Chapter 6

Chapter Six

It was clear to Bartholomew that Anna had been compelled to welcome a man and that against her will. The notion infuriated him, but there could be no doubting the meaning of her reaction to his own touch. She was not shy. Indeed, she was a bold maiden, more willing than most men to accept a challenge or a dare.

But when she was caressed, she recoiled in terror. He would have expected her to meet him touch for touch, to be as fearless abed as elsewhere, but she shrank from him in terror.

Even when they jested.

She had been raped. There could be no other explanation. He would have wagered his own life upon it. The notion sent fire through him, along with a need to see her revenged. He felt a cur for having teased her with a kiss, and a fool for not having guessed this secret sooner. Worse, he imagined that her dislike of French knights was rooted in this experience.

Aye, many a nobleman believed that pretty maidens in villages were there for his pleasure. The fact that it was commonly done did not diminish Bartholomew's outrage that it had been done to Anna. It was wrong for any woman to endure as much, and he was appalled that Anna should have been so misused.

If naught else, his awareness of her past ensured that he gave her what she desired. He kept his distance in the great bed and held only her hand as they feigned the achievement of their satisfaction.

He was fiercely glad that he had made her laugh, even a little, in such circumstance.

When they had appeared to couple beyond all human endurance, he roared with his apparent release, thumping the mattress with his fist. The dog came to look upon them then, its curiosity aroused and Anna giggled again.

Bartholomew began to snore loudly, like a drunken lout who had had his pleasure and cared for naught else. He felt Anna pat the mattress and Cenric was quick to accept the invitation. The dog was large and warm, and Anna curled up with the beast between them.

That was no accident, he would wager.

Indeed, she would only sleep if they were not alone.

"Call Leila, too," Bartholomew advised quietly, between his raucous snores. The bed was big enough for all of them, and he could see no reason for Leila to be cold. None could doubt that the bed would be chaste this night, with four of them sharing it.

Leila slipped into the bed at the invitation, and Bartholomew felt her settle on Anna's other side. They four were nestled against each other and quite warm. To his relief, he heard Anna's breathing slow. Within moments, he knew he was the sole one awake.

And that gave him the opportunity to consider the puzzle of Anna.

Bartholomew had always thought that village women knew more of intimate matters than noblewomen, for their chastity was not defended with the same vigor. They were often given young to a partner, whether wedded or not, and could have half a dozen children by Anna's age. He supposed that also meant that they might be abused more readily, as Anna had evidently been.

Who had been a French knight who had taken advantage of her? Had the man been a guest in Royce's abode? Had it been Royce himself?

Only in the darkness of that night did Bartholomew wonder whether Percy was truly Anna's brother or her son.

There was no doubt that she returned his kisses as if she expected only pain to come from such an embrace, and he knew that she had little talent for subterfuge. Anna might be a good thief, but she would make a poor spy.

That was part of what he liked about her. She was honest and blunt. Her wits were quick and she showed no hesitation in sharing her views. He liked that he knew where he stood with her, at any moment. He liked that she was intrepid and that she was loyal to her brother. Aye, she would be the kind of person who stood by her word, regardless of what transpired.

He liked that well.

What if he could teach her that not all knights were fiends and knaves? It was a legacy Bartholomew wished very much to leave her, but their paths would likely part on the morrow.

Could he see her avenged? Would she name the villain? Or was that man long gone from Haynesdale?

Bartholomew should have been planning his own triumphant claim of his father's holding, but instead, he found himself thinking of Anna. What token hung from the lace upon her neck? It had a weight, to be sure, and he thought he had seen it glimmer through her chemise.

What jewel could she possess that she would not sell to see her brother fed and warm? It would be sentimental, to be sure, a token of her parents, perhaps.

But her father had been a smith, not a jeweler.

It was yet another riddle in all the many riddles of his unexpected companion. Bartholomew wished to unravel them all, though he knew he would not have the opportunity.

He dozed hours later, when the keep was quiet all around him.

He should have anticipated that the nightmare would return.

*

They were running in the darkness, his hand held fast within his mother's own. It was dark and cold, the ground wet beneath his feet. There was only darkness ahead. He looked back to see fire blazing behind them, consuming all within view. He had been awakened in haste, seized by his mother and hastened from their home.

