Chapter 13
It did indeed prove to be Luc and Thierry Douglas who had taken shelter at Tulley’s inn.
Both knights had dark hair and rode chestnut destriers that were also brothers.
Quinn had smiled at the sight of Emperor and Dragon in the stables, knowing the truth before he even entered the common room of the inn.
Their squires, Baird and Thorne, each standing behind his knight, grinned at the sight of him, and he was certain both boys had grown several inches in height.
To Quinn’s surprise, though, Rolfe de Viandin was not with them.
After greetings were exchanged and Quinn had shaken the rain out of his cloak, he joined them at the board. Baird hastened to fetch him a cup of ale.
“Rolfe rode on ahead. He wished to be home before the Yule, though we thought there would be too much snow on the pass,” Thierry said.
“Aye, we recalled your tale of it well enough and were cautious as a result,” Luc said, nudging Quinn.
“I never thought to ask if there had been others of our party when we came through the pass,” Quinn said. “I thought you all behind us.”
“And they are not so welcoming there,” Thierry said with a grimace. “Truly, it is more than the wind that is chilly at Beauvoir.” They laughed together at that as Baird returned with another pitcher of ale and a cup for Quinn. He poured and the comrades saluted each other. It was good cold ale.
“Did you ask about Rolfe?” Quinn asked.
“Aye,” Luc said and exchanged a merry glance with his brother. Quinn could not guess what amused them so. “Though I feared they might recall that beast of his more readily than Rolfe himself.”
“Mephistopheles,” Thierry said with a smile of affection. “What manner of fool would give the largest blackest destrier such a name? It would invite trouble.”
“Though Rolfe has found fortune, not trouble,” Luc observed and his brother nodded agreement.
“Aye?” Quinn asked. “How so?”
“You will never believe it,” Luc said, dropping his voice low in confidence as he leaned over the board. His eye twinkled merrily. “Rolfe was wed at Beauvoir keep.”
“Wed? Rolfe de Viandin? What madness is this?” Quinn demanded with a smile. He could not imagine Rolfe taking a wife at all, and certainly couldn’t think of a reason for the ceremony to occur at that fortress. “He is the one of us who will be last to marry, to be sure!”
Luc wagged a finger at him. “Not so. Rolfe arrived at the pass with a maiden. Evidently, he had rescued her or was escorting her for some reason or another.”
“A maiden?” Quinn asked.
“A maiden,” Luc confirmed.
“She was very pretty, by all accounts,” Thierry whispered and they all chuckled together.
“And Rolfe’s mother was seeking him out, for she knew he returned home,” Luc continued.
“His father had been a comrade of Bertrand, Lord of Beauvoir, so she had paused there on her way south to find Rolfe, then was compelled to remain because of the snow. Evidently, she had appealed to Tulley to find Rolfe a bride, for his older brother died last fall.”
“Rolfe inherited Viandin?” Quinn said with surprise.
Thierry nodded. “And was wed at the Yule, at Beauvoir, to the maiden with whom he traveled, at Tulley’s dictate. When there was a thaw in January, he rode on to Viandin with bride and mother.”
“These are fine tidings indeed,” Quinn said and raised his cup to toast Rolfe’s good fortune. They drank to their comrade’s health and Quinn guessed that he was not the sole one to be amazed. “Are you certain it is true?”
“So they say,” Thierry said.
“We thought to see if you had returned to Sayerne or not, then continue to Viandin to confirm the tale for ourselves,” Luc said. “It lies on the path to Paris, does it not?”
Quinn nodded.
“Unless Rolfe comes to Sayerne in May, as we all vowed to do,” Thierry added.
“He might not choose to make the journey if his lady wife is with child,” Quinn said. They agreed on this, then the brothers looked expectantly at Quinn.
“And how did you find Sayerne?” Luc asked.
“In ruin,” Quinn admitted ruefully and they expressed dismay. He held up a hand. “And I, too, am wed at Tulley’s command, by strange coincidence, and am now Lord d’Annossy. It has been but days.”
“Annossy?” the brothers asked in unison.
“A neighboring holding to Sayerne, and one that is in better repair.” Quinn leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Annossy’s borders are under attack from brigands, and the holding administered by a daughter alone. Tulley insisted upon the match and charged me to rout the villains.”
“And a wife in the bargain, never mind one with a prosperous holding. Rolfe is not the sole one of us blessed by Dame Fortune,” Thierry said, toasting Quinn.
