Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“Explain your terms to me, clearly,” Anna demanded when they were out of earshot of the village. She thought it better to act as if she were in a position of power than to acknowledge outright that the knight had much advantage.
“Why?”
“Because you and your kind are deceptive,” she said, her tone cross. “I would know your intent before I am of assistance to you, the better to ensure that I am not tricked.”
“You think little of knights.”
“I do.”
“Yet you would make an agreement with me.”
“Aye. I perceive that I have little choice, for I will need aid to retrieve Percy.”
“Have you no other allies?”
She shook her head, choosing not to betray the others in the forest, then spared him a backward glance. “If you would treat with a woman.”
He smiled. “Only one who keeps her word.”
“I do!”
“I have no way to know as much. You have promised me naught thus far so owe me naught.” He marched in silence for a moment, as if mustering his argument. “As I see it, we each have something of interest to the other, or have contributed to the loss of something possessed by the other. Together we have a better chance of retrieving both.”
“Agreed,” Anna said, though it nigh killed her to agree with one of his ilk.
“To state it clearly, so that no one believes themselves deceived, you stole the saddlebag that is now in the keep of Haynesdale. I and my fellows would like it and its contents back.”
“My brother was taken by the baron’s men. I should like him back.” She granted him another glance. “Hale and free.”
“You are skeptical of my intent,” he said mildly. “I cannot vouchsafe for his state until he is in our company, but I will not do him injury. Does that suffice?”
“What of your fellows?”
“They will not do as much either. It is against our nature and our vows to injure a child.”
“Even a thief?”
“Even a thief.” The knight’s agreement was so easy that Anna eyed him, knowing her doubt was clear. He smiled at her, which was most discomfiting. “Who would have taught him how to behave with honor?” he asked with humor. “You? Having poor instruction and not knowing the difference cannot be his fault, not at such an age.”
“I do not grant poor instruction!”
“Then you think a life as a thief has merit. An interesting moral code.”
“I think life has merit, when the alternative is to starve.”
“Is this not a prosperous holding? The land seems most bountiful.”
Anna snorted again. “It depends who you are, that much is certain. I hear the baron’s table groans with plenty and that his coffers overflow with the taxes he is determined to collect.”
“Have you no love for your overlord and baron? Surely his powers are rightfully gained?”
“Surely not! These lands were stolen from the rightful baron, stolen by a Norman knight who coveted both the holding and the wife of the Baron of Haynesdale. The villain was triumphant in claiming Haynesdale and now rules with disgust and disdain for all those beneath his hand.” She lifted her chin. “One day, the seed of Nicholas will return, so it is said. One day, the son of the true lineage will return to Haynesdale and reclaim his legacy and bring justice to all those who have remained loyal to his family name.”
The knight was particularly quiet after this utterance, and Anna assumed he was skeptical of such optimistic omens.
She continued in a scathing tone. “But then, you come from France yourself. I see it in your garb and hear it in your voice. Doubtless you would ally with him and sit contentedly at his board, oblivious to the suffering of those upon his lands.”
“Perhaps I will,” the knight mused.
Anna gasped outrage, then saw the Templars step out of the shadows ahead. The knight spoke to them quickly and in French, which Anna did not understand. They nodded and scanned the forest behind her, then followed the knight and herself into the camp. All of the party were awake, and their expressions were not welcoming.
“One of our thieves,” the knight said, giving her a push toward the middle of the clearing. Did he speak English for her benefit? “She works with her younger brother, who fled with Duncan’s saddlebag and was captured by knights in the service of the baron who holds title to these lands. Percy and the bag have been taken to the baron’s keep.”
The Scotsman winced and sat down heavily. The other knight laid a hand upon his shoulder as if to reassure him. “And so? We visit the baron together to retrieve our respective prizes?” he asked, that Highland lilt in his voice.
“Take the lass like that and she will be dispatched to join the boy, whatever his fate might be,” the Scotsman said, his tone dour.
“Precisely,” the knight who had captured her agreed. He smiled at her, which Anna did not trust a whit. “Which is why I would propose that we visit this baron, as a party on our way north to attend the wedding of Fergus, once a Templar and now a noble friend.”
The other knight, who must be Fergus, smiled. “We arrive as friends, then, not foes.”
“And the lass?” the older man asked. “No one could take a look at her and think her a boy in truth.”
