Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Anna was torn.

She knew they could not outrun the baron's men. It was too far to another sanctuary.

Yet, as much as she wanted to ensure the safety of Bartholomew and his companions, she could not help them to hide.

Because that would mean revealing her fellows in the forest. Such a large company of horses could not be hidden in the forest for long, even if they were taken in by the outcasts from Haynesdale village. The baron's knights would not rest until they had found Bartholomew's party. Already she heard the baying of the hunting dogs and trembled that those who had been safely hidden in the forest until this day would pay the price for her deeds.

Again.

Who could have guessed that one theft could have led to so much going awry?

And now Duncan was still held captive in Haynesdale. She wanted to be of aid, but she could not betray those who trusted her. It seemed there was no good solution, only choices that endangered all.

She remained silent, hoping Bartholomew and his friends had a scheme.

Otherwise, she would have to save Percy first and leave them in peril.

Anna felt trapped, as if there were no good solutions. "The dog!" she recalled belatedly, thinking of another matter gone awry.

"There was no opportunity to ask for him," Bartholomew said, regret in his tone. "And no chance of gaining him now."

"Royce will hunt us to the ground when he realizes that we nearly reclaimed the treasure," Fergus said, drawing his steed alongside.

"Or do injury to the priest," Bartholomew agreed. He glanced back at Anna. "He will guess that we had that man's aid. Will he be safe?"

"Sir Royce will not find him," Anna could assure him with confidence. "Father Ignatius left the hall and village after helping us."

"Can we find him?" Fergus asked. "I would not leave him undefended."

His gallantry only added to her dismay. "He will fare well enough," she said, not wanting to admit more.

"You have a haven, then?" Bartholomew said with satisfaction. "Those are good tidings."

Anna did not make the obvious offer and to her relief, he did not pursue the question.

For the moment. Bartholomew or one of his fellows would return to the matter of refuge and she must decide what to do. The location of the hidden sanctuary was not her secret to tell, for doing so would compromise the safety of all. On the other hand, these knights had saved Percy, and at considerable risk to themselves. They had lost one of their own and the sacred relic. She owed them much and came to believe she could trust Bartholomew's word.

What should she do?

"They will pursue us within moments," Enguerrand declared, drawing alongside Fergus and Bartholomew. "All they must do is saddle their steeds and open the gates. And he must know these lands better than we do. We are lost!"

Even as the Templar spoke, a hunting horn was sounded from the keep behind them.

Without exchanging a word, they all urged their horses to greater speed. Anna's heart raced, and she was glad to see that they approached the bend in the road. She felt Percy watching her and knew she must decide.

"It is only a matter of time until they catch up to us," Fergus said. "There is but one direction to look for us until the road forks!"

"And that is in several miles," Bartholomew agreed.

"I cannot think there is a refuge to be found nearby," Yvan said, glancing at Bartholomew. "It was you who advised this road. Do you know where we might find sanctuary?" Anna noted how that knight considered Bartholomew.

Why would Bartholomew have brought his party through Haynesdale? She knew little of him, but in this moment, she realized she knew almost naught at all. Why would he have come to Haynesdale?

"What of Duncan?" Fergus asked. "We cannot abandon him."

"We must leave him there for the moment," Bartholomew said. "Anna? How far must we ride this day to safety?"

"The lands to the north are Royce's former holding," she said with care. "And it must be nigh two days ride to a town." She shrugged. "They must have thought you mad to have believed you could reach Carlisle in a day. It takes at least three to arrive there."

Fergus swore. "Never did I think I would curse the wilderness so! We have need of a town."

"A cave," Yvan suggested.

"We are doomed!" moaned Enguerrand.

"Nay, I think not," Bartholomew said, glancing back at Anna. "You have a suggestion, I would wager. Perhaps we might share the sanctuary used by the priest."

"He is not there yet. Just ahead, there is an old crooked elm off the right of the path. He awaits us there."

"We cannot all hide in an elm, no matter how old or crooked!" protested Yvan.

"Anna knows of a haven," Bartholomew reminded them quietly.

"Will you take them there ?" Percy asked and all the men looked at him.

Anna sat straighter behind Bartholomew, knowing the men would protest her one condition. "There is a haven, but it is not my right to reveal it, for others take sanctuary there." She saw Bartholomew's disappointment. "I cannot take you there."

"What madness is this?" Enguerrand demanded. "We saved your thief of a brother!" He was as outraged as if he had made the plan and taken the risk, though Anna knew he had been a reluctant participant.

"We imperiled our companion in that quest," Fergus reminded her gently.

"And lost the relic," Leila said, her tone more scathing. It was clear she thought little of Anna's choice.

"I cannot do it," Anna said. "And the horses cannot be hidden. They will bring dogs and all will be lost."

"But…" Fergus began.

