Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Anna endeavored to make it impossible for Bartholomew to leave.

And indeed, her strategy was a good one. He felt the hope surge through the bedraggled company of villagers, so weakened by their history in this place, and he was not immune to the power of their desire. They looked at him with relief in their eyes, and he knew they had endured much. He knew they deserved to return to their village and live in peace.

Truly, their welfare was his responsibility.

He could not blame her for trying to force his hand. She felt strongly about the future of these people and believed that he erred. She had had no opportunity to learn a respect for justice, not beneath Royce's hand, but Bartholomew could not undermine the law before he even claimed his holding.

He felt the urge of the entire company to ride forth and claim Haynesdale, to slice down Royce and restore his father's line to the barony. But it was not that simple. And he feared that these people would face much more hardship if he acted with such folly.

It was his task to act with prudence and protect these people, to uphold the legacy of his forebears.

To convince the villagers of Haynesdale of the merit of justice once more.

Bartholomew had been composing his argument when Anna had reached into her chemise. When she withdrew the lace that had so intrigued him, her hand had been closed over the prize that had been trapped between her breasts. She tugged the lace over her head, holding his gaze. When she opened her hand, he was astonished to see what rested on her palm.

It was his father's signet ring.

"Praise be that the true son is returned," she said softly.

Duncan whistled quietly through his teeth.

"So, this was how you knew," Bartholomew murmured.

"It matches perfectly," she said with conviction and those attending her words exchanged glances. "The seed of Baron Nicholas is returned."

The company cheered.

Bartholomew knew what Anna desired of him. He wanted to claim the ring more than anything else in the world, but he knew he could not do it. It looked so small, but the responsibility it carried was a heavier burden than its actual weight.

He stood and took a step back. "Only the king can make a baron of the realm, Anna," he said with quiet heat.

The villagers stared at him in shocked silence.

"But will you not reclaim your legacy?" demanded a tall man, perhaps the cooper.

"You do not realize what you ask," Bartholomew said. "I would not imperil you more."

"We want to go home!" cried the tall man's wife.

"We want to live in the village and tend our gardens," insisted Willa.

"And plow the fields as they should be," declared the alemaker. "Grow grain for bread and for ale."

"How long it has been since we have tasted your ale?" murmured his wife.

Edgar dropped to one knee before Bartholomew. "Take us home, my lord. I would follow you to do whatever needed to be done."

"Aye!" came the chorus of assent.

Bartholomew sighed. "And what would I be asking of any who followed me? To offer themselves for slaughter against trained and armed knights?" The villagers exchanged glances as he counted off Royce's forces on his fingers. "There is Royce, there is Gaultier, there are four more knights and at least a half a dozen men-at-arms."

"Eight," the red-haired man affirmed.

"Eight then, plus the others means thirteen armed and trained warriors, prepared to kill in their liege lord's defense." A ripple of unease passed through the company. "We have few swords, few daggers, no armament and solely two men who have tasted the kind of battle we would face."

"One at less than his full capacity," Duncan added.

"But…" Anna protested, but Bartholomew held up a finger.

"Add to those fourteen the squires, most of whom are training for battle as part of their service. I saw at least a dozen of them, and they are armed, as well."

"We are outnumbered," murmured the red-haired woman to the man beside her. He nodded grim agreement and Bartholomew saw hope die in many a face.

"Add to that the fortification of the keep itself. It is tall and well-wrought, designed to keep attackers at bay. We have no siege engines or horses. We cannot besiege a fortified keep with loose stones and bare hands, not if we mean to triumph."

"We have our fury," Anna said. "That is not to be overlooked."

A few villagers agreed, but Bartholomew heard his own tone grow impatient. "There is passion and there is folly. I have seen enough to know the difference, and I have seen enough of futile death to suffice for all my days and nights." He shook his head. "Nay, I would be no better than what you have known if I were to lead you all in such an assault. It would be irresponsible and wrong."

Father Ignatius nodded quietly, his expression approving. "He is his father's son indeed," he murmured but Bartholomew did not reply.

Anna challenged him anew. "You could have attacked from inside, while we were all there. He would not have suspected such a feat."