“Nay, they could not.” The knight’s eyes gleamed. “Which is why she will travel as my wife. Might we trouble you for the loan of some of that fine garb you bought for your betrothed, Fergus? Your generosity is such that Isobel cannot miss the sacrifice of one kirtle.”
Fergus laughed, his manner so merry that Anna found herself liking him even though his amusement was at her expense. “Particularly if Duncan regains his property.”
“I will not pretend to be your wife!” Anna protested hotly.
The knight smiled with infuriating confidence. “Then I am in possession of a fine crossbow,” he countered with a shrug. “And Percy cannot rely upon our ensuring his rescue. Ah well.”
“I will see to my brother myself.”
He leaned close, his eyes shining with intent. “Not if I leave you trussed in a tree.”
“You would not!”
But his expression did not change and Anna knew he would. “Fiend! Knave and blackguard! You compel me to do your will, with no regard for my own choice…”
“She sounds like a wife,” commented one Templar, then made to tend his steed.
“I hope she is worth the trouble,” replied the other and they laughed together.
“I will not welcome you to my bed!” Anna cried, struck with new fear.
The knight slid a finger down her cheek. “We will be compelled to share a bed,” he murmured. “In order to ensure that our ruse is not discovered.” There was a twinkle in his eyes that Anna did not trust. Did he intend to take his pleasure? “But I vow the bed will be chaste, unless you insist otherwise.”
The words could only be a lie.
“Wretch!” she muttered and tried to kick him. She only lost her balance from her efforts but the knight did not allow her to fall. He caught her up and his gaze bored into her own, his manner solemn. His grip was uncommonly strong.
“And so we make our wager. Alliance in the baron’s hall, the goal being the retrieval of both bag and boy, and on our successful escape from that place, our paths will part. We will have safe passage through the forest, and you will have the return of your crossbow on the northern borders. Have we a wager?”
“Have you a name?” she demanded, unable to fully hide her resentment that she was compelled to accept his terms.
Even though they were not unfair.
“Bartholomew de Chamont-sur-Maine,” he said. “And you?”
“Anna of Haynesdale village. The smith’s daughter.”
“And have we a wager, Anna?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Bartholomew,” he corrected, that smile quirking his lips in a most alluring way. “We are to be wed after all, Anna.”
“Bartholomew,” she echoed, liking the sound of his name. She wriggled pointedly. “I regret that I cannot seal our wager with a shaking of hands.”
“It is of no matter,” he said easily. “I have learned well how to improvise.”
Then without waiting for her to agree, the cur bent and kissed her soundly. The other men hooted and clapped approval, and Anna was flooded with new terror. She froze, convinced that his intent was to claim her fully and feared a repeat of her past.
To her amazement, Bartholomew seemed to be aware of her reaction.
To her greater astonishment, it changed his deed. He lifted his head and broke their kiss almost immediately, but did not release her. His eyes gleamed as he surveyed her, seeking an explanation. Anna tried to kick him as a reward for his cursed confidence and his audacity.
This time, he let her fall.
And his fellows laughed.
Curse him to Hell and back again!
*
Bartholomew was not an impulsive man, but Anna’s audacity tempted him to be so. Her attitude and her assumptions irked him as little else had done in a long while, and there was a perverse pleasure to be savored in surprising her.
He also had been startled to hear her speak of the seed of Nicholas, and the ultimate return of that baron’s son. He was surprised that the tale of his father had survived, no less that his own arrival might be anticipated. Even more oddly, it survived in this place that did not look in the least bit familiar to him. Had he forgotten all he had known? What of the mill? He could see it clearly in his memory, but there was none here. How could that be?
And what of this baron who held Haynesdale now? She said he was the villain and treated those beneath his hand unfairly. Did that mean he was out of favor with the king? Bartholomew suspected not, which meant the current baron would have to die before there could be a question of making a claim. Did he have a son?
Of greater import, could this maiden help him to claim his rightful due? Would she believe any claim he made to be the son of Nicholas?
Would anyone else?
And why had a kiss so terrified her?
Anna tumbled to the ground and rolled a little, struggling furiously. Her eyes were filled with loathing when she glared at him, but Bartholomew crouched down beside her. “Reconsidered?” he asked lightly.
“You take pleasure in vexing me.”
“In truth, I do.” He admitted the truth easily, marveling in it even as he did so.
“Knave,” she repeated. “Cur, blackguard, and scoundrel.”
He smiled, untroubled by her words. “Insults will not improve your situation.”
