“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!”
“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.
How much had she vexed him with her sharp tongue the night before? God in Heaven, but she hoped that her words had not prompted him to be careless.
“He also insisted that the gate be kept closed in his absence,” Amaury added.
“It is unreasonable,” Gaultier began to argue, but Melissande glared at him.
“It is not your place, Gaultier, to challenge the command of the Lord d’Annossy,” she said coldly. “My lord husband must have good reason for his decision and his order, and so his command shall be obeyed.” She turned and nodded to the two knights. “I thank you for these tidings. Please ensure that my lord husband’s will is done.”
“Aye, my lady,” they said in unison and she could not miss the satisfaction both showed.
She also did not miss that Gaultier was displeased.
Tulley was at the board when Quinn arrived, and invited the arriving knight to join him with a gesture. “Your timing is superb. There is a boar stew this day and some of the wine of Annossy.” Tulley’s niece was seated by his left hand and smiled at Quinn but did not speak.
“In truth, sir, I come for tidings, not sustenance.”
“Tidings?” Tulley’s brows rose. “Of what?”
“I would know more of Gaultier, the Captain of the Guard at Annossy.”
Tulley blinked. “I know naught of him. The one before him, Millard, he I knew for many years.” He nodded, though Quinn did not know if his approval was of that knight or the wine poured into his cup. He sipped the wine and nodded again. “A good man from the king’s own demesne in Paris, but a younger son. Well-trained and well-bred, but lacking in coin and opportunity. He served me for a decade then Annossy for another thirty. A most excellent warrior. I deeply regretted his loss. ’Twas just over a year ago.”
“My lady wife told me that you sent her current Captain of the Guard to her, to replace the warrior who passed.”
“I did not!”
Quinn was taken aback. “Then from whence did he come?”
“How am I to say? She employs him. Try the meat, Heloise. It is most fine this day. This piece, not that one.”
“Aye, Uncle. I thank you.”
Quinn cleared his throat. “But she employs him because he came at your recommendation.”
“Well, she has erred in that, as women are like to do. I did not send him.” Tulley savored his stew with satisfaction. “You must join us. This is a fine meal.”
He waved to the châtelain, who set another place, while a squire took Quinn’s cloak. He was brought a bowl of water to wash his hands and his stomach grumbled as he took his place at Tulley’s right hand.
“What was his name?” Tulley asked when they were all eating.
“Gaultier.”
“Gaultier,” Tulley repeated, then shook his head. “Has he no holding of origin or town or family name?”
Quinn shook his head. “If so, I do not know it.”
“Lonvaux,” Heloise said and both men turned to look at her. She flushed a little. “His name is Gaultier de Lonvaux. I remember him.”
“Remember him?” Tulley repeated, his tone cross. “How could you remember him? And when did you see him?”
“Last year, in the autumn. It must have been just before he went to Annossy. He was here, at Tulley, lodged in the inn in the town.”
Quinn saw Tulley’s brows rise and was surprised that the older man had missed this detail.
Heloise continued. “I saw him when I arrived, for he stood outside the inn, on the road, as my party passed. He spoke to me.” She blushed a little.
“Audacity,” Tulley muttered.
“Why was he?” Tulley demanded.
“He said that Gaultier had no hope of inheritance, not since his aunt had wed again.”
“Marie,” Quinn said almost to himself, recalling the inscription on the blade in Melissande’s possession.
“Indeed!” Heloise agreed with pleasure. “Marie de Perricault is his aunt and her former husband trained Gaultier for his spurs. She was said to be fond of him and sponsored him even after her husband’s death. People said the most wicked things.” She shook her head and her expression turned prim.
“What wicked things?” Tulley asked.
“Uncle!”
“Tell me. We seek news of this man and even rumor may hold a germ of truth.”
Heloise blushed crimson. “That Marie would have wed him if he had not been her own kin. They said, they said, that their relations were most improper.” She looked disapproving after confessing this much.
Tulley sipped his wine, then nodded slowly. “I remember this,” he said. “It was most scandalous, but I did not know the young man’s name.” He snapped his fingers. “And then Marie did wed again, so the rumors fell silent. I suppose that might have been when Gaultier had to leave Perricault to find his fortune.” He nodded, well content with this version of events and returned to his meal. “It is most fine, is it not? I tell the gamekeeper to take a boar whenever he can. It is by far the finest meat.”
“Where is Perricault?” Quinn asked for he did not know of it.
“To the north,” Tulley said. “En route to Paris. It lies on the other side of the mountains that mark the north side of this valley.” He lowered his voice. “Not quite so well favored by the sun and so less prosperous as a result, but still fine territory. They make a passable wine.”
Quinn leaned forward so that he could see Heloise. “Why were you glad that your father had objections to Gaultier, if I might be so bold as to ask?”
All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances Page 25
