All's Fair in Love and War

Chapter 9

Melissande was not pleased to be summoned to Tulley so early. Indeed, the messenger must have left that keep at first light, or even before. She had received word of another raid upon Annossy while breaking her fast, this time at the mill on the border, and had been conferring with her Captain of the Guard when the messenger arrived.

Did Tulley himself know of it already? She would not be surprised if he did. Her overlord seemed to know every detail first of events in his holding.

Her every attempt to see to her own concerns had been denied by the messenger, and she was commanded to escort him to Tulley immediately. Berthe had packed a few necessities—including a kirtle sufficiently fine to be suitable for a meal at her liege lord’s table—and the two women had left Annossy with the messenger and the one warrior who accompanied him. Gaultier, Annossy’s Captain of the Guard, had remained behind to learn more detail of the raid.

Melissande did not like to be ordered to do any deed, and her mood was not improved by the presence of another larger party upon the road. They looked to be ruffians and followed behind, making her keenly aware that her own party was smaller and less well defended.

In what peril was the world that a noblewoman could not feel safe upon the short stretch of road between her holding and that of her overlord?

Perhaps these men were the brigands responsible for the attack on the mill.

Melissande yearned to know, but she had not the confidence to confront them. They did not seem to be in a hurry and did not catch up to Melissande’s party before reaching Tulley itself.

Lord de Tulley’s niece, Heloise, rushed to meet Melissande at the gates. Perhaps Melissande had been summoned because the younger woman was in need of companionship. She knew Heloise had come to Tulley at Yuletide, after the death of her parents, and could well imagine that the other woman found little to amuse herself. She also knew that Tulley doted upon his niece and would do whatsoever was necessary to ensure her happiness. Tulley had neither spouse nor child himself. Melissande had met Heloise several times over the years and knew the maiden enjoyed the hunt. The snow this winter was likely sufficient to limit that pleasure and the girl must be vexed to be trapped indoors, even at Tulley.

Was Heloise’s boredom the reason for Tulley’s imperious summons? It was vexing to be considered no more than entertainment for a maiden with naught to do, but Melissande smiled for Heloise. She was a pretty and cheerful maiden. Melissande liked her and would not have wanted to be alone in Tulley’s hall herself.

But she had scarce greeted Heloise than the Lord de Tulley’s châtelain urged her toward the small chamber where Tulley conducted his business. Heloise was left in the hall with Berthe. Melissande found herself alone with her liege lord, and that so quickly that she scarce had removed her gloves. She had time to fear that something was sorely amiss, then he spoke.

Tulley, at least, was not inclined to be evasive.

“It is past time for you to wed, Melissande,” he said crisply. “And you will do as much this very day.”

Melissande was shocked by his blunt declaration but he held her gaze with resolve.

“Indeed, sir?”

“Indeed.” Tulley seemed to have aged since she had last seen him the previous fall. Though his blue eyes were bright, the lines were etched more deeply in his brow. He looked smaller than he had, but no less determined than ever.

Melissande knew it was Tulley’s right to choose her spouse since her father was dead. She supposed she had been foolish to hope that he had forgotten his obligation since he had not insisted on her taking a spouse sooner.

Tulley forgot naught.

He sat then in his great chair, his tidings delivered, and eyed her when she remained silent. “I thought you might have more to say of this matter, Melissande. You have never been reluctant to share your opinion before.” He seemed amused by this, which irked her.

“I did not realize Arnaud de Privas had come to Tulley as well,” she said.

Her lord snorted in a manner that was a reply in itself. “I have already told you to forget that whimsy of a betrothal.”

Melissande stood taller. “A pledge is not whimsy, sir.”

Tulley held Melissande’s gaze. “If your sire were alive, he would have seen that pledge dismissed long before now. You were but a child! There is more at stake here than you might guess.”

The implication that she could not understand the repercussions of her choice annoyed Melissande as little else could have done. Her tone was less temperate when she replied. “My word is at stake and that, sir, is of immeasurable value to me.”

“My borders are imperiled by your lack of spouse,” Tulley countered. “You will wed.”

Melissande straightened. “My lord, when my father died, you promised me the opportunity to administer Annossy alone and prove my abilities. I am grateful for your trust. I had hoped that you might have invested me with the seal of my father’s estate by now.”

