Chapter 4

Chapter Four

All eyes were drawn to the portal as a woman of considerable beauty emerged from the shadows. Truly, she could not have timed her appearance better.

It was Royce's lady wife.

Anna had not seen her since her triumphant arrival at Haynesdale, but Marie was just as slender and her hair just as dark as it had been eight years before. She appeared to be just as elegant and poised, as well.

Truly, there could not have been a woman more different than Anna. She slanted a glance toward Bartholomew, for he must be accustomed to women like Marie. She felt aware of her own shortcomings.

At least in posing as a noblewoman.

Marie paused on the threshold, as if ensuring that all appreciated her beauty before she proceeded. She was lovely. She was garbed in silk of a golden hue, the fabric shimmering even in the wan sunlight. She might have been an angel setting foot upon the earth. She might have been a vision from afar; Anna was aware that every man and boy in their small company caught his breath in awe.

Marie, Lady of Haynesdale, deigned to greet them. There had been speculation that Marie no longer drew breath, that she had been imprisoned by her husband or even that she had fled. All of those situations would have explained the lack of a son.

The way Marie floated to Royce's side, an adoring smile upon her lips, did not.

Anna glanced up to find Bartholomew apparently transfixed by the lady and did not like it a whit.

"Guests, my lord husband," Marie cooed. Anna could not describe her voice otherwise. "What a marvel, and so thoughtful on your part. I yearn for an evening of good company." The lady fluttered and spoke with a slight accent, her dark lashes dropping demurely even as her rosy lips curved in a smile. "What a delight it shall be to have guests at the board on this dreary winter night."

Before Royce could protest, the lady swept forward to greet the new arrivals. That she targeted Bartholomew did little to improve Anna's mood. "Sir! I am Lady Marie of Haynesdale, and I am delighted to welcome you and your party to our humble abode."

Humble? Anna recalled how the carpenters and laborers had been driven to build this keep with all speed, and the estimates of how much coin had been expended. There had been word in the village that the king himself did not possess a keep so fine.

Marie meanwhile offered her hand to Bartholomew and addressed him in fluid French. Anna fumed in silence, doubting it was a coincidence that the lady's wimple was so sheer that her pale throat was fully visible through it, as well as the pale swell of her breasts.

And Bartholomew, curse him, not only replied with charm and grace, but looked .

Though he did reply in English and turn almost immediately to her. "And this is my lady wife, who has recently put her hand in mine, to my own good fortune," he said, gesturing to Anna. "Anna de Beaumonte."

Marie barely spared Anna a glance. "Charmed, I am sure," she said, then encouraged Bartholomew to introduce her to the others. Somehow the lady contrived that he was the one to escort her into the hall. Anna disliked how she laughed and flirted with him in French. She did not have to understand the words to recognize the lady's intent.

Nor it seemed did Royce. His brow was dark when he offered Anna his elbow. The sole benefit of his sour mood was that he did not deign to converse with her or even grant her more than a cursory glance. She might have kept her head down had she not been astounded by the splendid interior of the great hall. Lavish tapestries hung on each wall, larger than she might have believed possible to weave. There were two fireplaces and servants were stoking the fires in them both.

Royce said something to her. It had to be French, for Anna did not understand.

Anna smiled. "What a welcoming hall you have, sir."

He frowned a little at her and she ducked her head, letting her hood hide her features from him. "You do not converse in French?"

"I was raised in an abbey, sir, that of St. Mary in Whitby. The nuns chose not to speak French, so I never learned it."

"I see. And your kin?"

"My mother died when I was young, sir. Perhaps you knew of her? Elizabeth de Beaumonte was known to many, so the sisters have told me."

"Indeed. A beauty much admired, and one who died too young."

"I thank you, sir." Anna crossed herself, in memory of her own mother as well as Elizabeth, whom she had never known.

"Raised in the convent," Royce mused. "Of course, one heard that was your fate, but it seems you have left that life behind."