“There is no reason for us to pretend to be wedded,” she argued, the heat of her reaction making him wonder if there was more merit in the impulsive suggestion than he had anticipated.
“There is every reason for such a feint,” he countered mildly. “What I desire is within the keep. What you desire is within the keep. The only way to release both is to enter the keep.”
“I am not a simpleton.”
“So, how would you propose we enter the keep, without arousing suspicion of our intent?”
“You go as you are, a French knight visiting one of his own kind, and I will go as a boy, perhaps as a squire.”
Bartholomew shook his head. “No one with any wits about them would fail to note that you are a woman. Your disguise, if that is what it is, works only in darkness.”
There was no question of having another woman disguised as a squire in the company. Anna would be quickly revealed, and that might prompt their host and his men to look more closely at their guests. Bartholomew would not so imperil Leila, who was garbed as one of Fergus’ squires and had answered to the name Laurent all the way from Jerusalem.
He pushed to his feet. “I think that our pretending to be a wedded couple might serve our needs well.”
“Which needs?” Anna demanded with obvious suspicion.
What had happened to her? Bartholomew might have guessed that she had been used by a knight for his pleasure, given her hostility toward his kind.
He spoke reasonably. “You do not trust me. I do not trust you. I can see no other way for us to be sure of each other’s actions at all times than to be pose as a wedded couple.”
“Your arguments would give the tale credence,” commented the Templar Enguerrand and his companion laughed.
“And visiting as guests will give us the opportunity to learn more of the keep and how well it is armed,” Fergus noted, to general agreement.
“There is another option, lass,” Duncan said. “You could remain bound and be taken as our prisoner. Doubtless the baron has a dungeon for villains.”
Bartholomew nodded approval, even as Anna looked daggers at Duncan. “A fine notion. I should know the precise location of our thief then.” He smiled at Anna, savoring her vexation a little more than he knew she appreciated. Aye, it was amusing to tease her, when her eyes made her thoughts so clear. “Perhaps you would find your brother there.”
Duncan grimaced. “Although it is likely the pair would be compelled to face the baron’s justice.”
“It might be a fitting solution,” Bartholomew mused. “Plus I could keep this crossbow,” he added, purely to annoy Anna.
It worked perfectly. Her eyes flashed and she struggled with new vigor.
“You are an irksome man, even for a French knight,” Anna growled, wriggling in her bonds. Aye, there was no hiding the ripe curves of her breasts and hips. Was she older than Leila?
She had kissed like a frightened maiden, though. Bartholomew found his interest growing.
“I shall take that as a compliment,” he said, as if disinterested in her fate. In truth, he was quite certain she would cede to his suggestion. “To the baron’s keep and his dungeons then at first light.” Bartholomew strode to the fire, intending to stir it up, even as his fellows began to prepare themselves to depart. “Even better, Fergus has no need to be generous with the gifts intended for his lady.”
“I cede!” Anna cried, and Bartholomew ignored her for a moment. “I said I cede, sir!”
“Did you hear something?” Bartholomew asked Duncan, who chuckled.
“I addressed you and you know it well,” Anna said with that same fury.
He looked upward. “The wind in the trees, perhaps.” The other knights chuckled then, and Anna fumed.
“You heard me well, you cursedly confident man!”
Bartholomew turned to face her, placing his hands on his hips. “Fear not, Anna. I will make as much haste as possible to see you reunited with Percy in the baron’s stronghold.”
He thought he heard her swear under her breath and fought the urge to laugh.
“We have a wager, sir.” Anna caught her breath and corrected herself. “ Bartholomew ,” she said through gritted teeth. “And I will not be the one to break it first.”
“So, we do have a wager.”
“We do.” She glared at him. “Sealed even with a kiss.”
He rubbed his brow. “But you are of these parts. What if you are recognized? We could all be cast in peril, then.”
“I daresay a wash will remove any chance of that,” Duncan said grimly. The men in the party laughed, and Anna fumed visibly.
“Surely your friend has a veil for his lady?” she suggested with hope.
“Surely he does,” he agreed. He reached for the knot of the rope. “We have a wager and now you must be made presentable.”
“I can garb myself.”
“But Duncan’s argument is a fair one. You are filthy and likely infested with vermin.” He made an elaborate grimace, just to see her eyes flash.
“I am not!”
“You do not look like any woman I would take to wife.” Bartholomew shook his head sagely. He was enjoying this encounter far too much. “Nay, if this ruse is to be plausible, I will see you scrubbed clean myself.”
