Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Royce was rather proud of himself.

His scheme was so brilliant that it could not fail to succeed. The first cart, loaded with trunks of rocks, had to be reaching the most treacherous part of the road through his abode. The rebels in the forest would attack, but they would be the ones to be surprised.

And pay the price of their treachery. He would be rid of them all by sunset!

Boys ran up and down the stairs of the tower, carrying the chests of silver pennies to the second cart in the bailey, then racing to retrieve more from his treasury. Royce supervised the efforts in his chamber, ensuring that they took the right trunks.

There would still be a measure of coin left for his own comfort. It was only three small trunks, but one was filled with gold coin. This was a clever choice on his part, for the fewer the villeins and the less trade within his borders, the lower the taxes. Goods for his table were less readily confiscated from the peasants or taxed out of them in these times. Indeed, the castellan had confided that they would have to buy flour in York by the spring to make bread in the hall.

What need had he of peasants too lazy to till the fields?

Nay, he was better without them, and this measure of coin would ensure his comfort for a good while, even with the king receiving his due. Let them all die. He would survive on venison and other game.

Who knew what good fortune might come to him from his plan? The gift of the reliquary might so impress the king that he might give Royce a fine gift.

Another holding, perhaps.

A richer one.

Royce nigh rubbed his hands together in glee.

He heard his wife weeping noisily in her chambers below his own and rolled his eyes at the fuss she had made over a dead maid. It was one less mouth to feed, as far as Royce was concerned.

Marie wailed in anguish and he gritted his teeth. Even his wife began to be a burden. She had never given him a son. He had long ago bored of her charms, and she had dared to tryst with the knight who aspired to replace him. If she could not be trusted, why should he feed her?

Did she mourn her maid, or the man who hung from the parapet, dead as he deserved?

Royce believed he knew the truth, and it gave him great pleasure.

It also fed his resolve to be rid of Marie.

First matters first, though. The last of the trunks were carried from the chamber and he realized what had been missed. "Gaultier!" he bellowed, believing that the Captain of the Guard must have taken the reliquary into his care. Gaultier knew he was to command the second cart, to ensure that the taxes arrived safely at the king's court. They had arranged all the previous afternoon.

Royce strode out of the chamber and shouted again from the top of the stairs. "Gaultier!"

There was no reply. Where was the man? He had never known Gaultier to be as vexing as he had been this day, and it was not even noon.

Royce marched down a flight of stairs, catching the sleeve of a passing squire. "Where is Gaultier? Have you seen him this morn?"

"Not since daybreak, my lord, when he could not be roused from sleep."

What was this? Royce had seen him in the bailey, when the priest had arrived. He hammered on the door of Marie's chambers, entering without awaiting an invitation. She was packing bundles and froze at the sight of him. "I would give the possessions of Agnes to the poor," she said with a proud lift of her chin.

Royce continued into the chamber with a frown. There were far too many bundles and trunks, to his view. "Agnes did not own so much as this," he protested. He lifted a kirtle from one bag. "And this is the kirtle I gave to you two years ago, at Easter."

"I gave it to Agnes."

"You did not. You would depart yourself! And without my permission."

Marie's eyes narrowed. "I do not need your permission," she began and he struck her hard, across the face.

"You most certainly do," he retorted. "As my wife, you are my chattel, and you will do as I instruct. You will not leave until I bid you do so." He smiled. "Fear not, it may be soon."

Her lip curled. "And you would remain here, in this keep built with my father's coin, spending the dowry that should see to my comfort for all the days of my life."

"I can make those days shorter, if you would prefer. Indeed, I wonder if I might have need of a younger wife, the better to ensure I have a son."

Marie's outrage was clear. "You would not dare to put me aside. The king chose me as your spouse…"

"And the king is said to be in Anjou, mustering for a crusade. His gaze turns east not north. I doubt he would even notice any tidings of your demise."

"Fiend!" Marie cried and Royce smiled as he turned to leave.

"Lock the portal," he instructed the man in the corridor. "And do not permit my wife to leave her chambers."

