Three more warriors burst from the forest and raced for the mill. They looked smaller than the others, or perhaps younger, but it mattered little. They were armed.
Anna leapt to her feet and loaded another bolt. “Left,” she muttered.
“Right,” Duncan replied.
Again, two bolts flew through the air. Duncan’s target moved suddenly and his bolt missed. Anna’s sank into the chest of the assailant she had targeted. The two surviving men pivoted and raced toward them.
“After you,” Duncan said, and Anna took her shot.
The one on the left fell with a cry after her bolt sank into his eye.
The one on the right tumbled to the ground a moment later, Duncan’s bolt in his throat.
They both loaded their bows again and stood silent, listening.
They could hear swordplay coming from the mill, then it suddenly ceased. Marie screamed again, then there was silence.
Had Bartholomew succeeded in their plan?
Surely Marie would weep more loudly if her intended lover had been killed?
Surely Bartholomew would shout in triumph is he had killed Gaultier?
“Back,” Duncan advised and they retreated to the forest. They had barely reached the undergrowth when Marie ran out of the mill. She fled up the road, undoubtedly toward the point where her maid waited. She was weeping.
But for whom?
Anna might have gone to find out but Duncan laid a hand on her arm. To her relief, Bartholomew appeared next, his hands held high. He had been divested of his belt and weapons, and Gaultier urged him forward at the point of a sword. The Captain of the Guard immediately spied his fallen troops and gave a shout. Four more men galloped out of the forest to encircle their commander. They led a fifth steed, though it was merely a palfrey. Gaultier bound Bartholomew’s hands behind his back and mounted the horse with the empty saddle, then they cantered back toward the point where the road disappeared into the forest. Marie’s wails could be heard, then the sound of the party moved toward the new keep.
“The shard of the true cross,” Anna whispered to Duncan. “They cannot have that blade.”
He grimaced, for he evidently had guessed what she would do. “Run, lass, for they will be back for their dead.”
“Whistle if you see them,” she said.
“Twice,” Duncan agreed and gave her a sample. Anna nodded and raced toward the mill. She looked left and right before approaching the portal, then glanced back toward Duncan from the threshold. She could see no sign of him. She hastened into the shadowed interior, then halted in dismay at the sight of the fallen maid.
She bent and touched the other woman’s throat, but she was dead.
Anna crossed herself, then surveyed the interior. She could see the glimmer of a scabbard on the far side of the common room. She hastened toward it, well aware that she might not have long, and recognized Bartholomew’s belt and scabbard. His dagger was still in its scabbard but his sword was on the floor. She slid it into the scabbard, astonished by its weight, then heard a double whistle.
She stood and heard the approach of hoof beats.
The granary!
Anna leapt up the stairs, wincing when a step creaked in protest. She flung herself into one of the large lidded storage bins and lowered the lid. She laid Bartholomew’s belt on the floor before herself and loaded her crossbow, pointing the tip of the bolt at the rim of the bin.
If any soul were fool enough to open it, he would have a bolt in his eye as reward. From such close range, it might well pass right through his skull.
She hoped it was Gaultier.
Anna held her breath and waited.
The hoof beats halted outside the door and she heard the scuffle of boots on the stone threshold. “Aye, she is dead enough, to be sure,” a man said, then raised his voice. “Fetch the wagon from the keep. I see three fallen near the road and there must be another two men.”
“Aye, sir!” Hoof beats raced away.
Anna listened. How many had come into the mill? What did they do while they waited? She heard boots on the floor, and thought there was more than one man nearby.