“Oh! You will do no such thing!”
He lifted his hands away. “I thought you were not the one who would break our wager?”
“But you did not mention this earlier. I would not be displayed nude before you all.”
“Not before all.” He smiled. “Simply your lord husband.”
Anna looked willing to flay him alive.
“A wife should be biddable, Anna,” he reminded her gently. He knew he heard her teeth grind.
Then she smiled at him, the smile of a woman who preferred to see him thrashed. “A knight should be gallant, Bartholomew.”
Bartholomew laughed for he could not help himself. “And where is it writ that I will not be? Be easy, Anna. I do not partake of any feast unless it is willingly offered.”
She lifted her chin, her manner yet indignant. “I bathed at Samhain,” she informed him. “That is sufficient until Beltane.”
“A bath twice a year?” Bartholomew made a face. “That explains much of your scent, Anna.” Duncan chuckled at that and she glared at the men in turn.
“How oft do you bathe?” she demanded.
“As oft as possible,” Bartholomew replied and took note of Anna’s surprise. He stood her up then and felt the vibration of rebellion in her body as he untied her bonds. He met her gaze steadily, his manner serious in his intent to ensure she took his warning to heart. “Know that if you flee, I will catch you, and our discussions will not be as friendly as they are now.”
“I do not find our discussions so friendly as that.”
“I will destroy the crossbow and abandon your brother.” He fixed her with a look and her lips tightened. “Are we understood?”
“Swear it to me,” she demanded. “Swear that you will treat me with honor, and swear it on something of import to you. I have not known much good when at the mercy of knights.”
Bartholomew wondered what she had endured, for he saw a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. That fleeting expression changed all for him. He drew his sword and she flinched visibly, but he supported the weight of the blade on one palm. He showed her the pommel, which was formed of a rock crystal orb. The sphere had been halved once and a shard of wood trapped between the two halves. It was snared in a setting shaped like a dragon’s claw, which held the orb securely together.
“This is a splinter from the True Cross,” he informed Anna, whose eyes widened. “And this blade a gift from my patron and friend, who blessed me with such a weapon that I might always strike true.” He kissed the orb, then held the sword up so that the first rays of sunlight illuminated it. He heard Anna catch her breath. A shadow was cast upon the snow by the upraised blade, a cross with fire at its summit. She looked from the shadow to the sword to Bartholomew with obvious awe.
“Upon this talisman, I pledge to defend you as if you were my wife in truth, and to treat you with honor. I vow to do all within my power to see Percy set free, Duncan’s belongings returned, and you left safely wheresoever you desire.”
Anna swallowed visibly. “I swear to show you the same honor,” she whispered. Bartholomew offered the orb to her and she eyed it for a long moment, then touched her lips to the crystal. Her eyes closed and her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, the expression making her look angelic and sweet.
Her manner changed in that moment, for her defiance seemed to melt after her lips touched the token. She took a steadying breath before her gaze locked with his and her animosity was gone. “Thank you, Bartholomew,” she said quietly and he smiled at her.
Indeed, his heart gave a strange lurch, and he wondered if there would be more gained in this adventure than the return of Duncan’s saddlebag.
He sheathed his blade and untied her bonds, feeling that the fight had gone out of her. He did not trust her, that was certain, but he was glad to have reassured her.
And truth be told, he was looking forward to seeing her clean and suitably garbed. Was Anna a fair maiden? Bartholomew was curious indeed.
*
A shard of the True Cross.
Anna had never thought to see such a marvel. Given that assurance from any other, she would have doubted the relic to be genuine, but the reverence in Bartholomew’s gaze could not have been feigned. He could not have seen that the Templars both dropped to one knee when he held up the sword. Both Duncan and Fergus bowed their heads and crossed themselves, while the squires stared in awe. It was clear they all believed this prize to be what Bartholomew claimed.
It had seemed that a divine finger had touched the orb of crystal, sending a beam of light through it as if to approve of the marvel, or to endorse it. Either way, Anna had found herself convinced of the relic’s merit.
And much closer to acknowledging that the knight might have some merit as well. What manner of friends did he have, if one granted him such a prize as this for a gift?
He took her back to the river, the weight of his hand heavy on the back of her neck, leaving his armor behind. He also left his fellows behind and she was glad that she would not be exposed to all of them.
Could she trust him?