"Scoundrel!" Marie shouted and Royce glanced back in time to see the crockery cup she cast at him. He ducked and it shattered on the opposite wall.

Royce descended several steps so she would not have a clear shot, and the sentry slammed the door. Another crockery cup smashed against it as he turned the key in the lock. "Have you seen Gaultier?" he asked the sentry when their gazes met.

"Not since the dawn, sir."

Marie began to laugh.

Royce eyed the door. Her laughter was filled with malice and satisfaction, much as it had been once when she had played a practical joke on a villager.

What did she know?

Surely Gaultier was not in her chamber? Surely he had not so misplaced his trust?

*

Marie waited, more than ready to gloat. She could hear Royce breathing on the other side of the portal and exchanged a triumphant glance with Emma.

Her lord husband cleared his throat.

"Have you seen Gaultier, wife of mine?" He spoke sweetly.

Her smile broadened. "Of course. I know exactly where he is."

"Then tell me."

Marie laughed again.

"I command that you tell me!" Royce thundered.

"And I have no reason to do as much as long as this portal is locked."

She could fairly hear him seething. She knew his eyes would be flashing and in a way, she wished he would open the portal and have his way with her. But nay, she heard his boots on the stairs as he rapidly descended.

"Pack it all," she bade Emma. "I will not leave so much as a needle behind."

Doubtless Royce checked the hall, the kitchens, the stables, the armory, perhaps even the chapel. He would not find Gaultier in any of those places. Marie opened a trunk, removed a thin sharp blade of Venetian manufacture, and slid it into her girdle. It pressed against her hip bone and from this angle, disappeared in the folds of her kirtle. She turned to Emma and raised her hands, turning in silent query.

Emma shook her head. It could not be discerned.

Boots hammered on the stairs and the two women faced the portal as a man—Royce by the odds—halted on the other side.

"Where is he?" he demanded.

"You are surly, Royce," Marie chided. "No woman would reply to such a query."

"Marie," he growled. "I beg of you to confide in me."

It was an improvement.

"Unlock the portal first."

There was a long pause, then the key rattled in the lock.

He kicked open the door. Marie stood before the bed, knowing that her confident smile and demure manner only fed his fury. Emma continued to pack satchels and bags. Royce surveyed the chamber and she guessed that he believed she had hidden Gaultier in her chamber.

She smiled, just to vex him.

It worked. His nostrils flared and his color rose. He tore open the curtains that surrounded the bed, looked in trunks and peered behind screens. Finally he halted in the middle of the chamber, still seeking some sign of his Captain of the Guard.

Marie stifled the urge to giggle, but only just.

"Where?" he demanded, more wildly this time.

"I will show you, husband," Marie said mildly. She took his hand and led him from the chamber. She felt his astonishment as she climbed the stairs to his own solar.

"This is madness. Gaultier is not here…"

"Nay, my lord, but you can see him from here."

"This is a jest," he protested. "You mock me. Gaultier is not here either."

Marie led her husband to the window. Suspicion rolled from him in waves. He expected a trick, but did not guess the truth as yet. He moved to her side with caution. His gaze followed her pointing finger and he frowned.

All that appeared on the curtain wall of the keep was the corpse of the executed prisoner hung from the parapet.

Twisting in the wind.

"There is only the prisoner," Royce protested. "What jest is this? I seek Gaultier!"

"And who was the condemned man?"

"The knight who would claim Haynesdale in my stead," Royce said with impatience. "I do not see Gaultier at all. Do not lie to me, woman!" He turned to march across the chamber. "I have no time for such ploys…"

Marie's laughter made him halt and glance back, wary anew. Aye, her smile troubled him deeply. She smiled a little more, savoring her victory. "Why do you think I requested that the prisoner be hooded for his execution?"

"Because women are weak. Because you could not bear to look upon your lover when he died. Because…" Royce fell silent and she knew the very instant that he realized the truth. He stared at her and spoke in a whisper. "Because it was not the prisoner who died."

"Nay," Marie agreed easily. "It was not."