Was that what burned?

Where was Papa?

Where were the men who guarded the hall? He heard the clash of steel upon steel but could not see anything beyond the fire. His mother fairly dragged him onward, her feet bare and her hair unbound. Her breath was frantic and she murmured his father's name like a prayer. He could taste her fear and ran as fast as he could, not wanting to disappoint her. Her hand was soft and warm, her breast softer when she finally swept him into her arms.

Still she ran, her arms wrapped tightly around him. She was weeping, he could tell by the sound of her breath, and he reached up to feel the wetness on her cheeks. He could see the fire over her shoulder, the way it spread, the hunger and the brilliance of it.

"Papa," he said and she shook her head.

"Not now," she whispered to him in French. "Not now."

She stumbled into a cabin, the darkness closing around them so suddenly that he blinked. "Help me," she appealed and he was passed to the embrace of another. It was a man, his arms thick and heavily muscled, his skin smelling of iron and fire.

The smith! He smiled for he liked this man well and often came to watch him work. The smith handed him to his wife, who always smelled of fresh bread, and fired up his forge. A smaller fire lit there, burning brighter and whiter with the smith's every mighty push of the bellows.

He was transfixed by this fire, controlled and contained, yet just as fiery and powerful as the one that had raged behind them. His mother offered a token to the smith, who accepted it with a nod.

It was a ring.

It was his father's ring.

"He must be able to prove his birthright," she said softly. "Mark him, over his heart."

The smith hesitated for a moment, but the sound of swordplay came closer. He exchanged a look with his wife, then worked the bellows with greater vigor. The fire was hot. It was white. It made them all narrow their eyes against its power.

The smith took the ring with his great tongs, and plunged it into the fire on his forge. The ring seemed to glow. It heated like a spark of the sun snared within the greater fire. He wanted to watch it but his mother opened his chemise as the smith's wife held him fast on a table.

"You will be quiet," his mother urged. "As silent as a hare hiding from a fox."

He nodded agreement, not really comprehending. The smith removed the ring from the fire and it was glowing. He was fascinated by the way it had changed, how it looked like a star, but in the shape of his father's ring.

The smith took it in his smaller tongs, then pressed it into the skin over his heart.

There was pain, radiating consuming pain, and the smell of burning flesh. He opened his mouth, then recalled his mother's request, choking back the scream that he wanted to make.

The pain.

The burning.

The searing of his very soul.

The fire that could not be evaded, at any price.

*

Bartholomew awakened with a jolt, his fingers locked in a fist over the scar on his chest. He was breathing quickly, as if he had run miles, and there was perspiration on the back of his neck. He could smell again the burning flesh and feel the heat on his skin. He touched the scar, recognizing that it had been a long time since he had dreamed of its making. He could feel the indent of it, the shape of his father's signet ring, the mark that had been burned into his body that night.

His throat was tight with the memory. It had been the last time he had seen his mother. He had been dispatched from Haynesdale before the wound had cooled, entrusted to a loyal group of knights.

He had lost everything that night.

It took him a while to calm his breathing.

Why did he recognize only the dog?

The dream was a reminder that he had a quest to fulfill, that he had arrived at Haynesdale, that he had to finish what had been begun.

Then he realized the dream had given him a gift. Anna said she was the daughter of the smith. Was it the same smith? Could she take him to her parents that he might be recognized as the son of Haynesdale?

Was this the aid he needed to reclaim his legacy?

*

Leila awakened to the sound of the dog snoring. She was nestled in the great curtained bed along with Anna, Bartholomew, and the dog, and there was a faint light coming through the shutters. When she sat up, the dog's tail thumped against the mattress. Its expression was so entreating that she imagined it expected her to abuse it.

Instead, she rubbed its ears. She didn't know much about dogs, but Bartholomew evidently did. This one had his favor and was both large enough and mellow enough to put her at ease. She was accustomed to horses, after all. She wondered what the dog had endured in this place—for she thought little good of Sir Royce and Lady Marie—and was glad that its past had not made it vicious. It seemed well content to nestle amidst them, though she could see that its ribs were too prominent.