“I cannot entrust you with the seal. You are but a woman!”

Melissande kept her tone even with an effort. “I am my father’s daughter, trained in Annossy’s administration from the moment I could read.”

“And yet a woman still.”

“My mother held the seal while my father rode to war and administered the holding in his stead.”

“On the assumption that he would return, and he did. If he had not done so, I would have ensured she wed another. The compromises made in the instance of war cannot be construed as permanent solutions, Melissande.”

“My mother was an excellent administrator...”

“And you have taken a lesson from her, for which I am glad. But these recent attacks upon Annossy show that the holding is vulnerable!” Tulley spoke with heat. “The marauders know the holding is governed by a woman. You know as well as I that their actions reflect their perception of weakness.”

“I am not weak!” Melissande protested. “The villeins are satisfied and the tithes have been beyond expectation. Annossy is well-ruled...”

Tulley interrupted her. “But not sufficiently well-defended.”

“I could hire more men-at-arms,” she began but Tulley waved off her suggestion.

“They will follow a man, and you know that as well as I do.” He leaned forward and his tone softened slightly. “I hold these lands for the emperor by grant of the Count of Arles. Should any of them be lost, my own position would be compromised. You know that I cannot risk that. The attacks upon Annossy compel me to make a choice, Melissande. I have let you temporarily administer your family holdings, but I will not invest you with the seal.”

Melissande glimpsed the warrior that the Lord de Tulley had once been, and appreciated anew his reputation as a man who would see his will done against all obstacles.

If she had been a man, she would have openly defied him. If she had been a man, there would have been no criticism of her administration. If she had been a man, she would have chosen her own spouse freely. Or taken none at all.

She could not remain silent. “I will choose...”

“Nay, Melissande,” Tulley said with impatience. “You will wed and, as befits my right as your liege lord, I have decided to whom.”

“It would please me to keep my pledge to wed Arnaud de Privas, my lord.” That was an understatement in the extreme. Melissande’s word was her bond, a habit taught by her beloved father, and a source of pride. “When he returns from winning his fortune...”

“He will not return,” Tulley said briskly. “At any rate, the gaining of his fortune ensures that he cannot wed you.”

“I do not understand, sir.”

“Do you think, child, that after all these years I would ignore what I know to be important to you?” he demanded. “I did seek out that rogue Arnaud and I found him.”

Melissande’s heart leapt even as she noted that the lord’s tone was disparaging.

“That rogue has taken a wife himself.”

“A wife?” Melissande echoed.

“A wife. A rich wife.” Tulley nodded. “It would appear that your loyalty has been misplaced.”

This could not be. She and Arnaud had been sworn to each other as children. Though Privas had fallen upon hard times after the death of Arnaud’s father, still the match had been the wish of all four parents, and Melissande could not simply ignore what had been promised.

She doubted that Arnaud would have done as much either. It was true that she did not know him well—she scarce remembered the boy who had taken her hand in his on that long-ago afternoon and repeated the words of the priest—for he had left soon after their betrothal to train for his spurs with a distant uncle. By the time he had been knighted, Privas had been desolate, and Arnaud had sent word that he would seek his fortune then return for her.

Melissande had waited, refusing all suitors for the man her father had chosen.

What if Tulley was trying to remove her objection, even with a falsehood, so that she cede to his plan? He did not approve of Arnaud, she knew it well, although she could not understand why.

“That must be untrue,” she said before she could consider the wisdom of her words.

Tulley’s gaze turned cold. “The source was reliable beyond doubt,” he said. “Arnaud wed Marie de Perricault a year past.”

“Marie!” Although Melissande had not seen the older woman in years, she remembered her testy manner. Perricault was over the mountains and to the north of Annossy, closer to the court of the French king. “Arnaud would not break his word to me!”

“I regret to tell you that he did just that.”

“Might your source be deceived in this?”

Tulley gave her a warning look.

Melissande took a steadying breath. She had to speak her thoughts aloud. “All these years, you have treated me with respect and honesty. Please do not abandon that path now, my lord.”

Tulley’s expression remained impassive.

“Tell me that you did not find Arnaud,” she dared to continue. “Tell me that you refuse to seek him out for whatever reason; tell me what flaws you find in his nature or why you find our fathers’ scheme to be a poor one, but do not lie to me about his fate. I know that I must do as you dictate. Do you think that deception will reconcile me to your will?”

