“Not since daybreak, my lord, when he could not be roused from sleep.”
What was this? Royce had seen him in the bailey, when the priest had arrived. He hammered on the door of Marie’s chambers, entering without awaiting an invitation. She was packing bundles and froze at the sight of him. “I would give the possessions of Agnes to the poor,” she said with a proud lift of her chin.
Royce continued into the chamber with a frown. There were far too many bundles and trunks, to his view. “Agnes did not own so much as this,” he protested. He lifted a kirtle from one bag. “And this is the kirtle I gave to you two years ago, at Easter.”
“I gave it to Agnes.”
“You did not. You would depart yourself! And without my permission.”
Marie’s eyes narrowed. “I do not need your permission,” she began and he struck her hard, across the face.
“You most certainly do,” he retorted. “As my wife, you are my chattel, and you will do as I instruct. You will not leave until I bid you do so.” He smiled. “Fear not, it may be soon.”
Her lip curled. “And you would remain here, in this keep built with my father’s coin, spending the dowry that should see to my comfort for all the days of my life.”
“I can make those days shorter, if you would prefer. Indeed, I wonder if I might have need of a younger wife, the better to ensure I have a son.”
Marie’s outrage was clear. “You would not dare to put me aside. The king chose me as your spouse…”
“And the king is said to be in Anjou, mustering for a crusade. His gaze turns east not north. I doubt he would even notice any tidings of your demise.”
“Fiend!” Marie cried and Royce smiled as he turned to leave.
“Lock the portal,” he instructed the man in the corridor. “And do not permit my wife to leave her chambers.”
“Scoundrel!” Marie shouted and Royce glanced back in time to see the crockery cup she cast at him. He ducked and it shattered on the opposite wall.
Royce descended several steps so she would not have a clear shot, and the sentry slammed the door. Another crockery cup smashed against it as he turned the key in the lock. “Have you seen Gaultier?” he asked the sentry when their gazes met.
“Not since the dawn, sir.”
Marie began to laugh.
Royce eyed the door. Her laughter was filled with malice and satisfaction, much as it had been once when she had played a practical joke on a villager.
What did she know?
Surely Gaultier was not in her chamber? Surely he had not so misplaced his trust?
* * *
Marie waited, more than ready to gloat. She could hear Royce breathing on the other side of the portal and exchanged a triumphant glance with Emma.
Her lord husband cleared his throat.
“Have you seen Gaultier, wife of mine?” He spoke sweetly.
Her smile broadened. “Of course. I know exactly where he is.”
“Then tell me.”
Marie laughed again.
“I command that you tell me!” Royce thundered.
“And I have no reason to do as much as long as this portal is locked.”
She could fairly hear him seething. She knew his eyes would be flashing and in a way, she wished he would open the portal and have his way with her. But nay, she heard his boots on the stairs as he rapidly descended.
“Pack it all,” she bade Emma. “I will not leave so much as a needle behind.”
Doubtless Royce checked the hall, the kitchens, the stables, the armory, perhaps even the chapel. He would not find Gaultier in any of those places. Marie opened a trunk, removed a thin sharp blade of Venetian manufacture, and slid it into her girdle. It pressed against her hip bone and from this angle, disappeared in the folds of her kirtle. She turned to Emma and raised her hands, turning in silent query.
Emma shook her head. It could not be discerned.
Boots hammered on the stairs and the two women faced the portal as a man—Royce by the odds—halted on the other side.
“Where is he?” he demanded.
“You are surly, Royce,” Marie chided. “No woman would reply to such a query.”
“Marie,” he growled. “I beg of you to confide in me.”
It was an improvement.
“Unlock the portal first.”
There was a long pause, then the key rattled in the lock.
He kicked open the door. Marie stood before the bed, knowing that her confident smile and demure manner only fed his fury. Emma continued to pack satchels and bags. Royce surveyed the chamber and she guessed that he believed she had hidden Gaultier in her chamber.
She smiled, just to vex him.