"Sir Royce was my host," Bartholomew countered. "I could not betray his hospitality with treachery."

Anna gasped. "But you endeavored to steal from him!"

"I tried to retrieve what had been entrusted to our party," Bartholomew corrected. "And I ensured your brother's freedom. To take more than our due when we were guests would have been wrong."

"Surely Haynesdale is your due!" cried Edgar.

"It might well be, if I can claim it and if I can pay the escheat. We like to believe that holdings should pass from father to son, but since the Angevin kings claimed England, that is no longer the law. I will not kill Royce to make this claim." He bit off his next words. "I will not ignore the law for my own convenience."

They stared at him in silence.

Bartholomew turned to Duncan, well aware that he had disappointed the villagers, but he saw no reason to lie. "Give me your boots, Duncan, and I will clean them along with mine."

Chatter broke out amongst the villagers, whispers he could not hear clearly but doubtless filled with speculation. He imagined they blamed him or thought him a coward, but he knew the limits of what he could do. Bartholomew was aware that Father Ignatius followed him, but did not see the glance that the priest fired at Anna.

He heard her footsteps behind them, though, and shook his head. How like Anna to refuse to accept any answer other than the one she desired. In a way, her passion was inspiring, but he would not be reckless with the lives of others.

He could not simply seize what he desired, as Royce had done.

Still, there had to be a solution. In this moment, Bartholomew was glad beyond belief that he had known Gaston and learned from that man's experience.

For it would take a diplomat and a man of integrity to see this victory won.

*

Father Ignatius found himself liking this knight more than he had liked any new acquaintance in a while. He followed Bartholomew to the stream, where the younger man squatted and scooped up a handful of snow. Father Ignatius watched him scrub his boots with fresh snow, then cast the mired snow into the stream before taking another handful. He was not afraid to work, this knight, or to perform tasks beneath his station when they needed to be done. And Father Ignatius respected the care Bartholomew showed for the villagers of Haynesdale.

He had not made a jest when he had called the young knight his father's son.

Bartholomew did not acknowledge his presence, even when the priest took one of Duncan's boots and began to clean it with the snow in the same way. The pair of them worked in silence together while Father Ignatius chose his words. Anna remained out of sight and behind them, doubtless both vexed and listening.

"You startle them all," he finally said, his tone mild.

Bartholomew glanced up. "How so?"

Father Ignatius smiled. "They have not known so many knights of merit in recent years, nor come to expect a man to act upon principle."

"I know of no other way to be."

"But you recognize why they have the expectation they do."

"Of course." Bartholomew straightened. "But the fact remains that the king must create a baron by his own will. And in order for that to even be a possibility in the case of Haynesdale, Royce Montclair would have to be dead and the man who wished to be baron in his place would need coin to pay the escheat." He shrugged. "Royce is not dead and I am not going to kill him."

"Because you do not have the coin for the escheat."

"Even if I did, it would be wrong to murder the man who held my desire, regardless of what he has done in the past. Surely I do not have to argue that with you."

Father Ignatius let the silence grow between them before he continued. "Do you remember the events of those days?"

Bartholomew shook his head. "I remember fire. I remember my mother's voice." He cast a smile at the dog that had come to sit beside him. "I remember a dog much like this one but named Whitefoot."

Father Ignatius smiled. "I remember that dog. This one would be his great grandson, at least."

"Then he is related!"

"Aye. Those of your father's dogs that survived went to the miller's abode." The priest rubbed the dog's ears. "But you must not have ever reached the king's court in Anjou."

Bartholomew shook his head. "Nay. I suppose we were followed and the knights who had me in their care were betrayed and assaulted. I know only that I was awakened one night by one of them and bidden to run. He told me to go to the church where we had prayed that day and that he would meet me there. He never came." The younger man frowned. "We were in Paris."

"You must have been frightened."

"I do not think I fully understood what had transpired. I was hungry, to be sure, and I knew that knights had defended me. My father had been a knight, after all, and my mother had entrusted me to the care of these knights. So, when I saw a knight come to that church to pray, I followed him. He wore the red cross of the Temple and I had never seen a surplice so fine." Bartholomew smiled. "He could not be rid of me, for I saw him as my sole chance of survival."