“If you do not wed my choice, you will lose all this very day.”

Melissande was startled. “I shall see your word tested, sir. I shall appeal to the emperor himself!”

“Whose authority is thin this far from his court,” Tulley responded. “Do you think that he will strain his relations with me over the pleas of a landless noblewoman, however beauteous she might be? Annossy is mine to grant as I see fit. I could easily make an argument that your refusal to wed threatens the security of my borders.” The lord settled back in his chair again. “Do you truly imagine that he would take your side?”

Melissande stared at her shoes. “I made a vow at my father’s behest.”

“And now you will make another.” Tulley’s gaze was resolute.

Melissande would be wed, regardless of her own will.

Soon.

And likely to a man whom she did not know.

Melissande could imagine no worse fate than this. She had been tutored by both her parents to administer Annossy, due to their lack of a son, and she knew she excelled at the task. It was unfair for her abilities to be discarded, simply because of her gender, and her blood simmered at the injustice of her situation.

“At least, you have seen the wisdom of holding your tongue,” Tulley muttered.

Melissande took three deep breaths before she trusted herself to speak. “Who would you insist I wed, my lord?”

A rap at the door to the lord’s office interrupted whatever Tulley might have replied. The lord smiled, his expression prompting Melissande to glance toward the portal.

A knight filled its frame.

Nay, not a knight but a renegade.

Foreboding touched Melissande’s heart. Not a ruffian. Surely Tulley would not wed her to a man far beneath her social status. She said a silent prayer as the room, which had seemed too warm just a moment past, felt suddenly chilly.

Was this one of the men in that ragged party they had glimpsed on the road? Nay, it could not be. They had ridden in the same direction and there were several holdings east of Annossy, as well as abandoned Sayerne and high mountain passes blocked with snow.

Nay, her first impulse had to be wrong. This had to be some man-at-arms in Tulley’s employ. A messenger or a mercenary. His arrival at this moment was naught but a coincidence. He brought a message, no more than that.

But still Melissande looked.

He was tall and broad of shoulder, though his travel-stained garb made him look rough and disreputable. His mail glinted in the candlelight, half-hidden beneath a tabard with a torn hem. A well-worn cloak was tossed over his shoulders, its hem dirty, and his thick leather gloves were scuffed from years of heavy wear. His boots were worn and dirty. His armor was not grand and it was not for appearances only.

He was a warrior, one who had meted death and confronted it.

Melissande shivered, intrigued despite herself.

He carried his helmet and ran one hand through the length of his untrimmed hair as she surveyed him, as if he sought to groom himself. It was an ineffective effort. His hair was wavy but clearly unclean, falling to his shoulders. There was stubble on his chin and a streak of mud across his cheek. His eyes were the most remarkable hue of amber and they lit with appreciation after his gaze swept over her.

Indeed, the corner of his mouth lifted, as if he might smile, and the expression was more beguiling than it had any right to be.

Melissande told herself that he must be plagued with lice, and took a step back.

Perhaps he had sought out Tulley to pledge his blade to that lord’s service.

But the châtelain would never have shown him into this chamber while she conferred with Tulley, if that had been the case. The vagabond would have been left to wait in the hall.

God in heaven, nay.

nay“My lord,” intoned Tulley’s châtelain. “Quinn de Sayerne, son of Jerome de Sayerne, as you requested.”

Son of Jerome de Sayerne! Melissande regarded the arrival with new horror as the truth proved to be even worse than her suspicions. Jerome de Sayerne was finally dead, but his son arrived to plague her anew. That lecherous serpent could only have spawned a son of no greater merit than himself.

Melissande had believed Annossy’s troubles over when Jerome died. Though it was not difficult to believe Jerome’s son might sell his blade as a mercenary. The thievery Jerome had initiated against her family’s holdings had nearly destroyed Annossy.

Now the son would finish what the father had begun.

Indeed, if sire and son were cut from the same cloth, it was not unlikely that this man was behind the recent raids on Annossy.

wasSurely, Tulley would not compel her to wed him.

But her overlord’s resolute expression left no doubt that he would do exactly that.

Quinn de Sayerne would be Melissande’s husband and, if she did not miss her guess, their vows would be exchanged without delay.

