One Knight's Return Page 2

  “Aye, my lord.” The youngest boy, Michel, eight summers old, jumped from his palfrey’s back with enthusiasm.

  He disappeared into a drift of snow.

  “Nay!” Quinn shouted.

  Bayard choked on a laugh.

  Quinn trudged through the drift that rose as high as his own chest and reached into the hole left by Michel’s passing. He gripped the back of a tabard, then hauled the boy above the surface of the snow and gave him a shake.

  Michel sneezed.

  Bayard chuckled and Quinn might have smiled himself, but little Michel from the sunny south had been granted a surprise he would not soon forget. Quinn lifted Michel to his shoulders and spoke to the other boys. “Make a pathway with your steeds before you dismount,” he suggested. “Use my destrier and Bayard’s first, for they will cut a larger path. Fortitude and Caligo are accustomed to the snow.”

  All three boys nodded in hasty agreement.

  “Perhaps Michel could help us in the hall,” Bayard suggested.

  “That was my thought exactly,” Quinn agreed. He waded back to the central rise where the snow was less deep. He set Michel on his feet and determined that the boy was no worse for wear. Michel had been born in the Holy Land and Quinn had kept a watchful eye on the boy as they traveled north. He had feared for the boy’s welfare when they rode through the Beauvoir pass, for the wind had been fiercely cold. Michel could not be said to lack in resolve, for he continued in defiance of any obstacle. Quinn feared his determination would lead him too far one day, for he was small of stature.

  Bayard eyed the tower, his gaze lingering on the line of the roof, and his doubts clear. “It might not be any warmer inside.”

  “There must be wood and tinder left behind.”

  “Must there?” Bayard mused but Quinn ignored him.

  Surely his father would have left him enough for a blaze? Quinn was less certain than he would have liked to be. Michel rushed ahead of the knights, undaunted by his experience with the snow, and the pair followed the boy.

  The hall was dark and musty. Only a single shaft of light drifted into the lower hall from the open portal, but the winter sunlight was bright enough to reveal that the room was barren, save for the dust that stirred as Quinn crossed the hall.

  The fire screen he remembered was gone, as were the poker and pail. The spit from the great fireplace had disappeared, as had his mother’s beautiful tapestries which had covered the walls. They had been part of her dowry and he wondered at their fate. As a boy, he had been enthralled when she told him the tales depicted upon them.

  Even the trestle tables and benches had been removed. Tufts of abandoned herbs had blown into the corners but otherwise there was not even a candle stub remaining in the great hall. A glance into the kitchens revealed that every pot and knife was gone. A lantern with an increment of oil was clearly too much to expect. The solar proved to be similarly empty, with a large hole in the roof and a snowdrift beneath it.

  Quinn’s characteristic optimism faltered then.

  “Betrayed again,” Bayard muttered.

  “Nay,” Quinn said with quiet resolve. “You cannot be betrayed by one you do not trust.”

  Someone—and Quinn knew who—had made certain that there would be naught to aid him here. From his death bed, his father had probably ordered the villeins to clear out Sayerne.

  It was as cold as a tomb within the hall and Quinn shivered. Of course, there was not a stick of wood to be seen.

  Curse his father! Quinn kicked at the few stale rushes in frustration. A squeal made him jump, followed by the sound of little feet scratching against the flagstones.

  “Fetch that, boy!” Bayard bade Michel with a terseness that commanded obedience. Michel leaped to do the knight’s bidding, then halted at his next words. “We shall need a morsel for our supper!”

  The boy turned, his horrified expression enough to make Quinn smile. Bayard maintained a serious expression by some strength of will.

  “My lord?” Michel asked tentatively.

  “Do not worry,” Quinn counseled him. “We have not even checked the storerooms yet.”

  “And they will be bountifully stocked?” Bayard responded with rare impatience. “We cannot remain here, Quinn, not even for one night. It is good that you have inherited an estate, but we cannot sustain ourselves on snow and the occasional rat. We must seek shelter elsewhere. What of your neighbors?”

  “I have not gained my inheritance only to abandon it!” Quinn replied. “The château is solid and well built...”

  “That roof,” Bayard said but Quinn continued.

  “The property is extensive enough to support many more than we six. It will take work, I admit, but the power to return Sayerne to its former glory lies within our own hands.”