"There must have been other knights in Paris."

"I had eyes only for him. I followed him. I vowed to be of assistance to him. I swore to do whatever he desired so long as he took me with him." Bartholomew shrugged. "Who knows how much Gaston saw of the truth? But after I made my case and struggled to prove myself by trying to help him, he surrendered. He lifted me to his saddle and took me with him, calling me his squire, though I was too small to be of much use."

"You grew."

Bartholomew smiled. "Aye, I grew. And he was destined for Outremer, I came of age in Jerusalem."

"You have been there all these years?"

The knight nodded. "Most of them. We only left because Gaston became heir to his family holding and returned to France. He chose to dub me a knight once there, for he is both good and generous."

"A man of principle," Father Ignatius said, guessing where Bartholomew had learned his code of honor.

"Indeed."

"You could have come into the power of another less honorable."

Bartholomew nodded. "I could have, quite easily."

"It seems that God has held you in the palm of His hand."

"Perhaps so. Perhaps it was all Gaston's doing." They shared a smile. "I would not disgrace the honor Gaston has shown to me by doing any deed that would cause him displeasure. He used to negotiate for the Templars in Palestine, seeking compromise and balance."

"A temperate man, too, then," the priest guessed. "You must have come to Haynesdale apurpose."

"I journeyed to Scotland with Fergus and Duncan, for Fergus will claim Killairic and wed his betrothed this coming spring. I thought it an opportunity to see what had happened at Haynesdale."

"Did they know of your intent?"

Bartholomew shook his head. "I did not know what I would find. In a way, I hoped that all would be well here and there would be no need to avenge my parents. In another, I yearned to set matters to rights. Either way, I had to discover the truth before I could try to make a change." The younger man finished cleaning his boots and cast a glance over the forest. "I did not truly remember it, not until we were here. Cenric reminded me of Whitefoot. When Anna took us to the old burn, I remembered the keep and my mother. I have always had nightmares of fire and pain, but her tale fills the gaps."

"What will you do now?"

Bartholomew met his gaze. "I will petition the king. I expect Henry has gone back to Anjou, which is near Gaston's holding."

"Perhaps your friend will vouch for your character."

"Perhaps he will, but there remains the fact that Royce yet lives."

"And the need for coin. Will your friend be of aid in that?"

Bartholomew smiled and shook his head. "He has been very kind to me, Father Ignatius. From Gaston, I have my spurs, my blade, my armor, my destrier."

"Your understanding of how a knight should be and your code of honor."

"Aye. He has given me the wealth of a king in that, and he is not as wealthy as a king."

Father Ignatius braced his elbows upon his knees and put the tips of his fingers together. "What if the coin for the escheat could be found?"

"Found?" Bartholomew echoed.

"I know that Sir Royce will dispatch his taxes to the exchequer of the king in the next few days."

"Surely you do not suggest a theft, Father Ignatius."

"I am not certain I would call it a theft, if indeed his messengers were divested of their burden."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed." Father Ignatius held Bartholomew's gaze. "Taxes are gathered from the villagers and those dependent upon the baron."

"Once paid, they no longer belong to the one who surrendered them."

"But they are paid for services due from the baron. We pay for the right of security in our homes, for the keeping of knights to defend us, for the establishment of courts to ensure that justice is served in the holding, for a Christmas feast at the baron's table in reciprocity. The knights of Haynesdale do not defend the villagers. Truly, they prey upon them. And I cannot recall when last Sir Royce held a court. He has welcomed no villager within his walls since wedding his lady wife." The priest shrugged. "It could be said that the villagers have not received their due for their taxes."

"You know they do not have the right to reclaim the coin."

"Perhaps they should."

Bartholomew shook his head. "I call it sophistry. You cannot declare it just to steal from another, even to serve what you perceive to be a good end. There is right and there is wrong, and a wrong can never repair another wrong." He shook a finger at the priest. "Were I the baron of a holding and my villeins thought it fitting to rob from me for their own ends, I should scarce call that justice."

Anna exhaled in audible frustration and Father Ignatius smiled.

"You find my view amusing?" the knight asked.

