The Crusader's Kiss

by Claire Delacroix

  “You will earn it, if we retrieve the saddlebag with your aid,” that knight replied. He smiled at Leila, who was hastily breaking her fast.

  “Which means we must know all you can tell us of this baron, his household, and his defenses,” Bartholomew said. “His keep cannot be far by the road.” He was looking forward to seeing the keep in daylight, for there had been naught familiar about it in the night. Perhaps he would recognize it better this morning, and from the vantage point of the road.

  Surely there could not be two holdings called Haynesdale? Nay, it could not be so, for Anna had shared the tale of his own father. Bartholomew was the seed of Nicholas, and his arrival was evidently anticipated by Anna.

  Still, it was disconcerting to have no memory of this place at all.

  He watched as Anna considered the height of the sun. “This road leads directly to his gates. With such steeds and a stately pace, we will reach it by midday.”

  “An excellent time for guests to arrive,” Fergus said with satisfaction.

  “A hot meal would be welcome,” Duncan said, echoing Bartholomew’s own thoughts.

  “Not a cup of ale?” Fergus teased and they laughed together.

  Bartholomew nodded. “Then we should set out, that we are at his gates before we are discovered and believed to be trespassers.” He smiled at Anna. “As you have no steed, my lady, it seems you must ride with me.”

  “I could ride with my maid,” she countered with familiar defiance.

  “You could, if I trusted you.” Bartholomew strode to Zephyr, who stamped in anticipation of a run. “Or if I did not wish to confer with you about our host.”

  Anna folded her arms across her chest, showing no inclination to do as he suggested. “But what of this company? Who are you all and from whence did you ride? How did such a company come to be assembled? And what is your destination?”

  “We ride from Jerusalem,” Fergus said to Bartholomew’s relief. “For I return to Scotland for my nuptials, after the completion of my service with the order.”

  “We brought tidings of events in Outremer to the Temple in Paris,” Bartholomew added.

  “And once there, the gratitude of the Grand Master was such that he granted Fergus an escort to his home,” Duncan said, gesturing to the two Templars. They bowed their heads to Anna.

  “Enguerrand,” confided one.

  “Yvan,” added the other.

  “Jerusalem?” Anna echoed in awe. “You rode from the Holy City itself?”

  Bartholomew nodded. “We did.”

  “And why do you go to Scotland?” she demanded of him.

  “To witness the nuptials of my friend, of course.”

  “But you are not of the order?”

  He shook his head.

  “Do you have a holding?”

  “I praise God that you are not overly curious,” Fergus drawled, and Duncan chuckled.

  Anna turned on him, fire in her eyes. “If I am to be his bride, then I should know some detail of his life.”

  Fergus shrugged. “We should all like to know more of Bartholomew’s secrets,” he drawled and she turned to Bartholomew anew.

  “I have no secrets,” he said softly.

  “Nay?” Fergus asked. “Then why the insistence upon this road?”

  “And why the departure from Gaston’s abode?” Duncan added.

  Bartholomew held his ground. “I wished to see your home and more of the world, no more than that,” he said, though he imagined Fergus remained skeptical. He bowed to the other knight. “But perhaps you, when you come into your inheritance, will see your way to offering me a post in your keep.”

  Fergus lifted a brow. “After you declined a similar offer from Gaston? It might well be a waste of breath.”

  “And it might not.” Bartholomew had not told them of his hope for Haynesdale, but he had insisted they travel by this route. He knew that both men were curious beyond all, and was relieved when the subject was dropped. He felt a strange conviction that to express his dream aloud would reveal the folly of it.

  Anna bit her lip. “So it is the promise of goodwill that keeps you by his side.”

  Bartholomew chose to tease her. “I am only practical. We must eat something, wife, particularly if we are to have sons.” Duncan smiled and turned to his steed.

  Anna held his gaze for a long moment, her intensity making his heart leap. It was almost as if she guessed the truth that he did not wish to utter aloud, as if she discerned the secret he hid from all.

