Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Finally, the snow had stopped.

And not an hour too soon. It was morning still. As the sky cleared, Marie's hope rose that her goal would be achieved within hours. She stood at the window of her chamber and surveyed the village outside the gates of the keep. Smoke rose from the roofs of the houses that were still occupied, and she was relieved that the population of the village had not been diminished yet again.

Her relief was not selfless. She had need of the elderly apothecary. It would have been most inconvenient if he had not survived the storm.

She called for her heaviest boots and her thickest cloak, insisting that her maid Agnes search for the fur-lined gloves she had not worn yet this winter. The maids dressed quickly once Marie was garbed, knowing full well that she might leave them behind.

The trio descended the stairs, and Marie felt rather than saw that they were watched.

Of course, Royce was absurdly suspicious. She pivoted and sought him out deliberately, as if she was required to ask his permission for every step she took.

"My lord," she murmured when she found him at his books. "I would beg your leave to visit the village this morn."

She saw the gleam in his eye when he glanced up, though he quickly hid his satisfaction. "Why would you venture into the cold, my lady?"

"No ordeal is too much for me to bear, sir, in the pursuit of our common goal."

He leaned back, surveying her. "Which goal might that be?"

"The conception of a son and heir, of course!" She gestured to the maids who stood demurely behind her. "Emma reminds me that an apothecary in her mother's village had a potion to hasten conception, and I recalled that there is an old apothecary in your own village. I would beg his assistance this day, sir."

"How strange that Emma recalls this incident only now."

Marie laughed lightly. "Memory is a strange thing, my lord. We were talking during the storm of other such foul weather we had known, and Agnes recalled her aunt laboring to deliver a child in a snowstorm, when all feared the midwife would not arrive in time." She stepped forward and lowered her voice, as if her words were for Royce alone. "Indeed, sir, that prompted me to confide my disappointment in my maids for the first time. It is not fitting for them to realize that we have any weaknesses, but in this instance, I think the confession may lead to good result."

Royce sensed the deception, to be sure. He considered her for a long moment. "I thought you shared all with Agnes and Emma," he murmured, speaking in English obviously in the hope that they might not understand.

More fool he, for both maids were fluent in French, English and German. Marie was glad once again to have her assets underappreciated.

"Only what is fitting, sir," Marie lied. She pouted a little. "Surely you, too, would like to see this quest achieved."

He smiled and waved at her. "Of course, my lady. I hope only that you will grace the board at midday."

"Of course," she agreed, smiling so that he would not note how she gritted her teeth. She turned back to her maids at his dismissal and marched to the hall, with them in quick pursuit. "After all," she murmured under her breath. "Who would miss yet another meal of venison stew? Oh, what I would do for a measure of butter and honey spread on fresh bread!"

Butter and honey were the least of Marie's ordeals at Haynesdale, however. There was but one way to secure her freedom, and that was with the son. She had not lied about her intention of seeking that particular potion from the apothecary.

But she planned to seek another, as well.

They were followed by Gaultier—discreetly, but not so discreetly that she was unaware of his presence—which proved the merit of her foresight.

Aye, she would have the encouragement to conception and the sleeping potion, too.

Perhaps double of it, just to be sure that both Royce and his Captain of the Guard dreamed sweetly this afternoon.

*

Bartholomew could not evade his obligation. The sunlight filled the opening to the cavern with a radiance that could not be ignored. The fresh snow glittered in the forest, inviting him to keep his vow. He wanted to linger with Anna but this task must be behind him. She was awake, nestled against him, her fingertips tracing circles around the mark upon his chest.

How would he keep his word to Marie without sullying them both with an adulterous act? It was a riddle, and consideration had not revealed a solution.

Perhaps there was not one.

He rose from the bed with a heavy heart and began to dress. Anna was watching him, her expression wary, and he knew she would not be silent for long.

That she was so forthright was part of what he loved most about her. He wanted her to be happy, even in his absence, but wondered whether he had erred in being honest. Had he destroyed her future happiness by confessing his love to her? All the same, he could not regret the sweetness they had found in each other's touch.

It seemed he could do naught right since coming to Haynesdale.

"Will you assist me with the aketon?" Bartholomew asked, marveling that she had not spoken so far. Anna rose and came to him, splendid in her nudity, and as bold now in intimacy as she was in all other matters.

Perhaps he had achieved something.

"Why do you smile?"