"I find it refreshing," the priest replied. "And it only adds to my conviction that the true heir is returned and must be restored." He laid a hand on Bartholomew's arm before that man could protest. "You think it wrong that any should kill Sir Royce, even after what he has done to your own family."

Bartholomew winced. "I have no evidence of what he has done. I have a tale, and it is a compelling one, but there is no proof of his villainy."

"Aye, there is," the priest insisted. "But it is not mine to share."

"I do not understand."

"Let Anna tell you why she would be willing to strike the fatal blow against Royce Montclair. This is not a court, but her testimony might change your view."

*

Anna did not welcome Father Ignatius' suggestion, but she feared he was right. She emerged from the forest, having realized only when he spoke of her that both men knew of her presence. Bartholomew studied her, but she could not guess his thoughts.

Was he irked with her for sharing his tale?

She was irked with him for denying his responsibility.

But all the same, she knew that if he had leapt to his feet and set off to kill Royce, them claimed Haynesdale without regard for another, she would have thought less of him.

She took the seat abandoned by the priest and watched that man stride back to the others, his confidence that he had done aright more than clear. She did not know how to begin, for she could not simply blurt out her confession. She took a breath. "I have never seen you so irked as you were before the company."

Bartholomew shrugged. "I felt there was cause."

"Because I challenged you?"

"And not for the first time," he noted. "But not simply that." He fell silent, frowning as he worked the snow into his boots.

"What then?"

He exhaled noisily. "I had a plan. I intended to ride through Haynesdale and ascertain its state. I wished to see if it had a baron who treated the villeins well. I wished to see if all were as it should be."

"Or better, find cause to challenge any baron."

"Perhaps so. Either way, my plan was soon shredded by a pair of thieves."

Anna bit her lip.

"We were robbed, as you well know, and in retrieving our possessions and the captured thief, Duncan was captured in Percy's stead. Now my companion is wounded, the reliquary is yet lost, my steed and squire have ridden on with my fellows, I have made a vow that I dare not break yet will demand I act ignobly—"

"What is this?" Anna asked, but he did not pause for breath.

"Worst of all, I find myself falling in love with the most vexing maiden I have ever met in all my days, and there is naught I can do about it."

Anna found herself blushing as she had no doubt who that maiden might be. "Naught?"

He cast her a simmering glance. "Naught honorable. Indeed, I have already taken too much from her, because the matter remains that if ever I manage to plead my case before the king, even if I have the coin for the escheat, he will likely desire to ensure my loyalty."

"By naming your bride."

Bartholomew nodded, then turned his attention to the other boot. "And she will not be a smith's daughter. She will be the daughter or the widow of a man already allied strongly to the king."

They sat in silence for a long moment. "What vexes you most?" Anna asked finally. When he glanced at her, she smiled, hoping to improve his mood. "It is an impressive list for its length."

Bartholomew's smile came slowly, as if summoned against his will. "The maiden," he said. "Definitely, the maiden."

"Because she is vexing?"

He turned to look at her, wonder in his eyes. "Because she is bold and fearless, because she challenges me and she confounds me, because she is alluring and because she is like no other maiden I have ever known."

Anna found her cheeks burning. "She is not truly a maiden," she said and his expression turned rueful.

"Yet she has such an honesty about her that I shall always think of her as one." He glanced at her. "No matter the state of her innocence."

Heat flared in Anna's heart and she realized that she loved Bartholomew as well. She would not confess as much, though, for she saw that he was already conflicted about his path.

She gripped his hand and appealed to him anew. "You cannot surrender the quest for Haynesdale. Royce is not a good baron, and I will tell you why."

"Father Ignatius said you had reason he should die."

"Aye. There were rumors always that you would return and tales of the ring entrusted to my father's care. I don't know when Royce heard them, but he waited until my mother was rounding with Percy before he acted upon them. My father was seized in the night, dragged away by Gaultier and his men. Perhaps they thought my father would be more likely to confess what he knew because of my mother's state, but he did not." She swallowed, recalling her mother's terror well enough. "He never returned home. We next saw him when his head was hung from the gates, as a lesson to all who chose to defy Sir Royce's requests for information. I was nine summers of age and will never forget the sight." She shuddered. "He was left there to rot all the winter long, denied even a decent burial."