  But that was impossible.

  “You are a wretchedly confident man,” she said with a shake of her head. “To take a bride with no means of supporting her is most audacious.”

  Bartholomew grinned despite himself, for he would never have committed such an impetus deed.

  “Perhaps he trusts that the course of love will run true,” Fergus teased.

  Anna flushed. “Perhaps he is fortunate that our match is but a tale,” she countered. “Were I truly a bride and learned as much of my husband’s scheme, I might well abandon the match.”

  “You could not if it had been consummated,” Bartholomew observed.

  “Then I am the fortunate one,” she retorted. “For I have yet a choice.”

  Bartholomew grinned at her. “Was that a challenge, my lady? Shall I see you seduced this night to ensure that your choice is made?”

  Though his tone was teasing, again her reaction was vehement. “You could not. You would not!” She even retreated from him.

  “I might convince you.”

  Anna flushed furiously and strode toward the horses. It proved that her elegant manners were readily abandoned, for she moved with her former purpose. “Vexing man,” she muttered.

  “’Tis why you love me,” Bartholomew countered. “I see the truth of it in your eyes.”

  “Wretch,” she whispered, but her blush deepened.

  “Their match was destined to be,” Fergus teased but Anna ignored him.

  Bartholomew swung into the saddle, then urged Zephyr toward a fallen log. Anna climbed atop it, more agile than any lady he had ever known. He held her hand and she used the stirrup to climb and ride pillion behind him. She had donned his cloak again and flicked it out of the way as she positioned herself, then draped it over Zephyr’s back with Leila’s assistance. Then the younger woman climbed into the saddle of her palfrey.

  “You will have to touch me, my lady,” he advised quietly when Anna did not lean against him.

  She gave a sigh of forbearance. “I suppose it is inevitable, my lord,” she ceded with such feigned deference that he could not bite back his smile.

  “Is my wish not your command?” he teased.

  “Do not vex me overmuch, sir,” Anna countered. “Not if you mean to sleep in my company.”

  “Surely Leila will defend me,” he retorted.

  “Surely she will,” that maiden replied with vigor. “For there are no more noble knights in Christendom than those of this company, particularly my lady’s lord husband. No woman could ever find a better man.”

  Bartholomew felt Anna’s surprise at this endorsement of his character and realized there might be additional benefit to having Leila act as Anna’s maid. Anna’s arms wound around his waist and she leaned cautiously against his back.

  Bartholomew felt a strange satisfaction to have her weight against him. He clicked his tongue, and Zephyr tossed his head, prancing toward the road. The party arranged itself in pairs, Bartholomew and Fergus at the fore, and the Templars at the rear. Duncan rode in the midst with Leila, Timothy and Hamish ahead of them and the Templars’ squires behind. They reached the road, which was of pounded dirt but even and straight, and the steeds began to canter.

  Bartholomew swallowed, both anxious for a better glimpse of the keep that might be his birthright and fearful of what their arrival would bring.

  * * *

  What a remarkable company. The more she learned of Bartholomew and his fellows, the more Anna was inclined to
believe that they might succeed in retrieving both their saddlebag and Percy from the baron’s keep. They did have unexpected advantages and seemed most intrepid.

  Indeed, her terror was rapidly being replaced with anticipation.

  Her curiosity about the contents of that saddlebag also grew with every passing moment.

  “Now tell us of this baron,” Fergus invited her.

  “Nay, first my lady wife has need of a name,” Bartholomew said. “You cannot simply be Anna, the smith’s daughter.”

  Anna bristled that her name was insufficient for him. “Because a knight of your stature, with no holding to his name, would not deign to wed so low?” she asked sweetly.

  Bartholomew laughed and surprised her with his response. “Nay, because you will be betrayed by the familiarity of your name and recognized despite the change in your appearance. Then Percy shall not escape the dungeon and that is not our goal.”

  “I do not advise use of another name,” Leila contributed. “Lest you err and fail to respond to a summons. It is the easiest error to make and a most revealing one.”