Bartholomew shed his tabard and boots while the last of the rope was still knotted around her knees and wrists. Anna could not resist the urge to steal glances at him but dared not look fully upon him. He tugged his chemise over his head and she saw that he was yet tanned from the summer’s sun. A fleeting glimpse revealed that he was also finely wrought and muscled. He returned to her in his chausses and she averted her gaze, blushing as he made quick work of the last knots.
Anna’s heart was thundering and her mouth was dry. There was no seduction in his manner, though, merely purpose, as if seeing her clean was merely a task to be done. His cloak was cast aside and he frowned at her wet and dirty garb. “You are filthy,” he muttered.
“It is easier to hide in the forest when one smells like the forest,” she countered.
He arched a brow. “I suppose that is one excuse for it. All of it, off. It will have to be burned.”
Anna hesitated to undress before him. Though she was not shy about nudity, she felt so in such a man’s presence. She did not wish him to see the token she kept hidden between her breasts. “Will you not turn your back?”
Bartholomew grinned. “Would you in my place?”
“You wish to look upon me.”
“I wish to ensure you do not take advantage of me.” He fixed her with an intent glance. “Would you turn your back upon me, were our roles reversed?”
She could not help but smile, for she would not have done so. “Still, I would keep some modesty,” she said, trying to sound haughty. The weight of the ring on the lace around her neck was sufficient reminder of the truth. Anna turned her back upon Bartholomew and kicked off her shoes, then untied her belt and tugged her tabard over her head. She hesitated before unknotting her chausses and he cleared his throat behind her.
“Do you have need of assistance?” he demanded with impatience. “Because I should be glad to be of aid, if you have trouble with the knot.”
“Not I,” she said and shed the chausses with speed. The chemise was long enough to cover her hips, and she glanced over her shoulder at him.
“All of it,” he commanded and grimaced. “I cannot even see what color your chemise once was. God’s wounds but this water is cold!”
Anna untied the lace at the neck as she stepped into the water. It was icy cold. She tugged the garment quickly over her head, flinging it toward him, then ducked into the stream so that her nudity was hidden from view.
She did not flee, although she wished to do as much. Instead, she turned in the water to regard him. “I will stay here,” she insisted. “And you will stay there.”
“You will be quick,” he countered. She shivered, having no doubt of that. “Timothy!” he called over his shoulder and Anna sank lower into the water. A boy, clearly his squire and the one he had summoned, scrambled down the slope. He presented several thick cloths to Bartholomew and a small piece of something pale. The boy glanced at Anna but she crossed her arms over her breasts, remaining low. Bartholomew cleared his throat and the boy raced back up the slope.
“Soap,” Bartholomew said, crouching on the bank to offer the lump to her. “And a thick cloth to scrub away that mire. Be quick or I will do it myself.”
Anna eased closer, not truly trusting him, but he granted her both. Their fingers brushed and he scowled at her. “You are already chilled. Show some haste, Anna, and a care for your own welfare.” Then he straightened and stared down at her, his arms folded across his chest, as imposing as she might imagine any man could be.
Under his watchful gaze, Anna worked the filth from her flesh. The soap smelled wonderful, finer than any she had ever be so fortunate as to use, and the cloth was both thick and woven as if for this very purpose. She had never felt the like. It was most luxurious. She scrubbed so hard that her skin warmed. Had she not been so cold, it might have turned rosy. As it was, she found it most welcome to feel clean again.
“Your face,” Bartholomew instructed and she washed it as bidden. Her face was buried in the cloth when he spoke again.
“Do you need assistance with your hair?”
Anna jumped at the sound of splashing water in close proximity. Evidently he had not awaited her reply, for she felt his hands in her hair. She stiffened, thinking he meant to dunk her, but he did not. He rubbed some potion into her scalp and through her hair, then dipped her into the river for a moment to rinse. She came up sputtering and heard his chuckle as she wiped the water from her eyes. She kept low in the water to hide her treasure, knowing he would assume she meant to hide her breasts.
“Are you a lady’s maid or a knight?” she demanded, and Bartholomew dunked her again.
“You are not the first ruffian I have seen cleaned,” he said with humor in his tone when she came up for air. Anna shook her head and wiped the water from her face to find him close beside her, a twinkle in his eyes as he studied her. “Well, well,” he murmured. “There was a pearl in the mire after all.”