Royce leapt forward and struck her with the back of his hand, doing so with such force that she fell to the floor. Vermin! Marie raised a hand to her burning cheek, her own anger redoubling.

"You ensured that the most trusted man in my ranks was executed!" he raged, his face livid. "How dare you meddle in such matters! How dare you defy me in this?" He made to seize her again, but Marie rose quickly to her feet.

She seized the blade, spun as he grabbed her elbow and stabbed hard into his gut. His eyes widened in astonishment as she jerked the blade higher and his blood flowed between them. "How dare you strike your lady wife?" she muttered, even as he glanced down in dismay.

"Marie!" he whispered.

It was a thin blade, a wickedly sharp one, and she drove it higher then twisted it deeply inside him. Royce coughed at the pain and blood came from his mouth as he staggered backward. He stared at her as if she were a stranger.

Emma watched from the portal.

"Viper," he managed to say. "You are all vipers."

Marie drove the knife deeper then pulled it out of him. He clearly thought she would attack him again for he took a step backward.

"Never let a man assault you and live to tell about it, Emma," she said quietly and saw fear flash in Royce's eyes. "Aye, husband, you will not walk out of this chamber."

"You cannot ensure otherwise," he protested, though she had already won. He tried to put distance between himself and that blade, but Marie pushed him with the flat of her hand and hooked her foot behind his ankle. He staggered backward, flailing for the wall, and his eyes widened in a most satisfying manner when he realized there was only empty space behind him.

The sill of the window collided with the back of his knees. He almost regained his balance, but Marie gave him a helpful push.

"Farewell, Royce," she whispered then he was gone, tumbling through the air. She leaned out in time to see him land hard on the snow that covered the moat. The force of impact broke the ice and his body sank into the dark hole.

Royce disappeared beneath the ice, only a red stain left on the snow, and did not reappear. Marie wiped her blade with one of his chemises, then cast the garment after him.

She pivoted to survey the chamber, certain it would suit her well. "Our fortune changes, Emma, and thus our strategy."

"Aye, my lady."

"There is no longer any cause to leave the keep built with my father's coin. It is as good as mine, and rightly so." Marie glanced at the road visible from the window and hoped the knight Bartholomew would soon return. "Please bring my possessions to this chamber. It shall be mine from this point forth."

"Aye, my lady." Emma curtseyed and left.

Marie smiled. Haynesdale would be hers and she would take a certain alluring knight to husband. Aye, the appeal of this holding grew by the moment.

In Royce's absence.

*

There was no opportunity to speak with Bartholomew and tell him what she had learned of her own past. Anna hoped she would have many chances to talk to him once this was resolved. She gave a whistle when they drew nearer to the keep and Duncan and the others appeared out of the forest.

"We might have mistaken you for Royce's own men!" Duncan exclaimed, shaking Bartholomew's hand heartily. It turned out that the squire who had ridden back this way had not survived this bend in the road, for Duncan and the others had attacked him.

Royce would not be warned!

Duncan and the others cast the boy onto the cart and tied the steed with the others. The tale was shared of their capture of the cart, as well as the details of Royce's deceit and Bartholomew's plans.

To Anna's pleasure, he halted beside her again.

"Do not let your pleasure in Gaultier's demise show," Bartholomew advised her in a whisper. "Your thoughts are clearly read in your eyes, after all."

"Are they?"

He smiled and touched her cheek with a fingertip. With the slightest caress, he could awaken a glow within her. "Aye, you are the most forthright woman I have ever known. I admire that trait greatly, Anna, but do not let it betray us."

She parted her lips to share her good tidings, but Duncan came to return Bartholomew's own belt and sword to him. He exclaimed with pleasure and accepted the weapons, then gave the command for them to depart.

They reached the keep and Anna did not look at the body hanging from the curtain wall, given Bartholomew's advice. The guards at the gate opened the portcullis with only a cursory survey of their party, laughing and jesting that the outcasts in the forest had been so foolish. "But where is William?" demanded one.