Bartholomew held up a hand for silence. "Anna speaks with sense. If her refuge offers no hiding for the horses, we will be found, along with those she would defend. Remember the burned forest we saw yesterday and the tale of it."

"But still," Enguerrand protested.

Bartholomew rounded the curve and slowed his destrier. "Of course, we will let you return to the forest and ride on to draw Royce's men away." To her surprise, he leapt from the saddle then lifted her down.

"You have no time," she argued, fearful for his survival.

He granted her a sparkling glance and seized her crossbow from where it hung on the back of his saddle. "You will give me refuge, or never see this again."

"Curse you!" Anna said.

"Ride on," Bartholomew said to Fergus. "Meet me where the forest is burned at the next new moon." He seized Percy from behind Hamish and put him on the ground. "I will find a way for us to retrieve the reliquary by then, and Duncan, too."

"Can you trust her?" Enguerrand demanded.

"So long as I hold her prize, aye, I can," Bartholomew said, then spared Anna a glance. "And she knows more of these lands than we do. Alliance may offer our sole chance."

It was a compromise that Anna did not like—though truly, she was glad that this would not be the day she saw the last of this knight.

And she admired that he would finish what he had begun.

"Fair enough," Fergus agreed and reached for the reins of Bartholomew's destrier.

"But my lord!" Timothy protested.

"Ride with them," Bartholomew instructed. "You will be safer."

"But your hauberk!"

"I will find a way. Fear not and ride on!" Bartholomew cried and slapped the rump of his destrier. That beast sprang forward with a nicker, and the entire company gave their spurs to their steeds. The horses galloped down the road, both Timothy and Leila looking back in concern. Bartholomew gave them a jaunty wave, but Anna seized his arm.

"We must hide!" she hissed, and he followed her immediately. Percy had already ducked into the undergrowth and she turned her steps toward a large crooked elm.

Father Ignatius was there, his hand upon Percy's shoulder. He carried a large sack, and Anna assumed he had brought some provisions and perhaps a Bible. Bartholomew held up a hand as the sound of hoof beats became louder. They ducked down in the undergrowth and watched the shadows of the passing horses. Dogs ran with the steeds, baying and barking after the departing party.

She wished that they had left Cenric behind. Of course, there had been no opportunity to ask for the dog or to offer to pay for it, and she already knew this knight well enough to understand that he would not have simply taken it.

"Four," Bartholomew whispered when they were gone.

"They will double back," Anna said. "We will be found." She fixed Bartholomew with a look. "You must be blindfolded to go farther."

His lips parted. He looked back to the road, then to her. "A fine time to mention such detail."

"I cannot betray them," Anna said with ferocity.

"Them?" Bartholomew echoed, looking between her and the priest with obvious curiosity. "How many hide in these woods?"

"At least half the village of Haynesdale," Father Ignatius said. "I did not think so many were killed in that fire as Sir Royce maintained." He nodded at Bartholomew. "They have learned a distrust of knights and noblemen. Decide, my son, for it must be this way if you are to continue."

"And make haste!" Percy said. "Or we shall abandon you here."

Bartholomew nodded once, then sat on a log. Anna tore a length of cloth from the hem on her chemise and wrapped it several times around his head before knotting it securely. "You will have to trust my guidance," she said quietly.

"If I trip, I will be sure to break the weapon you so value," he countered, and she had to admit that it was not an unreasonable reply.

"Once again, we make a wager to see the goals of each of us achieved," she said and was rewarded by his quick smile.

"Quickly, now," she urged then, and Percy gathered some boughs. Fortunately, there was little snow on the ground here where the trees were dense overhead even in winter. They moved with haste, Anna leading Bartholomew by the hand and Father Ignatius steadying his other elbow. Percy trailed the group, sweeping over the marks of their passage and tucking bracken across the path to disguise the way. The deeper they went into the forest, the quieter the air seemed to be. There was no smell of wood smoke or any notable signs of men.

Anna saw the bent twigs that were left as signals and the quick movement of shadows on either side of the established route. Word of their party would reach the haven before they did, and she anticipated a full greeting.

Father Ignatius would be surprised by the size of his flock that survived in the forest.

*

The sorry truth was that Duncan had seen worse prisons.

This dungeon was not so fine a place, but the vermin—thus far—were neither numerous nor bold, and the dampness was constrained to one corner. It did not smell fair, but it was not a dung heap either. It was damp but not as cold as he might have expected.

Aye, he had seen worse.

That was precious little consolation now that he found himself trapped in this one. Indeed, it said much about his life, and little good.

The realization disgruntled him.

The entry was from above, a trap door in the floor, which was the height of three men above him. There was a rope ladder that could be lowered into the dungeon but he had simply been cast through the hole. It was a blessing that he had not broken a bone on impact with the packed dirt floor.