"Because you are beautiful." He caught her nape in his hand and kissed her, lifting his lips from hers with such reluctance that she smiled in her turn.

"Turn around," she murmured, bending to pick up the aketon. He did not immediately follow her instruction, but savored the sight of her instead. Her hair fell over her shoulder in a dark curtain, and he yearned to kiss her fair skin again and conjure her passion once more.

But there was no time.

Bartholomew donned the aketon, turning his back upon her. Anna laced it with care, and he guessed that she lingered over the task to delay his departure. Her hands landed on the back of his shoulders and he wondered why she stopped.

"What if," she began softly and he glanced over his shoulder to find her frowning. "What if Royce died?"

"I told you…"

"Nay, I know you will not kill him outright, but what if he died in a battle of honor?"

"I do not understand."

Anna knotted the lace. "If Royce died and you wed Marie, would the king look more favorably upon your request to hold Haynesdale's seal?"

Bartholomew did not wish to think about wedding a woman like Marie. He imagined her charm would flee quickly once nuptial vows were exchanged, but Anna was so intent that he considered the question. "He might." He shrugged. "It might be seen as continuity in the administration of the holding. It is difficult to say."

Anna nodded. "But the treasury of Haynesdale would become your possession then, as Baron of Haynesdale by her, so you would then be able to pay the escheat."

"But Royce would still have to die." Bartholomew frowned. "Plus the problem remains that I must keep my word, but would prefer not to commit an indiscretion with another man's wife."

She met his gaze. "So meet her, but be discovered before any such indiscretion is committed. Be challenged by Royce and fight him, man to man."

Bartholomew lifted his hauberk, considering this. He tugged it over his head and Anna laced the back for him, then helped him to don his tabard.

"It might work," he mused.

She brushed off his tabard and granted him a smile. "Only if you win."

Bartholomew suspected victory would not be readily won. "He will cheat," he said with a smile.

Anna laughed and caught his face in her hands. "Finally, you learn some distrust of others," she said, then kissed him.

It was a sweet yet fiery kiss, one that sent both heat and purpose through his veins, and one that ended all too soon.

He smiled as he looked down at Anna in his embrace. Her pride in her notion shone in her eyes. "It is a devious scheme."

"And one that no one would expect from a man of your ilk," she agreed. "But you might be able to use Marie for your ends, just as she would use you for hers. I think that would be fitting."

He grimaced. "And what shall we do, you and I, when I am baron and wedded to Marie and you yet live in the village?"

Anna swallowed and her eyes shone with unshed tears. "We shall wish each other well and conduct ourselves with honor," she replied, her words husky. "You can have no future with the smith's daughter, and I know it as well as you do."

Bartholomew kissed her again, more lingeringly, for he feared it would be the last time. He would not sully any marriage he made with infidelity, even if it was to a woman like Marie. He wished it might be otherwise. When he broke their kiss, he filled his gaze with the sight of Anna, his heart pounding fit to burst. "Be well," he murmured, and brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek. "I shall never forget you, Anna, and my heart will always be yours."

"And mine yours, to be sure," she replied, then bowed as if he were a fine lord already. "Godspeed to you, my lord," she added, and he saw her blink back her tears. "May every good fortune come to your hand."

Bartholomew heard the quiver in Anna's voice and wanted to reassure her, but he knew that if he touched her, his resolve would be lost.

"Keep the dog with you," he said quietly. When she nodded, he turned and strode out of the cavern, bracing himself for whatever the day might bring.

He would endeavor to follow her plan and hoped it might succeed, for it offered the best possibility for their future.

As much as he might have wished otherwise.

Though the barony might be close to his grasp, Bartholomew was surprised to realize that he would surrender it all to be with the smith's daughter forever.

His personal desire did not matter. He had to keep his word.

This was the price of being his father's son, a knight and a man aspiring to hold the seal of Haynesdale in his own hand. Bartholomew had never before considered that the cost might be too high.

*

Anna knew Bartholomew could not have chosen differently. He was a man of merit, which was why she feared for his fate in the company of those who showed no regard for honor, justice or the welfare of others. It was not that he failed to realize there was wickedness, but that he could not participate in it. He would not become like them, and the fact of it made her heart ache.

If he died, she would mourn him all her days.

If he did not die, she would yearn for him all her days.

It was a poor reward, and Anna was saddened that love's result was so meager.

