It was scent.
A wondrous, exotic, glorious scent.Berthe could not name it, but it made her toes curl.It made her feel warm and alert.It filled her with anticipation, and desire.She took a deeper breath of it, closing her eyes as the beguiling scent slid through her.It loosed her inhibitions, which should not have surprised her in the least.
She put the stopper back and dropped the bottle into her purse, its weight there a reminder of the intensity of Bayard’s expression.It was when she was pouring the cider into the cup for her lady that she realized the import of what he had confided in her.
He meant to remain at Annossy.
He meant to make a home here or at Sayerne, in service to Lord Quinn.
She did not need to fear that he would tempt her affection and then disappear.
And he had given her a gift, given it to her and no other.She looked but he had left the kitchen, perhaps returning to either stable or hall.
Berthe considered the import of that.
What if Sir Rogue was not such a rogue after all?
She left the cider, asking a scullery maid to tend it for a moment, and ran after Bayard.She found him outside the stables, conferring with the ostler, but he turned as if he had guessed she would follow.
Or hoped she had.For his eyes lit with a pleasure that told Berthe her instinct was right.
“I think it wondrous,” she told him, then stretched up to whisper in his ear.“It is said that a man can climb the tower on the side furthest from the gates, that there are handholds and footholds hidden in the stone, and that the solar can be gained that way.”
“Why would anyone allow such a course to exist?”Bayard asked.
“It is said that the lord could retake the solar thus, if it was held against him.”She smiled and shrugged.“I do not know if it is true, but the grey stone is said to be the place to begin.”
Bayard smiled then and bent down so quickly for a kiss that she had no chance to evade him.
Or so she told herself.
“I thank you,” he whispered, then touched his lips to hers again.Before he could have more ideas, Berthe pivoted and hastened back to the kitchen, her cheeks burning and her heart racing.She was well aware that Bayard watched her all the way and that there was something new in his expression.
He meant to stay.
The night felllike a black cloak over the valley and the rain drummed upon the roof of Annossy.Melissande moved from window to window in the solar, seeking some sign of Quinn’s return.There was only darkness in every direction and the gleam of water on every surface.
She stood with her cloak wrapped tightly around herself and considered the myriad possibilities.He could have been injured.He could have been thrown from his steed and be lying in need of aid.He could have been attacked by brigands and left to die.He could have forded the river in a poor location and been swept away, taken by surprise by the rising water.
He could have abandoned her.
But no man of sense would surrender a holding so rich as Annossy.Quinn had taken the seal, though.
Perhaps he only lefther.
The fact remained that he had vowed to return this very night.Melissande reminded herself that Quinn kept his pledges and feared that something had gone awry.
It made no sense to worry about Quinn.The man had been all the way to Palestine and back.He had fought in crusade, been imprisoned and wounded, and survived it all.He was clearly strong, but the longer he was gone, the more Melissande worried.
There was naught that she could do and Melissande did not like that truth a whit.
Nay, there was one thing shecoulddo, one deed that Quinn did not fulfill this night.
She donned her heaviest cloak and settled herself beside the window that faced the mill.Quinn was not at home to watch for the fire that would signal an attack on the mill, so Melissande would watch in his stead.
’Twas the duty of a wife and lady of the keep and she would not disappoint her lord husband.
The rain fell incessantly onceit started, continuing through the night.The river rose ever higher and the mist was so close to the ground the next morning that it felt as if Annossy had been swallowed by the clouds.Sound was both muffled and amplified and Melissande was tired, having sat at the window all the night long.Gaultier was in a sour mood, and tempers were short in the great hall.She returned to the books and Berthe brought her mending to sit beside her.Melissande wondered if she was the only one listening for hoof beats.