"His horse went lame," Bartholomew said with easy confidence. "He follows at a walk." He laughed then. "The forests are clear of brigands so there is no peril."

The porters laughed with him.

The company passed through the gates and Anna gave Percy a nudge. The second cart was loaded and left to one side, the horses harnessed to it in preparation. She saw at a glance that they were Royce's younger and swifter steeds. All those trunks! They had to contain gold and silver!

But there was not a one of them that looked large enough to hold the reliquary. The villagers gathered closer together and those of them dressed as Royce's men gruffly commanded them to cluster into a group.

"Out of the way, out of the way, you lot of ruffians," Duncan said with some impatience, keeping the ruse.

Bartholomew strode toward the hall. From the back, he looked a great deal like Gaultier, for he mimicked that man's walk. Once he disappeared into the hall, another sentry came toward them.

"Well, where is Stephen?" he demanded and Anna smelled the scent of horse upon him. He turned on Duncan. "If he fell, why did you not bring him back?" He frowned and peered more closely at Duncan, seizing him by the shoulder when he would have turned away. "Who are you?" he had time to demand, his voice rising high enough to attract the attention of other sentries, before Stewart sank a sword blade into his back.

But it was too late. A hue and a cry erupted, squires and sentries turning upon the new arrivals. "And the battle begins," Duncan muttered. "Drop your ropes and seize your weapons!"

The villagers immediately shook free of their bonds and took up weapons from the wagon. The boys opened the trunks and began to throw rocks at the baron's men. Anna grabbed her crossbow from the cart and took aim at a sentry on the high wall. He had been aiming at Duncan. She killed him with a single bolt, and his body fell over the wall to the opposite side. Royce's men moved quickly and she knew they would not have much time.

Shouting erupted on all sides and the battle was fierce. Servants flowed out of the hall, the cook waving a knife and the castellan a sword of his own. The squires proved to be fierce fighters and better trained than the villagers. Blood began to flow, but Anna was worried about Father Ignatius.

There was no movement from the chapel.

"Get the other wagon through the gate," she commanded Percy. "And loose the steeds that they can run."

The boys hastened to do her bidding, the others defending Percy as he scurried toward the wagon. Anna shot another sentry who was aiming into the group, but only damaged his shoulder. He leapt down the wooden scaffolding lashed to the inside of the curtain wall, seized another arrow. To her dismay, he struck a flint and lit a bundle of cloth on the end of the arrow. Anna fired at him with a retrieved bolt, but it did not fly true.

His burning arrowhead landed in a pile of straw behind the second cart. The straw ignited, then tumbled and the fire spread to the clothing of those battling in the bailey. Anna shouted a warning, then ran to the chapel. The wagon laden with the king's taxes moved toward the gates, Percy shouting to the horses.

"Father Ignatius!" she cried and tried the door to the chapel. It was locked. Was he gone? Was the reliquary safe? She had time to hope before the priest replied.

"I have the reliquary, Anna, but the door was locked against me."

"What of your keys?"

"Lady Marie took them. Sir Royce has the only others."

"The solar," Anna whispered. "They will be in the solar." She spoke again to the priest. "There is a battle, Father, and a fire in the bailey. I will be back as quickly as I can."

"Go, child!" he urged. "Go! Bartholomew is garbed as Gaultier."

"I know! He is with us."

"Praise be," murmured the priest even as Anna ran. She retrieved three bolts on her way across the bailey and narrowly missed being shot herself. She fired at the assailant, then ducked through the portal to the hall.

That was when she heard the portcullis fall.

She glanced back as the horses halted with a whinny at the gates. Squires swarmed the cart and the villagers fought back with gusto.

Would they be trapped inside the bailey until they were hunted down?

Nay, it could not be!

She raced up the stairs to the solar, hoping she could save Father Ignatius in time.

*

The tower was so quiet, compared to the sound of battle in the bailey below.

Bartholomew climbed the stairs slowly, halfway convinced that the pounding of his heart would reveal him.