Duncan had paced the space to confirm what he already suspected. It was roughly square and offered no other way out than the trap door. There was not a foothold or a handhold to be found in the walls, which were cursedly smooth—not that it mattered for scaling one even to the top would still leave him too far from the trap door to escape. He did not even imagine that a trio of men could work together to escape this place.

It was of simple but cunning design.

To think he might have still been with Radegunde.

Duncan paced the dry end of the dungeon, then he stood beneath the door for a while. He refused to sit while he had a choice, and he was determined to remain alert. Curse duty and obligation! Curse his own integrity! If he had not been so resolved to keep his word and escort Fergus home, as promised, he might have been with Radegunde.

Radegunde.

Of course, he would not have been the man he was, if he had been able to so readily discard a vow, and Radegunde might not have felt affection for him, as a result.

Still, it was more than sobering to realize that he might never see her again.

Would she learn of his fate? He did not believe that Fergus would abandon him readily, but was not certain how much the party would risk. Certainly, they would try to regain the prize of the reliquary for it was their mission to deliver it safely. But given the choice between relic and himself, Duncan knew there would be only one decision they could make.

They were sworn to the saint's defense, after all.

He wondered whether he would ever see daylight again, when he heard a key turn in a lock. The trap door was flung open, emitting sudden light into the dungeon so that he squinted at its brightness.

"Sir Royce would speak with you," said a man gruffly, then kicked the rope ladder down into the hole. "Hasten yourself, for if you cannot climb on your own, you will lose the chance to beg his mercy."

Duncan had no intention of begging for Royce's mercy. He suspected he would have little chance to speak. He feared he might be tortured or worse, executed. Still, there was no point in flinching from whatever would be. He seized the rope ladder and began to climb.

*

It seemed to Bartholomew that they walked for hours, though in truth, he knew it could not have been so long. Deprived of his sight, his other senses were more keen. He felt that they moved deeper into the forest and that the land changed shape. For a long time, their progress was over level ground, then they crossed a stream and it began to rise. He felt that the air moved more, as if they climbed a hill that stood in the wind.

Anna periodically paused to spin him around in place, undoubtedly hoping to muddle his sense of direction, but Bartholomew was not so easily disoriented as that. He also guessed that she would not take a circuitous path, because the baron's men were hunting them. At intervals, he heard the thunder of passing hoof beats or the barking of dogs. When the baron's men could be discerned, Anna pulled him low and froze in place until the sounds faded again. He could hear the footfalls of Father Ignatius on his other side and the sounds of Percy disguising their path behind him as they progressed.

There could be no doubting the tension in Anna, for her grip upon his elbow was tight and her breathing was quick. Bartholomew knew she was afraid of being caught, and he guessed that her fear was based upon a past incident that had not ended well.

Was Gaultier the French knight who had abused her? That would explain Percy's decision to attack the Captain of the Guard, and perhaps even Gaultier's seizing Anna.

Perhaps Gaultier had simply ordered the assault.

As they walked in silence, Bartholomew could not ask Anna. He would not have asked her in the presence of the priest and her brother, at any rate, and he reasoned she would not have answered no matter how or when he asked.

Still, he wanted to know.

Finally, they entered a clearing, and Bartholomew knew it because he felt the sunlight on his shoulders and head. Unless he missed his guess, it was midday for the heat came from overhead, which meant the sun was at zenith. He felt Percy leave them and race ahead, then heard the boy circle back through the undergrowth.

"Now you must climb," Anna said, just as dogs began to bark at closer proximity. She caught her breath. "There!" she said to someone, probably Father Ignatius for that man left Bartholomew's side.

The older man grunted as he endeavored to do some feat, the dogs barked more loudly, and Bartholomew had sufficient of the game. He pushed off the blindfold and shoved the piece of cloth into his belt.

"Nay!" Anna protested, but he ignored her and seized the end of the rope ladder that Father Ignatius was trying to climb. It hung from a nearby tree and swung so with the older man's weight that he was having difficulties in ascending it. Bartholomew put his weight on the base of it, ensuring it was stable and vertical. The priest cast him a smile of gratitude and made better progress. Bartholomew could see that there was a platform built high in the tree's boughs.

"You expected me to climb this while blindfolded?" he asked Anna. "Or maybe you meant to abandon me to the dogs?"

"I did not!" she retorted. "But you cannot see our haven."

"I have no notion of where we are and could not find this place again. It is sufficient," he assured her, although he was not nearly as lost as she might believe. Father Ignatius made the platform overhead, and Bartholomew beckoned to Percy. "Go." The boy scampered up the ladder, then Anna came to his side with some wariness.

"You should go next," she said.

"Ladies first."

"You are not the lord of the forests," she countered. "All follow my dictate in these woods."