“Not necessarily so,” Luc said in a teasing tone. “Is the lady young? Is she a beauty?”
“Aye, she is both. Clever, as well, and well experienced in matters of administration.” Quinn sighed. “I have much to learn from my lady wife.”
The brothers studied him, perhaps hearing more than he confessed.
Quinn forced a smile. “Perhaps that is Tulley’s scheme, for I am not to be granted Sayerne’s seal for a year, and only then if we conceive a son.” He thought of Melissande’s concerns for her own future and wondered yet again how he could reassure her of his intentions.
Not by delaying his return on this day, that was for certain. He frowned, disliking that Tulley again dictated his fate.
“Have you heard tell of the others?” Thierry asked after a moment of silence.
“Aye! Bayard is at Annossy, of course, and Amaury ensures the gates are defended in my absence. Lothair and Niall arrived with Amaury just after me, and they guard the mill, which has been attacked twice.”
“Brigands! What manner of coward attacks those who are not trained in the arts of war? I wager you have need of more men you can trust,” Thierry said, a predictable gleam in his eyes. He never had any sympathy for those who preyed upon the weak.
“I do and I welcome you both, but this night, I am summoned to the board of the Lord de Tulley.”
“Invite us,” Thierry said with a grin, then nudged his brother. “He might grant one of us a bride, as that seems to be his habit.”
“He has a niece close by his side, and I should not be fool enough to smile at her,” Quinn advised and they laughed together. “I will ask him, to be sure,” he vowed and they drank together to the success of that scheme.
’Twas strange to be without Lord Quinn at Annossy.
Berthe felt his absence keenly, though she had met him only a few days before.
There was a reassuring effect of his presence that Berthe noticed in his absence.
She knew her reaction was naught compared to that of her lady.
Though Lady Melissande strove to remain occupied and acted as if she scarce noticed her husband’s absence, Berthe thought her lady too watchful.
She jumped if any soul entered the hall and glanced frequently toward the gates.
Berthe could fairly see her listening for the sound of a destrier’s hoof beats.
But there was no such sound. The day dragged long, the shadows lengthened in the hall and finally the lanterns were lit.
Still, Lord Quinn did not return. The rain drummed in the bailey and on the roof of the keep.
The dampness of spring filled the air along with the smell of the thaw.
There were already a few trickles of water on the floor of the great hall and the moat was filled high.
The guard changed on the curtain wall and in the bailey, and Gaultier came into the hall, his expression sour with disapproval.
Lady Melissande scarcely looked up. She was working upon the accounts for Annossy, having told Louis that very morning that she must ensure they were complete to date before surrendering them to her lord husband. She had labored upon them all the day long, seated by the fire in the great hall.
Berthe shivered, knowing she would find it hard to stay warm on this night, and hoped she could find a second straw pallet to put beneath her own.
The very stone emanated a dampness in the spring that she felt more keenly than winter’s chill.
She wore a cloak, even though she was in the hall, and went to the kitchen to get a cup of mulled cider for her lady.
She was heating the cider over the fire when the door to the gardens was opened. Bayard entered the kitchen, shaking rain out of his cloak and hood. His eyes glinted when his gaze danced over her, but he did not speak to her.
Berthe straightened and turned her back upon Sir Rogue.
“Is it always so foul here?” he asked the cook.
“Only in the spring,” George said. “You will see. It will rain and rain, until you think we have need of an ark. The snow will melt and the river will over-run its banks. The mud will be plentiful and deep, and just when you think you cannot bear to see another drop of rain, the sun will appear.” He snapped his fingers.
“The air will turn warm, immediately,” Louis confirmed. “The birds will sing and the valley will turn lush and green.” He shook his head. “It seems to change in the blink of an eye, and then there is labor to be done in truth.”
“So either there is rain or work,” Bayard said. “I see little merry in that combination.”
“But then the growing begins,” the cook said with enthusiasm. “I will be very happy to have the first wild leeks of the season, perhaps for the sauce of a venison stew.”
“We are all well and done with potage vegetables by the spring,” Louis agreed.
“Is there any food sweeter than the first berry?” George demanded and soon everyone in the kitchen was talking of summer’s bounty.
Berthe smiled as she listened, and swirled the cider.
A man’s hand appeared in the periphery of her vision and she jumped, colliding with Bayard who stood directly behind her and spilling a measure of cider. “You startled me, Sir Rogue,” she chided, keenly aware of his proximity. “Though I anticipate that was your scheme.”