He turned a piercing gaze upon her and Anna's heart fluttered. That eye patch did make him look menacing, and what she knew of him did not temper the impression. "Aye, sir, and not by choice. I was abducted by a villain of foul intent, but was so fortunate as to be aided by a noble knight." To her relief, she blushed easily. "He fair stole my heart with his gallantry, and I chose to wed him rather than return to the abbey."

"And is this a defiance of your mother's plan for your future?"

"Nay, she merely wanted me to be raised in safety and to learn my prayers well, that I might one day be a good wife to a better man." Anna smiled. "And so that day is come, and I have proof that God has held me in the palm of his hand, all these years."

"Not so many years as that," Royce mused. "You are young."

"The better that I might give my husband more sons, sir," she dared to say.

"And there is a fine sentiment," the baron said with approval. He cleared his throat and she felt the weight of his gaze land upon her again. "Elizabeth de Beaumonte," he repeated, considering the name anew. "What happened to your father's wealth?"

Anna did not know, so she contrived a plausible tale. "The crown claimed it, sir, and the king holds the seal."

"Your husband should appeal for it to be granted to him."

"I could not say, sir. It is not a woman's place to be so concerned with the worldly matters of her lord husband."

He arched a brow. "Indeed? And what is her place?"

"To obey, sir. Of course."

Royce sniffed. "I should have found a convent bride," he muttered, then raised his voice. He called for wine and for ale, then seated her at his right hand at the board. Anna could not believe that she would be compelled to make conversation with this man, above all others. She glanced toward Bartholomew, but he was leaving the hall with Royce's wife. That woman laughed lightly at some jest he made and Anna found herself seething that he was so quickly gone.

What of his pledge to remain by her side?

What of his defense of her? The baron lifted her cloak away from her shoulders and she lost the protection of the hood. Leila accepted its weight from him, then bent closer to adjust Anna's veil. She felt exposed before the baron's keen gaze and bowed her head, averting her face slightly.

Royce laughed. "Surely your lord husband has banished your shy nature by now."

"I am not accustomed to the company of men, sir," she said, pretending to be very modest. "I do apologize if my modesty gives offense."

"On the contrary, I find it most refreshing."

Anna gritted her teeth and stared at her hands, as Royce lifted his chalice and drank to her health.

She would murder Bartholomew with her bare hands when he returned.

If he returned.

If she survived.

To her relief, Fergus leaned forward and asked about the keep and its construction. He professed a need to improve the defenses of the keep he would inherit and admired Haynesdale with such fulsomeness that Anna felt Royce thaw. In a matter of moments, their host was explaining choices made in construction, likely to show his own cleverness and the weight of his purse. Fergus and Duncan encouraged him with their curiosity and expressions of envy, so that Anna could look down at her hands in silence.

And seethe that Bartholomew was evidently so taken with the charms of Marie. Was it not just like a man—or a knight—to forget all but his own pleasure? What of Percy? What of the entire reason they had entered this cursed place? Anna bit down on her disappointment, telling herself that she was the fool, for she had begun to hope that Bartholomew might be different.

She had been right about him from the first and it was not a realization that gave her pleasure.

*

Bartholomew did not know why Lady Marie was so determined to be alone with him, but he was not one to cast aside an opportunity. If they were to save Percy and recover the reliquary, he needed to know the location of both. When Marie hovered at his side like a butterfly, he dared to ask to see the marvels of the keep.

He did not have to feign that he was impressed by its size and construction.

He did ignore the press of her breast against his side, and the dance of her fingertips over his arm. He professed a fascination with the keep's defenses, and she granted him a tour in excess of what her lord husband might have found fitting. He was shown the chapel, the kitchens, the staircase to the tower. He was shown the curtain wall, the defenses and the stores of weaponry for the guards.

He counted the Captain of the Guard, four knights, and either seven or eight men-at-arms, all employed in the guarding of the keep. It seemed that Sir Royce believed in stout defense. There had to be a dozen squires, but they hastened this way and that, and were of so similar a size and age that he was not confident of their exact number.

It seemed long odds to escape this keep without detection or pursuit.

It would be longer odds to claim it by force.