That was a marvel in itself, but Bartholomew did not budge. "Perhaps they follow the dictate of whoever carries the crossbow," he suggested, just to see her lips thin in displeasure and her eyes snap. The crossbow in question was slung on his back. "Shall we discuss it for the remainder of the day, or do you mean to climb?"

"Vexing man," she grumbled, then seized the ladder. She paused when they were eye to eye. "Do not look up my skirts," she warned him.

"Aye, for that would be a fearsome fate." He teased her, for he could do naught else. "Never mind Royce's men or the dogs or the prospect of incarceration or execution. For me to see the sweet curve of your legs would be a most dire situation. Make no mistake: you offer your share of vexation, Anna." He made a face and she swatted his shoulder. He held her gaze with intent, knowing why she insisted thus, and dropped his voice low. "Climb, Anna. I will not look."

And though he might have savored the view, Bartholomew kept his word.

He was about to climb the ladder himself when he heard some beast running through the forest. He paused to look back, for it came from the same direction they had come, just as a large grey dog burst into the clearing. It had its nose to the ground, but looked up and headed directly for him.

Cenric!

Other dogs barked but he could not abandon this hound dog. It might well reveal their location, but more than that, he wanted its company. It jumped toward him with joy and he seized it, casting it halfway over his shoulder before he climbed the rope ladder anew. In this moment, he was glad that the dog was too thin, for it was a formidable weight and size even as it was. He was panting with exertion when he reached the summit of the ladder and the others helped to pull the dog onto the platform.

Cenric was none too pleased with the situation. His eyes were wide and he sat in the midst of the platform, as if terrified of falling from its edge. Percy and Father Ignatius patted the dog in an attempt to reassure it and it cautiously laid down. Bartholomew was certain the dog's nails were digging into the wood.

"You risk your life for a dog," Anna chided, though he knew she was pleased. "Whimsy!"

"I defend what I take to heart," Bartholomew said even as he caught his breath.

"And so it is with a man of merit," Father Ignatius said with approval. "Well done, my son."

Anna granted Bartholomew a level look, then advised them all to be quiet. Percy whisked the rope ladder up to the platform and they all ducked down, the dog in their midst, to peer through the tree's branches at the ground. Bartholomew imagined that in summer, when the tree was in full leaf, they would be completely hidden. As it was, he felt exposed.

Still, a hunter would have to think to look up. Who would expect a platform to be built in a tree in the midst of the forest? Who had built this one? He peered into the other trees around the clearing and thought he could discern another platform in a large oak tree opposite them. Were there people on it? He could not be certain. If there were, they were garbed in plain clothing and very still.

He removed the crossbow from his back as the sounds of pursuit grew louder and loaded a bolt under Anna's watchful eye.

A trio of dogs raced into the clearing, barking as they followed the scent. Though Percy had brushed a bough over the party's footprints, the snow looked different where they had walked. Two dogs passed by, following the false trail, but one slowed its steps to sniff beneath the tree. All on the platform held their breath as one.

The dog below took a step back and looked up the tree, its eyes glinting, and growled.

Cenric growled in return, though he could not have seen the other dog. Bartholomew felt the vibration of the dog against his side.

He could have killed the dog below, but its corpse would draw more attention than its growl. He aimed the bow and waited.

The dog's ears flicked at the sound of Cenric's growl.

It took another step back and its ears flicked, as if considering the puzzle of a dog in a tree.

A man whistled and the other two dogs raced back across the clearing. The one beneath the tree gave one last look upward, then heeded the summons as well. The dogs could be heard bounding through the scrub, and slowly the sounds of their passage diminished to naught.

The sun passed its zenith.

The snow melted in the clearing.

An owl hooted three times.

An owl? In broad daylight?

Anna stood up and hooted in reply. Her eyes were dancing as she watched Bartholomew's reaction. "How many are hidden here?" he asked, still keeping his voice low.

"More than you will believe," she replied. "Come, Father Ignatius, you will be most welcome."

*

It was good to be back.

Anna always felt more at home in the forest than anywhere else. Here, she could trust her fellows. Here, she was safe. Here, she knew every man, woman, and child, what they believed and what they would do in any circumstance. It was a haven in every sense of the word.

Esme's chickens were the first to surround them, clucking and pecking. Cenric bent to sniff them and they fluttered away, scolding with a confidence that was the result of Esme's protection. The dog looked bewildered by their manner, but walked at Bartholomew's side and left them alone.

Willa, the wife of Esme's son, shooed the chickens out of the path of the new arrivals, her eyes bright with curiosity. Her husband, Edgar, was fast by her side, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. Anna understood that they two had stepped forward to discover the truth of her companion, while the others remained hidden. "Look at you!" Willa declared to Anna. "As finely garbed as Lady Marie herself." She dropped to one knee. "And Father Ignatius! What a marvel."