She felt as strongly as Bartholomew that they should take the dog with them. She rose and stirred the coals to life then opened the shutters. The sky was a pale hue and it looked as if it would be a fine day. The dog followed her, putting its paws on the sill to share the view. It wagged its tail at her again and tried to lick her cheek, which made Leila smile.

She supposed it was hungry.

So was she.

There was only the sound of slumber from the curtained bed, but then, after their race through the woods and their performance the night before, Leila could believe that Bartholomew and Anna were tired. She knew she should act like a maid and picked up the bucket she had used to bring water for Anna to bathe the night before. The lidded bucket with the slops had been left outside the chamber door, and she hoped someone had taken it to the sewer.

She straightened to find the dog watching her with a hopeful expression. She supposed it had matters to tend in the morning, as well. Would it return to her when she called it? She did not want Bartholomew to be disappointed by the dog's disappearance. It had seemed to matter greatly to him to let the dog remain with them.

Leila rummaged in his belongings and found a bit of rope. She made a loop at one end, ensuring the knot could not slide and slipped it over the dog's head. They left the chamber together and she was glad the dog walked calmly beside her, because she ended up with two buckets. She dumped the contents of one into the sewer at the back of the stables. The dog cocked a leg and relieved itself, then darted ahead and watched her expectantly as she stepped into the bailey again.

"He must be hungry," a man said softly, expressing her own thoughts aloud.

Leila spun to find the priest watching her from the shadows. He carried a sack and removed a loaf of bread from it. Leila was certain there could be no fresh bread already baked this morning, for the keep was quiet. The priest tore off a piece of bread and offered it to the dog. It was sniffed and then quickly devoured. The dog sat before the priest, waiting for more.

"I think it is hungry," Leila said. "What should it eat?"

"Meat, but not so much fat. Some like other fare, but they are wolves in truth and meat is what they all like best. He does not look to have had much, but then the hounds of Haynesdale tend to be kept hungry."

"My lord said he was too thin."

"Some of this will not do him more injury than a hollow belly." The priest gave the dog more bread.

"Will they mind?" Leila asked.

The priest smiled. "The bread is old, given by the baker Denley as alms to the poor. But there are few remaining in Haynesdale village. They are poor enough, but Denley has already shared with them. I thought the squires might have been given less last evening, since the baron had guests, and they are mere children." The priest looked up suddenly. "You are Lady Anna's maid."

"I am." Leila bowed.

The priest considered his words as he fed the dog more bread. He took his time about it, ensuring the dog chewed and swallowed each portion before granting another. "I understood that she prayed in the morning, so I thought to linger and unlock the chapel for her."

"That is very kind, sir. I shall be sure to tell her."

"Please do." He gave her a sharp look that Leila could not interpret.

"Do you think it would be possible for my lord to buy the hound?" she asked. "He is much taken with it and if there are too many here…"

The priest smiled. "I think that if it follows you, it will not be missed."

Leila was pleased to hear as much.

The priest handed her the rest of the loaf of bread. "Take this for the hound. Mind you break it into pieces before you give it to him. He might eat too quickly otherwise." He picked up the sack of bread.

The hound followed the loaf to Leila, fixing its gaze upon her.

"I thank you, sir," she said, even as she looked down at the bread. It was hard, at least a day old or maybe two. But the strange matter was its weight. What did they put in their bread to make it so heavy? She glanced up to find the priest's eyes sparkling.

There was a gap on one side. Leila's fingers slid into the crevice made on one side of the loaf and touched something cold. The priest's expression tempted her to look, and she peeked to see the end of a large iron key hidden inside the bread.

The key to the dungeon.

"I shall return directly to my lady and tell her of your thoughtfulness." Leila bowed again. "And I thank you again, sir, for your kindness to the dog. I will be very sure to feed him slowly."

He nodded once and turned toward the portal to the hall. A woman's voice rose from the kitchens and a clatter of pans announced that the day's work had begun. Anna left the dirty bucket and took both dog and bread back to the chamber, along with a fresh bucket of water. The dog bounded up the stairs and waited every dozen steps for her, licking its chops in anticipation.