The castellan was a tall, thin man with a grim countenance, and it was more grim as he warned the lady that there was only sufficient flour for bread for another month. It was evident to Bartholomew that the castellan would have preferred not to have had to share that bread with guests.

"We shall eat venison," the lady declared, dismissing the concern, and Bartholomew watched the seneschal frown.

Aye, he had never known a castellan who liked to see his counsel disregarded.

In the kitchens, there was a cook and a saucemaker, neither of whom were plump, and a number of serving maids. A stocky woman appeared to be in charge of the cleaning and bullied the younger maids to do her will. He did not have an impression of a happy household.

Two elegant maids trailed behind Marie in silence, until she dismissed them to await her at the board.

Bartholomew was told the location of Marie's chamber, as well as that of her lord husband, and she made a jest as to how readily he might find her chamber from his own.

Indeed, she had commanded that he and his lady wife should have the chamber directly beside her own in the tower, while her lord husband's solar was at the summit. Bartholomew saw Timothy taking the bags and Anna's crossbow to that room and nodded approval at the boy. The others were to be quartered in the chambers over the stables. The kitchens were in the space between the stable and tower, the chapel on the far side of the bailey, the well in the middle and the high wall around all.

The dungeons were below the tower, and Bartholomew took note of the location of the stairs. The keys, he had to assume, were either near the dungeon entrance or in Royce's possession.

They did not enter the chapel, and he was not shown the treasury. Was the treasury at the summit of the tower? The reliquary had to be secured in one or the other. He could not think of how to ask without arousing suspicion.

It was Saturday. Perhaps they would stay to mass the next morning.

Bartholomew was so consumed with creating a plan that he did not pay much attention to the lady's chatter. She ushered him through a doorway, and he realized only once he had crossed the threshold that it was a storage chamber. He turned to depart, thinking she had erred, but the lady closed the door behind them. They were plunged into darkness, and the click of the key in the lock seemed overloud.

Had she guessed his intent?

Marie collided with him suddenly, backing him into the shelves. Did she stumble? Bartholomew took a step back and found a wall behind him, then the lady's lips at his ear. "Sir, I must cast myself at your mercy," she whispered. "I entreat you to aid me in my distress."

Was this a trick?

"Of course, I should be glad to be of service to my noble hostess," he said with care.

Her hands were on his tabard and he could smell her perfume. He decided to believe that she wished to confide in him quietly, but her hands began to rove across his chest.

In a caress.

"You are mostly finely wrought, sir," she whispered. "And I have need of the services of such a man."

Should he cast her aside?

Was there more to be gained by remaining in place until she had her say? What would be lost if he spurned her and she was insulted?

"My husband's seed does not take root, despite these many years of his efforts," she continued in a heated whisper. "I have need of a child. I no longer even care of its gender, but a son would be best."

Bartholomew blinked. She wished for him to lie with her?

Her voice dropped lower, her frustration clear. "There are never men in our hall, never noblemen at our board. No knights, no guests, no barons, no hale men within three days' ride!" She seized fistfuls of his tabard and shook him. "Sir! I must have a child!"

Bartholomew tried to recall the example of Gaston's diplomacy and chose his words with care. "My lady, I have much sympathy for your plight, but I am a wedded man. I would be faithful to my wife and my vows."

"She was raised in a convent!" Marie hissed. "What pleasure can she give you?" Her hand was beneath his tabard before he realized what she did. Her fingers closed over him, granting him an intimate caress.

Bartholomew seized her shoulders and pushed her away. "She is my wife. You must know that what you suggest is wrong."

"Wrong? It is wrong for me to rot in this filthy burg! It is wrong for me to be denied the one thing that would deliver me from this place!" Marie made a growl under her breath, then seemed to steady herself. She continued with low heat. "Sir, do not imagine that my relief will be lightly won. There are those who do not survive the peril of bearing a child, and certainly all women endure the curse of Eve in so doing. Your part would be trifling."

"But…"

"But I ask for naught you cannot spare." Her tone turned pleading. "But one visit. Perhaps two. While your lady wife sleeps." Her voice dropped lower than it had been thus far. "She need never know."

"It would be wrong."

