The Crusader's Kiss

by Claire Delacroix

  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 th
rough 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 Châmont-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.
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br />   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.