"I am sorry, Anna…"

She did not give him the time to complete whatever he might have said. "Royce then taunted my mother. Perhaps he feared to meddle with a woman so close to her time. Perhaps he has some conscience. The fact was that Percy was unanticipated. My mother thought herself past the time of bearing children, but she ripened all the same. My father was so happy when she shared the news. He wanted a son, to carry on the tradition of smith in the village, but he never saw Percy." Bartholomew closed his hand around hers. "Royce used to comment as he passed through the village, insinuating that my mother did not carry my father's child. She knew he was not done with her. He came one night and vowed to leave her to raise her children if she surrendered the ring to him, but she knew it was a lie." She flicked a look at Bartholomew. "She knew he was not a man to keep his word."

He frowned, considering that.

"She made those months count. She told me every tale she knew, over and over again, and before her labor began, she gave me the ring and bade me hide it where no one could find it." She swallowed. "Gaultier came for my mother as soon as the babe cried. He dragged her to the keep and his men cut down all who protested. My mother was sobbing when last I saw her alive. Sobbing and still bleeding. I was left with Percy, still wet from her womb and wailing for her milk."

She could feel Bartholomew's anger rising and carried on. "And so this is the justice offered by this baron. He had my mother's head displayed, on the post opposite that of my father, leaving it there until the crows had picked the flesh clean. He said they were together in Hell. He taunted me, as he had taunted my mother, biding his time, watching. The tanner's wife nursed Percy and I might as well have been his mother." Anna kept her head bowed. "Until two years ago, when Royce decided my time had come."

Bartholomew caught his breath. "You should have given him the ring and saved yourself."

"But it would not have saved me!" Anna protested. "He is wicked and filled with greed. He is not a man who upholds his vows. He would have taken it and destroyed the chance of you ever being able to prove your identity. I would have suffered the same fate, if not worse. The villagers would have lost hope forever. Nay, there was naught to be won by capitulation." She took a breath. "Truly, his conviction that I knew the location of the ring might have been the sole thing that saved me."

"Because it was required to challenge him," Bartholomew mused. He squeezed her fingers. "And what of Kendrick? Does he enter this tale?"

"He does." Anna smiled, though it was a sad smile. "He crept into the keep, intent upon saving me. He confronted Gaultier and was slaughtered for his audacity. Right before my eyes, they cut him down, then cast him aside like so much offal. He was so good!" She shuddered, welcoming the tension that she felt within Bartholomew. "But I had the key, for Kendrick had given it to me before he was caught. When they finally left me, I managed to flee."

"And they pursued you." His voice was grim.

"And burned the forest in vengeance. It was my fault that all suffered so badly, for I defied Sir Royce and he did not approve."

"But he thought you dead? Until yesterday?"

Anna nodded. "I believe so. I hid in the forest, joining the other outcasts after my escape. I retrieved the ring and began to wear it, for no one would seek it from me."

Bartholomew stared down at her, concern in his eyes. "But then you lost the babe Kendrick had given you, the one that would have been his living memory. Truly, Anna, your determination is fierce."

Anna took a deep breath, knowing she had to tell him all of the truth. "Perhaps so, but maybe less than you think."

He arched a brow.

"Kendra was not Kendrick's child," she admitted, her words husky. "We were friends and comrades, but never lovers."

He frowned at her, not comprehending.

"Royce gave me to Gaultier, in a last effort to compel me to talk. I was a maiden when captured, but not for long after that." She swallowed at the fury in Bartholomew's expression. "Kendra was Gaultier's child." Her throat was tight. "It was not her fault that she had been wrought in violence, and I did not want the others to know of my shame. I gave her that name apurpose. Only Father Ignatius knows the truth, and now you."

Bartholomew stood up and paced the bank of the stream, agitated anew. He grimaced and crouched down before her to capture her hand once again in his. "I think Percy knows it."

"He knows I despise Gaultier, but not why." She shook her head. "He is only a boy. He does not need to know all of the wickedness of which men are capable." Anna swallowed. "Not yet." She tightened her grip upon his hand. "Bartholomew, you and your company already show him what it means to be a knight and a man of merit as well. I would have him learn more of your kind. You must reclaim Haynesdale, and I will help you to do it. I consider you my rightful baron. Command me to kill Royce and I will do it, regardless of the price to myself."