"No one need ever know. Indeed, I will welcome my husband to my bed on the morrow. No one will ever guess that it is not his child."

"There are others…"

Marie interrupted him crisply. "I have no taste for Scots, and the red hair that appears suddenly in their children might reveal my deed. Your coloring is like mine and that of my husband. I choose you."

"The Templars surely share my coloring…"

Marie laughed. "I have but one night to see this done. Even I do not imagine my charms to be sufficient to tempt such a knight to abandon his vows so readily. It must be you."

Bartholomew did not know what to say. He would not do it, but telling Marie as much might put the entire party in peril.

She slid her arm into his elbow, as sinuous as a snake and as sly as a fox. "You must think about it, I see," she said smoothly. "I like a man of principle. Your seed will have integrity."

She led him forward, and he heard the key turn again in the lock. Marie opened the door a crack and listened, then urged him into the corridor. Her manner changed immediately, though the invitation lurked in her eyes.

"But you must be famished!" Marie declared, speaking so loudly that any might hear her. "A knight so robust as yourself has need of every fine morsel we can summon."

"Indeed, it has been a long ride this day," Bartholomew acknowledged. "And even longer since we have dined on fine fare."

"Then come, come to the hall," she insisted, tugging him by the hand with such a playful manner that they might have been courting. She leaned close to him before they entered the hall once more and dropped her voice low, her gaze filled with invitation. "I find my husband's hall is quite dull after the revels I knew in France," she whispered. Her hand trailed across his chest. "Perhaps you, sir, since you are said to be so gallant, might amuse me later this eve with some tales from the court."

"I should be glad to regale the hall with any tidings from afar."

Marie's laughter was throaty and her gaze was knowing. "That was not my meaning, sir, and you know it well," she murmured. "I will summon you once your lady wife sleeps."

How would she know?

Was there a means for Marie to spy on their chamber from her own? There must be. Bartholomew no longer wondered at their being granted the chamber beside the lady's own. How would he evade her scheme? He had no desire to aid in her quest, though he could well understand that her situation was troubling. He also had no wish to set her against their small party.

Nor did he want to anger his host. He would need every memory of Gaston's talents to see them free of this place and unscathed!

In lieu of a comment, Bartholomew only smiled. He stepped into the portal to the great hall, that he might be in view of her husband, and bent low over her hand. "I thank you, Lady Marie, for your kindness in showing me the stables. I have relied long upon the goodwill of my steed and would ensure his comfort wherever he rests."

"Knights and their steeds," she laughed, complying with his excuse. "I know your habits well."

Bartholomew bent lower and brushed his lips across her fingertips. "You are most indulgent, my lady. I thank you for it."

"How could I resist?" she murmured for his ears alone. "And now I await your indulgence."

Bartholomew pretended not to have heard. He straightened and turned, escorting her to her husband's side, well aware that Anna eyed him with disgust.

She could not hide her thoughts to save her life, to be sure, but in this case, her manner could only aid in their deceit.

Indeed, Marie chortled under her breath. "I see that the old rumor is true, sir."

"Which rumor is that?"

"That the plain ones are the most easily driven to jealousy, for they are not confident of their hold upon a man's affections." She shrugged. "I suppose it is only reasonable."

Bartholomew did not reply. He seated Marie beside her husband, aware of the intensity of that man's interest, then took his place beside Anna. She gave him a look that could have cracked a stone.

Was she truly irked with him?

Or did she feign as much, because she thought it appropriate?

Bartholomew was surprised by how much he wanted to know. He drank his host's health, then let the weight of his hand fall on the back of Anna's waist. He could fairly hear her thinking and guessed that she wished to fling the weight of his hand aside. Her gaze flicked to his and sure enough, there was fire in her eyes.

"Did you miss me, my lady?" he murmured, as if trying to improve her mood. He smiled at her in warning.

"Of course, my lord," Anna replied, her tone sweet. "You know I am fearful when we are parted." She put her hand on his thigh just as he lifted the chalice to his lips. To his astonishment, Anna slid her hand over his chausses slowly.

Seductively.

Upward.