  Anna guessed that Leila had made such an error in their journey. “But Anna is a common enough name,” she said.

  “Can we create a title?” Fergus asked. “Do we dare to be so bold?”

  “The baron is most well connected,” Anna said. “It must be a name he knows but not a person he has met.”

  “She could have ridden with us from Outremer, or even France,” Duncan suggested.

  Anna shook her head. “But I have never seen either of those places. I believe Sir Royce has gone to the king’s court in Normandy. And I do not speak French.”

  “A small question could reveal the ruse,” Leila said.

  “So, we have need of a noblewoman unknown to the baron, perhaps because she does not exist, with a title known to the baron.” Fergus ran a hand through his hair.

  “There will be a riddle to solve,” Bartholomew agreed. He glanced over his shoulder at Anna, his eyes gleaming. “Unless you know the solution already, my lady.”

  Anna smiled at him, glad she did and equally glad that he had anticipated as much. “There was a widow, Elizabeth of Whitby, whose wealth was much coveted after her husband’s demise. She had a daughter, name of Anna, and feared they both would be forcibly wed once they had no defender. She fled their holding with her daughter to seek refuge at the abbey of Saint Mary.”

  “When was this?” Fergus asked.

  “More than ten years ago. My mother used to recount the tale as a mark of foul times.”

  “How so?” Fergus asked.

  “The lady Elizabeth died, for they were betrayed and assaulted upon the road. But her maid took the child and reached the abbey. Once there, the abbess saw them both defended. It was said that the girl took her vows young and meant to live her days serving God. She would be of an age with me, and none have seen her since she was a child.”

  “And none will see her soon, if she remains in the abbey,” Bartholomew mused. “So, you would suggest that she had changed her thinking?”

  “She might have been stolen by a wicked knight,” Anna replied and felt Bartholomew’s chuckle beneath her hands.

  “Aye, she might have,” he agreed, then twisted the tale. “But she was rescued from such dire peril by our company, it is clear.”

  “Nay, she was snatched from the villain’s clutches by the knight, Bartholomew de Châmont-sur-Maine, a valiant crusader if ever there had been one, and a warrior much concerned with justice,” Fergus suggested, even as Anna sputtered in protest.

  Bartholomew lifted a fist to his chest. “Do not tell me that she lost her heart to him?”

  Fergus nodded sagely. “Smitten with but a glance. She cast aside her vows and begged him to wed her. I witnessed it all.”

  “Nay!” Anna protested, but heard laughter in her own tone. “You two steal the tale.”

  “Only to create a finer one,” Bartholomew said. “I would not be cast as a rapacious villain.”

  “No knight of merit could endure such an assault upon his nature,” Fergus agreed so solemnly that Anna wanted to believe him.

  “Must I have begged him to wed me, though? It is not like me to make such an entreaty.”

  “Aye, I can believe as much.” Fergus shook a finger at her. “But such is the power of love. It turns us all into fools, desperate for the favor of our beloved.”

  “So speaks a man who has lost his heart,” Anna guessed, and Fergus winked at her, unashamed of his state. He had brought many gifts for his betrothed and she admired that he was unafraid for others to know his affection.

  “Although I should like to see Anna beg for my mercy,” Bartholomew said, once again teasing her. “Would you oblige me, my lady wife?”

  “I will not!”

  “But then,” Fergus dropped his voice low. “Perhaps the maiden only so entreated the knight because she saw that in his eyes that he had lost his heart to her.”

  Bartholomew gave a snort.

  “A knight must have a heart to lose it,” Anna replied. “And I am skeptical that it is thus. It seems a dubbing does destroy all compassion in a man.”

  She felt the shock ripple through the company and realized belatedly that in speaking her thoughts aloud, she had insulted them all.

  “We must show Anna that she has not seen the true merit of our kind,” Fergus said quietly.