She sat and watched Esme's chickens, more despondent than ever she had been. If there was no son destined to return and no Bartholomew to challenge her, Anna could not imagine a good reason to awaken each day. If he succeeded and wedded Marie and she had to see him every day in that woman's company, that too was reason to linger abed.

Anna much preferred the reason she had had to linger abed during the storm.

Cenric leaned on her leg and she rubbed his ears, smiling despite herself at his interest in the chickens. They ignored the hound, already confident that he would not touch them.

"So, he is gone," Esme murmured, then came to sat beside Anna. "I doubted he would linger at Haynesdale once the snow ceased to fall."

"He does linger at Haynesdale," Anna replied. "For he keeps a pledge to Lady Marie."

"That one!" Esme shook her head. "Lady Marie is not the measure of Sir Royce's first wife, to be certain."

"His first wife?" Anna was happy to seize on any topic that made her forget her woes—or Bartholomew's quest.

"Aye, the one he brought first to Haynesdale, after Lady Gabriella's death. She was a beauty, though she thought little of her husband's abode."

Anna had little recollection of that woman, though she knew that Royce had been wed before. "Was that why he had no son by her either? Did she refuse his attentions?"

Esme cackled. "There were tales, of course."

"What manner of tales?"

The old woman smiled at Anna. "Did you never wonder that your father, the smith, was in possession of such a fine crossbow?"

"Of course, but it was only entrusted to me after his death. My mother saved it for me." Anna shrugged. "There was little time for questions, for she granted it to me just before her labor began."

"Your mother." Esme nodded. "I might have said that you had your boldness from her blood, but that is not possible."

Anna frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It never mattered, Anna, which was why you were not told the truth."

"What truth?"

"But now I hear your admiration for that knight, and I fear it does matter. Does he have any regard for you?"

"Esme, you speak in riddles, and this day, I cannot bear it."

"Does he?" the older woman repeated.

"It does not matter. He is a knight and may claim the title of Haynesdale. I am but the daughter of the village smith."

The older woman leaned closer. "But you are not the smith's daughter."

Anna's heart clenched.

"Your father was the Captain of the Guard at Haynesdale, and that crossbow was his own. He was the youngest son of the Duke of Arsent, with no birthright save his lineage and his spurs."

Anna shook her head, unable to accept this tale. "My mother would never have been so disloyal to my father…"

"Nay, she would not and she was not. She was, however, loyal to the lady of Haynesdale."

"I do not understand."

Esme tapped Anna's arm. "Your mother served the lady who was Royce's first wife. She labored in the hall as a chambermaid in those days and she knew the lady's secrets. She knew, for example, that the lady trysted with the Captain of the Guard."

Anna caught her breath.

"Someone else knew, as well, for they were betrayed. The lady was confined to her chambers and the Captain of the Guard was executed."

Anna raised her hand to her lips.

"The lady relied greatly upon your mother and they found much conviviality when they both rounded with child at the same time. A first child for both of them. They even labored on the same night, under the same full moon. Your mother's labor was troubled from the outset. I remember it well, as well as the smith's agitation." Esme paused for a moment. "The smith's daughter died without making a first cry."

Anna shook her head. "But I am here."

Esme smiled. "The lady of Haynesdale bore a girl, as well, a child who showed her determination early. She was a robust babe and one who yelled mightily to announce her arrival. She was her father's daughter, for the Captain of the Guard had been both bold and valiant, if not fearless."

Anna gasped.

"And so it was that the lady of Haynesdale feared for her daughter's life, guessing that Royce would not tolerate a bastard in his abode. She no longer trusted her husband, and when your mother confessed her loss, they two concocted a scheme. They traded their children in the night, the lady claiming the corpse as her own and the smith telling all that his wife had born a robust girl."

"Nay," Anna whispered, her heart thundering.

"The lady gave the crossbow to the smith, that you might know your legacy. None knew what would happen later, and once the smith and his wife died, there seemed little merit in telling you the tale."

"Does anyone else know it?"

"I do," Father Ignatius said from behind Anna. "And others suspect it. You have your father's air of command and his audacity."

Esme leaned closer to whisper. "You are nobly born, Anna, the daughter of a duke's youngest son and a baroness."

Anna looked between the two of them with astonishment, then spun to her feet. She could wed Bartholomew. Perhaps they could triumph together.

Perhaps she would kill Royce for him.

