“I am not!”
“You do not look like any woman I would take to wife.” Bartholomew shook his head sagely. He was enjoying this encounter far too much. “Nay, if this ruse is to be plausible, I will see you scrubbed clean myself.”
“Oh! You will do no such thing!”
He lifted his hands away. “I thought you werenotthe one who would break our wager?”
“But you did not mention this earlier. I would not be displayed nude before you all.”
“Not before all.” He smiled. “Simply your lord husband.”
Anna looked willing to flay him alive.
“A wife should be biddable, Anna,” he reminded her gently. He knew he heard her teeth grind.
Then she smiled at him, the smile of a woman who preferred to see him thrashed. “A knight should be gallant, Bartholomew.”
Bartholomew laughed for he could not help himself. “And where is it writ that I will not be? Be easy, Anna. I do not partake of any feast unless it is willingly offered.”
She lifted her chin, her manner yet indignant. “I bathed at Samhain,” she informed him. “That is sufficient until Beltane.”
“A bath twice a year?” Bartholomew made a face. “That explains much of your scent, Anna.” Duncan chuckled at that and she glared at the men in turn.
“How oft doyoubathe?” she demanded.
“As oft as possible,” Bartholomew replied and took note of Anna’s surprise. He stood her up then and felt the vibration of rebellion in her body as he untied her bonds. He met her gaze steadily, his manner serious in his intent to ensure she took his warning to heart. “Know that if you flee, I will catch you, and our discussions will not be as friendly as they are now.”
“I do not find our discussions so friendly as that.”
“I will destroy the crossbow and abandon your brother.” He fixed her with a look and her lips tightened. “Are we understood?”
“Swear it to me,” she demanded. “Swear that you will treat me with honor, and swear it on something of import to you. I have not known much good when at the mercy of knights.”
Bartholomew wondered what she had endured, for he saw a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. That fleeting expression changed all for him. He drew his sword and she flinched visibly, but he supported the weight of the blade on one palm. He showed her the pommel, which was formed of a rock crystal orb. The sphere had been halved once and a shard of wood trapped between the two halves. It was snared in a setting shaped like a dragon’s claw, which held the orb securely together.
“This is a splinter from the True Cross,” he informed Anna, whose eyes widened. “And this blade a gift from my patron and friend, who blessed me with such a weapon that I might always strike true.” He kissed the orb, then held the sword up so that the first rays of sunlight illuminated it. He heard Anna catch her breath. A shadow was cast upon the snow by the upraised blade, a cross with fire at its summit. She looked from the shadow to the sword to Bartholomew with obvious awe.
“Upon this talisman, I pledge to defend you as if you were my wife in truth, and to treat you with honor. I vow to do all within my power to see Percy set free, Duncan’s belongings returned, and you left safely wheresoever you desire.”
Anna swallowed visibly. “I swear to show you the same honor,” she whispered. Bartholomew offered the orb to her and she eyed it for a long moment, then touched her lips to the crystal. Her eyes closed and her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, the expression making her look angelic and sweet.
Her manner changed in that moment, for her defiance seemed to melt after her lips touched the token. She took a steadying breath before her gaze locked with his and her animosity was gone. “Thank you, Bartholomew,” she said quietly and he smiled at her.
Indeed, his heart gave a strange lurch, and he wondered if there would be more gained in this adventure than the return of Duncan’s saddlebag.
He sheathed his blade and untied her bonds, feeling that the fight had gone out of her. He did not trust her, that was certain, but he was glad to have reassured her.
And truth be told, he was looking forward to seeing her clean and suitably garbed. Was Anna a fair maiden? Bartholomew was curious indeed.
*
A shard of the True Cross.
Anna had never thought to see such a marvel. Given that assurance from any other, she would have doubted the relic to be genuine, but the reverence in Bartholomew’s gaze could not have been feigned. He could not have seen that the Templars both dropped to one knee when he held up the sword. Both Duncan and Fergus bowed their heads and crossed themselves, while the squires stared in awe. It was clear they all believed this prize to be what Bartholomew claimed.
It had seemed that a divine finger had touched the orb of crystal, sending a beam of light through it as if to approve of the marvel, or to endorse it. Either way, Anna had found herself convinced of the relic’s merit.
And much closer to acknowledging that the knight might have some merit as well. What manner of friends did he have, if one granted him such a prize as this for a gift?