Bartholomew reached out and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his fingertips. "I never thought to see you cry, much less twice in as many days," he whispered with a smile. "Fierce Anna."

Her throat was tight, but she could not ask him again.

He eyed her solemnly. "You know that I cannot do what you ask of me. I cannot command such a deed of any person, especially not you."

"I know that you will not ride into Haynesdale and slaughter Sir Royce, though he roundly deserves as much, and I know that you will not take the ring and seize the holding as your own. I suppose that is the price of being a man of honor." She lifted her gaze to his. "Do you not desire the holding?"

"I do want it," Bartholomew spoke with passion. "I want to be baron more than anything else in all the world. But I cannot be the same as Royce, Anna. I cannot let my desire dismiss my morality. There must be a way, and I pledge to you that I will spend all my days and nights endeavoring to find it, but villainy is not the solution."

"I said I would kill him for you," she reminded him.

"Aye, I have no doubt that you would." He touched her cheek with a fingertip and she was surprised to see a twinkle light his eyes. "Your valor is one of the traits I most admire about you, Anna."

She found herself smiling in turn. "And truth be told, your honor is the trait I most admire about you."

"But I would not see you commit such a crime, even for me."

Their gazes held for a long moment, and Anna's mouth went dry.

Then she recalled something Bartholomew had said. "What pledge do you dare not break that will ensure you act ignobly?" she asked, knowing when Bartholomew winced that there was a detail of import she did not know. "I cannot think of any vow that would compel you to do as much."

He sat down heavily beside her. "That is because I have not told you all about our escape from Haynesdale."

What else had happened within those walls?

*

Trust Anna to ask the question he least desired to answer.

Bartholomew was confounded by his promise to Marie. He was caught between his word of honor and his commitment to good conduct. He knew Gaston would not have sympathized with his situation, and then realized the truth of it.

While he had learned much from Gaston, he had learned even more of Ysmaine. The notion of seeking Anna's counsel filled him with new optimism, though he saw her surprise when he smiled at her.

"Suddenly this obligation gives you joy?" she asked.

"Nay, it is an idea that fills me with new hope. I have spoken to you of Gaston."

"The knight of honor and Templar, the one who saved you from the streets of Paris and granted you both spurs and sword."

"The very same. When Gaston heard that he was to be a baron, he found himself a wife, quickly, for he knew he would have need of a son."

"A man can expect more than that from his wife."

"As he learned from Lady Ysmaine, his chosen bride. We knew little of women after so much time with the Templars, but she was inspired by her parents' match, and how they conferred together. Gaston did not dare to trust her, but in the end, she was the one who ensured that his task to deliver the reliquary to Paris was successful." He took Anna's hand again. "And so, I would take from Lady Ysmaine's example and ask for your assistance in solving this riddle. Better, I would do so before it is too late."

"You and your word of honor! To whom have you made a pledge now?"

"Lady Marie." He sat back, awaiting the tempest, and was not disappointed. "I promised to aid her in conceiving a son."

Anna was clearly shocked. "What madness is this? You would aid such a viper and give her the means to dismiss your claim?"

"I declined to reply the first time—"

"That night we were at the keep!" Anna guessed, eyes flashing. "I knew she meant to seduce you!"

"But then, she aided our escape this day." He arched a brow. "And I pledged to pay her price."

Anna's eyes narrowed and she folded her arms across her chest. "She wants you to bed her?" Her expression revealed her opinion of that.

"She yearns for a child, and Sir Royce has not given her one."

Anna's lips parted in outrage. "She would conceive a bastard and deceive her lord husband?"

"I had need of her aid." Bartholomew flung out a hand. "She named the terms."

"But she is wed! Surely there is no honor in adultery?"

He gritted his teeth, for he had already turned this question in his thoughts. "None," he acknowledged. "Yet I am caught by my vow."

"You do not have to do it. She cannot come after you in this place. She will never reach you." Anna glared at him. "You could forget your pledge."

