The Crusader's Kiss

by Claire Delacroix

  “She yearns for a child, and Sir Royce has not given her one.”

  Anna’s lips parted in outrage. “She would conceive a bastard and deceive her lord husband?”

  “I had need of her aid.” Bartholomew flung out a hand. “She named the terms.”

  “But she is wed! Surely there is no honor in adultery?”

  He gritted his teeth, for he had already turned this question in his thoughts. “None,” he acknowledged. “Yet I am caught by my vow.”

  “You do not have to do it. She cannot come after you in this place. She will never reach you.” Anna glared at him. “You could forget your pledge.”

  “I gave my word,” Bartholomew insisted. “If I break my vow because it no longer suits me to keep it, what manner of man would I be?”

  Anna audibly ground her teeth. “Yet if she does conceive, that child might be a boy.” She shook her head. “A boy who could challenge your claim to Haynesdale!”

  Bartholomew grimaced, for he had not considered that possibility.

  “You might ensure that Royce’s heir can make a competing claim to your own after Royce is dead.”

  “I promised, Anna.”

  Anna turned away. “It is a wicked bargain, to be sure,” she murmured. “And one that cannot end well.” She appealed to him again. “Do you not see that she will see her husband rid of the threat of the true heir? She saw you saved, but the price is your sacrifice!”

  Bartholomew shook his head. “Nay, she cares naught for such detail. I believe she seeks only to leave Haynesdale…”

  “No matter who bears the cost! What a selfish fiend of a woman!” Anna began to pace the riverbank in his stead, periodically kicking ice into the river. “And you!” She spun to fling out a hand toward him. “You believe all the people in Christendom to be as noble as you. What innocence is this? What folly! You are fool enough to trust her!”

  “I gave my word. To break it would make me one of those people you condemn.”

  “You will step into a trap!”

  “Indeed, I might.” He arched a brow. “You could grant me some credit. I ask your assistance in finding a way to evade this obligation.”

  “With your honor yet intact?” He nodded and Anna growled. “Understand that Lady Marie is a fair match for Sir Royce, which means that she sees solely to her own advantage. She might be lovely and she might have fine manners, but her heart is as a stone. She might seduce you to conceive that son, but cares little if you are captured or killed for so doing.” She seized a fistful of his chemise and gave him a shake. “Do you not see that she will betray you? She could not suffer to let a man who had claimed her live, for he might tell of it. If she were charged as an adulteress, she could lose all!”

  “She might lose all if the king agreed to grant Haynesdale to me.”

  “Exactly! And this is why both she and Royce would see you dead.” She shook her head and leaned toward him. “Do not go. Do not put yourself in such peril.”

  Bartholomew shook his head. “I must go, but I would find a way to survive the interval.”

  Anna’s gaze simmering and she paced the riverbank again. “When do you meet her?”

  “After midday on the first day without snow. At the old mill.”

  “Vexing man,” Anna muttered. She tipped her head back and considered the pale hue of the sky. The snow fell thickly and it seemed that there was only snow as far as the eye could see. “But the truth is that otherwise, I should not admire you so.”

  Bartholomew chuckled. “I could say much the same of you.”

  “It appears you have some time,” she mused, then turned a sparkling glance upon him. “However do you mean to pass it?”

  He smiled and rose to his feet, seeing the anticipation in her eyes as he came to her side. “I hoped you might also have a suggestion about that.” He dropped his hands to her shoulders and smiled down at her. “I love you, Anna.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.” He smiled as he watched her eyes light with pleasure. “I want all of this to come right, but cannot yet see a way for it to be so.”

  “Nor can I,” she admitted, tangling her fingers with his own. “But there is one deed I would ask of you.”

  “What is that?”

  “To give me a memory, one to warm me all the winters of my life that I will be without you.” Her eyes shone with her conviction and Bartholomew’s throat tightened. “I understand what you can promise and what you cannot, and why it must be so, but I love you as well.” She sighed. “Let me have you so long as it snows, for that is better than not at all.”