Anna felt her cheeks heat and might have retreated from the warmth in his eyes but Bartholomew reached for the lace around her neck. “What is this?” he asked, his curiosity clear.
Anna closed a hand around the ring. “A token from a loved one,” she said. “And no matter for you to see.”
His eyes narrowed. “The lace is dirty, as well.”
“The lace will remain.”
Their gazes held for a long moment and she feared he would challenge her anew, Instead, his expression turned stern and he stepped back. “Recall your vow,” he said, then scrubbed his own face and hair. He was not two paces away from her and she knew she would not get far if she chose to run. In truth, she did not wish to break her pledge.
She took the opportunity to survey him and was even more impressed by his vigor. Indeed, Bartholomew was more well made than any man she had ever seen. She dared to take a better look while he could not observe her boldness. There was a scar on his chest, one obscured by the dark tangle of hair that grew there, but she could see that the flesh was puckered and reddened there.
Of course, it would have been strange for a knight to have not been scarred. To have had a wound so close to his heart, even a small one, could not have been a minor injury. She thought to ask him after it, but wagered he would want to see what hung on the lace around her neck in exchange.
He was one for bargains, to be sure.
And not a displeasing man. Anna found herself recalling that kiss and feeling an unfamiliar warmth flow through her body. If he did it again, she might allow herself to enjoy his touch a little. She wrung out her hair, wondering how she would see it braided as a lady’s hair should be. She had no idea how the feat was accomplished.
“Don the cloak,” Bartholomew advised, as she made for the bank. “Timothy will bring me clean linen and you should be covered when he returns.”
Anna did as instructed, well aware that he watched her with care. Once she was wrapped in the fullness of his cloak, she sat on a stone and tucked her feet beneath its folds to stay warm.
Bartholomew smiled that she did not flee and she felt a curious pleasure in his satisfaction. He strode out of the stream, shaking his head like a great dog, and she had ample opportunity to see his nudity. The water beaded on his tanned flesh and she took note of his obvious strength. He would be a formidable foe in battle, and she was glad to be entering the baron’s keep under his protection. His confidence was deserved, for he moved with an ease she found most alluring.
Timothy returned, once again moving with haste, and offered a heavy cloth to his knight. He gathered up the soap and cloths while Bartholomew dried himself, then presented clean linens. Bartholomew donned the chemise, which was whiter and finer than any Anna had seen before, then clean linen braies. His dark chausses went over the braies, then he donned his boots. He indicated that Timothy should gather her discarded clothing, then strode toward her and scooped her up into his arms before striding back to the camp.
“I can walk!”
“In bare feet, in winter?” He shook his head. “Hardly fitting for my lady wife.” He winked at her then, and Anna considered that this wager might have unexpected benefits. It had been long indeed since any soul had fended for her. Usually she cared for others.
Her dirty clothing was burned, despite her protests, upon the fire that was now blazing. A thick smoke rose into the morning sky and the Scotsman shook his head. “Our presence is not a secret any longer,” he murmured, and it was true.
Fergus and Bartholomew conferred over that Scottish knight’s collection of gifts for his betrothed, then Bartholomew brought Anna a linen chemise as fine and white as his own. A pair of stockings with red garters, fine leather shoes, and a splendid crimson kirtle with gold embroidery on the hem was also offered to her.
“I could not wear such a gown!” Anna could not hide her astonishment, which made Fergus laugh aloud.
“Consider it a wedding gift,” he teased.
“A necessary concession to see justice served,” Duncan agreed. “The hue would not favor Isobel, in my opinion.”
Fergus laughed again. “I fear you speak aright, although I like it well.”
Bartholomew considered Anna. “It will favor Anna, I believe.”
For her part, Anna was flustered by the generosity of the loan. “I shall ensure all is returned to you as pristine as in this moment,” she vowed.
“Do not pledge what you might not be able to see done,” Bartholomew said, and she wondered what they expected to find. They were all so suddenly grim that a chill struck her heart.
“What was within that saddlebag?” she asked and all but Bartholomew turned away.
“It is not for you to know,” he said tersely. “But any who looks upon it will not surrender it readily.”
What burden did these knights carry?
Would Percy pay for it with his life?
The notion was terrifying. She had to aid Bartholomew in making this ruse work.
*
Anna was beautiful.
Astonishingly so.