"I gave my word," Bartholomew insisted. "If I break my vow because it no longer suits me to keep it, what manner of man would I be?"

Anna audibly ground her teeth. "Yet if she does conceive, that child might be a boy." She shook her head. "A boy who could challenge your claim to Haynesdale!"

Bartholomew grimaced, for he had not considered that possibility.

"You might ensure that Royce's heir can make a competing claim to your own after Royce is dead."

"I promised, Anna."

Anna turned away. "It is a wicked bargain, to be sure," she murmured. "And one that cannot end well." She appealed to him again. "Do you not see that she will see her husband rid of the threat of the true heir? She saw you saved, but the price is your sacrifice!"

Bartholomew shook his head. "Nay, she cares naught for such detail. I believe she seeks only to leave Haynesdale…"

"No matter who bears the cost! What a selfish fiend of a woman!" Anna began to pace the riverbank in his stead, periodically kicking ice into the river. "And you!" She spun to fling out a hand toward him. "You believe all the people in Christendom to be as noble as you. What innocence is this? What folly! You are fool enough to trust her !"

"I gave my word. To break it would make me one of those people you condemn."

"You will step into a trap!"

"Indeed, I might." He arched a brow. "You could grant me some credit. I ask your assistance in finding a way to evade this obligation."

"With your honor yet intact?" He nodded and Anna growled. "Understand that Lady Marie is a fair match for Sir Royce, which means that she sees solely to her own advantage. She might be lovely and she might have fine manners, but her heart is as a stone. She might seduce you to conceive that son, but cares little if you are captured or killed for so doing." She seized a fistful of his chemise and gave him a shake. "Do you not see that she will betray you? She could not suffer to let a man who had claimed her live, for he might tell of it. If she were charged as an adulteress, she could lose all!"

"She might lose all if the king agreed to grant Haynesdale to me."

"Exactly! And this is why both she and Royce would see you dead." She shook her head and leaned toward him. "Do not go. Do not put yourself in such peril."

Bartholomew shook his head. "I must go, but I would find a way to survive the interval."

Anna's gaze simmering and she paced the riverbank again. "When do you meet her?"

"After midday on the first day without snow. At the old mill."

"Vexing man," Anna muttered. She tipped her head back and considered the pale hue of the sky. The snow fell thickly and it seemed that there was only snow as far as the eye could see. "But the truth is that otherwise, I should not admire you so."

Bartholomew chuckled. "I could say much the same of you."

"It appears you have some time," she mused, then turned a sparkling glance upon him. "However do you mean to pass it?"

He smiled and rose to his feet, seeing the anticipation in her eyes as he came to her side. "I hoped you might also have a suggestion about that." He dropped his hands to her shoulders and smiled down at her. "I love you, Anna."

"You do?"

"I do." He smiled as he watched her eyes light with pleasure. "I want all of this to come right, but cannot yet see a way for it to be so."

"Nor can I," she admitted, tangling her fingers with his own. "But there is one deed I would ask of you."

"What is that?"

"To give me a memory, one to warm me all the winters of my life that I will be without you." Her eyes shone with her conviction and Bartholomew's throat tightened. "I understand what you can promise and what you cannot, and why it must be so, but I love you as well." She sighed. "Let me have you so long as it snows, for that is better than not at all."

It was an invitation he could not refuse. Bartholomew framed her face in his hands and claimed her lips with his own, savoring all the passion that Anna had to give.

He would grant her memories and to spare.

When he broke their kiss, she smiled up at him, her ardor clear in her gaze. "Perhaps we might discover exactly how much a mortal man can endure of love play," she suggested, her tone teasing, and he could think of no better way to spend this time, however long it might be.

"Once again, I take your challenge, Anna." Bartholomew declared, and kissed her anew. He loved the passion of her response, that she was both honest and intrepid, and wished they could be together for all time.

He swung her into his arms and strode for the cavern, not caring who saw them or what was said. There was only Anna, Anna and the sweet fury of her kiss, and all the joy they could summon together.

*

Royce was pacing the hall when Gaultier answered his summons. He fully expected an outbreak of temper from his overlord, since the prisoner had escaped and one of the finest archers was dead.