He flattened himself against the wall as the servants from the kitchens raced through the hall and poured into the bailey through the portal he had just used. Where was Lady Marie and her maid? Where was Royce? He wagered the baron was in his high chamber.

There was no sentry at the base of the stairs nor one at the first turn. Bartholomew paused, listening, then drew his blade before continuing.

There was no one in the chamber that he and Anna had shared.

There was no one in Lady Marie's chamber. In fact, the portal stood open and the contents looked to be in disarray. Trunks were open and some fabric on the floor. Was this the usual state of her chamber, or had something befallen her?

Bartholomew stood in the corridor, but heard no sounds from above. Could he truly ascend to Royce's solar without being challenged?

He reached the summit of the stairs and found the portal to that highest chamber open. He paused, then stepped inside. There were satchels and small trunks on the floor and a woman standing at the window with her back to him. She wore a cloak, the hood raised over her head.

"Lady Marie?" he asked softly. She did not reply. He stepped into the room and spun when the door was slammed behind him. He jumped back from the darting dagger held by Marie's maid and froze at the feel of a second blade against his back.

"Take off your helm," Marie said.

Bartholomew removed it and cast it aside, then felt the breath of her laughter.

"You are returned!" she declared. "And our future can begin this very day." She gestured and the knife point was removed from his back. "Leave him, Emma, and continue with your labor."

"Aye, my lady." The girl appeared to be moving Marie's garment into the trunks in the chamber and flinging men's garb on the floor.

Bartholomew turned back to Marie. "I do not understand. What is this?"

"We will be wedded this very day," Marie declared.

"But you are wed, my lady."

Marie's eyes danced. "Nay, I am widowed, and this time, I will choose my spouse." She leaned closer, her delight evident. "I choose you."

"But what happened to Royce?"

"He fell," Marie said with a shrug. She drew Bartholomew to the window and from this angle, he could see the place where a man's body had broken through the ice on the moat. He also could see those from the new village thronging the gate and guessed that the portcullis was closed, for they did not move inside.

Were the others trapped? He had to assist them!

He turned from the window, only to find Marie confronting him with a thin knife. "Surely you do not mean to decline my offer?" she said and he watched Emma slide a small chest into a sturdy sack. She moved covertly, as if to evade her mistress's attention and he wondered what was in the trunk.

And what she meant to do with it.

"I mean only to fetch the priest, of course," Bartholomew said.

"He is safely in the chapel," Marie said. "With Agnes and the reliquary." She smiled. "I had intended to flee, but now we might remain here," she said. "I find the view much improved from this tower room." She chuckled darkly. "And you need not fear that you might share Royce's fate."

In truth, Bartholomew did wonder just how Royce had fallen from a chamber he knew so well. The glint in Marie's eyes suggested that the baron had had assistance.

He chuckled, appearing more confident than he felt. "Nay, I will not be so fool as to fall out of my own window!"

Marie's smile broadened. "I meant that you should not have to fear that your wife will present you a daughter who was fathered by the Captain of the Guard."

Bartholomew blinked. "I do not understand." Did he hear a footfall on the stairs? Emma backed into the corridor slowly, the sack held behind herself. The bulge within it was larger, and he guessed she had added to its contents. What was the maid's scheme? He could smell fire and hear shouts, which did naught but add to his concerns.

Marie laughed, oblivious to her maid's actions. "Nor did Royce, poor man. He never listened to servants, but they know all. It is folly to ignore them." Her eyes shone. "Royce's first wife conceived by the Captain of the Guard, who was the youngest son of the Duke of Arsent. Even better, she told Royce that the babe had died when it had not."

The story had to have some relevance but Bartholomew could not guess what it was. He wished she would hasten the telling. "Why?"

"Perhaps because Royce had discovered the affair and had her lover executed." She bit her lip. "Perhaps she no longer trusted her lord husband." She met Bartholomew's gaze. "Perhaps the girl resembled her father. There must have been a reason for her to trade her babe with the stillborn daughter born to the smith's wife."

Bartholomew was astonished.