"You look well, Willa," the priest said with real pleasure.

"And you bring a stranger to us," Edgar said with disapproval, speaking quickly as if to interrupt the priest from saying more. He was a burly man and folded his arms across his chest to regard them all. His tone was filled with disdain. "A knight. A French knight by the look of him."

"I gather you have learned little good of knights," Bartholomew said smoothly. He offered his hand. "I am Bartholomew of Chamont-sur-Maine. I vow that I will honor the bond between guest and host in this place, if you would offer me hospitality for a short while."

Edgar blinked and stared at his outstretched hand. Anna smiled, for none of them had known a nobleman to speak to them as better than dogs. "You must not reveal us," he decreed.

"Never," Bartholomew said with conviction.

"Swear upon the pommel of your sword," Anna advised, then spoke to Edgar. "It has a shard of the true cross within it."

The eyes of the miller's son opened wide, but he accepted her word. Bartholomew pledged as bidden, the men shook hands, and Edgar eyed the pommel with astonishment. Father Ignatius beamed, and it was evident to Anna that possession of such a prize had only raised his estimation of Bartholomew.

"What has happened, Anna?" Edgar asked when all was agreed.

"Percy and I robbed this knight's company, then Percy was captured by Gaultier along with the spoils." Anna nodded at Bartholomew. "He and his company took me into Haynesdale, in disguise, that we might retrieve both."

"What company?" asked Willa.

"They have ridden on without him. Father Ignatius aided our escape with Percy, but the stolen item is yet in the keep."

"As is one of their men," Percy contributed. "We must save them both, then the knight will leave us."

Edgar nodded. "We heard the knights ride out from Haynesdale in pursuit. They take the road to Carlisle."

"They pursue my fellows," Bartholomew agreed.

"Norton and Piers followed, to discover what they do." Edgar referred to the two older sons of the plowman, Wallace, who remained in the village with his wife. "I suspect they will ride to the boundaries of Haynesdale, then return. We must be vigilant that we are not discovered."

"You are welcome here," Anna said to Bartholomew. "But we will wait for the boys to tell us that the knights are back at the keep before there will be a fire."

"A fire is the least of my concerns." Bartholomew bowed to Edgar and then to Anna. "I thank you both."

Anna was amused to see his courtly manners in the midst of the forest, but she was more amused by his reaction when the others revealed themselves. Willa and Edgar's three children were first to erupt from their hiding places, their oldest boy—who was of an age with Percy—demanding the full tale from his friend. Esme herself came forward, surrounded by her chickens, and gave Anna a hug. Father Ignatius was dispensing blessings, and greeting those he had not seen in two years.

Lucan the cooper and his wife Bernia stepped forward, their daughter fast behind them for she was uncommonly shy. Rowe the carpenter was as hearty as ever, shaking Father Ignatius' hand, his red hair gleaming in the sun. His sister, Ceara, as fiery-haired as he, fingered the cloth of Anna's kirtle in open admiration. Aidan the merchant asked to see Bartholomew's blade after they were introduced, and it was clear that he was impressed by it. His wife, Mayda, joined Ceara and explained the merit of Anna's garb to her daughters, Edyth and Ravyn.

Bartholomew was clearly astonished as more people revealed themselves. Norton and Piers were gone, as discussed, but their younger brother Sloane came into the clearing with Stewart the alemaker and his wife Moira, and their brood of five noisy children. The new arrivals were surrounded, and the welcome was warm.

As much as she enjoyed their return, and that Father Ignatius came with them, Anna's gaze was drawn repeatedly to Bartholomew. He was clearly astonished by the number of villagers who had taken refuge in Haynesdale's forest. Any concern she might have felt that he would see them as outcasts and criminals, that he might reveal them or worse, was quickly dispelled. Not only had he given his word, but he was amiable to all who spoke with him. He indulged the curiosity of the children and shook hands with the men. They continued as one to the sheltered area where they gathered in the evenings, and Anna saw his gaze rove over the platforms in the trees. He doubtless noted the number of villagers who carried bows slung over their backs and quivers of arrows made when all was quiet in the forest.

"I will guess that you taught them to shoot," he said, his smile revealing his opinion of that.

"We must defend ourselves."

He sobered. "Against your liege lord. It is not right that he should compel you to defend yourselves thus, Anna."

She smiled that he did not insist that Sir Royce had the right to do whatsoever he desired. "Nay, it is not."

"How long have they been here? Since that fire two years ago?"

Anna nodded. "Before that, we were taxed heavily and shown little consideration, but all went awry then."

"And the villagers fled, and the forest was burned," he mused. "What changed?"

Anna dropped her gaze, not prepared to reveal her role in that. "Much."