"I have to find Bartholomew. Where did he go?"

"He asked for direction to the old mill from here," Father Ignatius confided.

*

"There are women I would trust in such a situation, lad, but this Lady of Haynesdale is not one of them."

Bartholomew lay in the snow alongside Duncan, his chin on his gloved fist, watching the old mill. The sun was just past its zenith and naught moved in the old village save a herd of goats that wandered across the snow. A pair of villagers tended them without much interest, and they bleated as they dug beneath the fresh snow for fodder.

"I do not need to trust her, not if I follow Anna's scheme."

Duncan grimaced. "I think it risky to trust her even so far as that. She might be in alliance with her husband, for truly, she has as much to lose as he."

"There are many barriers between me and the barony."

"And the simplest solution for Sir Royce would be to see you dead now, before any of those obstacles are conquered."

Bartholomew granted his companion a glance. "Do not suggest that I break my word."

The older man shook his head. "You have no argument from me over the keeping of a pledge, lad. What other man of your acquaintance has spent years keeping his word, and traveled the breadth of Christendom to do it?"

"You have?"

"If Fergus has found trouble in my absence, my life is over as I know it," Duncan growled. "I swore to repay his father for saving my life, and so his father dispatched me to ensure his son returned from Outremer." Duncan glowered at the village before them. "If he has found some mischief to make it otherwise, when I could do naught about it, I will be vexed indeed."

"Fergus will return soon enough."

Duncan's brows rose. "And so I pray that it will be."

"Years keeping your word," Bartholomew echoed.

"And I did not regret a moment of it, not until we reached Paris."

"Why was that?"

"Because I found something I cared about other than my word, lad, but one commitment must be fulfilled before another can be made. You do not have to argue the matter with me."

Bartholomew considered the older man, wondering what he had found of greater import. "What did you find?"

"Who, lad. The question is who." Duncan smiled. "A wee lass with fire in her eyes." He sighed.

"Radegunde," Bartholomew guessed.

Duncan's eyes narrowed as he peered at the mill. "One pledge fulfilled before making another. That is all a man can do."

It startled Bartholomew to realize that he and Anna were not the sole lovers kept apart by circumstance. "When Fergus returns, I will ride to Killairic with you, and threaten his life that you might fulfill your pledge."

Duncan smiled. "I appreciate the offer, lad, but you have more than sufficient challenge before you."

That was true enough.

"Look," the Scotsman murmured. "She comes."

Bartholomew watched as Lady Marie arrived before the mill. She rode a fine mare, and her maids were on smaller palfreys. All glanced about themselves furtively. One seized the reins of her lady's horse, and the other dismounted, hastening into the mill with her lady. The second maid led the three horses away, taking cover in the forest.

"She guards the road to the new keep," Duncan murmured and cast Bartholomew a knowing glance. "The lady is well prepared for her assignation."

Bartholomew was studying the scene, wondering how best to ensure he was discovered. Anna's plan was a good one, but it relied upon the presence of someone trusted by the baron. "There," he murmured, pointing to a man who stepped out of the burned remnant of the old hall. He handed his crossbow to Duncan. "Let him follow me."

Duncan nodded. "If he does not enter the mill after I have counted to a hundred, I will drive him inside." He settled a bolt into the crossbow and cocked it.

Bartholomew recalled that he yet had the keys of Father Ignatius. If he was captured, they would be taken from him. He granted the ring to Duncan, who tucked it into his purse.

They exchanged a glance, then Bartholomew headed for the mill. He remained in the shelter of the forest, heading toward the maid who lingered on the road. He stepped into the clearing of the old village before reaching her, then hastened to the mill. He paused at the portal, ensuring that he was visible and was reassured to not be struck down. He took a deep breath, then entered the mill.

One way or the other, much would be resolved by the time Duncan counted to one hundred.

*

The mill might not have been the finest place for an assignation, but it was not all bad. Marie had chosen it with care. The mill was, first and foremost, sufficiently distant from the hall that Royce would not hear any evidence of what she did. It boasted several hiding spots large enough for a man, for the old granaries were intact. It was cold, but the roof was whole, and the great millstone was of the perfect height, in Marie's experience, for intercourse. She cast off her cloak and laid it on the millstone, even as Agnes watched the portal.

"He comes," the maid said softly.