If any questioned her haste, she would say her lady was impatient.

*

Duncan was awake when he heard the door to the stables creak. He rolled over in the loft so he could see the crack of light at the portal. To his surprise, the priest slipped through the gap and closed the door behind himself. Duncan did not move but watched with interest. What would the priest seek in the stables? What did he carry? And why did he close the door again?

It seemed unlikely that a priest had a nefarious scheme, but Duncan made few assumptions about the choices of others without evidence.

He waited and watched instead.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, Duncan saw the priest moving down the line of stalls. He seemed to know the layout of the stables and was able to find his way with only the glimmer of daybreak that shone between the boards.

He also moved toward the horses of their small party, not the baron's own steeds.

Did he mean to do the beasts ill?

Duncan eased down the stairs of the loft. The priest did not glance up but seemed to be counting the horses. When he reached the destrier of Fergus, he looked around himself. Duncan felt his eyes narrow. The priest peered around the horse, his agitation clearly growing, and Duncan unsheathed his sword.

Duncan cleared his throat as he touched the tip of the blade to the priest's back. That man jumped and spun to face him, his eyes wide. "Might I be of service?"

The priest gaped at the sword, then lifted the sack he carried. "I have bread, alms for the poor. I had thought you might be glad of it on your journey."

"We have bread enough," Duncan said, his suspicion unallayed. "Although I thank you for the kindness."

The priest straightened. "I think you should take this bread."

"What of your poor?"

"There are few of them in these days, not because Haynesdale prospers but because there are so few in the village at all. They will not miss it."

"I think it a foul thing for a guest to cheat his host's villagers."

The priest's eyes flashed and his lips tightened. Duncan was intrigued by this glimpse of his frustration. The other man leaned closer, his gaze boring into Duncan's. "I advise you, my son, to take the bread." He bit off each word and Duncan could not account for his manner.

He took the sack cautiously. The bulk in it was about the size of two round loaves, put base to base. The weight of it, though, was all wrong. This could not be bread alone. Duncan frowned but the priest smiled with a strange confidence.

"I believe you will find it a most welcome souvenir," he said. "Though I would suggest you not mention it to anyone else. As you say, the baron might not approve of my generosity in this matter." The priest glanced down at the sword then turned his back upon Duncan. He walked slowly back to the portal, gave Duncan a parting glance, then peered into the bailey before he left the stables.

Duncan could not find it within himself to strike down an unarmed priest.

And he was glad of it. For when he opened the sack, he found not two loaves of bead, but the reliquary, shining gold in the base of the sack.

Duncan swore softly in his amazement.

Then he crossed himself and said a prayer of thanks before rousing Fergus. They had to depart before the loss was discovered!

*

Anna found Father Ignatius in the chapel, just as Leila had said she would. They exchanged a nod and he turned his back to the door, kneeling to pray. Anna crossed herself and knelt by his side, wondering what he would say to her.

She felt as if she had been summoned.

After a few moments, presumably time granted for her to pray, he murmured softly to her. "You ride in uncommon company, Anna."

"Aye, Father."

"And your husband…"

"Is not my husband in truth." Anna spared a quick glance over her shoulder but the door to the chapel was still closed. "Percy and I robbed his company yesterday morn. We thought they would have coin or food, but—"

"They carried the reliquary."

"Apparently so. I did not see it. Percy and I divided our paths, as always we do, and the knight who pretends to be my spouse pursued and caught me. We were arguing when we heard Percy shout for aid, then followed to see him brought here. The scheme was that of the knight, to retrieve both Percy and reliquary."

"I see."

"Thank you for the key, Father."

"Percy told me much of the tale himself last night in the dungeon. I assume the knight will retrieve him?"

"He does so now." Anna clutched the priest's arm. "What of the treasure? We have a wager and I would see both prizes retrieved."

"You trust this knight," Father Ignatius observed. "Despite…"

"I believe he is different, Father. He has treated me well thus far." Anna took a quick breath. "But I do not see how the reliquary can be reclaimed."

"It is done, Anna."

