Chapter 15
When all was made ready for the return of the knights, Melissande returned to the solar, hoping she could see something of what happened at the mill from the high windows.
She bolted the door behind herself, leaving the solar in darkness as she crossed to the window.
The new moon meant the night was dark and she wanted to see whatever could be discerned.
There was no lantern lit in the solar and the brazier, which had been stirred up when she had first come to bed, was now nigh cold.
Only a coal or two glowed faintly orange within it.
When she looked toward the mill, there was only the silence of the night.
The bonfire had been doused. She could not hear a single sound of battle, but she did hear men’s voices.
She leaned out the window as she spotted lights on the road to the mill.
A party was returning to Annossy, a large party by the sound of the horses.
There were torches being carried alongside, and she guessed that the squires lit the way.
The men were singing and she leaned against the frame with relief.
Quinn’s men had triumphed. Doubtless, they returned to Annossy with the brigands captive or injured.
She had to admit that Quinn had been right about leaving only one knight behind.
Annossy had not been assaulted, much to her relief.
The challenge to Annossy’s borders was resolved, and Quinn had done it.
She stepped back from the window, intent upon ensuring the soup was hot for the returning party, then heard the stealthy sound of a boot on the floor behind her.
Melissande spun quickly, but not quickly enough. A man seized her from behind and shoved a cloth into her mouth. She struggled against him but he was more powerful than she. She was enraged by his audacity.
What travesty was this? Who dared to assault the Lady d’Annossy in her own chamber?
Even as she struggled, her heart chilled. Her assailant must have known of the other entry. Whoever assaulted her, he had scaled the tower in the darkness. Too late she wished she had confided in Quinn.
Her attacker kicked her feet out from beneath her and she fell hard to the floor. He was overwhelming Melissande easily, which terrified her. She could never defend herself, not with force, for her attacker was much stronger.
Panicking, she thought of Quinn and his experience at war. She thought of how he turned matters on their heads to gain the element of surprise and realized this man expected her to fight him to her last.
Instead, Melissande gasped and pretended to faint. She collapsed on the floor and heard her attacker grunt with satisfaction.
He bent over her, reaching to bind her wrists.
She felt the heavy rope upon one wrist and she did not know whether he intended to capture her or violate her.
She gave him the chance to do neither. With her other hand, she pulled Gaultier’s dagger from its sheath in her garter.
She stabbed upward, not bothering to cast back her skirts lest the knife blade shine in the dark.
Her hand was beneath his mail hauberk, for it brushed the back of her wrist. She felt the blade sink home—into his thigh, perhaps—and warm blood run down her arm as her attacker swore.
“Deceptive whore!” he snarled and Melissande froze in recognition of his voice.
Gaultier!
She tried to stab him again, but he caught her wrist and twisted it backward. If she could have made a sound, she would have cried out in pain. She was compelled to drop the blade and heard it clatter to the floor. She could not see it in the darkness and wondered how she would retrieve it.
Gaultier meanwhile bound her wrists together with savage force. His breath was coming quickly and his anger was palpable. Melissande’s heart raced with fear. How had she allowed this serpent to live within the walls of Annossy? How could she have failed to see his true nature?
But Quinn, Quinn had guessed it from the outset. Melissande could have wept that she had so misplaced her trust. Because of her own failure to confide in her lord husband, she might meet her end at the hands of this villain.
She stumbled when Gaultier dragged her to her feet and pushed her toward the bed. She inadvertently kicked the knife, but it was gone, dancing across the floor. Gaultier must have heard it, as well, for he bent to retrieve something even as he shoved her toward the bed.
“My own dagger,” he muttered. While he was distracted, Melissande tried to twist out of his grip. He grabbed her, shook her, then struck her across the face. “Faithless bitch!”
Melissande fell backward and slipped so that she nearly collided with the pillar of the bed.
She blinked, astonished that he had struck her, then felt new fear for her survival.
She scrambled across the floor, trying to move around the bed even as she fought to recall every item in the solar.
Had Berthe left the pail of water or the one for slops?