Marie wrapped her arms about herself in the cold. The encounter would have to be quick. While she had consumed the potion that was said to aid in conception, Royce had declined to take more than a taste of the wine she had tainted at the board. He said he had much labor to do on his books, for the taxes would be sent to the crown soon, and had left the board early.

While that had solved the question of her leaving the keep without arousing his suspicion, he would not be asleep as she had schemed. There had been a time when she might have savored the risk, but not on this day.

Bartholomew stepped through the portal, narrowing his eyes against the comparative darkness of the mill. His gaze flicked past her, which did not please her overmuch, to the large chamber of the miller's house. He looked most intently at the floor, then at a distant window, which made no sense at all.

"Hasten yourself!" she said, stepped forward to seize his hand. "In here and it must be quickly done." She reached beneath his tabard but he caught her hand before she could unlace his chausses.

"There must be some romance," he protested, then smiled down at her. He raised his other hand to her cheek. "I would see you pleased, Lady Marie."

"There is no time for such pleasure," she insisted, reaching again for the front of his chausses. He backed her into the millstone, which was progress of a kind, and trapped her against him with his hips. All she could feel was his chain mail and it was cold enough to make her shiver anew.

He cupped her chin in his hand. "Beguile me," he invited, his voice low, and Marie ground her teeth.

"Take me," she retorted, tugging at the hem of her kirtle. "Before we are discovered."

He considered her, still holding her captive against the millstone, then removed his gloves, one finger at a time. Marie wriggled against him with impatience, but he took an age to cast them aside. He then eased the flat of his hand over her thigh, smiling as he pushed up her chemise and kirtle, baring the top of her stocking to view. He granted her a glittering glance, and she caught her breath at his allure. He caught her nape in his other hand, then bent to kiss her beneath the ear. Marie sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, wishing there could be more time for this encounter. She sensed a shadow and her eyes flew open.

"Nay!" she cried when she saw the man silhouetted in the portal. It was Gaultier, to be sure. He lifted a knife to throw it. She kicked Bartholomew aside and he scooped her up, just as the knife buried itself in the wall behind them. Agnes leapt for Gaultier, but he struck her in the face with his mailed fist.

Agnes fell to the floor, bleeding, and did not move again.

Marie's heart thundered in terror. Gaultier aimed to kill, not to maim. He unsheathed his sword and strode into the mill, his gaze fixed upon Bartholomew.

"You would take what is not your own," he growled.

Bartholomew drew his own sword, the blade glinting in the light. "I defend the lady's right to make a choice."

"She has no right to give her lord's property away," Gaultier replied. "And I have every right to defend what is his." The two men charged each other, their blades clashing with fury. Marie fell back and scrambled toward the portal. She fell beside her maid and felt for her pulse.

There was none, and the pool of blood grew ever larger.

Agnes was dead, dead for her loyalty to Marie.

What had she done?

The two knights fought fiercely, moving back and forth across the floor and striking savagely at each other. Marie watched in horror as Gaultier moved suddenly, tripping Bartholomew and flinging him against a wall. His blade was at Bartholomew's throat, and she knew he would kill the other knight. She could not believe that Bartholomew had been bested so readily, but she would not see him die as well.

"Nay!" Marie cried again, and Gaultier hesitated for a precious moment. "My lord husband will be vexed if you cheat him of his justice."

Gaultier smiled. He pressed his blade against Bartholomew's throat and Marie feared her protest had been in vain. She could see red blood running down the blade. "Drop your weapons, and the baron may decide your fate."

Bartholomew set down his sword, moving slowly and placing it on the floor. He removed his belt with his sheathed dagger, set it down as well, then straightened with his hands held high.

Gaultier chuckled, then prodded him to leave the mill, the tip of his blade at Bartholomew's back.

"My maid!" Marie protested.

"Someone will fetch her," the Captain of the Guard said with indifference. "Hasten yourself back to the keep, my lady, if you mean to survive this day."

"I would take his counsel," Bartholomew added and Gaultier struck him in the back of the head.

"You may give your opinion when you are asked for it," he snarled and Marie seized the opportunity to flee.

*

Anna flung herself down into the snow beside Duncan.

The older man spared her a glance. "He follows your scheme, though I counseled against it. Did you come to see the outcome?"

"I came to help." She watched as Bartholomew stepped into the mill and heard Duncan begin to count beneath his breath. He lifted his bow and aimed it toward the old keep. Anna saw a man loitering there.

She loaded her own crossbow.