  It was an invitation he could not refuse. Bartholomew framed her face in his hands and claimed her lips with his own, savoring all the passion that Anna had to give.

  He would grant her memories and to spare.

  When he broke their kiss, she smiled up at him, her ardor clear in her gaze. “Perhaps we might discover exactly how much a mortal man can endure of love play,” she suggested, her tone teasing, and he could think of no better way to spend this time, however long it might be.

  “Once again, I take your challenge, Anna.” Bartholomew declared, and kissed her anew. He loved the passion of her response, that she was both honest and intrepid, and wished they could be together for all time.

  He swung her into his arms and strode for the cavern, not caring who saw them or what was said. There was only Anna, Anna and the sweet fury of her kiss, and all the joy they could summon together.

  * * *

  Royce was pacing the hall when Gaultier answered his summons. He fully expected an outbreak of temper from his overlord, since the prisoner had escaped and one of the finest archers was dead.

  “I have heard the testimony of Roger,” he said, gesturing to the one bowman who had returned from pursuit of the prisoner. “He brings most curious tidings.”

  “Indeed, sir?” Gaultier had not questioned Roger, but sent him immediately to Royce to make his report, as the body of his companion had to be retrieved. He braced himself for Royce’s reaction to more bad news. “The other men have returned, sir, for they could not discern the trail of the escaped prisoner and his comrade.”

  “It does not matter,” Royce said, to Gaultier’s surprise. “This Bartholomew will return here to the keep. He can do naught else.”

  “Sir?”

  “Have you not heard the tales of the one true son doomed to reclaim Haynesdale, Gaultier? I thought them nonsense, or willful thinking, and perhaps it is nonsense, but this knight, Bartholomew, believes himself to be the son of my predecessor, Baron Nicholas.” Royce paced more quickly. “He will meet his father’s end, to be sure.”

  Gaultier glanced at Roger and held his tongue.

  “Sooner or later, I will be rid of him.” Royce straightened suddenly, then smiled. Evidently some detail had occurred to him. “Perhaps sooner than he anticipates.”

  “Sir?”

  Royce dismissed Roger then seated himself. He smirked at the Captain of the Guard. “How could it be, Gaultier, that my wife left this hall to say her prayers in the chapel, yet did not see the thieves when they entered the same chapel?”

  Gaultier blinked. “How do you know they were in the chapel, my lord?”

  “The cabinet by the altar, the one for the prizes of the chapel, was unlocked. It is never left so.” Royce lifted his gaze to Gaultier. “They were there, likely in the same moment as my lady wife.”

  If the cabinet had been open, Gaultier had to agree. He had seen Lady Marie that morning, walking toward the stable, before the hue and cry had been raised about an intruder. “Did they claim the prize, my lord?”

  Royce raised a finger. “Fortunately, I had the foresight to move it to a more secure location.”

  Gaultier assumed that was in his lord’s own chamber.

  “But consider the course of my lady wife. Not only was she in the chapel, but she chose to visit her mare in the stables, immediately after her prayers,” Royce continued. “Where not only anothe
r sentry had been left bound and silenced, but a rope had been lowered into the sewer.”

  “The sewer was their means of escape, my lord. The grill on the other end had been removed.”

  Royce nodded. “But what of my lady wife? Does she truly know naught?”

  Gaultier was not such a fool as to accuse his baron’s wife of any crime. “Women do not always observe keenly as men, sir….”

  Royce interrupted him with a short laugh. “Or perhaps she lies, Gaultier.” He rose to his feet anew, paced the chamber quickly, then spun to face him. “Where was my lady wife when the intruders were discovered?”

  “Before the stables, sir.”

  “Exactly. And how many times was she said to have gone from chapel to stables?”

  “Twice, sir, for she forgot her psalter the first time.”

  “And one has dire need of a psalter when visiting a mare.” Royce strolled toward Gaultier. “How often does my wife visit her mare?”