Bartholomew nigh spilled his wine when she eased her hand beneath his tabard and tightened her grip on his thigh. He met the challenge in her gaze and smiled back at her, more than willing to best her in this game.

"You have wine on your lip, my lady," he murmured, then dragged his fingertip across her bottom lip slowly. Anna's eyes widened in a most satisfactory way and Bartholomew liked how her cheeks flushed.

This ruse might result in a most interesting night, indeed.

*

"You looked to have seen a ghost, lad, back in the forest," Duncan said to Fergus in Gaelic when they two finally had a moment alone. They were in the hall of the baron, but to one side and with no listening ears in their vicinity. They gave every appearance of warming themselves before the fire and admiring the hall's design. Duncan ensured that the many squires and men-at-arms were not sufficiently close to eavesdrop.

By all that was holy, the keep was well-defended!

The younger man seemed to deliberately avoid his gaze as he stared into the flames. "That is as good an explanation as any," he murmured, responding in Gaelic.

That Fergus did not pretend to be uncertain of the moment in question told Duncan he was right.

"Or was she a vision come to life?" he asked, pressing the lad a little more.

Fergus glanced up then. He appeared to be agitated, as seldom he was. "You know I never speak of it."

"I do. And it is curious, to my thinking," Duncan acknowledged. "Most with such an ability would share much of what they perceived to lie ahead, if not all. Some would do it for coin."

Fergus shook his head with rare vehemence. "It is curse, not gift, Duncan. I seldom see what is good, only what peril lies ahead. And sometimes, it does not come to be. It is irksome how mysterious it all can be, although in hindsight, it makes perfect sense."

Duncan considered his charge, the son of the man to whom he owed the greatest debt of all. "Did you see peril for this Anna? For Bartholomew?"

Fergus grimaced. "I have seen her, several times, but did not recognize her as the maiden in my visions until she had changed her garb. Indeed, I bought the crimson kirtle knowing full well that Isobel would never don it." He sighed. "Her fate is bound to that of Bartholomew, this much I would swear upon my own life."

"That is why you ceded to his request that we take this road," Duncan guessed.

Fergus nodded. "I knew we should find her upon it. Bartholomew's destiny." Duncan saw the concern in the younger man's eyes. "Whether she means him good or ill, though, is unclear."

"And is her fate bound to yours?"

Fergus shook his head. "My heart is claimed, Duncan. You know that well. I had but a contribution to make to this tale, though whether it is good or ill has yet to be seen."

Duncan made a jest, endeavoring to lighten the other man's mood. "Then I shall be certain not to mention the crimson kirtle to Lady Isobel, lest she believe your affection was tested."

Fergus forced a smile. "So speaks a man wise in the ways of women."

"Do you see your own fate?" Duncan had to ask, for he felt a bad portent for the future of Fergus and his betrothed Isobel.

"Nay, that is the puzzle of it," Fergus said. "My own life could end in a moment, and I would never have had a glimpse of it." He shrugged and surveyed the hall. "I suppose I should be glad of that mercy."

Duncan smiled and gripped the knight's shoulder. "It means you must use your own eyes to see what is close at hand, just like the rest of us," he said with false cheer. "It is not such a handicap as that, lad."

*

The man tormented her at the baron's board.

Anna was convinced that it was no accident. Bartholomew, it appeared, knew far more of amorous games than she—although his touch made her long to learn more. In the hall, amidst the company, she knew he could not take more than she offered. Such dark deeds happened in privacy, not in the bright light of a busy hall. She was safe, so long as they remained with the others, and that meant she could savor the sensations he kindled within her.

She had been bold in her first gesture, wanting only to claim his attention and knowing no other way to do as much. It was clear she had ventured out of her own depth and that Bartholomew could play such games far better than she.

She felt as if she had no defenses against his assault.

If he thought she would be an easy conquest, though, he could reconsider the matter. If he thought to seduce her in truth, after abandoning her in the company of Royce, she would delight in showing him the truth. If he thought to take what she had vowed not to share, she would ensure he regretted it.