"But the smith is dead, as is his wife, and the girl died two years ago. Royce never knew that Anna, the smith's daughter, was truly the babe of his own wife, but the cook told me of it. Perhaps one of the servants aided in Anna's escape, but she could never have survived the abuse Gaultier visited upon her." Marie smiled again. "But I will be faithful, sir, so long as you are not cruel."

"That seems a fair wager," Bartholomew said and bent over her hand. How could he escape this situation?

"Provided you survive this day," Emma said with such malice that they both turned. She seized the door and slammed it, a key turning audibly in the lock. "It would suit me well to see you burn with the rest of this place, you selfish viper!"

"Emma! What have I ever done to you?"

"Eight years in this place," the maid cried from the corridor beyond. "Eight years past the end of the world, eight years with only the venom of you and your demands." Her voice rose in fury. "And what is Agnes' reward at the end of it all? She died for your indiscretion, yet all you could do was defile her body, shaming her memory with the appearance that she carried a child out of wedlock. You deserve no loyalty from me or any other."

Marie shook the door handle. "Emma! I command that you open this portal."

"And your command will be defied."

"Emma!"

Bartholomew surveyed the chamber. He supposed they could knot the bed curtains and lower themselves out the window, though he was not certain the cloth would bear the weight. There was no rope to be seen.

Marie spun and noticed the missing trunks. "Emma! Did you steal my coin?"

"It is mine now, my lady," the maid sneered. "And may it make me more happy than it has done you." Her footsteps sounded on the stairs, then she grunted and Bartholomew heard her fall. She swore and there were sounds of a struggle. He peered through the keyhole in time to see Anna fighting with the maid on the stairs. That Emma desired to keep hold of the sack of coin above all else betrayed her.

Anna ripped the ring of keys from the maid's girdle. She cast them at the door, shouting his name. They clattered against the door and fell to the floor on the other side.

Bartholomew's dagger barely slid through the space. He managed to catch the loop of the key ring and flick it under the door. He seized the keys, then unlocked the portal.

Emma had forced Anna against the wall, her one hand clutching a fistful of Anna's hair. Anna's crossbow was on the floor, some distance away from them. Emma raised the sack of coin, prepared to strike Anna in the head with it.

Bartholomew flung his knife. Emma froze, the knife buried between her shoulders, then the sack of coin fell from her grasp. Silver spilled across the floor.

Anna wriggled free as the maid's body fell, then snatched for her crossbow. Bartholomew tossed the keys in his hand so that they jingled and when Anna looked his way, cast them to her. She snatched them out of the air with a triumphant smile.

"Who is this?" Marie demanded from behind Bartholomew. "She looks like the smith's daughter."

"Aye, she is, though you have just told me that she is nobly born. I thank you for those tidings."

Bartholomew felt the thin dagger at his back and froze. "You will not abandon me here," Marie whispered.

He saw that Anna had loaded a bolt and held her gaze for a moment. Her lips set and he knew he could trust her aim.

"I suppose you are right." Bartholomew winked, knowing Marie would not be able to see his expression. He then ducked and Anna fired, the bolt striking Marie in the chest.

She staggered backward, her surprise clear. Her fingers rose to the wound and she stared at the blood on her hand. "You reject me."

"I will never take such a traitorous woman to wife."

"You will never take any woman to wife," Marie vowed. She seized a bell hung inside Royce's door and rang it, ensuring that the noise was loud and long.

Men shouted from below and there were footfalls on the stairs. Anna ran to Bartholomew as he retrieved his dagger. He seized her hand and she grabbed the sack of coin as he sought a means of escape.

"There!" he said, pointing to a ladder at one end of the corridor. They climbed it in haste and he shoved open the trap door in the ceiling above it. He could smell the smoke rising from the bailey. He leapt on to the parapet, then aided Anna to follow. He kicked the trap door shut and pivoted to face the sentries who came to attack.

They were only two, and one was injured.

"The bailey burns!" Anna whispered. "All will be lost."

"Fergus arrives," Bartholomew said, pointing to the plume of dust approaching Haynesdale. Even at a distance, he could see the white tabards of the Templars with their distinctive red crosses. "All will be saved!"

