She took the opportunity to survey him and was even more impressed by his vigor. Indeed, Bartholomew was more well made than any man she had ever seen. She dared to take a better look while he could not observe her boldness. There was a scar on his chest, one obscured by the dark tangle of hair that grew there, but she could see that the flesh was puckered and reddened there.
Of course, it would have been strange for a knight to have not been scarred. To have had a wound so close to his heart, even a small one, could not have been a minor injury. She thought to ask him after it, but wagered he would want to see what hung on the lace around her neck in exchange.
He was one for bargains, to be sure.
And not a displeasing man. Anna found herself recalling that kiss and feeling an unfamiliar warmth flow through her body. If he did it again, she might allow herself to enjoy his touch a little. She wrung out her hair, wondering how she would see it braided as a lady’s hair should be. She had no idea how the feat was accomplished.
“Don the cloak,” Bartholomew advised, as she made for the bank. “Timothy will bring me clean linen and you should be covered when he returns.”
Anna did as instructed, well aware that he watched her with care. Once she was wrapped in the fullness of his cloak, she sat on a stone and tucked her feet beneath its folds to stay warm.
Bartholomew smiled that she did not flee and she felt a curious pleasure in his satisfaction. He strode out of the stream, shaking his head like a great dog, and she had ample opportunity to see his nudity. The water beaded on his tanned flesh and she took note of his obvious strength. He would be a formidable foe in battle, and she was glad to be entering the baron’s keep under his protection. His confidence was deserved, for he moved with an ease she found most alluring.
Timothy returned, once again moving with haste, and offered a heavy cloth to his knight. He gathered up the soap and cloths while Bartholomew dried himself, then presented clean linens. Bartholomew donned the chemise, which was whiter and finer than any Anna had seen before, then clean linen braies. His dark chausses went over the braies, then he donned his boots. He indicated that Timothy should gather her discarded clothing, then strode toward her and scooped her up into his arms before striding back to the camp.
“I can walk!”
“In bare feet, in winter?” He shook his head. “Hardly fitting for my lady wife.” He winked at her then, and Anna considered that this wager might have unexpected benefits. It had been long indeed since any soul had fended for her. Usually she cared for others.
Her dirty clothing was burned, despite her protests, upon the fire that was now blazing. A thick smoke rose into the morning sky and the Scotsman shook his head. “Our presence is not a secret any longer,” he murmured, and it was true.
Fergus and Bartholomew conferred over that Scottish knight’s collection of gifts for his betrothed, then Bartholomew brought Anna a linen chemise as fine and white as his own. A pair of stockings with red garters, fine leather shoes, and a splendid crimson kirtle with gold embroidery on the hem was also offered to her.
“I could not wear such a gown!” Anna could not hide her astonishment, which made Fergus laugh aloud.
“Consider it a wedding gift,” he teased.
“A necessary concession to see justice served,” Duncan agreed. “The hue would not favor Isobel, in my opinion.”
Fergus laughed again. “I fear you speak aright, although I like it well.”
Bartholomew considered Anna. “It will favor Anna, I believe.”
For her part, Anna was flustered by the generosity of the loan. “I shall ensure all is returned to you as pristine as in this moment,” she vowed.
“Do not pledge what you might not be able to see done,” Bartholomew said, and she wondered what they expected to find. They were all so suddenly grim that a chill struck her heart.
“Whatwaswithin that saddlebag?” she asked and all but Bartholomew turned away.
“It is not for you to know,” he said tersely. “But any who looks upon it will not surrender it readily.”
What burden did these knights carry?
Would Percy pay for it with his life?
The notion was terrifying. She had to aid Bartholomew in making this ruse work.
*
Anna was beautiful.
Astonishingly so.
There could be no doubt that she was a woman, and once again, Bartholomew wondered at her age. Younger than him, he would guess, but not quite as young as Leila. Perhaps of an age with Lady Ysmaine’s maid Radegunde. Once garbed in the finery intended for Isobel, she would indeed look to be a noblewoman. Bartholomew dressed, donning his aketon and hauberk, glancing at Anna at intervals. She donned the stockings and shoes, then the chemise and he saw her marvel at its weave.
“It is so fine,” she murmured, then impaled him with a glance. He had just tugged on his hauberk and Timothy was fastening his belt. He noted again the shadow between her breasts, the one caused by that token that hung upon the lace, and wondered what she treasured.
Anna sat down, drawing his cloak over her shoulders again. “But there is one matter I cannot see done,” she said. He thought she meant to defy him, but she lifted the weight of her wet hair. “I do not know how to braid it as noblewomen do.”