"I will not miss," Duncan said tightly.

"You cannot hit three," Anna replied.

"There is no one else in the clearing."

"Save the two goatherds, neither of whom is either Herve or Regan."

"Are you sure?"

"Herve is old and walks with a staff. I doubt he has suddenly had such a remarkable recovery from his rheumatism."

Duncan pursed his lips. "Not in this weather, to be sure."

"While his sister Regan is tiny, only as tall as my shoulder."

The Scotsman nodded. "And no one else tends the goats?"

"No one else wrought like a man-at-arms."

"Who shall we take first?"

"Leave the one in the ruined keep. He is of a size with Bartholomew and must be Gaultier."

"There would be repercussions from his demise, to be sure."

She nodded. "And no voice of reason to halt the others. Once he enters the mill, I will take the left one posing as a goatherd, and you the right. If others reveal themselves, we shall take them as we can."

"One maid is on the road with the horses, just in the cover of the forest."

"Aye, I could hear her. She must have been fearful for she talked to the steeds."

"The other is with Marie."

"I would not see either of them injured, nor even Marie," Anna said, even as Gaultier stepped away from the ruined keep. He moved quickly toward the mill, drawing a knife from his belt. He flattened himself against the wall outside the portal, surveyed the clearing, then abruptly ducked inside.

Marie screamed.

Duncan and Anna fired their crossbows as one. The two goatherds fell silently, then there was a roar from the direction of the road. The goats bleated and ran for the distant fields.

Three more warriors burst from the forest and raced for the mill. They looked smaller than the others, or perhaps younger, but it mattered little. They were armed.

Anna leapt to her feet and loaded another bolt. "Left," she muttered.

"Right," Duncan replied.

Again, two bolts flew through the air. Duncan's target moved suddenly and his bolt missed. Anna's sank into the chest of the assailant she had targeted. The two surviving men pivoted and raced toward them.

"After you," Duncan said, and Anna took her shot.

The one on the left fell with a cry after her bolt sank into his eye.

The one on the right tumbled to the ground a moment later, Duncan's bolt in his throat.

They both loaded their bows again and stood silent, listening.

They could hear swordplay coming from the mill, then it suddenly ceased. Marie screamed again, then there was silence.

Had Bartholomew succeeded in their plan?

Surely Marie would weep more loudly if her intended lover had been killed?

Surely Bartholomew would shout in triumph is he had killed Gaultier?

"Back," Duncan advised and they retreated to the forest. They had barely reached the undergrowth when Marie ran out of the mill. She fled up the road, undoubtedly toward the point where her maid waited. She was weeping.

But for whom?

Anna might have gone to find out but Duncan laid a hand on her arm. To her relief, Bartholomew appeared next, his hands held high. He had been divested of his belt and weapons, and Gaultier urged him forward at the point of a sword. The Captain of the Guard immediately spied his fallen troops and gave a shout. Four more men galloped out of the forest to encircle their commander. They led a fifth steed, though it was merely a palfrey. Gaultier bound Bartholomew's hands behind his back and mounted the horse with the empty saddle, then they cantered back toward the point where the road disappeared into the forest. Marie's wails could be heard, then the sound of the party moved toward the new keep.

"The shard of the true cross," Anna whispered to Duncan. "They cannot have that blade."

He grimaced, for he evidently had guessed what she would do. "Run, lass, for they will be back for their dead."

"Whistle if you see them," she said.

"Twice," Duncan agreed and gave her a sample. Anna nodded and raced toward the mill. She looked left and right before approaching the portal, then glanced back toward Duncan from the threshold. She could see no sign of him. She hastened into the shadowed interior, then halted in dismay at the sight of the fallen maid.

She bent and touched the other woman's throat, but she was dead.

Anna crossed herself, then surveyed the interior. She could see the glimmer of a scabbard on the far side of the common room. She hastened toward it, well aware that she might not have long, and recognized Bartholomew's belt and scabbard. His dagger was still in its scabbard but his sword was on the floor. She slid it into the scabbard, astonished by its weight, then heard a double whistle.

She stood and heard the approach of hoof beats.

The granary!

Anna leapt up the stairs, wincing when a step creaked in protest. She flung herself into one of the large lidded storage bins and lowered the lid. She laid Bartholomew's belt on the floor before herself and loaded her crossbow, pointing the tip of the bolt at the rim of the bin.