It worked. His nostrils flared and his color rose. He tore open the curtains that surrounded the bed, looked in trunks and peered behind screens. Finally he halted in the middle of the chamber, still seeking some sign of his Captain of the Guard.
Marie stifled the urge to giggle, but only just.
“Where?” he demanded, more wildly this time.
“I will show you, husband,” Marie said mildly. She took his hand and led him from the chamber. She felt his astonishment as she climbed the stairs to his own solar.
“This is madness. Gaultier is not here…”
“Nay, my lord, but you can see him from here.”
“This is a jest,” he protested. “You mock me. Gaultier is not here either.”
Marie led her husband to the window. Suspicion rolled from him in waves. He expected a trick, but did not guess the truth as yet. He moved to her side with caution. His gaze followed her pointing finger and he frowned.
All that appeared on the curtain wall of the keep was the corpse of the executed prisoner hung from the parapet.
Twisting in the wind.
“There is only the prisoner,” Royce protested. “What jest is this? I seek Gaultier!”
“And who was the condemned man?”
“The knight who would claim Haynesdale in my stead,” Royce said with impatience. “I do not see Gaultier at all. Do not lie to me, woman!” He turned to march across the chamber. “I have no time for such ploys…”
Marie’s laughter made him halt and glance back, wary anew. Aye, her smile troubled him deeply. She smiled a little more, savoring her victory. “Why do you think I requested that the prisoner be hooded for his execution?”
“Because women are weak. Because you could not bear to look upon your lover when he died. Because…” Royce fell silent and she knew the very instant that he realized the truth. He stared at her and spoke in a whisper. “Because it was not the prisoner who died.”
“Nay,” Marie agreed easily. “It was not.”
Royce leapt forward and struck her with the back of his hand, doing so with such force that she fell to the floor. Vermin! Marie raised a hand to her burning cheek, her own anger redoubling.
“You ensured that the most trusted man in my ranks was executed!” he raged, his face livid. “How dare you meddle in such matters! How dare you defy me in this?” He made to seize her again, but Marie rose quickly to her feet.
She seized the blade, spun as he grabbed her elbow and stabbed hard into his gut. His eyes widened in astonishment as she jerked the blade higher and his blood flowed between them. “How dare you strike your lady wife?” she muttered, even as he glanced down in dismay.
“Marie!” he whispered.
It was a thin blade, a wickedly sharp one, and she drove it higher then twisted it deeply inside him. Royce coughed at the pain and blood came from his mouth as he staggered backward. He stared at her as if she were a stranger.
Emma watched from the portal.
“Viper,” he managed to say. “You are all vipers.”
Marie drove the knife deeper then pulled it out of him. He clearly thought she would attack him again for he took a step backward.
“Never let a man assault you and live to tell about it, Emma,” she said quietly and saw fear flash in Royce’s eye
s. “Aye, husband, you will not walk out of this chamber.”
“You cannot ensure otherwise,” he protested, though she had already won. He tried to put distance between himself and that blade, but Marie pushed him with the flat of her hand and hooked her foot behind his ankle. He staggered backward, flailing for the wall, and his eyes widened in a most satisfying manner when he realized there was only empty space behind him.
The sill of the window collided with the back of his knees. He almost regained his balance, but Marie gave him a helpful push.
“Farewell, Royce,” she whispered then he was gone, tumbling through the air. She leaned out in time to see him land hard on the snow that covered the moat. The force of impact broke the ice and his body sank into the dark hole.
Royce disappeared beneath the ice, only a red stain left on the snow, and did not reappear. Marie wiped her blade with one of his chemises, then cast the garment after him.
She pivoted to survey the chamber, certain it would suit her well. “Our fortune changes, Emma, and thus our strategy.”
“Aye, my lady.”
“There is no longer any cause to leave the keep built with my father’s coin. It is as good as mine, and rightly so.” Marie glanced at the road visible from the window and hoped the knight Bartholomew would soon return. “Please bring my possessions to this chamber. It shall be mine from this point forth.”