She and Annossy were lost forever, and worse, there was naught she could do about it.

It was troubling to see such a beautiful woman displeased, and worse to recognize that Quinn himself was the source of her dismay.

The noblewoman in Tulley’s office had long fair hair, although it was twisted and braided so that its golden glory was difficult to see. She frowned at Quinn when he entered the chamber, her expression making him well aware that Tulley had granted him no opportunity to bathe before the meeting. He had been troubled enough about that fact, but the châtelain had insisted he bend his knee first, and so Quinn had complied.

Even the lady’s foul mood did not deter from the beauty of her heart-shaped face and slender form. Her green eyes were tipped upward at their corners and heavily lashed despite her fair coloring. They snapped with fury as she glanced toward him, as if he were guilty of some crime. Her very presence made Quinn aware of how long he had lived in the company of men. It seemed that she, too, had been rushed to this chamber, for a fine dark cloak lined with fur still hung over her shoulders and her gloves were yet in her hand.

She must have been in the small party that rode down the valley ahead of his own.

Quinn was not certain what to say to her or if he should speak to her at all. In all honesty, he recalled few of the niceties of polite society. The company of noble ladies was a distant recollection for him and he had never possessed the easy charm of a knight like his comrades Amaury or Niall.

He considered his own garb and knew he would have to improve his wardrobe before he sought a bride.

“Lord de Tulley?” he said, knowing his voice dropped lower in his effort to appear composed. The lord’s smile seemed genuine and Quinn dared to hope that all was not lost.

“Aye, Quinn. I suspect that you barely recall our last meeting.” The lord rose from his chair and rounded the desk to shake Quinn’s hand. “You were only a boy, then. You have grown tall these twenty years.”

“Aye, sir. And I thank you for your support.” Quinn regarded the older man with surprise at his unexpected familiarity. He recalled those bright blue eyes and the relentless set to the older man’s lips. He also recalled Tulley being stern and uncompromising. Although the thick mane of white hair was new, there was a vigor in the lord’s grasp that recalled a long-ago summer afternoon to Quinn’s mind.

“It was you who sent me to earn my spurs and bade me seek my fortune,” he said.

The lord nodded as he released his hand. “Aye. I always knew that you would grow up straight and true, despite the challenges laid at your door.” He looked Quinn in the eye again. “How are matters at Sayerne?”

Quinn flicked a glance to the silent lady, disliking that he had to confess the truth before her.

Although, it seemed impossible that she could think less of him.

“Neglected,” he admitted.

The lady sniffed at his admission and averted her face. Obviously, she thought the fault was his and Quinn immediately longed to defend himself. That she evidently thought little of him was something he should not find troubling. Bayard had warned him often enough of the fickleness of noblewomen for Quinn to let such a judgment concern him.

He fired a hostile glance in her direction when the lord turned away. She held his gaze boldly and something sparked between them, something that put a flush in her pale cheeks and a fire in his own blood. She averted her gaze again, tossing her head like a filly objecting to the bridle.

Tulley paced behind his desk. “You appear undaunted by Sayerne’s state,” the older man mused. His manner was much that of a cat toying with a mouse and Quinn eyed him before he responded.

Surely the lord did not intend to grant Sayerne to another? Quinn realized suddenly that the missive had only summoned him here. It had not mentioned his investiture, although he had assumed...

Quinn resolved to learn the truth in short order.

“Sayerne is my inheritance,” he said with care. “And there is naught wrong with the holding that hard work will not put right.”

The lady folded her arms across her chest. “And who will do this work, now that your abused villeins have fled?”

“It is only natural that villeins would leave an estate without a lord,” Quinn countered. “I am convinced that they will return when they hear that I have arrived and intend to rebuild.”

“You?” The lady scoffed. “Surely the arrival of the son of Jerome de Sayerne will have no appeal for his tenants!”

That he should be accused by a stranger of being like his father prompted Quinn’s anger as naught else could. He had never abused another. He had never cruelly taken whatever he desired and ignored the repercussions. He was as different from his father as a man could be, and he was different by choice.

“If the villeins cannot be troubled to learn the manner of man I truly am, then I shall rebuild without such fools in my service,” he retorted. “Should I be obliged to do so, my lady, you may rest assured that I will rebuild Sayerne, stone by very stone, with the labor of my own hands.”