If any soul were fool enough to open it, he would have a bolt in his eye as reward. From such close range, it might well pass right through his skull.

She hoped it was Gaultier.

Anna held her breath and waited.

The hoof beats halted outside the door and she heard the scuffle of boots on the stone threshold. "Aye, she is dead enough, to be sure," a man said, then raised his voice. "Fetch the wagon from the keep. I see three fallen near the road and there must be another two men."

"Aye, sir!" Hoof beats raced away.

Anna listened. How many had come into the mill? What did they do while they waited? She heard boots on the floor, and thought there was more than one man nearby.

"Three squires and two knights dead this day," grumbled one man. "There will be a price to pay for that, mark my words."

"Do not forget the maid. She was a fetching one," a man said with regret.

"Aye, you always fancy the ones you cannot have," said the other.

One pair of footsteps drew closer.

"Why would she come to this place? It is primitive and cold."

"But no one would hear her cry in pleasure."

"She will cry on this night, you may be certain. He will beat her black and blue."

"He might give her to us."

"Nay, not his legal wife." The man's voice brightened. "But maybe her other maid, as a lesson."

"If so, Gaultier will take her first, and what he leaves will not be worth the sharing."

Anna shuddered at the truth of that.

"I suppose I will have to go with the taxes now," said one man without real pleasure. The other man murmured something and though Anna strained her ears, she could not discern his words. She lifted the lid of the granary with the top of her head, just slightly, so she could hear better.

One man laughed. "Aye, you are right. Whether it is Winchester or London, there will be more whores there than here."

"What if we have to take it to Anjou?"

"You should be so lucky as to have a French whore for one night in your life."

"Maybe I should seduce Lady Marie."

"This is a gamble not worth the taking." Their voices grew louder and Anna ducked lower, easing the lid down.

"What is this?" the man asked in closer proximity. "Someone climbed these stairs this day. Look at the dust!"

"Small footsteps," agreed the other man. "Not the knight."

"Maybe the lady thought to have him there."

"Maybe she sought a fine bed."

They laughed as one, even as Anna sat like a woman struck to stone. She scarce dared to breathe. She closed one hand around the cold pommel of Bartholomew's sword, and prayed with all her heart that they not find her.

"What is up there, anyway?"

There was the creak of a boot on the stair, then the clatter of hoof beats. Anna heard the groan of a wagon's wheels, then the sound of a body being cast into it.

"Well?" shouted a man outside the mill. "Is there another in here?"

"Aye, there is," agreed one of the men in the mill and the pair of them departed. Anna closed her eyes in relief. When she heard the party ride away, she bent and kissed the pommel in gratitude.

Though she did not leave her hiding place until she heard Duncan's voice an eternity later. "Lass?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper. "We can be away now, if you move with haste."

Anna did not need a second invitation.

*

Marie was seething.

How dare Royce interfere with her scheme and deny her any opportunity for escape from this foul hole?

She retreated to her chamber as if retiring for the night, well aware that Royce expected her to weep for her lost lover. He came to her, of course, intent upon proving his ownership and sated himself with tedious speed.

She pretended to sleep when he was done, and was glad to hear him leave. She smiled when he locked the portal to her chamber from the outside.

There were moments when it was good fortune to be wedded to a stupid man. Marie waited until the stairs had finished their creaking, until the floor overhead groaned beneath Royce's bed. She waited until the squires had finished their scampering, and the tower had grown quiet.

Then she rose and retrieved the key she had stolen years before. It fit perfectly into the lock and the portal was opened with nary a sound. Emma followed her, keeping her distance at Marie's gesture.

They reached the great hall, which had fallen into shadows. Only one candle burned at the high table. Gaultier stood there alone, his tabard mired and his hair disheveled. He lifted the cup that she had not deigned to empty at midday and drained it. Marie drew back into the shadows, unable to believe her good fortune.

Or her husband's frugality.

Gaultier loved his wine, but Royce seldom shared with his men.

The Captain of the Guard cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, then drank the rest of the wine from the other abandoned cup on the board. He smiled when he lifted the small pitcher that had been poured for Royce and Marie, the one she had treated with the sleeping potion. He poured its contents into Royce's cup and downed it, scarcely savoring it at all.

He had consumed two doses of the sleeping draught, perhaps on an empty belly. Marie hovered in the shadows, watching and hoping.

She did not have to wait long to learn that Finan's concoction was potent.