“Aye, my lady.” Emma curtseyed and left.
Marie smiled. Haynesdale would be hers and she would take a certain alluring knight to husband. Aye, the appeal of this holding grew by the moment.
In Royce’s absence.
* * *
There was no opportunity to speak with Bartholomew and tell him what she had learned of her own past. Anna hoped she would have many chances to talk to him once this was resolved. She gave a whistle when they drew nearer to the keep and Duncan and the others appeared out of the forest.
“We might have mistaken you for Royce’s own men!” Duncan exclaimed, shaking Bartholomew’s hand heartily. It turned out that the squire who had ridden back this way had not survived this bend in the road, for Duncan and the others had attacked him.
Royce would not be warned!
Duncan and the others cast the boy onto the cart and tied the steed with the others. The tale was shared of their capture of the cart, as well as the details of Royce’s deceit and Bartholomew’s plans.
To Anna’s pleasure, he halted beside her again.
“Do not let your pleasure in Gaultier’s demise show,” Bartholomew advised her in a whisper. “Your thoughts are clearly read in your eyes, after all.”
“Are they?”
He smiled and touched her cheek with a fingertip. With the slightest caress, he could awaken a glow within her. “Aye, you are the most forthright woman I have ever known. I admire that trait greatly, Anna, but do not let it betray us.”
She parted her lips to share her good tidings, but Duncan came to return Bartholomew’s own belt and sword to him. He exclaimed with pleasure and accepted the weapons, then gave the command for them to depart.
They reached the keep and Anna did not look at the body hanging from the curtain wall, given Bartholomew’s advice. The guards at the gate opened the portcullis with only a cursory survey of their party, laughing and jesting that the outcasts in the forest had been so foolish. “But where is William?” demanded one.
“His horse went lame,” Bartholomew said with easy confidence. “He follows at a walk.” He laughed then. “The forests are clear of brigands so there is no peril.”
The porters laughed with him.
The company passed through the gates and Anna gave Percy a nudge. The second cart was loaded and left to one side, the horses harnessed to it in preparation. She saw at a glance that they were Royce’s younger and swifter steeds. All those trunks! They had to contain gold and silver!
But there was not a one of them that looked large enough to hold the reliquary. The villagers gathered closer together and those of them dressed as Royce’s men gruffly commanded them to cluster into a group.
“Out of the way, out of the way, you lot of ruffians,” Duncan said with some impatience, keeping the ruse.
Bartholomew strode toward the hall. From the back, he looked a great deal like Gaultier, for he mimicked that man’s walk. Once he disappeared into the hall, another sentry came toward them.
“Well, where is Stephen?” he demanded and Anna smelled the scent of horse upon him. He turned on Duncan. “If he fell, why did you not bring him back?” He frowned and peered more closely at Duncan, seizing him by the shoulder when he would have turned away. “Who are you?” he had time to demand, his voice rising high enough to attract the attention of other sentries, before Stewart sank a sword blade into his back.
But it was too late. A hue and a cry erupted, squires and sentries turning upon the new arrivals. “And the battle begins,” Duncan muttered. “Drop your ropes and seize your weapons!”
The villagers immediately shook free of their bonds and took up weapons from the wagon. The boys opened the trunks and began to throw rocks at the baron’s men. Anna grabbed her crossbow from the cart and took aim at a sentry on the high wall. He had been aiming at Duncan. She killed him with a single bolt, and his body fell over the wall to the opposite side. Royce’s men moved quickly and she knew they would not have much time.
Shouting erupted on all sides and the battle was fierce. Servants flowed out of the hall, the cook waving a knife and the castellan a sword of his own. The squires proved to be fierce fighters and better trained than the villagers. Blood began to flow, but Anna was worried about Father Ignatius.
There was no movement from the chapel.
“Get the other wagon through the gate,” she commanded Percy. “And loose the steeds that they can run.”
