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 youarewed, 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.
Were the others trapped? He had to assist them!
He turned from the window, only to find Marie confronting him with a thin knife. “Surely you do not mean to decline my offer?” she said and he watched Emma slide a small chest into a sturdy sack. She moved covertly, as if to evade her mistress’s attention and he wondered what was in the trunk.
And what she meant to do with it.
“I mean only to fetch the priest, of course,” Bartholomew said.
“He is safely in the chapel,” Marie said. “With Agnes and the reliquary.” She smiled. “I had intended to flee, but now we might remain here,” she said. “I find the view much improved from this tower room.” She chuckled darkly. “And you need not fear that you might share Royce’s fate.”
In truth, Bartholomew did wonder just how Royce had fallen from a chamber he knew so well. The glint in Marie’s eyes suggested that the baron had had assistance.
He chuckled, appearing more confident than he felt. “Nay, I will not be so fool as to fall out of my own window!”
Marie’s smile broadened. “I meant that you should not have to fear that your wife will present you a daughter who was fathered by the Captain of the Guard.”
Bartholomew blinked. “I do not understand.” Did he hear a footfall on the stairs? Emma backed into the corridor slowly, the sack held behind herself. The bulge within it was larger, and he guessed she had added to its contents. What was the maid’s scheme? He could smell fire and hear shouts, which did naught but add to his concerns.
Marie laughed, oblivious to her maid’s actions. “Nor did Royce, poor man. He never listened to servants, but they know all. It is folly to ignore them.” Her eyes shone. “Royce’s first wife conceived by the Captain of the Guard, who was the youngest son of the Duke of Arsent. Even better, she told Royce that the babe had died when it had not.”
The story had to have some relevance but Bartholomew could not guess what it was. He wished she would hasten the telling. “Why?”
“Perhaps because Royce had discovered the affair and had her lover executed.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps she no longer trusted her lord husband.” She met Bartholomew’s gaze. “Perhaps the girl resembled her father. There must have been a reason for her to trade her babe with the stillborn daughter born to the smith’s wife.”
Bartholomew was astonished.
“But the smith is dead, as is his wife, and the girl died two years ago. Royce never knew that Anna, the smith’s daughter, was truly the babe of his own wife, but the cook told me of it. Perhaps one of the servants aided in Anna’s escape, but she could never have survived the abuse Gaultier visited upon her.” Marie smiled again. “But I will be faithful, sir, so long as you are not cruel.”
“That seems a fair wager,” Bartholomew said and bent over her hand. How could he escape this situation?
“Provided you survive this day,” Emma said with such malice that they both turned. She seized the door and slammed it, a key turning audibly in the lock. “It would suit me well to see you burn with the rest of this place, you selfish viper!”
“Emma! What have I ever done to you?”
“Eight years in this place,” the maid cried from the corridor beyond. “Eight years past the end of the world, eight years with only the venom of you and your demands.” Her voice rose in fury. “And what is Agnes’ reward at the end of it all? She died for your indiscretion, yet all you could do was defile her body, shaming her memory with the appearance that she carried a child out of wedlock. You deserve no loyalty from me or any other.”
Marie shook the door handle. “Emma! I command that you open this portal.”
“And your command will be defied.”
“Emma!”