  “Quinn, I see the advantages and I do not suggest that you walk away.” Bayard’s voice dropped. “I only suggest that we return in the spring, when we will not freeze to death while we sleep. Coin will not solve this alone, my friend, unless there is someone selling what you need.”

  “I will stay with you, my lord Quinn, even should the others decide to go,” Michel said steadfastly and came to stand beside them.

  Quinn smiled for the boy and ruffled his fair hair. He knew Bayard was right, but leaving so quickly after his return felt like a concession and one he should not be quick to make.

  A man cleared his throat in the portal at that moment. A short, spare man stood there, watching Quinn. The new arrival was attired in Tulley’s livery of red with four silver stars.

  They must have been spotted when they passed Tulley and followed up the valley. A messenger from the liege lord who had summoned Quinn could only bring good tidings. Perhaps the Lord de Tulley had a plan to help Quinn remain here. Perhaps he sent provisions.

  “Quinn de Sayerne?” the man asked.

  Quinn nodded. “Aye, that is my name.”

  The man surveyed Quinn and a frown lodged between his brows. Quinn realized the state of his appearance and brushed some of the snow from his hair. He would have liked to have had a cleaner tabard, even to greet his liege lord’s clerk, and to have polished his old boots, but there was naught for it now.

  “I have a message for you from the Lord de Tulley. I am to await your reply.” The clerk bowed and offered a scroll of parchment.

  Quinn accepted it and stepped back outside into the sunlight. He lingered for a moment, eying his own name written across the parchment and the weight of Tulley’s embossed seal. He ran his finger across both, for he had never received such a fine missive before.

  “How did you know I had arrived?” Quinn asked, delaying the moment of breaking the seal.

  “Your passage at Tulley was noted this morning, and of course, my lord had word of you resting at Beauvoir.”

  “Of course.” Quinn knew that Tulley missed little that happened within his holding.

  “My lord knew that you would return once the missive regarding your father’s demise had been delivered to your hand.”

  “I appreciated Lord de Tulley taking the time and trouble to inform me,” Quinn responded in an echo of the man’s formal tone. “It cannot have been easy to seek me out in the Holy Land.”

  “The Lord de Tulley is most fastidious about ensuring the line of succession is maintained appropriately.”

  “Still I appreciate his efforts,” Quinn said with a smile.

  The servant nodded brusquely. “I shall inform him of such, sir.”

  Quinn broke the seal and unfurled the parchment. He read it, then glanced up to meet Bayard’s gaze.

  “I am summoned to the lord’s hall, with my party,” he confessed. His investiture awaited him, he was certain.

  “That splendid keep? On the mount?” Bayard asked.

  “The very one.”

  “That is a fine invitation, indeed.” Bayard turned and laid his hand on Michel’s shoulder. His expression so sober that Quinn knew he meant to tease the boy. “Do not worry about the rat tonig
ht,” he advised the squire. “We will leave him for our return. The Lord de Tulley will probably offer finer fare, and the rat will be fatter by our return.”

  “Rat?” the messenger repeated with distaste. He peered into the shadows of the hall once more and his complexion paled. “There are rats in the hall?” He grimaced and his gaze flicked between the two knights. “And you planned to dine upon them?”

  “It would have been a cold meal, as there is no fuel to be found here for the fire.” Bayard leaned closer to the messenger and his voice dropped. “To my view, rats are not so good raw, for they tend to writhe on the way down.” He made a gesture with one hand meant to clarify his meaning.

  The messenger stepped away from Bayard, his horror clear.

  “Perhaps you would like to try one?” the other knight suggested. He snapped his fingers at Michel and the boy ducked back into the hall, as if to catch a treat for the clerk.

  That man turned and hastened back to his steed, calling the remainder of the message over his shoulder. “Lord de Tulley expects you at the board as soon as you might see fit to present yourself.”

  “It is too far to ride all the way to Tulley this day,” Quinn said. “The sun will set early at this time of year...”

  “Aye, Lord de Tulley is aware of your progress. He has charged us to leave provisions for you at the barn used to store grain on the border of Sayerne. It is simple accommodation, but there is no grain this year and at least there is a roof.” He spared a glance at the roof of Sayerne’s keep and shook his head slightly in disapproval.