"I have heard the testimony of Roger," he said, gesturing to the one bowman who had returned from pursuit of the prisoner. "He brings most curious tidings."

"Indeed, sir?" Gaultier had not questioned Roger, but sent him immediately to Royce to make his report, as the body of his companion had to be retrieved. He braced himself for Royce's reaction to more bad news. "The other men have returned, sir, for they could not discern the trail of the escaped prisoner and his comrade."

"It does not matter," Royce said, to Gaultier's surprise. "This Bartholomew will return here to the keep. He can do naught else."

"Sir?"

"Have you not heard the tales of the one true son doomed to reclaim Haynesdale, Gaultier? I thought them nonsense, or willful thinking, and perhaps it is nonsense, but this knight, Bartholomew, believes himself to be the son of my predecessor, Baron Nicholas." Royce paced more quickly. "He will meet his father's end, to be sure."

Gaultier glanced at Roger and held his tongue.

"Sooner or later, I will be rid of him." Royce straightened suddenly, then smiled. Evidently some detail had occurred to him. "Perhaps sooner than he anticipates."

"Sir?"

Royce dismissed Roger then seated himself. He smirked at the Captain of the Guard. "How could it be, Gaultier, that my wife left this hall to say her prayers in the chapel, yet did not see the thieves when they entered the same chapel?"

Gaultier blinked. "How do you know they were in the chapel, my lord?"

"The cabinet by the altar, the one for the prizes of the chapel, was unlocked. It is never left so." Royce lifted his gaze to Gaultier. "They were there, likely in the same moment as my lady wife."

If the cabinet had been open, Gaultier had to agree. He had seen Lady Marie that morning, walking toward the stable, before the hue and cry had been raised about an intruder. "Did they claim the prize, my lord?"

Royce raised a finger. "Fortunately, I had the foresight to move it to a more secure location."

Gaultier assumed that was in his lord's own chamber.

"But consider the course of my lady wife. Not only was she in the chapel, but she chose to visit her mare in the stables, immediately after her prayers," Royce continued. "Where not only another sentry had been left bound and silenced, but a rope had been lowered into the sewer."

"The sewer was their means of escape, my lord. The grill on the other end had been removed."

Royce nodded. "But what of my lady wife? Does she truly know naught?"

Gaultier was not such a fool as to accuse his baron's wife of any crime. "Women do not always observe keenly as men, sir…."

Royce interrupted him with a short laugh. "Or perhaps she lies , Gaultier." He rose to his feet anew, paced the chamber quickly, then spun to face him. "Where was my lady wife when the intruders were discovered?"

"Before the stables, sir."

"Exactly. And how many times was she said to have gone from chapel to stables?"

"Twice, sir, for she forgot her psalter the first time."

"And one has dire need of a psalter when visiting a mare." Royce strolled toward Gaultier. "How often does my wife visit her mare?"

"I cannot think of the last time, sir."

"Exactly! What if my lady wife did see the intruders in the chapel? What if she spoke to them there?" He halted before the Captain of the Guard, his expression exultant. "What if she made a wager with them, that she would aid in their escape?"

Gaultier could not imagine what a thief could offer to the lady of Haynesdale. "To what purpose, sir? Does she know that this villain believes himself to be destined to take your place?" It seemed folly for Lady Marie to ally herself with such a man while her own husband was yet in command of the keep, but Gaultier had never troubled himself to understand the thinking of women. They had but one purpose in his view, and it was not conversation.

Royce clapped him on the shoulder, his manner amiable. "I like that your thoughts do not readily travel the same path as mine, Gaultier. It is a good sign for our shared future."

"Sir?"

"I do not know what my wife schemes, Gaultier, but I would find out. Ensure that Lady Marie is followed whenever she leaves the keep and do as much without detection."

"She does not leave the keep often, sir."

"I think she will find an excuse to do as much and soon."

Understanding dawned in Gaultier's thoughts. "You think she will meet with the young knight."

"I think she has made an agreement and must collect her price. We shall see whether he is fool enough to pay it." Royce drained his cup of ale. "I wonder whether he is bold enough to enter this keep willingly again," he mused. "Be sure you post a sentry to watch the windows of her chamber."

"Of course, my lord."