"Father! If you aid in our quest, you will be caught." She clutched his arm. "If it is missing, they will know you were the culprit. I would not see you punished…"

"Do not fear as much, my child." The priest patted her hand. "I will not linger to be caught."

"But your part will be discovered! They will hunt you."

"And so they might." His expression filled with new resolve. "It is time I tend to my flock in the forest. You will leave by one gate and I will leave by the other."

Anna stared at the priest but there was no doubting his conviction.

And she knew those who had taken refuge in the forest would welcome him gladly.

"There is a trail four paces to the right of the road," Anna advised in a whisper. "Await us at the large crooked elm. It grows in the midst of the trail. You cannot miss it."

He kissed her brow, just as the door was opened behind them. "Bless you, my child. May you bear many sons to your lord husband and walk in the way of the Lord for all your days and nights."

"Then you are ready to break your fast," Sir Royce said. "Good morrow to you, Father." He bowed and Anna went to his side with no small trepidation. "I am informed that your party will ride out early this day, in order to reach Carlisle with all speed. I am sorry that you cannot linger for mass, but at least, you have been blessed."

"Aye, sir, I have been indeed," Anna said, then put her hand in his elbow.

"Then come to the board with me, I beg of you. We have fresh bread and fresh honey this morn."

"How kind you are, sir. I thank you for your generosity."

Royce chattered to her as they walked, his fingers stroking the back of her hand as if she were a pet. Anna set her teeth, kept her head down, and struggled to be polite.

The sooner they were away from this hall, the better, in her view.

*

Bartholomew had escorted Anna to the chapel and closed the door behind her. There was no one afoot in the bailey, though he could hear sounds of activity in the stables. Fergus laughed and Duncan grumbled, Hamish protested, and Timothy must be brushing Zephyr.

Gaultier, the Captain of the Guards, was walking the curtain wall, the other knights of the household following closely behind him as he inspected the ramparts. They were occupied, but only for a short time.

He had but moments to use the key.

Bartholomew sauntered across the bailey as if he had naught but time to spare and slipped into the hall. He quickened his pace then. The kitchens were busy, for he could hear preparations being made for the morning meal, and there were maids sweeping the rushes in the hall. No fires had been lit there as yet, and he stepped back as a maid hastened up the stairs with a bucket of steaming water.

For Marie? Or for Royce? Either of them might appear at any time.

Bartholomew hastened to the portal to the dungeon, looked up and down the corridor, then unlocked the door. He looked down into the darkness. "Percy?" he whispered.

"I will not go quietly to die!" the boy wailed.

"You will be quiet if you mean to live," Bartholomew retorted. "Anna bids you heed me."

"Anna?" Hope mingled with skepticism in the boy's voice.

Bartholomew could discern the pale orb of the boy's face in the darkness below.

"Anna." Bartholomew tossed the rope ladder down the hole. "Climb quickly!"

The boy needed little encouragement to do as much and scrambled up to Bartholomew's side. Bartholomew wrapped him quickly in his cloak, folding him against his chest beneath the wool. The boy had a fearsome smell, but there was little to be done about that. He closed the trap door and locked it, then stood and held his cloak about himself.

"Be still and be quiet," he advised sternly and felt Percy nod.

Again he strolled into the bailey, moseying toward the stables. No one took any notice of him, until he stepped into the stables.

Fergus turned with a grimace. "Where have you been sleeping?" he demanded, then Bartholomew opened his cloak to reveal his burden. "The thief!"

Percy's eyes rounded. "The party of knights!" He punched Bartholomew in the stomach and made to flee. "Anna never gave you a message for me!" Duncan shut the door and leaned against it, blocking the boy's passage. Percy spun in place, eyeing the three knights as if he would fight them all.

"Anna is with us," Bartholomew said. "We mean to see you returned to the forest, hale and whole."

"Why?" Percy demanded, his suspicion clear.

"We needed Anna's help to retrieve what we value, and her price was your rescue," Bartholomew explained.

Instead of being reassured, the boy caught his breath in alarm. "She did not come into the keep, did she?"

Bartholomew wondered at his concern. "She did, in disguise, and I will thank you not to reveal her."