IHer eyes narrowed as she regarded him, but clearly her opinion did not change. Their gazes locked and held, that strange awareness crackling between them, and Quinn knew he had been without a woman’s touch too long.

Why else would this maiden of ice so stir his blood?

Tulley cleared his throat. Quinn spun to face the older man, heat rising on his neck that he had forgotten that man’s presence. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the lady’s cheeks tinged a brighter hue of pink.

How unexpected that they had something in common.

Perhaps she was not made of stone, as she might have him believe.

Quinn realized then that he did not know who she was. He scolded himself silently for neglecting his manners. He was certain that the lady had noted his error and would remind him of it, if she were ever given the chance.

“An assumption is being made,” Tulley said. His bright gaze flicked between Quinn and the lady. “Sayerne has not yet been invested upon anyone.”

Could the lord intend to grant Sayerne to this forthright lady? Why else would Quinn have been admitted to the lord’s offices in her presence? He slanted a glance in her direction, somewhat reassured that she looked as surprised as he felt.

“My lord?” Quinn asked.

Tulley smiled. “Do not worry, Quinn, my intention is still that you will hold Sayerne. However, times demand that I place a condition upon your investiture.”

This was no good tiding. “A condition, my lord?”

“I would see you married.”

“Married?” Quinn blinked.

“Aye, the line of Sayerne must be assured and I cannot let you take the reins of the estate without some succession—if it is not secured, then it should be in the process of being so.”

Quinn faltered, for he had not planned to take a wife so soon. “But I have no betrothed, no fortune...”

“Surely, Quinn, you intend to wed?”

“Aye, my lord,” he said with haste. “It is only the timing that is of concern. Sayerne is in need of repair and I would not expect any lady to endure such circumstances.” His voice gained assurance as he made his argument. “Grant me but a year, my lord, that my home might be fitting for a bride and then I will welcome your counsel.”

To his disappointment, Tulley frowned.

“Nay, Quinn, a year will not do. The matter must be resolved immediately or I cannot invest you with the estate.”

Quinn was shocked to have his fear so calmly presented as a possibility. Was he only to glimpse Sayerne then be denied it? He cast his thoughts back to Tulley’s missive, the one summoning him home, and realized the older man had promised naught.

He had simply notified Quinn of Jerome’s death and urged him to return to Sayerne.

Quinn felt as if a cold hand seized his innards.

Tulley seated himself and frowned. “Your marriage will solve more than you know.” The lord darted a glance to the lady. “Will it not, Melissande?”

The lady caught her breath in obvious disapproval. Quinn noted that she was even more affronted by the suggestion than he.

Indeed, she could not hold her tongue. She stepped toward Tulley and appealed to him. “Sir! Spare me your praise of this vagabond!” she said. “It is more than enough that some son of Jerome has come to claim that cursed family’s holding, without you greeting him as a saint!”

Quinn felt obliged to argue. “I may be no saint, my lady, but do not call my family cursed.”

The lady turned upon him with flashing eyes. “Whyever not?” she demanded. “They might as well have been cursed, as a result of your father’s choices.”

“I cannot answer for my father...”

“Tell me then why villeins fled your father’s land at every opportunity. Tell me why no less than two dozen of his bastards born of serving wenches populate the countryside, each and every one denied the bounty of his hall. The women themselves were cast to the winds when their condition became evident. Explain to me, if you will, why every year until this one I have been obliged to argue with that foul man over the boundaries between Sayerne and Annossy. Perhaps you can tell me the fate of the grain that was stolen out of my warehouses every winter.”

Her lips tightened as her gaze swept over him and he found himself stirred by her fury. She was no ice maiden, but a dragon filled with fire and fury. Her eyes flashed and Quinn was entranced.

“Jerome de Sayerne was a dreadful neighbor and it is difficult to expect any better from his son!” She lifted her chin and glared directly into Quinn’s eyes. “Perhaps you, mercenary that you are, might explain to me who raids my estates even now.” She pointed her finger toward his chest and he noted how small and fine it was. “I would not put such a deed past the get of Jerome de Sayerne. One way or the other, he pledged to merge Annossy with Sayerne. Know this, sir, that I pledged to stop him from realizing that dream, no matter the cost.”

