“Surely not! These lands were stolen from the rightful baron, stolen by a Norman knight who coveted both the holding and the wife of the Baron of Haynesdale. The villain was triumphant in claiming Haynesdale and now rules with disgust and disdain for all those beneath his hand.” She lifted her chin. “One day, the seed of Nicholas will return, so it is said. One day, the son of the true lineage will return to Haynesdale and reclaim his legacy and bring justice to all those who have remained loyal to his family name.”
The knight was particularly quiet after this utterance, and Anna assumed he was skeptical of such optimistic omens.
She continued in a scathing tone. “But then, you come from France yourself. I see it in your garb and hear it in your voice. Doubtless you would ally with him and sit contentedly at his board, oblivious to the suffering of those upon his lands.”
“Perhaps I will,” the knight mused.
Anna gasped outrage, then saw the Templars step out of the shadows ahead. The knight spoke to them quickly and in French, which Anna did not understand. They nodded and scanned the forest behind her, then followed the knight and herself into the camp. All of the party were awake, and their expressions were not welcoming.
“One of our thieves,” the knight said, giving her a push toward the middle of the clearing. Did he speak English for her benefit? “She works with her younger brother, who fled with Duncan’s saddlebag and was captured by knights in the service of the baron who holds title to these lands. Percy and the bag have been taken to the baron’s keep.”
The Scotsman winced and sat down heavily. The other knight laid a hand upon his shoulder as if to reassure him. “And so? We visit the baron together to retrieve our respective prizes?” he asked, that Highland lilt in his voice.
“Take the lass like that and she will be dispatched to join the boy, whatever his fate might be,” the Scotsman said, his tone dour.
“Precisely,” the knight who had captured her agreed. He smiled at her, which Anna did not trust a whit. “Which is why I would propose that we visit this baron, as a party on our way north to attend the wedding of Fergus, once a Templar and now a noble friend.”
The other knight, who must be Fergus, smiled. “We arrive as friends, then, not foes.”
“And the lass?” the older man asked. “No one could take a look at her and think her a boy in truth.”
“Nay, they could not.” The knight’s eyes gleamed. “Which is why she will travel as my wife. Might we trouble you for the loan of some of that fine garb you bought for your betrothed, Fergus? Your generosity is such that Isobel cannot miss the sacrifice of one kirtle.”
Fergus laughed, his manner so merry that Anna found herself liking him even though his amusement was at her expense. “Particularly if Duncan regains his property.”
“I will not pretend to be your wife!” Anna protested hotly.
The knight smiled with infuriating confidence. “Then I am in possession of a fine crossbow,” he countered with a shrug. “And Percy cannot rely upon our ensuring his rescue. Ah well.”
“I will see to my brother myself.”
He leaned close, his eyes shining with intent. “Not if I leave you trussed in a tree.”
“You would not!”
But his expression did not change and Anna knew he would. “Fiend! Knave and blackguard! You compel me to do your will, with no regard for my own choice…”
“She sounds like a wife,” commented one Templar, then made to tend his steed.
“I hope she is worth the trouble,” replied the other and they laughed together.
“I will not welcome you to my bed!” Anna cried, struck with new fear.
The knight slid a finger down her cheek. “We will be compelled to share a bed,” he murmured. “In order to ensure that our ruse is not discovered.” There was a twinkle in his eyes that Anna did not trust. Did he intend to take his pleasure? “But I vow the bed will be chaste, unless you insist otherwise.”
The words could only be a lie.
“Wretch!” she muttered and tried to kick him. She only lost her balance from her efforts but the knight did not allow her to fall. He caught her up and his gaze bored into her own, his manner solemn. His grip was uncommonly strong.
“And so we make our wager. Alliance in the baron’s hall, the goal being the retrieval of both bag and boy, and on our successful escape from that place, our paths will part. We will have safe passage through the forest, and you will have the return of your crossbow on the northern borders. Have we a wager?”
“Have you a name?” she demanded, unable to fully hide her resentment that she was compelled to accept his terms.
Even though they were not unfair.
“Bartholomew de Châmont-sur-Maine,” he said. “And you?”
“Anna of Haynesdale village. The smith’s daughter.”