"Not I!" declared Percy. His mouth took a grim line. "I would not put her in peril again." He strode to Bartholomew and shook a fist at him. "And if you have done her injury, I shall see her avenged."

"The lady has a champion," Fergus said with amusement. The boy glared at him.

"They have endured much, I believe," Bartholomew said. He crouched down before the boy. "We mean to garb you as a squire and hide you within our company. It is the best way to see you freed of this place, but the scheme will only succeed if you cooperate."

Percy looked between them again with hostility. "If I see Anna abused, I owe you naught."

"Fair enough," Bartholomew said and stood. "I think we should break our fast."

"Not all at once, lad," Duncan said. "You go first. We shall tend to the boy."

Bartholomew thought he might collect Anna from the chapel, but found that portal locked. He crossed the bailey to the keep and opened the portal there, blinking at the sudden darkness.

"How strange that you wrapped yourself tightly against the cold just moments ago," Marie said softly. "Yet now you have abandoned your cloak completely."

Bartholomew froze, realizing too late that he had left his cloak in the stable. He saw Marie sidle toward him from the bottom of the stairs, a knowing smile upon her lips. She paused before him and sniffed.

"And even more curious, you have a definite scent of dungeon, though I know for a fact that you slumbered in a fine bed with your lady wife." Her fingertip landed on his chest. "Surely, you do not deceive your host, sir?"

"Surely I do not. I was cold but am so no longer."

"You carried a filthy child but do so no longer," she corrected. Her hand flattened against his chest and eased to his shoulder. "Such a fine man." She took a deep breath, then met his gaze. "You may have been exhausted last night by your lady's passion, or you may have been avoiding my offer," she purred, her gaze unswerving. "But now I believe we can negotiate."

"I do not understand your meaning," Bartholomew lied. "You are right about the scent. I should change my chemise before my baggage is all packed." He made to move past her, but Marie stepped into his path again.

"You will not leave here with that baggage unless I contrive it to be so," she whispered. "And I will not contrive it to be so unless you pledge to meet me four days hence and give me what I desire."

The intent in her eyes could not be doubted. She would reveal them to Royce, without a moment's hesitation. If Percy was found, they doubtless would be searched completely, and the reliquary would be found. Anna might be identified and the priest might be cast into peril.

They could all end their days in Haynesdale's dungeon.

Bartholomew bowed his head as he surrendered. He believed her request was wrong, but maybe some other course would become clear to him. If they did not escape from Haynesdale with Percy and the reliquary, there would be no future for any of them.

"Where?" he asked quietly and the lady smiled in her triumph.

"The mill," she decreed, much to Bartholomew's confusion. There was no mill, not that he could see. But he had no chance to ask, for the others joined them in that moment.

He supposed he should be relieved that he could not keep such a promise to the lady, not if he could not find her assignation, but in truth, it troubled him to have given his vow when he could not fulfill it.

*

"All will be well, lad, so long as you keep your head down," the older Scotsman advised Percy in an undertone. There were three knights, including two Templars, and four squires loading the horses and checking their trap. Percy did not know whether the Scotsman was knight, Templar or man-at-arms. He was gruff, to be sure. It was early in the morning, and Percy's stomach was growling because he had not eaten much since the previous morning.

Father Ignatius had not been allowed to bring him food the night before.

Percy did not know who these men were and he could not understand why they would even make a wager with Anna to help him to escape the baron's dungeon. He and Anna had robbed them just the day before. After being brought to the stables, he had been commanded by the Scottish knight to quickly dress in the garb of one of the squires, while the other Scotsman watched. He was lifted into the saddle of a palfrey behind the red-haired boy before the Scotsman granted him such advice.

Percy nodded agreement.

He had few choices, and he had given the French knight his word.

The Scotsman pulled Percy's borrowed hood forward, the better to hide his face. "Best if you do not speak at all, lad. We shall be outside the walls soon enough."

"Did you get it back?" Percy had to ask. He should have held his tongue, but he could not do it. They were being kind to him, for whatever reason, and it felt wrong to deceive them.

The Scotsman peered at him. "And what business would that be of yours?"

"You might think I can lead you to it, but they took it. It is here. If you want it, you should not leave without it."

