to enter or to leave until my lord Quinn’s return.”
What madness was this?
Melissande dressed in haste and swept down the stairs to the great hall with purpose.
She found no one there but the maids who swept the rushes, for it was the day that they should be changed.
Berthe hustled behind her. Melissande did not pause in the kitchen but went straight through the bailey to the gates, where she found Bayard and Amaury.
The two knights were fully armed and stood before the barred gates to Annossy, arms folded across their chests. They looked formidable and somber.
The skies were overcast and she could smell the difference in the wind. The rains would begin soon, perhaps even before midday. Soon it would be time to sow. Would Quinn abandon Annossy for Sayerne? The fields had always been more fertile there.
Gaultier came to her side in the bailey, following her to the gates when she did not pause. “It is unreasonable, my lady. No one is permitted to leave, and this for another day. Your lord husband is a tyrant...”
Melissande held up a hand for his silence. She addressed Amaury. “Is it true that my lord husband has left Annossy?”
The knight inclined his head. “But not for long, my lady. He had an errand.”
An errand.
“Did he ride to Sayerne?” she asked, thinking Quinn might have wished to look upon it.
“I cannot say, my lady,” Amaury said, but Bayard’s quick look made Melissande doubt that had been Quinn’s destination.
“Did you not visit that holding upon your arrival?” she asked him, remembering how Quinn’s party had been behind her own on her ride to Tulley. They had come from further down the valley and as there was no access, they must have visited Sayerne.
And likely found it inhospitable.
“Aye, my lady.” Bayard bowed slightly and his gaze flicked to Berthe.
“And?”
“It was in need of much repair, my lady.”
Why would Quinn return to Sayerne so soon? Melissande could not imagine. Sayerne was a ruin and that could not have changed in these few days. She could not imagine him to be sentimental, or in need of a plan for restoring that holding. Every single task had to be done and every shelter rebuilt.
The only other destination he might have had—unless he intended to abandon her completely—was Tulley.
But why? Quinn could not seek an annulment. Tulley had ensured that. Melissande had told him that she had her courses, though, which meant that he would conclude that she was not with child, even after two nights together. The truth, of course, was that she might be.
Curse her impulse to deceive him! Her father had always said that lies only bred more lies, and Melissande wished that had not proven so very true.
Surely he did not mean to question Tulley about her betrothal to Arnaud? He had been vexed by those tidings, to be sure, as a man of honor might be. She could not fully explain the fear that rose within her at the possibility that Quinn might succeed in putting her aside.
She would be neither wife nor widow, yet not a maiden either. What if she became a mother? By her own word to him, that child could not be his. She might be called a harlot, as a result of her own claim.
Her wits were addled, to be sure. What was it about this man that gave him such power to put her emotions in turmoil? Was it the same ability that made her body respond to the very sight of him and rise so quickly to his touch?
“Did he give any indication of when he would return?” she asked Amaury.
That knight nodded. “He vowed it would be this day, my lady, but guessed that the hour would be late.”
He could ride to Tulley and back in that time, if he rode with purpose.
She supposed she should be relieved that his scheme was to return.
“But there are brigands in the valley,” she said to Bayard. “Surely, he did not ride out alone?”
“He did, my lady.” The knight, to his credit, looked discomfited by this and Melissande guessed that he and Quinn had disagreed about this course. Why would he take such a risk? She already knew that Quinn tended to be prudent.
Unless he was angry.