Bartholomew considered her for a long moment, but then he helped Father Ignatius to distribute what bread he had brought. It was received with enthusiasm, and Father Ignatius professed that he would welcome an egg. There had been few at the keep or in the village since Esme had reclaimed her chickens.

"I would like to deny Sir Royce more than an egg!" the older woman declared with gusto and the villagers murmured assent.

Anna watched Bartholomew and felt a pride in how well they had survived in the forest. He returned to her side with a piece of bread and shared it with her, then turned a bright gaze upon her. "Why do they follow you?"

"Of what import is it to you?" she asked, trying to deflect his curiosity.

"A matter of curiosity. What claim do you have to lead the villagers of Haynesdale?" he murmured, his gaze roving over her. "You must have one. There are men in this company, and if you are their equal, they would choose a leader from amongst themselves."

"I am the smith's daughter," Anna said proudly. Bartholomew shook his head, but she dared not linger lest she feel compelled to tell him more.

After all, there was a deed she had to complete, and she would need Father Ignatius' aid to see it done. She should speak to him about it. She left Bartholomew without further explanation, well aware that his gaze followed her.

He was curious, to be sure, and keen of wit. She could not help but wonder how long it would take him to unveil her secrets.

*

Royce stared at the reliquary, a little embarrassed that he had not made the connection sooner. First, a remarkable prize is discovered in the possession of the smith's youngest child, a boy known to be a troublemaker and banished to the forest as an outcast. There was no good explanation for the boy, who was a peasant, to have such a marvel in his custody. Insolent brat that he was, Percy had been disinclined to share any tidings of how he had come by the reliquary.

Undoubtedly he had stolen it.

But it had never occurred to Royce that the boy might have stolen it from the party that had arrived at his gates the day before, not until they had been caught in what had obviously been an attempt to retrieve it. They had only come to the gates of Haynesdale to fetch the reliquary.

He should have seen the truth of it sooner.

But where had it come from in the first place? Royce had never seen the like of it. Even when the mass was celebrated at the king's own chapel, there were never such magnificent pieces as this shown to the faithful. Not even in the great cathedrals were such treasures displayed.

Worse, he had never heard of this reliquary, or even the saint whose name was engraved upon it. Still, that was of less import than its presence in his abode. Royce might not be the most clever baron in Henry's kingdom, but he had a nose for trouble.

This mysterious relic brought trouble, and he had a feeling it would bring more.

He wanted very badly to be wrong about that. He wanted to keep this remarkable prize, so he demanded the prisoner be brought to him. He had the Scotsman escorted to the chapel. They were a barbaric and superstitious lot, in his experience. Perhaps the setting would loosen the Scotsman's tongue.

If not, there were other means of encouragement that could be used. In fact, Gaultier would be disappointed if the prisoner confessed too much too soon.

The door was hauled open and Gaultier appeared on the threshold. His expression was grim and the cut on his cheek was angry. He looked to be in even worse temper than usual. The Scotsman was getting a bruise on his cheek—indeed, it looked as if he would have a splendidly blackened eye—and he looked scarcely more amiable than Gaultier. Royce did not doubt that Gaultier had already tried to encourage the man to confess more.

The Captain of the Guard did have an unbridled taste for violence. Doubtless the Scotsman had many more bruises beneath his garb.

Gaultier released the prisoner's arm, and the Scotsman gave him a disparaging look before putting a step between them.

"I would not advise you to run," Royce said smoothly.

"I do not intend to flee," the Scotsman said gruffly. "I still have sufficient wit to recognize that the gates are barred against me." His gaze flicked to the reliquary and Royce placed his hand upon it.

"Familiar?" he asked.

The Scotsman granted him a cold glance. "It is my sworn duty to deliver it safely to its destination. Of course, it is familiar."

"You tried to steal it."

"I tried to retrieve it."

"I say it was not yours to retrieve."

The Scotsman smiled. "And I say it is not yours to claim."

"By what authority do you claim possession of this prize?"

His gaze was unswerving and he spoke with conviction. "By the highest authority there is."

Royce was more unsettled than he chose to admit. He spoke mockingly as a result. "Are you saying that God granted it to your care?"

"Does God not grant all quests to all men?"

Royce frowned. "I mean, to whom did you swear that you would deliver it?"

"That truth is not mine to share."

"And where are you pledged to deliver it?"

"Again, that tale is not mine to surrender."

Royce flung out a hand. "But you must know your destination!"

"And clearly I vowed not to confide it in another. The one who dispatched it knows, and the one who awaits it knows. That is sufficient."

Royce heard the implied threat. "And if it does not arrive as intended?"

The Scotsman's smile broadened. "Then it will be sought, of course, and woe to any who have interfered in the great goodness of this plan."

There was something chilling about the Scotsman's manner. Surely he could not have had this prize granted to him by the divine.