Bartholomew was beyond attentive. He kept his thigh pressed against Anna's own, his hand resting often on the small of her back. She was nigh in his embrace, right at the board! He leaned against her to speak to their host on her other side, ensuring she could not evade the heat of his body or the scent of his skin. His removal of that drop of wine was but the first caress. He fed her venison stew from his own fingertips like a besotted husband, granting her the most choice morsels. He ensured her cup was full and her every need satisfied.

Except the fire he had lit within her belly.

It was curious to be so aware of a man, and so desirous of more. Anna found herself thinking of the kiss he had tried to bestow upon her earlier, and her own inability to enjoy it. What if she trusted him? What if she had another chance? She resolved that she would welcome a kiss, if that was to be the sum of it, and if it was offered in such circumstance as this.

Aye, Anna wanted a kiss from Bartholomew.

Just to know what it could be like. Though her experience with intimacy had been one of violence and pain, she knew her parents had made merry together when they met abed. This man and his attention made her wonder if it were possible for her to enjoy the same pleasure with a man.

The truth was that she wanted more than a kiss.

It was unsettling, to feel her body at war with her reservations, even undermining them. Was this a kind of sorcery? Anna might have pulled away from Bartholomew, but guessed this was his means of disarming their host and hostess. Also, pulling away from Bartholomew would put her closer to Royce, which was not an enticing prospect.

Did Bartholomew know how much he distracted her? It might not be kind, but Anna could not regret that the lady of the hall was so displeased by Bartholomew showing fascination with his wife.

Had he only gone with Marie to learn the location of the stables and to check on his steed? They had been absent for a goodly amount of time, in her view, too long for such a venture. Or would any interval of time have felt like an eternity in Royce's company?

Perhaps Bartholomew had learned the location of both Percy and Duncan's possessions.

Perhaps he had paid the lady for that knowledge with a kiss.

Or more.

Why did she wish to know so badly?

Anna burned to ask him for the truth, but she could not do as much so long as they were at the board. Some event had made his manner more attentive and more amorous. She feared to think how the Lady Marie might have inspired such an inclination.

Not that it should matter to Anna what amorous adventures Bartholomew might pursue, on this night or any other.

Her thoughts and fears were as troubling as his persistent touch. She found her agitation growing and her voice growing higher. She was out of familiar circumstance and felt that her own reactions spiraled from her control.

By the time they left the board, Anna was humming with a newfound need. She had consumed an unfamiliar quantity of wine, which made her feel both daring and warm. Bartholomew's touch had left her desirous of more, and she was glad to take his hand and be escorted from the hall.

They walked in silence to the chamber, and she noted how watchful he appeared to be. That drove the heat of the wine from her veins.

It was only when the door to their chamber was closed behind them that Anna dared to take a full breath in her relief. "Praise be," she whispered, but Bartholomew gave her a sharp glance. He rapidly touched his ear, then his eye, and glanced toward the wall that was common between their chamber and that of the Lady of Haynesdale.

Anna felt her eyes widen even as she understood.

There were knots aplenty in that wooden wall, and she could readily imagine that some of them were holes. The hair prickled on the back of her neck.

Were they being observed?

She amended her comment quickly by yawning with vigor. "As kind as you have been on our journey, husband, I am fair glad to see a plump mattress awaiting me this night."

"Are you then?" Bartholomew mused, a twinkle lighting his eyes.

Emboldened by the knowledge that she was not truly alone with him, Anna laughed. "You, sir, will never be sated."

"Not soon, wife of mine, not soon." He caught her up and spun her around, and Anna enjoyed the charade of being a happy couple. "Perhaps you will be warm enough this night that you will have no need of me in your bed," he teased and she laughed again.

"Oh, husband, how can you suggest such a possibility?" she murmured, pulling back to watch Bartholomew's eyes darken. She caught her breath when his gaze fell to her lips and felt his fingers spread across her back as he gripped her more tightly. He held her above the floor but she dared not struggle, as willing a wife as any man might want.

Her heart thundered with the possibility of another kiss.

Even as a quiver began in her belly. She licked her lips and he watched her with a hunger that made her shiver.