The Scotsman's smile broadened. "It will only be within these walls for a little longer, lad."

So, they had found it and reclaimed it. Percy liked the sound of that. He hated when Royce claimed anything of merit. He also would like to have a better look at what they had been carrying. He had seen that it was big and it was gold, that it was studded with gems, but not much more than that. What was it exactly? It might be a big bowl…

Percy wanted to ask the Scotsman about Anna, but he feared that doing so would put her in peril. What if she were hurt? Why was she with them? Where was she? He had been hoping that she was safely back at the cavern or with the others, but knowing she was in Haynesdale keep, even with these knights, made him uneasy.

The party of horses was led into the bailey, where the baron stood with his lady wife. The other knight was there, leading a horse with a woman in the saddle. Her face was veiled and a maid rode a palfrey behind her.

Percy frowned. There had been no women in the party when he and Anna had robbed them. Had they come to Haynesdale to retrieve the women? He had expected Anna to be with them, but there was only the noblewoman and the maid. The maid wasn't Anna. There were few souls living in Haynesdale keep who Percy did not know, but he did not recognize the maid at all. He peered at the lady, for he had never seen another noblewoman in Royce's holding. Who was she?

It was sufficiently curious that he wished to ask a question. The Scotsman seemed to guess as much, for he gave Percy a stern look.

Percy held his tongue.

Many compliments were exchanged between the knights and the baron, and Percy wished they would just move toward the gates. It all seemed to be taking so very long.

A knight came from the hall to join them, bowing low to all the knights in the party. Percy caught his breath and stared. It was Gaultier, the Captain of the Guard, the most evil of all the men in the baron's employ. Percy hated him more than any other soul alive.

Even more than the baron.

He wished he had a knife so that he might strike Gaultier down and repay him for all the ill he had done their family. He would kill the villain for Anna in a heartbeat.

The Scotsman gave him another look, this one even more quelling than the last.

Gaultier surveyed the party. "Do you not have an extra squire on this morning?" he asked with suspicion.

"Do they?" Royce asked, then visibly counted the number of the party.

The Scotsman's horse moved then, sidling through the group as if impatient to be gone. Percy guessed that he meant to confuse the baron's count.

The Scottish knight laughed. "An extra boy? I have ridden to Outremer and back with two squires, my dear sir, and scarce have need of another."

"But I was certain…" Gaultier began.

"Who counts boys?" the Scotsman scoffed. "Save when it is time to feed them?"

The knights laughed, but not the Templars. They looked so grim that the baron appeared to find support in their view. Royce stepped toward one Templar. "I beg of you, sir, tell me how many squires your comrade had yesterday."

The Templar looked so discomfited that Percy wanted to roll his eyes. All he had to do was declare that there were two squires. It was not that big of a falsehood.

Though Percy supposed they were sworn to tell the truth.

The Scotsman made a sound of disgust and glared at the Templar.

"Two, of course, sir," the Templar said, but his delay had fed Royce's doubts.

"Look at the height of the sun!" the knight with the lady exclaimed. "It will be midday before we are away, and night will have fallen long before we reach shelter. My lord, we must depart!" He swung into his saddle and reached to offer a hand to his lady that she might climb to the saddle behind him. She seized his hand and he made to pull her bodily up behind him.

"Let me be of aid," Gaultier offered. The Captain of the Guard linked his gloved hands together and created a step for the lady.

She hesitated, as if she knew him to be the lecher he was.

"I thank you, sir," she said, and put her foot onto his hands.

Anna? She sounded almost like his sister.

But Anna could not be so close to Gaultier! Percy made a sound of consternation which drew the Scotsman's eye.

It also drew Royce's attention. "That boy," he said with resolve and pointed at Percy. " That boy was not with you yesterday. Step down, boy, and show me your face."

"We will be late, sir," the Scottish knight protested, but had no chance to say more.

"We must reach Carlisle with all speed," the Scotsman insisted.

Anna had just put her weight upon Gaultier's linked hands, when a chance gust lifted her veil. Gaultier had been looking up at her, undoubtedly hoping to peer up her kirtle. He gasped aloud.

Anna caught her breath and stared at him in obvious terror.