The boys hastened to do her bidding, the others defending Percy as he scurried toward the wagon. Anna shot another sentry who was aiming into the group, but only damaged his shoulder. He leapt down the wooden scaffolding lashed to the inside of the curtain wall, seized another arrow. To her dismay, he struck a flint and lit a bundle of cloth on the end of the arrow. Anna fired at him with a retrieved bolt, but it did not fly true.
His burning arrowhead landed in a pile of straw behind the second cart. The straw ignited, then tumbled and the fire spread to the clothing of those battling in the bailey. Anna shouted a warning, then ran to the chapel. The wagon laden with the king’s taxes moved toward the gates, Percy shouting to the horses.
“Father Ignatius!” she cried and tried the door to the chapel. It was locked. Was he gone? Was the reliquary safe? She had time to hope before the priest replied.
“I have the reliquary, Anna, but the door was locked against me.”
“What of your keys?”
“Lady Marie took them. Sir Royce has the only others.”
“The solar,” Anna whispered. “They will be in the solar.” She spoke again to the priest. “There is a battle, Father, and a fire in the bailey. I will be back as quickly as I can.”
“Go, child!” he urged. “Go! Bartholomew is garbed as Gaultier.”
“I know! He is with us.”
“Praise be,” murmured the priest even as Anna ran. She retrieved three bolts on her way across the bailey and narrowly missed being shot herself. She fired at the assailant, then ducked through the portal to the hall.
That was when she heard the portcullis fall.
She glanced back as the horses halted with a whinny at the gates. Squires swarmed the cart and the villagers fought back with gusto.
Would they be trapped inside the bailey until they were hunted down?
Nay, it could not be!
She raced up the stairs to the solar, hoping she could save Father Ignatius in time.
* * *
The tower was so quiet, compared to the sound of battle in the bailey below.
Bartholomew climbed the stairs slowly, halfway convinced that the pounding of his heart
would reveal him.
He flattened himself against the wall as the servants from the kitchens raced through the hall and poured into the bailey through the portal he had just used. Where was Lady Marie and her maid? Where was Royce? He wagered the baron was in his high chamber.
There was no sentry at the base of the stairs nor one at the first turn. Bartholomew paused, listening, then drew his blade before continuing.
There was no one in the chamber that he and Anna had shared.
There was no one in Lady Marie’s chamber. In fact, the portal stood open and the contents looked to be in disarray. Trunks were open and some fabric on the floor. Was this the usual state of her chamber, or had something befallen her?
Bartholomew stood in the corridor, but heard no sounds from above. Could he truly ascend to Royce’s solar without being challenged?
He reached the summit of the stairs and found the portal to that highest chamber open. He paused, then stepped inside. There were satchels and small trunks on the floor and a woman standing at the window with her back to him. She wore a cloak, the hood raised over her head.
“Lady Marie?” he asked softly. She did not reply. He stepped into the room and spun when the door was slammed behind him. He jumped back from the darting dagger held by Marie’s maid and froze at the feel of a second blade against his back.
“Take off your helm,” Marie said.
Bartholomew removed it and cast it aside, then felt the breath of her laughter.
“You are returned!” she declared. “And our future can begin this very day.” She gestured and the knife point was removed from his back. “Leave him, Emma, and continue with your labor.”
“Aye, my lady.” The girl appeared to be moving Marie’s garment into the trunks in the chamber and flinging men’s garb on the floor.
Bartholomew turned back to Marie. “I do not understand. What is this?”
“We will be wedded this very day,” Marie declared.
“But you are wed, my lady.”
Marie’s eyes danced. “Nay, I am widowed, and this time, I will choose my spouse.” She leaned closer, her delight evident. “I choose you.”
“But what happened to Royce?”
“He fell,” Marie said with a shrug. She drew Bartholomew to the window and from this angle, he could see the place where a man’s body had broken through the ice on the moat. He also could see those from the new village thronging the gate and guessed that the portcullis was closed, for they did not move inside.
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