He bent and touched his lips to her ear, causing a most delicious sensation. "We must create no suspicion," he murmured. "But I have given you my vow."

Not to touch her.

Anna nodded as she looped her arms around his neck. She looked up at him, giving every sign of doting upon him. In truth, it was not that hard to pretend. "Is it true, husband, that some couples do not share a bed each night?"

"I have heard it said," Bartholomew acknowledged. He pulled her against his chest so that she caught her breath. "It seems wrong to me, I must admit." His hand slid down her back, pressing her against him, even as he kissed the side of her neck. Anna felt shivers run over her skin and a warm thrum between her thighs.

"I cannot imagine being without your warmth all the night long," she agreed, trying to look flirtatious. Her heart was racing with the prospect of him lying beside her.

Would she sleep?

Would he?

Did she dare to trust his sworn word? Anna thought she could.

"I think it is more than my warmth you desire at night, wife," Bartholomew murmured. He considered her, smiled a little, then lifted her to her toes. He held her gaze, his own gaze dropping to her lips for a moment.

Anna understood. He was asking permission. She took a breath and nodded quickly, knowing that their ruse had to be maintained.

Bartholomew did not give her the chance to change her thinking His mouth sealed over hers with such purpose that Anna was momentarily startled. She dared not pull away, though, so compelled herself to lean against him as if she truly were a submissive bride, and open her mouth to him. Bartholomew made a little growl in his throat, one that sent a thrill through Anna, and deepened his kiss.

The mood changed between them in that moment, their kiss becoming heated as it had not been before. It did not matter then whether any soul watched them, for this was no feint. Bartholomew kissed Anna as if he truly desired her, and she could not resist the urge to respond in kind. Her fingers were locked in the thick waves of his hair, and he feasted upon her lips with ardor. She had never been kissed with such passion and found her body responded of its own accord. She closed her eyes and capitulated, surrendering to sensation.

He scooped her up into his arms and made for the bed, and Anna clutched at him in uncertainty. It would look like passion to an observer, but her heart was racing. She was on her back on the bed, his weight pressing her into the mattress in a most terrifying way, when suddenly there was a rap at the portal.

Bartholomew broke their kiss with obvious regret. He took a deep breath, as if he, too, had been affected by their embrace. He left the bed, pacing to the window as he composed himself. Anna sat up in haste, feeling guilty and disheveled.

But they were believed to be wedded.

Leila entered the chamber, carrying a bucket of steaming water. Anna thought that Bartholomew and Leila exchanged a quick glance. About what?

Were they lovers?

Another serving woman followed Leila with a brazier filled with coals. Leila gestured that it should not be lit as yet, so the woman put it down near the bed, then left. The dog from the hall was at the portal and the woman made to shoo it back down the stairs, but Bartholomew stepped forward.

"What is the dog's name?" he asked.

The woman sneered. "Cenric, for he is a Saxon dog. Of course, all Saxons are dogs." She laughed at her own jest, then made to kick the beast, even as Anna yearned to strike her. The creature was nimble and evaded her easily, much to Anna's relief. "Come along, varmint," the woman said to the dog. "Out to the stables with you."

"Leave him," Bartholomew ordered and the servant eyed him with surprise. "I like a dog in the chamber. If this one has no place to sleep, he can remain here."

"If you so wish it, my lord," the woman said with a curl of her lip. "I would not welcome the fleas, but the choice is yours." She then bowed and left.

Not a moment too soon, in Anna's view.

Saxon dog. Anna felt her lips tighten in disapproval. Bartholomew gave her a look, and she knew her thoughts were clear. She turned away from the common wall and fluffed the pillows so that no others noted her reaction.

Cenric watched the woman depart, then eyed them warily. Bartholomew crouched down and put out his hand. The dog had clearly been kicked by others, for he sniffed at the air, before padding cautiously toward Bartholomew. He was a large dog, the kind of wolfhound that lords used for hunting, and his shaggy coat was a hundred shades of silver and grey. He seemed to have great eyebrows, like an old man, which gave him a friendly appearance. When he sniffed Bartholomew's hand, his long tail began to wag like a ragged banner. When Bartholomew scratched his ears, he sat down beside the knight and leaned on his leg. That tail thumped against the floor.