One sentry shouted and aimed his bow at them. Bartholomew tugged Anna toward the stairs against the interior of the curtain wall, a plan forming in his mind.

*

Anna did not share Bartholomew's confidence, but she trusted him.

The guards blocked them from the wooden scaffold that was obviously his destination. He swung his sword and injured one, then gave her his dagger so she could defend his back. She wished there was room to load her crossbow, but the men were upon them. The smoke rising from the bailey was thick and she could not fully see what was happening below. She feared for all of the villagers, for Percy, for Duncan, and for Father Ignatius.

How could Bartholomew scheme to save them? She knew he had a plan for he moved with purpose, battling their way closer to those stairs. Why would he descend into the bailey? They would only die with the others! And Fergus would not be able to aid them with the portcullis closed against him.

Then Bartholomew slashed at the binding the scaffold to the curtain wall, using his sword to cut the ropes. He spun to cross swords with another attacker, then pivoted to slice another set of bonds. Anna could see his intent, but not understand it. She ducked beneath the swinging blades and cut another rope lashing, then moved to the fourth and final one that she could see. A pair of squires were scrambling up the steps, intent on aiding their fellows, and she thought Bartholomew might mean to eliminate any assistance.

Instead he caught her around the waist when the last bond was cut and kicked hard at the scaffolding. It eased away from the wall, teetering slightly. Another bond below broke even as the squires shouted in dismay.

Bartholomew cast her a cocky grin, then leapt at the wooden stairs, flinging their combined weight sideways against it. The wood creaked and groaned, then the entire structure fell into the bailey.

With them atop it.

The squires screamed. Anna braced herself for the impact and had the breath stolen from her chest when they crashed into the bailey. The fire leapt from the straw to the wooden structure, spreading with dangerous speed. Horses whinnied in fear and serving maids ran from the hall in terror.

"The portcullis!" Bartholomew roared and Anna heard a surge of activity. "Fergus arrives!"

Duncan bellowed, the villagers cheered, and the battle became more frantic.

"Father Ignatius," Bartholomew bade her, then swung his blade at a pair of attackers. He battled his way toward the gate, dodging fire and mayhem, shouting encouragement. His very presence fortified the villagers, giving them new strength and resolve.

Anna raced to the chapel and unlocked the portal with shaking hands. Father Ignatius had the reliquary bundled against his chest. Without a word, they ran for the portal. The smoke was thick near the ground, but she spied Stewart and Edgar on the back of the second wagon. She shouted and the two men grabbed Father Ignatius and pulled him aboard.

The high tower erupted in flame and a woman screamed.

The portcullis creaked and the villagers cheered as it opened. The horses harnessed to the wagon needed no encouragement to surge through the gate and away from the fire. The untethered horses raced after them, the villagers spilling forth to safety with them. Anna dared to breathe a sigh of relief when Bartholomew swung through the gate after the last of them and scooped her off her feet.

Father Ignatius bared the treasure in his possession and kissed its golden surface, his gratitude more than echoed in the hearts of those around them.

*

The villagers were tired and some were injured. Rowe the carpenter had been killed and was deeply mourned. Many of the other villagers had been hurt but Finan in the old village tended them well. Children ran to collect such stores and food as was available and they shared it all, gathering around a bonfire lit in the midst of the new village. The keep burned slowly and thoroughly, but in Bartholomew's view, all of value had been claimed from within it. He made the boys promise to stay out of the ruins.

Esme brought her chickens from the forest and Regan shared the cheese from her goats. The herd of goats grazed near the company. Stories were exchanged and comfort given. Rabbits were roasted over the flames and Bartholomew knew that he would have to hunt on the morrow to ensure that all could feast as they should.

They had become too thin, the people of Haynesdale. He sat, watching and listening, savoring the tales and the camaraderie, knowing that sooner or later, his decision would be expected.

Of course, it was Anna who asked it of him.

