“I love you,” Anna whispered when he let her speak. “I think I loved you from the first, even when I thought you the most vexing man alive.”
“Aye, you had a similar appeal,” he agreed with a grin. “Lady mine.”
Anna’s expression turned mischievous. “Perhaps we are well suited then.”
“I think there is little doubt of that.”
Their gazes clung and Bartholomew saw the glory of the future in her eyes. Then Father Ignatius cleared his throat and they turned as one, her hand upon his, and pledged their love to each other. The stars were shining over head, the bonfire was sending sparks into the night, the keep burned and the new one would be rebuilt. Bartholomew felt the spirits of his ancestors around him and the sense of homecoming he had yearned to feel now filled his heart with hope and tranquility.
Because of the bold woman who stood beside him, for she had stolen not just the Templar treasure but his own heart.
It would be hers forevermore.
Thursday, March 17, 1188
Feast Day of Saint Joseph of Arimethea and the Martyrs of Alexandria
Chapter Fifteen
Châmont-sur-Maine
It had seemed that naught could go wrong, but when the day came for Bartholomew to plead his case before King Henry, Anna was fearful of the result.
Perhaps it was simply that she was not in the habit of meeting kings.
Much less asking for their favors.
She and Bartholomew had journeyed south, with Leila and Timothy to aid them, after leaving Fergus in charge of Haynesdale. There was much to done, for Bartholomew wished to rebuild his father’s keep and restore the village to its former site. The villagers were enthusiastic and had begun the labor quickly. Their memory would be of aid to Fergus in directing the work, and Bartholomew had declared himself confident in his friend’s administration. Duncan, too, had remained at Haynesdale, for his place was with Fergus until that knight was safely home again.
Bartholomew carried several trunks of coins south to make his plea to the king. Cenric had needed to be restrained to ensure he did not follow them, but Bartholomew said the journey would be too much for him. He had rubbed the dog’s ears and vowed to return, and Anna halfway thought the beast understood him.
The weather had been fair, and despite Anna’s concerns, their crossing to France had been uneventful. She alone of the party had never journeyed so far, but Bartholomew explained much to her and took her to many churches along the way. He taught her French as they journeyed, and though her efforts had made them all laugh at first, her skills improved daily. She also had to learn to comport herself like a noblewoman, and Leila had assisted her with that.
Still, by the time they reached Gaston’s abode, Anna had been certain she would make a mistake that would cost Bartholomew dearly. She hoped that wedding her would not be the mistake that cost him all, for the whim of kings could not be anticipated.
Ysmaine had been gracious in her welcome and polite in her few suggestions, which had bolstered Anna’s confidence yet more. Ysmaine’s maid Radegunde had immediately spied that Anna was with child, confirming Anna’s own suspicions. Ysmaine was rounder yet, and the two knights congratulated each other on their good fortune.
It was Gaston who sent word to Anjou, inviting the king to visit. That astonished Anna, for she thought people went to kings, but to her further amazement, King Henry accepted the invitation.
For two days hence.
The kitchens descended into a frenzy of baking, roasting, stewing and saucemaking. The lady Ysmaine laughed that only a fool would cross that threshold willingly. The seneschal had the strewing herbs changed twice in the great hall—for he did not care for the scent of the first ones—and the wood stacked high beside the fireplaces. Banners were hung and minstrels were hired, and the parade of meat to the kitchens was sufficient to make Anna’s eyes round.
There were swans and peacocks to be served, as well as venison and a roast boar, countless egg dishes and fine tarts. There was wine and there was ale, fresh bread and many cheeses. She could not believe the bounty of Gaston’s larders and pantries.
It was just before noon on the chosen day that the entire household was gathered before the gates of Châmont-sur-Maine to welcome the king’s party. Gaston and Ysmaine stood by the very portal, with Anna and Bartholomew to one side, then all of the household standing in order of rank. The villeins lined the road through the village, and some measure of rank was displayed there for the tradesmen and the guild members were closest to Gaston’s household. All were dressed in their best, and each stood a little taller when the fanfare was heard announcing the king’s arrival.
At first glimpse of the king, they all bowed low.
Anna could not help but steal glimpses of the king’s party, in their rich robes, riding magnificent horses. She had never seen the like, and she caught Bartholomew smiling at her awe. She supposed her thoughts were as clear to him as ever.
Even the saddles of the steeds were embellished, wrought of colored leather, hung with richly embroidered caparisons, even hung with silver bells. Mail and scabbards gleamed, the armor and weapons more likely to see a fine company of guests than a bloody battlefield.
The king himself was aged, but not as old as Anna might have expected. His hair was silver and his legs were bowed, doubtless from all the time he spent in the saddle. He dismounted with a grimace that was so fleeting she might have imagined it. He greeted Gaston with a warmth and familiarity that was evident to Anna even though she could not readily follow his quick French.
She was astonished that she stayed in the home of a man who was friendly with the king himself!
Then the king paused before Bartholomew. Anna felt her gaze upon him, but kept her head bowed until he gestured. She watched him survey Bartholomew. “And so the son of Nicholas of Haynesdale is finally found,” the king said in English that bore a slight French accent. “I never imagined that Gabriella would have allowed you to be lost for good.”