  “I cannot think of the last time, sir.”

  “Exactly! What if my lady wife did see the intruders in the chapel? What if she spoke to them there?” He halted before the Captain of the Guard, his expression exultant. “What if she made a wager with them, that she would aid in their escape?”

  Gaultier could not imagine what a thief could offer to the lady of Haynesdale. “To what purpose, sir? Does she know that this villain believes himself to be destined to take your place?” It seemed folly for Lady Marie to ally herself with such a man while her own husband was yet in command of the keep, but Gaultier had never troubled himself to understand the thinking of women. They had but one purpose in his view, and it was not conversation.

  Royce clapped him on the shoulder, his manner amiable. “I like that your thoughts do not readily travel the same path as mine, Gaultier. It is a good sign for our shared future.”

  “Sir?”

  “I do not know what my wife schemes, Gaultier, but I would find out. Ensure that Lady Marie is followed whenever she leaves the keep and do as much without detection.”

  “She does not leave the keep often, sir.”

  “I think she will find an excuse to do as much and soon.”

  Understanding dawned in Gaultier’s thoughts. “You think she will meet with the young knight.”

  “I think she has made an agreement and must collect her price. We shall see whether he is fool enough to pay it.” Royce drained his cup of ale. “I wonder whether he is bold enough to enter this keep willingly again,” he mused. “Be sure you post a sentry to watch the windows of her chamber.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Friday, January 22, 1188

  Feast Day of the martyr Saint Anastasius

  Chapter Twelve

  Finally, the snow had stopped.

  And not an hour too soon. It was morning still. As the sky cleared, Marie’s hope rose that her goal would be achieved within hours. She stood at the window of her chamber and surveyed the village outside the gates of the keep. Smoke rose from the roofs of the houses that were still occupied, and she was relieved that the population of the village had not been diminished yet again.

  Her relief was not selfless. She had need of the elderly apothecary. It would have been most inconvenient if he had not survived the storm.

  She called for her heaviest boots and her thickest cloak, insisting that her maid Agnes search for the fur-lined gloves she had not worn yet this winter. The maids dressed quickly once Marie was garbed, knowing full well that she might leave them behind.

  The trio descended the stairs, and Marie felt rather than saw that they were watched.

  Of course, Royce was absurdly suspicious. She pivoted and sought him out deliberately, as if she was required to ask his permission for every step she took.

  “My lord,” she murmured when she found him at his books. “I would beg your leave to visit the village this morn.”

  She saw the gleam in his eye when he glanced up, though he quickly hid his satisfaction. “Why would you venture into the cold, my lady?”

  “No ordeal is too much for me to bear, sir, in the pursuit of our common goal.”

  He leaned back, surveying her. “Which goal might that be?”

  “The conception of a son and heir, of course!” She gestured to the maids who stood demurely behind her. “Emma reminds me that an apothecary in her mother’s village had a potion to hasten conception, and I recalled that there is an old apothecary in your own village. I would beg his assistance this day, sir.”

  “How strange that Emma recalls this incident only now.”

  Marie laughed lightly. “Memory is a strange thing, my lord. We were talking during the storm of other such foul weather we had known, and Agnes recalled her aunt laboring to deliver a child in a snowstorm, when all feared the midwife would not arrive in time.” She stepped forward and lowered her voice, as if her words were for Royce alone. “Indeed, sir, that prompted me to confide my disappointment in my maids for the first time. It is not fitting for them to realize that we have any weaknesses, but in this instance, I think the confession may lead to good result.”

  Royce sensed the deception, to be sure. He considered her for a long moment. “I thought you shared all with Agnes and Emma,” he murmured, speaking in English obviously in the hope that they might not understand.

  More fool he, for both maids were fluent in French, English and German. Marie was glad once again to have her assets underappreciated.

  “Only what is fitting, sir,” Marie lied. She pouted a little. “Surely you, too, would like to see this quest achieved.”