  It was somewhat startling to Quinn that Tulley knew so much of his doings, and the state of Sayerne, but he was glad of the suggestion. “I thank you!” he said and bowed to the clerk. “That would be most welcome.” His spirits were restored by both the missive and the promise of a warm meal.

  The messenger was already in the saddle and rode out of the bailey with a speed better suited to fleeing the dogs of hell. Quinn could see the clerk’s accompanying party awaiting him in the distance, near the specified barn on Sayerne’s borders.

  “Do you imagine he could run any faster?” Bayard asked. “And over the rumor of a rat. How soft the men are in these parts.” He snorted. “We could tell him tales that would keep him sleepless for a fortnight.”

  “But it is better that many of those tales are left untold, my friend,” Quinn said. “We will start anew here, you and I, should you be inclined to remain.”

  “I have no other place to go, as you well know. A younger son must make his fortune where he finds it.” Bayard turned to Quinn. “Perhaps it is fortunate that Niall and Amaury fell ill in Venice and Lothair remained to tend them. Lord de Tulley might not have been so glad to host twice our company.”

  “Or you might not have had sufficient to eat,” Quinn teased and Bayard laughed.

  “Oh, I am well and truly prepared to enjoy a feast,” he said. “And a hot bath. Not to mention a thick palette by a fire.”

  “The others will arrive in due time, though, and I would hope to have Sayerne fit to welcome them.”

  “They will all arrive in May, as agreed,” Bayard said, surveying the keep once more. He shook his head. “There is a great deal to be done, Quinn, and you have no villeins.”

  “Aye.” Quinn clasped his companion’s shoulder. “But Sayerne is mine, Bayard, and Lord de Tulley must mean to aid my success.”

  “At what price?” the other knight asked.

  “I do not care,” Quinn replied. “I will pay it, without hesitation.”

  Bayard eyed him for a moment, as if keeping some comment to himself.

  Then Michel appeared in the doorway to the hall. “My lord, I could not find the rat.”

  Bayard’s gaze trailed to the gate, but the clerk was already out of sight. “It seems that the lord’s messenger lost his appetite.”

  “Or perhaps he knows more about the bounty of the lord’s board than we do,” Quinn commented.

  “Woho! Now there is a thought!” Bayard’s brows rose at the promise of food. “Let’s hasten to this barn to take our ease, and thence to Tulley in the morning.” He, too, ruffled Michel’s hair and the boy’s eyes lit in anticipation.

  “If I did not know better, I might think you had only accompanied me to have food in your belly,” Quinn accused as they turned toward the stables.

  Bayard laughed. “I anticipate more than that pleasure now that we are home. Do you think Tulley has a pretty daughter?”

  “He has a niece, as I recall, but expect her to be well-defended from the likes of you.”

  Bayard grinned. “Any pretty maid will suit me, it must be said. A cook’s daughter perhaps, or a miller’s daughter. A maid from the kitchens.”

  “A woman who will see you fed.”

  “Among other pleasures.” Bayard’s dark eyes twinkled. “I would see her well-pleased, to be sure.” He sobered as he glanced over the ailing estate again. “Trust you to find a haven for us that will require solid labor from our hands.”

  “Such work will be good for you,” Quinn said. “You become too old to earn your way with a blade.”

  “Too old to fight? But not too old to work like a peasant?”

  “You do not have to stay.”

  “First I am old, now I am not sufficiently robust to move millstones. This is a sorry day for my pride.” Bayard poked Quinn on the shoulder. “Do not imagine that you will shake me from your side in this adventure,” he said, his voice gruff. “You may believe you owe me a debt, but to have a home would be the greatest gift a man might give to another. Should anyone be able to rebuild this place, it will be you, Quinn. I have never raised a blade beside a man of such will.”

  Quinn smiled, knowing the words came from the heart. “Then consider yourself at home, my friend. We have battled alongside each other for too long to part company now.”

  The two knights paused in the middle of the snow-filled bailey and shook hands under the bright winter sun. Then they hastened through the snow to their squires and steeds.

  The grain barn, with its warmth, fodder and food, was more than sufficient to entice them on this night.

  Chapter 1

  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 wom
an 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.