But he could have been entrusted with the delivery of it by some man acting in the name of God. A bishop. An archbishop. The pope.

Royce licked his lips and considered the golden reliquary again. It was a prize worthy of the attention of such a great man. He could believe that it might be dispatched in secrecy, the better to protect it from theft.

Yet he had stumbled into possessing it, quite by chance. He could see no advantage to himself in letting the Scotsman continue on his quest. For all Royce knew, the Scotsman had stolen it from some other emissary!

"Saint Euphemia," Royce said, making a show of reading the inscription. "I have never even heard of this saint. Perhaps her relics have little value."

"So might a man suggest who did not believe in her powers."

"Which are?"

The Scotsman shook his head, as if in pity. "The ability to distinguish between right and wrong. Perhaps it is no mystery that she is unknown in this keep."

Gaultier glowered at him but Royce raised his hand to halt his Captain of the Guard. He closed the distance between himself and the prisoner. "I know the difference between right and wrong," he said in a low, silky voice. "Which is why I do not believe you. No man alive with the power to dictate the direction of such a treasure as this would surrender it to the custody of the likes of you." The Scotsman's eyes flashed, and Royce took satisfaction at having irked him. "I say you lie. I say you stole this yourself from its true custodian. And I say that such a man as you should be cast in darkness and abandoned until you die."

Gaultier seized the Scotsman with satisfaction and spun him around roughly, pushing him back toward the door.

"But what of the reliquary?" the Scotsman demanded. "Surely you do not imagine that you can keep it for yourself?"

"What I can or cannot imagine is of no concern to you," Royce declared. He gestured, and Gaultier shoved the Scotsman out of the chapel, even as Royce looked back into the rich gold of the reliquary.

It was a prize beyond compare.

It was a treasure that awakened every covetous urge within him.

But the Scotsman was right. Someone would seek it. Someone would kill for it. And no one could find it in Royce's treasury.

Nay, the best way to put this prize to work was to give it away. It would make a fine token of esteem for King Henry, for example, the perfect indication of obeisance from a loyal baron.

He would send it to Winchester with the tithes and his fondest regards.

But first, Gaultier and his men must ensure that the remainder of the party that had just left his gates were hunted down and silenced.

Forever.

He heard Gaultier's footstep behind him and did not turn to address him. "What of your men?"

"They are ordered to pursue the vagabonds to the borders and then return to report on their course," the Captain of the Guard replied. "I expect them before the dawn, with the party captive."

Royce drummed his fingers on the board. "I hope they succeed," he had to content himself with replying. "For your sake and that of our guest."

"They will not abandon him," Gaultier said with confidence. "Even if they outrun the knights, they will circle back for him."

"Double the sentries on watch," Royce commanded. "If we are surprised again, you will pay the price."

*

"You are surprised," the old woman said when Bartholomew passed her a piece of the bread Father Ignatius had brought from Haynesdale keep. He was startled by her words, because her eyes were milky and he had assumed her to be blind. She grinned at him when he did not immediately reply, and he realized she was more perceptive than most.

"And how did you guess as much?" he asked, his tone light.

She gestured. "I smell it."

"Indeed?" He could not help but smile and was glad she could not see his expression. He did not wish to offend her, however whimsical she might be.

"When a reaction is anticipated, the subtlety of it can be felt or even smelled." She smiled. "You may trust me on this. I hope that you never have the opportunity to learn that I am right." She seemed to watch him. "So, tell me, sir, what surprises you?"

"That there are so many hidden in the forest," Bartholomew acknowledged, for that was the most obvious confession. "And that you have evaded detection for two years." He smiled. "That you have chickens. Are there not foxes in these woods?"

The old woman cackled, sounding much like one of her brood. "My son has made them a pen. They return to it each night and are hoisted high into the trees. It is some trouble, but we have eggs this way, and on occasion a fine stew."

"Ingenious," he acknowledged and she smiled.

She tapped him on the arm. "You are also surprised that we follow a woman."

He was startled that she had overheard his question. "I wondered whether I merely imagined it. Anna is most decisive."

"And yet you think it would be a marvel for so many to let a woman command them, even the smith's daughter."

"Even?"

She smiled. "Where have you been, sir, that you do not know the place that the smith holds in the hearts of the occupants of every village? His gift is akin to sorcery, and he must labor long to master it. A smith is always held in high regard, and his words carry great weight."

Bartholomew considered this and found it easy to believe. "That makes good sense. I have never lived in a village, so would not have thought of it."

"Never lived in a village? Only in a castle?"

"In a few of them."

She leaned closer. "Where else?"

"A monastery," he said, just to watch her reaction.

She giggled with glee. "Or you are one filled with surprises. I am glad that Anna saw fit to bring you here. Did she tell you that she was the daughter of the smith?"

"Aye, she did, and the Percy is her brother."