Annossy. She was the Lady of Annossy. Quinn remembered that the estate bordered upon Sayerne, before he resolved to set matters to rights with his neighbor.

When she made to enunciate her last point with another jab of her finger, Quinn snatched her hand out of the air. Her skin was surprisingly soft. She was so startled that her eyes widened slightly. She made to step back, but Quinn did not release her hand.

“And I tell you, my lady, that my sire and I parted ways twenty years past because of our differences,” he said in a low growl. “I am as unlike him as oil to water.”

Her fine eyes narrowed. “Your father was also deceptive, when it suited him.”

“I am not,” Quinn growled. No one called him a liar, even a beauty such as this.

“We shall see,” she replied, undaunted. She squared her shoulders and tried to tug her hand from his. Quinn held fast. “Mercenaries plague my borders,” she said through gritted teeth. “And you appear to be a mercenary.” She met his gaze in silent challenge. “I do not need such a man as a neighbor.”

“If Tulley wills it, you will have one all the same.”

“How much do you know about the raids on Annossy, Quinn de Sayerne?” she asked.

“Naught,” Quinn replied, admiring her spirit. “I have returned from the Holy Land this very week, my lady. You see not a mercenary before you, but a knight in sore need of a bath.” He smiled slowly, but the lady stared at him. She seemed disarmed by his jest and he savored the fact that he had surprised her.

He suspected it did not occur often.

Her gaze flicked from his smile to his eyes, then over his clothing. “You can be no knight,” she whispered. Her voice faltered and he did not doubt she was recalling the reference to his spurs.

“But I am.”

“He speaks the truth, Melissande,” Tulley interjected. “I sent for him upon Jerome’s death. Quinn speaks the truth, as he always did.”

At Tulley’s endorsement, Quinn’s smile broadened. He was surprised to see that rosy flush staining the lady’s cheeks again as she watched him. Indeed, her cheeks were afire, and she looked more alluring by the moment. She flicked a significant glance to her hand trapped within his and tried again to pull it free.

Quinn loosed his grasp upon her hand, then brushed his lips across its back.

She shivered at the touch of his lips and her eyes widened, their hue brilliant emerald before she dropped her gaze to hide her reaction.

But Quinn had seen it.

And he was intrigued.

“I beg your pardon for my appearance, my lady,” he said. “It is my pleasure to make the acquaintance of a neighbor.”

The lady’s lips tightened and she stood taller, that beguiling fire in her eyes once again.

Tulley cleared his throat and Quinn reluctantly turned his attention from the lady to his lord.

“Melissande d’Annossy will be far more than your neighbor, Quinn,” Tulley said. “She will be your wife.”

Too late, Quinn realized where this conversation had been directed all along. He felt like a fool for not guessing the truth sooner, and wondered if Melissande’s understanding had been responsible for her vehemence.

“My lord, nay!” she protested.

“You would refuse to wed me, despite the lord’s command?” he asked her.

Her sidelong glance was filled with disdain. “I would refuse to wed any man of your father’s seed.”

“And I would protest wedding a woman who fails to obey her feudal lord.”

She spun to face him, propping her hands upon her hips. “I am the one who understands how to administer a holding so that it prospers.”

“And I am the one who understands how to defend a border,” Quinn retorted, echoing her posture. “If Annossy is subject to raids, you should be glad of a spouse like me.”

“I am not!”

“Then you are a fool as well as a beauty,” Quinn said shortly. She gasped in outrage and he wondered if she would strike him.

Then her gaze flicked to Tulley and she fell silent with an obvious effort.

“Neither of your protests have any meaning at all,” Tulley said mildly. “For I have decided. You will be wed this very day.”

“This very day?” the lady echoed.

“Today?” Quinn repeated, thinking of his dirty garb.

“Today,” Tulley agreed. “Might I remind you, Quinn, that you are not invested yet with your estates. Should you not do my bidding, as any obedient vassal should, I will be obliged to find another to whom I might entrust Sayerne.”

Quinn dropped to one knee and bowed his head, but Tulley was not done.

“I have arrived at a solution that will serve the needs of you both. I charge you, Quinn, to eliminate the raids on Annossy as your first responsibility.”