If so, where were they? The last coal glowed in the brazier on the far side of the bed, but where were the tongs?
How could she defend herself when her hands were bound?
And what was Gaultier’s scheme?
She was a fool a hundred times over and if she survived this day, she would spend her life making amends for her mistake.
Melissande could only hope she had the chance to do as much.
“I hear you, my lady,” he whispered, his tone taunting, and her heart fluttered like a caged bird. “You will not evade me. You can come quietly or not. The choice is yours.”
What did he intend to do to her?
Melissande tried to quell her rising terror.
She heard a rustle and Gaultier’s boot on the floor again.
She was sure he would find her by the erratic thunder of her heart, or the sound of her breath.
She could smell him drawing closer. Why had she told Berthe to remain in the hall?
She eased around the bed, trying to stay out of his reach.
She reached the side of the bed with the brazier beside it and managed to hook her foot beneath it.
It was weighty and top-heavy. Could she kick it with sufficient accuracy to injure Gaultier?
She would certainly try.
She huddled against the bed, trying to become one with it.
She held her breath and remained motionless.
She thought she could see Gaultier, just barely, a dark silhouette against the shadows.
She heard his footstep and waited for what seemed like an eternity.
She heard a distant cry and the creak of the gates, then the sound of horses in the bailey.
Quinn and his party returned! There was a cheer from those awaiting him.
Gaultier made a low hiss. He took another step and she heard a rustle of cloth.
Could she stall until Quinn came to the solar? She feared not.
“Come here, my lady,” Gaultier whispered as if she were so witless as to be enticed to her own doom. “We have not much time. I do not want to injure you. Trust me.”
Trust him. The very suggestion sent fury through Melissande. What did this vermin know of trust? No man of merit kidnapped a woman or struck her. A knight vowed to defend those weaker than himself! She heard a faint sound of a boot on stone and knew it was too distant to be Gaultier.
Who else was in the solar? If he had an accomplice, she was lost.
But Gaultier froze and she thought he turned toward the sound.
He was surprised. Did someone come to her aid?
Melissande scratched her nail against the floor, trying to convince him that he had heard her and not another. He chuckled and took a step closer. “There you are,” he murmured, and when he took the next step, Melissande kicked the brazier with all her might.
It fell with a thud, scattered coals and debris from the fire across the floor.
Gaultier swore again and she hoped it had injured him.
She saw one fiery coal began to smolder as it came to a rest on a carpet, but it was too far away to reach.
The smoke rose immediately and the flame sparked to life shortly afterward.
In its light, Melissande saw Gaultier lunging toward her, rage in his eyes. She hurled herself under the great bed. She heard him roar then snatch after her, but she scurried to the opposite side to evade him. Her eyes widened when she saw a second pair of boots appear behind Gaultier.
He swore again and stood, then Melissande heard the clash of steel on steel. The two pairs of boots quickly becoming indistinguishable as the men circled and fought with increasing vigor.
Who had come to her assistance?
It was beyond infuriating that she could not see the battle. The flames grew brighter and she squirmed across the floor, emerging on the other side of the bed. Gaultier battled a knight in a green tabard who still wore his helmet.
Melissande shook in her relief.
Bayard had guessed her fate somehow and she was heartily glad of it. She hurried around the bed and began to stamp on the carpet to put out the flames. Now she could see the bucket of washing water, not far away. She hurried to it and kicked it over so that the carpet was doused.
The fire went out, plunging them into darkness again.
The helmeted knight swore with gusto and Melissande turned to stare at him in astonishment.
Quinn? Surely she had not recognized his voice.
The knight wore Bayard’s tabard and helmet.
He must have swung his blade, for she heard it whistle through the air, and she ducked, cowering against the wall.
No doubt Gaultier would have been glad to seize her, and Melissande scarce dared to breathe.
She heard blades clash and men grunt, then a heavy weight fell to the floor.
There was silence.
She feared the import of that. If it had been her benefactor who had fallen, she was at Gaultier’s whim. A boot tread sounded on the floor and she closed her eyes in dread.