"It is the smith's daughter," Gaultier declared and seized her around the waist. "I knew you were not dead!"

"What is this?" Royce demanded.

Gaultier made to cast her to the ground, but Anna kicked him hard in the groin. The knight turned the horse and struck Gaultier in the back of the head with a mailed fist, then snatched for Anna. She leapt toward his saddle and managed to grasp his belt. The other horses stamped and the rest of the party turned to ride out, giving their spurs to their steeds.

"Ride!" Anna cried, even as Gaultier lunged for her. The maid kicked Gaultier as her palfrey cantered past him, but Gaultier still managed to catch hold of Anna's kirtle. He tugged at her and she slid backward on Bartholomew's horse, then he grabbed her ankle.

He would pull her to the ground! Percy gasped in horror.

"Filthy wretch!" Gaultier roared. "You are no lady, and you will not ride from this keep without my leave!" Anna hung on to the knight, even as Gaultier held fast to her ankle. The horse was sufficiently strong that the Captain of the Guard was dragged behind them. Gaultier would keep Anna behind! The knight tried to dislodge the captain's weight, but Percy saw that he was constrained by Anna's position.

Percy had to help. He gave the squire's palfrey his heels.

"What are you doing?" cried the squire before him, but Percy did not heed his protest. They rode straight for the Captain of the Guard and he seized the squire's short blade from his scabbard that he would be ready. As the horse drew alongside Gaultier, Percy stabbed at him.

"Knave!" he cried.

The blade was diverted by Gaultier's coif, though, and only scratched his face. "Vermin! My lord, it is the smith's other brat!" the Captain of the Guard roared and swung a fist at Percy. He struck the squire's palfrey, which danced sideways, then bolted for the gate. Percy could only hold on and look back, helpless to do more.

Indeed, he had not done enough.

"Halt!" Royce bellowed. "Close the gates!"

Percy heard the creak of the portcullis being lowered. As the squire's palfrey galloped beneath it, he looked back in time to see Anna kick Gaultier again. Her kirtle tore before the knight's grip loosed and she pulled herself closer to the knight.

"Ride!" she cried again, and neither the knight who accompanied her nor his steed needed more encouragement. The Templars raced forward, the Scotsman falling to the rear. The portcullis was lowering quickly, but those riders bent low over their saddles and sailed beneath it.

"Ride!" the Scotsman roared and slapped the rump of the palfrey that the other squire rode, hastening the others ahead of him.

They had escaped!

"You will not depart so readily!" Gaultier bellowed and snatched at the Scotsman, who was the last rider in the bailey. That man clung to his saddlebag and Percy feared he knew what was within it. The pair fell to the ground, the saddlebag clutched to the Scotsman's chest, and his steed raced on with the reins trailing.

The portcullis clanged to the earth right after the Scotsman's horse. One of the squires snatched its reins and led it onward. The Scotsman and Gaultier were wrestling in the dirt, the saddlebag between them. Percy saw three more knights step forward and knew the Scotsman would have to surrender.

"Nay!" Percy cried, for the Scotsman had been kind to him. He wished he could have made his blow count and killed Gaultier, as that man deserved. He did not want Royce to have the treasure, either.

"God in Heaven," the Scottish knight muttered, his destrier slowing its pace as he looked back.

"Ride on!" the knight with Anna insisted. The maid's palfrey galloped behind them, and the squires followed in a tight pack. They knew how to ride quickly, that much was for certain, and their horses were accustomed to it. The palfreys were followed by the Templars.

"We must save ourselves that we can later save him," one of the Templars said.

"Naught will be gained if we are all taken," the other agreed.

"We will return for him," the knight with Anna insisted, and the Scottish knight reluctantly turned his steed to follow.

"And the prize," he muttered, and Percy noted that all the men in the group were grim. For some reason, they carried that treasure, and he guessed that they would not readily abandon it.

Or their comrade.

But where would they hide?

Surely Anna would not reveal the refuge and compromise the safety of all of Haynesdale's outcasts? Percy watched the way his sister looked at the French knight and could not be certain.

How could she abandon her hatred of Gaultier's kind so readily?