The woman nodded. "And she still carries the crossbow?"

"Not exactly." Bartholomew laid the weapon across his knees. "I hold it hostage until our wager is completed."

The woman reached out and he guided her fingers to the hilt of the crossbow so that she could not injure herself inadvertently. She stroked the wood with reverent fingertips. "And where would a woman of the woods win such a fine weapon?"

"You must know that it was her father's."

"She told you as much, did she?" The old woman raised her brows. "And yet, and yet, how curious that a smith should own such a fine crossbow. One would expect him to leave a hammer and forge to his children, or some fine metalwork of his own crafting. Not a crossbow." She arched a brow, and Bartholomew did wonder.

"Any man may learn to use a bow," he countered easily. "Although it is a noble weapon, its use is not proscribed to noblemen."

She had a good laugh at that, shaking a finger at him in her merriment. Bartholomew had an uncanny sense that she was trying to tell him something.

Was Anna not the smith's daughter?

Then why would she have told him that she was?

He knew that Anna had no capacity to lie. The truth was always clear in her eyes. Nay, this old woman must have it wrong. Perhaps she mingled two old tales together.

She might have been surveying him, by the way she seemed to look him over, but it was her hand on his forearm that told her the most, he would wager. "Chain mail," she murmured. "And you are tall and young. A knight." She seemed to peer at his face. "Are you the lost son returned?"

"You tell the same tale as Anna," he said by way of reply and she appeared to swallow a smile.

"We do not have many knights visit our abode," she said, and he was relieved she did not pursue her question. "You must have good reason to be here."

"My party merely passed through the forest," Bartholomew said, choosing to share only part of the truth with this stranger. "As you heard, we lingered because we were robbed."

The old woman cackled. "By Anna and Percy," she guessed.

Bartholomew nodded before he recalled himself. "The very same. Then Percy was captured by the baron's men, along with what he had stolen from us, and both had to be retrieved."

"I hear the boy," she said. "But you must not have your own goods?"

"How so?"

"You would have ridden on, if that were the case. Anna would not have brought you here if she had not felt some obligation to you." She leaned closer. "What else have you lost?"

"One of my comrades was captured. He carried our goods."

"So both are in Sir Royce's clutch." She nodded understanding.

"You are perceptive."

She smiled again. "One does not need eyes to see the truth, sir."

"Clearly that is true. Though I cannot imagine how you knew me to be surprised."

"Ah! You speak with authority and walk with a confident step. I believe you thus to be a man of good sense." She ran a fingertip over the back of his hand and Bartholomew would not have been surprised if she guessed more about him from that light touch. "A practical man, who solves matters with his own hands. There is a callus here, from wielding a broadsword. Your spurs are not for appearances, sir."

"Nay, they are not."

"And such an accent. Not quite French. Not quite Norman. Where have you been, sir? Where was this monastery?"

"Outremer."

The woman sat back with apparent wonder and great satisfaction. "That does explain much. There is something exotic about you, sir."

"Exotic?" Bartholomew smiled.

"Uncommon, then. The kind of man we seldom see." She lowered her voice. "The kind of man we await, whether you admit as much or nay." Before Bartholomew could encourage her to change the line of her speculation, she did, raising her voice. "A man of good sense, it is clear, and what man of good sense would not be surprised to find all of a village living as outcasts in the forest?"

"It is hard to believe that nigh every resident of a village should be a criminal, even in the most foul of places."

"'Tis indeed," the woman agreed with a sage nod. "What baron of sense would have no use for his villagers? Who tills the fields and shods the horses? Who harvests the grain and salts the fish?" She shook her head. "His life must be worse without us, but he is too much a fool to see the truth."

"He thinks us all dead, Esme," Anna said, coming to stand before the old woman.

"Only because he listens to lies. It is a foolish man and a poor judge of character who relies upon the counsel of one such as Gaultier, Captain of the Guard."

Anna stiffened at the mention of that man's name, as if to lend credence to Bartholomew's suspicions. Was she evading his gaze?

The old woman chuckled. "But then, Sir Royce has always shown undue respect for whichever man leads his forces. We each have our follies. Perhaps that is his."

Bartholomew thought it was his trust of his wife that was misplaced, but decided not to share his thoughts.

Anna propped her hands on her hips as she surveyed him, a challenge bright in her eyes. "I go with Father Ignatius to the old burn. Do you wish to come?"

"Why?" Bartholomew asked, of all the questions he might have chosen.

"We bury our dead there, for the ash is easy to dig and vermin do not sully the remains. Father Ignatius would bless those who have passed without his prayers."

"Is that the burned forest we passed?"

"Nay, another. We have the old burn and the new."

"So much fire," he mused and Anna almost smiled.

"Aye. Come and you will see."

And because he did want to see, Bartholomew rose to his feet to accompany her.