  He smiled and waved at her. “Of course, my lady. I hope only that you will grace the board at midday.”

  “Of course,” she agreed, smiling so that he would not note how she gritted her teeth. She turned back to her maids at his dismissal and marched to the hall, with them in quick pursuit. “After all,” she murmured under her breath. “Who would miss yet another meal of venison stew? Oh, what I would do for a measure of butter and honey spread on fresh bread!”

  Butter and honey were the least of Marie’s ordeals at Haynesdale, however. There was but one way to secure her freedom, and that was with the son. She had not lied about her intention of seeking that particular potion from the apothecary.

  But she planned to seek another, as well.

  They were followed by Gaultier—discreetly, but not so discreetly that she was unaware of his presence—which proved the merit of her foresight.

  Aye, she would have the encouragement to conception and the sleeping potion, too.

  Perhaps double of it, just to be sure that both Royce and his Captain of the Guard dreamed sweetly this afternoon.

  * * *

  Bartholomew could not evade his obligation. The sunlight filled the opening to the cavern with a radiance that could not be ignored. The fresh snow glittered in the forest, inviting him to keep his vow. He wanted to linger with Anna but this task must be behind him. She was awake, nestled against him, her fingertips tracing circles around the mark upon his chest.

  How would he keep his word to Marie without sullying them both with an adulterous act? It was a riddle, and consideration had not revealed a solution.

  Perhaps there was not one.

  He rose from the bed with a heavy heart and began to dress. Anna was watching him, her expression wary, and he knew she would not be silent for long.

  That she was so forthright was part of what he loved most about her. He wanted her to be happy, even in his absence, but wondered whether he had erred in being honest. Had he destroyed her future happiness by confessing his love to her? All the same, he could not regret the sweetness they had found in each other’s touch.

  It seemed he could do naught right since coming to Haynesdale.

  “Will you assist me with the aketon?” Bartholomew asked, marveling that she had not spoken so far. Anna rose and came to him, splendid in her nudity, and as bold now in intimacy as she was in all other matters.

  Pe
rhaps he had achieved something.

  “Why do you smile?”

  “Because you are beautiful.” He caught her nape in his hand and kissed her, lifting his lips from hers with such reluctance that she smiled in her turn.

  “Turn around,” she murmured, bending to pick up the aketon. He did not immediately follow her instruction, but savored the sight of her instead. Her hair fell over her shoulder in a dark curtain, and he yearned to kiss her fair skin again and conjure her passion once more.

  But there was no time.

  Bartholomew donned the aketon, turning his back upon her. Anna laced it with care, and he guessed that she lingered over the task to delay his departure. Her hands landed on the back of his shoulders and he wondered why she stopped.

  “What if,” she began softly and he glanced over his shoulder to find her frowning. “What if Royce died?”

  “I told you…”

  “Nay, I know you will not kill him outright, but what if he died in a battle of honor?”

  “I do not understand.”

  Anna knotted the lace. “If Royce died and you wed Marie, would the king look more favorably upon your request to hold Haynesdale’s seal?”

  Bartholomew did not wish to think about wedding a woman like Marie. He imagined her charm would flee quickly once nuptial vows were exchanged, but Anna was so intent that he considered the question. “He might.” He shrugged. “It might be seen as continuity in the administration of the holding. It is difficult to say.”

  Anna nodded. “But the treasury of Haynesdale would become your possession then, as Baron of Haynesdale by her, so you would then be able to pay the escheat.”

  “But Royce would still have to die.” Bartholomew frowned. “Plus the problem remains that I must keep my word, but would prefer not to commit an indiscretion with another man’s wife.”

  She met his gaze. “So meet her, but be discovered before any such indiscretion is committed. Be challenged by Royce and fight him, man to man.”

  Bartholomew lifted his hauberk, considering this. He tugged it over his head and Anna laced the back for him, then helped him to don his tabard.