There could be no doubt that she was a woman, and once again, Bartholomew wondered at her age. Younger than him, he would guess, but not quite as young as Leila. Perhaps of an age with Lady Ysmaine’s maid Radegunde. Once garbed in the finery intended for Isobel, she would indeed look to be a noblewoman. Bartholomew dressed, donning his aketon and hauberk, glancing at Anna at intervals. She donned the stockings and shoes, then the chemise and he saw her marvel at its weave.
“It is so fine,” she murmured, then impaled him with a glance. He had just tugged on his hauberk and Timothy was fastening his belt. He noted again the shadow between her breasts, the one caused by that token that hung upon the lace, and wondered what she treasured.
Anna sat down, drawing his cloak over her shoulders again. “But there is one matter I cannot see done,” she said. He thought she meant to defy him, but she lifted the weight of her wet hair. “I do not know how to braid it as noblewomen do.”
Bartholomew was flummoxed. “Nor do I,” he admitted, seeing the flaw in their scheme.
“She should have a maid,” Fergus added, though his tone was more indicative of a man with a solution than one finding a problem.
Of course. Bartholomew turned to Leila, who was watching him keenly. The Saracen girl had been his friend in Jerusalem and had journeyed this far in their company disguised as a squire.
She cleared her throat and spoke gruffly. “My cousin oft asked me to braid her hair,” she said, maintaining the guise of being a boy. “I could be of aid.”
Bartholomew knew that Leila had fled a marriage arranged by her uncle and, though she had never confessed the details, he was certain she must have good cause to have left all she knew. Fergus had offered Leila the position as his squire. He said no more, for the surrender of her disguise had to be Leila’s choice. He assumed the tale of the cousin was a lie, meant to disguise the fact that she had braided her own hair once.
What did she intend to do in Scotland? Had she considered her future, now that Outremer was far behind them?
Leila rummaged in her small bag of possessions and removed a comb. It was carved of a fine golden wood. Duncan started at the sight of it and Leila smiled at him.
“Radegunde gave it to me,” she admitted and he nodded. Apparently the man-at-arms had seen it before. Fortunately, none of those unaware of Leila’s truth found it odd that a maid would give a comb to a squire.
Yet.
Leila went to Anna’s side and reached for the ends of her hair. Anna wrinkled her nose and gave Bartholomew a disparaging glance. “What is the point of a bath, if the squire who aids me smells of dung?” Before he could reply, she turned sharply to face Leila. Her eyes narrowed, her gaze dancing from Leila’s hands to her face.
Bartholomew knew the moment that Anna realized the truth, for her lips parted in surprise. She tried to hide her reaction, but he had already noted that she had little talent for subterfuge. Indeed, she turned to him, a question in her eyes.
Leila, meanwhile, put the comb in Anna’s hands. She straightened and turned to Fergus, then bowed. “My lord,” she said in her usual voice, speaking French. “I believe it is time.”
“The choice was always yours to make,” he replied, inclining his head and smiling approval.
The Templars looked between them with evident confusion, a reaction shared by their squires. Anna clearly did not understand the exchange, though she had guessed the truth of Leila’s sex.
Leila retrieved the small bag that she had carried since their departure from Chamont-sur-Maine, and Bartholomew realized that Radegunde must have given her more than a comb. The two women had seemed to become friends after the party’s departure from Paris. Had that been Duncan’s doing? He looked indulgent in this moment, as if all came to pass as he had anticipated.
Leila put out a hand before Timothy, requesting the soap. The boy surrendered it after confirming with Bartholomew that he was permitted to do so. He looked no less confused than the Templars, but Hamish and Duncan were unsurprised.
Leila made for the stream with purpose, even as the rest of the party stared after her. Moments later, she could be heard splashing, out of sight. At a nod from Fergus, the boys served the last of their bread and cheese that they might break their fast. There was a wineskin with a last measure of red wine from Gaston’s abode, and a few apples yet, but it was time for them to find more provisions. Bartholomew doubted that he was the sole one who would have welcomed a hot meal.
Anna ate with haste, showing an astonishing appetite and one that made him wonder when last she had eaten at all. By the time Leila strode up the slope from the stream, they were preparing to depart. Every man and boy in the company turned at the sound of her footsteps and each one of them stared.
Anna was not the sole one transformed. Leila wore a simple kirtle of a green hue and a leather belt. She wore yet the same boots and her dark hair curled around her face. Though she had cut her hair in Jerusalem, there could be no doubting that she was a maiden, and an alluring one.
Bartholomew smiled, even as many of his fellows stared in astonishment.