  “Indeed, we must,” Bartholomew said, and Anna could discern no playfulness in his tone. His hand closed over hers for a moment and gave her fingers a squeeze.

  She did not know how to account for the influence of this fleeting touch upon her pulse.

  “I must protest this scheme,” huffed one of the Templars. “We cannot perpetuate such a falsehood.”

  “Not even to ensure that the lady’s welfare is defended?” asked Fergus.

  “Or the property regained that we hold in trust?” Duncan asked.

  What had been in his saddlebag?

  “Or the lady’s brother saved from what cannot be a good fate?” Bartholomew added.

  The pair of knights looked uncomfortable with the situation, but reluctantly ceded that there was merit in the plan. Anna assumed that they would neither aid in the ruse nor reveal it, and supposed it was the best to be hoped for.

  After a few moments, Duncan cleared his throat. “And so, you shall be Anna of Whitby?” he asked.

  “Anna de Beaumonte,” Anna replied. “That was her name.”

  “You would feign to be French?” Bartholomew asked. “But you do not understand the language.”

  “I would scarce be the first in such a situation.”

  “Particularly if she had come of age in an abbey,” Fergus replied. “Perhaps the nuns spoke only English.”

  “And Latin at their prayers,” Bartholomew added.

  “I do know my prayers,” Anna said.

  “Praise be,” Bartholomew teased.

  “You would not wish to be seen as a heathen,” Leila said, and Anna wondered at the heat in her words.

  Fergus nodded approval. “No solution is perfect, but I think this one that will work sufficiently well.”

  “I fear she will be tested and revealed,” Bartholomew said, and his concern had merit.

  “We will not linger overlong in the baron’s hall,” Fergus replied.

  “Just long enough to collect our due,” Bartholomew agreed.

  “And you have said that we must always be together, husband mine,” Anna reminded him sweetly. “Surely you can ensure that any error on my part is turned aright?”

  “I shall have to try,” Bartholomew said grimly and she could feel that his body was more taut.

  Was he afraid for her?

  Did he truly mean to defend her?

  The possibility sent a strange warmth through Anna, though she knew she could protect herself. She spared a glance to her own crossbow hanging from Bartholomew’s saddle and wished for its weight in her hand once again.

  But s
he would keep her word to this confounding knight.

  If only because she suspected that Bartholomew anticipated otherwise.

  “Now tell us of this baron,” Fergus invited again. “We must know all we can of the lion before stepping into his den.”

  * * *

  Haynesdale forest was utterly unfamiliar.

  Bartholomew had hoped that the lands of his home estate from the road would conjure some memories of his past. He had hoped that a glimpse or a view or a hillside would inspire a recollection that proved his connection with this holding. He had the name memorized, and he knew its seal, but he yearned for a sense of homecoming.

  Like the one Gaston had experienced at Châmont-sur-Maine, or the one that Fergus anticipated at Killairic. Bartholomew wished above all else to know where he belonged.

  To be home and know it well.

  Yet these forests were no different from any other.

  It was true enough that he had been taken away from Haynesdale when he was but a young boy, but still he reasoned that he should recall some detail. There was none. The forests were clearly lush with game, the land gently rolling, and he had occasional glimpses of water through the barren trees.

  But as much as Bartholomew admired the view, he could have been anywhere between Scotland and Constantinople. He could have ridden a road he had never visited before. He could have erred, but he knew the name of the holding as well as his own name. His mother had impressed that upon him, at least.

  In more ways than one.

  It was strange to have his return anticipated, even in a tale, and he recognized that revealing his truth too early could be a fatal error.

  How did any know that he had survived?

  Was it just a hope of the people who disliked the new baron?

  Or could some person betray him? He fought an unwelcome sense that it might be Anna herself who could do as much and resolved to confide as little as possible in his unexpected partner.

  They would see Percy free, retrieve Duncan’s bag, then his path and Anna’s would part forever. Indeed, visiting the hall might provide him with an inside view of how best to recover his lost legacy. Without learning the situation, he could not devise a plan.