She walked toward him, her features illuminated by the firelight, the resolve in her gaze prompting his admiration. She halted before him, then fell to one knee, offering his father's ring on the palm of one hand.

Again.

"Only a king can make a baron, Anna," he reminded her quietly.

She met his gaze, her own steady and clear. "What will you do?"

The company fell silent, their attention fixed upon him, their manner expectant.

Bartholomew stood to address them. "The king is owed his taxes from the holding of Haynesdale," he said. "I would deliver them to him, though it is likely his court is convened in Anjou in these days. Kings muster for crusade and he will consult with Philip of France." He stood and shed the tabard that had belonged to Gaultier, flinging it into the bonfire. "While I am there, I will request that the seal of Haynesdale be granted to me, in respect for my lineage."

Anna glanced over her shoulder as Percy appeared beside her. He carried the sack of coin that Anna had claimed from the solar. He dropped to one knee beside Anna and offered it to Bartholomew.

"For the escheat," Anna said.

"Nay," Bartholomew said. "This coin was gathered from all of you, leaving you in poverty and hunger. If you give it to me, Anna, I will return it to the villagers. As Father Ignatius has argued, you did not receive protection or justice in exchange for your taxes paid. This coin is rightly yours."

They murmured then, and he realized that his decision had been anticipated by Anna's triumphant smile. "We have agreed that we would see our taxes spent in this manner," she said. "And that if you made this argument, it would only win our support more fully." She bowed her head. "Praise be that the true son is returned, and there will be justice in Haynesdale again."

The villagers cheered and Fergus applauded, his pleasure in Bartholomew's changed fortunes most clear. Duncan held the reliquary again, and Bartholomew knew they would continue to Killairic as planned.

He raised his voice, addressing all of the company. "The men of my father's line were renowned for their ability to blend old and new, to strike a balance between tradition and innovation. And here, I would continue this legacy. I will take the taxes to the king, that he has his rightful due, and I will gladly accept your offering of the coin for the escheat. I would grant you justice and defend you to the best of my abilities, if I am so fortunate as to win the king's approval. But I suggest this onto you, that if Anna, the daughter of the youngest son of the Duke of Arsent and the Lady of Haynesdale, will have me as her wedded spouse, the king may find that blending of old and new most compelling of all."

The villagers hooted and stamped their feet at this notion, but Anna stood tall, her manner wary. "You would wed me to gain Haynesdale?" she asked quietly. "Because of the name of my father?"

"I would wed you because I love you," he replied. "And I would wed you this very night, before we know the king's decree, so that you have no doubt of my reason. If King Henry has plans for this holding, wedding you might stand between me and Haynesdale. I think the risk a fair one, for I would rather live without Haynesdale's seal than without the lady I love by my side." He smiled at the way she blinked back her tears, noting that as ever, her thoughts were easily read.

He had to tease her then. "Assuming, of course, that you will have me, Anna, even knowing our quest to the king might not end in success."

"He will not dare to defy our will," she said hotly, then smiled as she offered her hand. "I am glad to put my hand in that of such a man of honor."

Bartholomew grinned and caught her close, swinging her around as the company cheered their approval. Father Ignatius cleared a path to them, intent upon supervising the exchange of vows, but Bartholomew claimed a potent kiss first.

"I love you," Anna whispered when he let her speak. "I think I loved you from the first, even when I thought you the most vexing man alive."

"Aye, you had a similar appeal," he agreed with a grin. "Lady mine."

Anna's expression turned mischievous. "Perhaps we are well suited then."

"I think there is little doubt of that."

Their gazes clung and Bartholomew saw the glory of the future in her eyes. Then Father Ignatius cleared his throat and they turned as one, her hand upon his, and pledged their love to each other. The stars were shining over head, the bonfire was sending sparks into the night, the keep burned and the new one would be rebuilt. Bartholomew felt the spirits of his ancestors around him and the sense of homecoming he had yearned to feel now filled his heart with hope and tranquility.

Because of the bold woman who stood beside him, for she had stolen not just the Templar treasure but his own heart.

It would be hers forevermore.