"I once knew a dog like you," Bartholomew told him. "The most faithful creature in all of Christendom. I miss him heartily."

Leila turned to look at him. "When did you have a dog?" she asked, apparently surprised. At Bartholomew's gesture, she recalled herself. "My lord," she added. "I do not recall ever seeing you with one."

"Nor I," added Anna, wanting to buttress the other woman's words for any who eavesdropped. "Though we have only known you a few weeks, in truth."

Leila nodded. "That is true, my lady. The days have been so merry that I lost track of the time."

"It was when I was a boy," Bartholomew admitted. "Indeed, I scarce recall it myself, but when I saw this Cenric, I remembered that hound so vividly." His tone was thoughtful, even dreamy, and Anna wondered at his manner. "He was as friendly as this, though I think he might have been larger."

"Was this in France, my lord?" Anna asked.

"Normandy or Anjou?" Leila added. "You said you had been to both."

"Before that," Bartholomew said softly. "Long before that." He straightened and surveyed the chamber, a new glint in his eyes that Anna could not explain. "I ask for your indulgence in this, my lady. I would not see a dog that looks so much like my former one dispatched to the cold."

"I have no argument with a dog in the chamber. We always had several—"

"At the foundation," Leila interjected.

Anna nodded. "Though they were smaller than this one."

Bartholomew looked so pleased that she was surprised. He might have been a child on Christmas morn granted an unexpected gift. "He is too thin," he mused, running his hands over the dog. "Particularly for one so young."

"Perhaps the baron has no use for him," Anna suggested. "And could be persuaded to part with the creature on the morrow."

"He might sell the animal, if there are too many hounds in his stables," Leila added.

"It would be suitable for you to have a hunting dog, my lord," Anna agreed.

"Or even one to slumber in the hall," Bartholomew agreed. He straightened from patting the dog, and Anna could not explain why he seemed to be more resolved than previously. He looked taller, even.

Because of a dog?

It made no sense.

The hound made for the brazier, clearly aware of its purpose even though it was unlit as yet. It circled half a dozen times before lying down beside it to sleep. Leila struck a tinder and lit the coals, patted the dog cautiously herself when it lifted its shaggy head to watch her. Anna wished she had saved some meat from the board for the hound did look thin and the meat had been plentiful.

"Oh!" Leila pivoted to face Anna, her hands rising to her lips in dismay. Genuine or feigned? Anna could not say. Truly, the other woman was far better at disguising her true intent. Perhaps Anna could learn from her. "My lady, you have not made your prayers this night."

Anna was uncertain why the other woman had made this suggestion and was momentarily uncertain of what to say. She was supposed to be a woman raised in a convent, after all. Perhaps Leila meant to reinforce the tale.

"I would not trouble our host and hostess," Anna said with a smile. "I can pray here."

"Nay," Bartholomew said with unexpected heat. "There is a chapel in this keep. I will escort you to it that you might pray as is your custom."

Before she could agree or disagree, the knight claimed her elbow and led her from the room. He set a sharp pace and seemed to know his destination. Anna could only scurry along beside him, wondering at his intent. "I do not need to pray," she whispered.

"Of course, you do," he whispered back. "I believe I have found Percy, but we still have to find the contents of Duncan's saddlebag."

Anna's heart thrilled that he had discovered her brother's location. He had been using Lady Marie to orient himself!

She considered his words but was confused. "And you think to find those contents in the chapel?" What had been in the bag? Anything of value would have been taken the treasury. Any foodstuff would have gone to the kitchens or pantry. Anna frowned.

"Without doubt," Bartholomew murmured with conviction. "The difficulty will lie in retrieving it from there." He spared her a quick sidelong glance as they stepped out into the bailey. "You may need saintly intercession this night, my lady."

Anna felt her lips part in surprise. Saintly intercession? That could only come from a saint's bones.

Which meant Bartholomew's party had been carrying a holy relic.

Who were these knights?