It appeared that Tulley had a list of tasks. Quinn did not argue, but listened. Marriage first, brigands second. He hoped at some point, the seal of Sayerne would land within his grasp.

He bowed over Tulley’s hand. “As this is your condition, my lord, I will make this marriage in good faith.”

The lady hesitated before she spoke. Tulley cleared his throat and she spoke, her tone filled with resignation. “As will I.”

Quinn felt his eyes narrow. He was not that foul a choice of spouse.

Tulley’s gaze flicked between the two of them. “It seems that there is a lack of enthusiasm for this match. Perhaps even now one or both of you harbor plans of annulment.”

No one denied the accusation.

Tulley leaned forward, his manner intent. “Understand me well: there will be no annulment. Do not expect otherwise, for I will demand proof of consummation at first light tomorrow morning.”

“My lord!” the lady protested.

“It is only good sense,” Tulley concluded.

Quinn could not look at the lady after such a deliberate mention of intimate matters. Indeed, he felt a warmth spread through him, and he recalled his first impression of her beauty. It might not be all bad to consummate this match.

Should she allow it. He would not force her, to be sure.

“Perhaps I named the wrong man barbarian,” she muttered, as though she could not restrain herself from comment.

Quinn’s gaze flew to Tulley, certain she would be chastised for her rudeness, but the older man only smiled.

“Since I have known you so long, Melissande, and understand the strain of this situation, I will let your audacity pass.” He stood and brushed at his tabard before smiling at them both. “Shall we say within the hour?”

Quinn nodded. He saw the lady do the same, with reluctance.

Tulley smiled. “I should think that commitment to wed would be sealed with a kiss.”

The lady’s cheeks blazed crimson. Quinn swallowed and felt clumsy. It had been so long since he had touched a woman, and the lady’s manner was less than encouraging.

But Tulley watched and waited. Quinn had little choice.

All hung in the balance.

He would meet her in good faith.

The lady did not aid in the endeavor. She stood motionless, waiting, fists clenched at her sides. Quinn knew that he would have to initiate this embrace. He stepped closer and the softness of her scent caught him by surprise. Did she wear perfume? He had forgotten such feminine charms. Something tightened within him, but she did not so much as meet his gaze.

Curse her! They were both beholden to Tulley and it would be simpler if she met him halfway. Riding into battle was less of a challenge than this. Quinn hoped that she mustered some enthusiasm for his touch by the time they met abed.

In truth, it mattered little.

He would not sacrifice his inheritance.

He took a step closer and heard her catch her breath. Still, she stared fixedly ahead. He lifted his hand and gently touched two fingers beneath her chin. She shivered, but did not otherwise move. He coaxed her chin upward so that he might meet her gaze, but she closed her eyes. No doubt she wanted to leave him ignorant of her thoughts.

Would she defy him in every matter, every day? He began to suspect as much.

Would she vex him with such vigor for the rest of his life? Quinn already wondered.

But he would not be deterred. Quinn bent and brushed his lips across hers. He felt the lady shiver again, though there was no other change in her posture.

It was after his hand had dropped away that he saw her single tear. It shimmered as it slipped through her lashes then over her cheek and she did not wipe it away.

Quinn felt like a knave, although he did not truly understand her response. Surely one light kiss could not be so burdensome as to cause a tear?

Tulley cleared his throat. By the time Quinn glanced to his overlord and back to the lady, that tear might never have been. Melissande exhaled shakily and opened her eyes.

Still she did not so much as glance at him.

What manner of woman had Quinn agreed to marry? A maiden of ice or one of unexpected fire? A woman who dared to challenge him, and to vex him, yet one who stirred his blood as never before. A woman of keen wits, to be sure, and one with the tongue of a viper; one who believed naught good of him at all.

He wondered how he would survive this match.

He wondered if he could win her, with time. It would be a challenge, to be sure, but to have this lady fight on his side, by his side, would be an achievement of merit. It could be the kind of marriage his mother had told him about, when she had shared those old tales of chivalry, the kind she had urged him to seek for himself.

Quinn was skeptical of his success with this lady as his wife, but he was determined to try.

“I would suggest you both summon some enthusiasm in short order,” Tulley said, then left the chamber. His boots sounded in the corridor and Quinn heard him call for his châtelain.

Perhaps in this moment, he and Melissande could reach a detente.