“’Tis no coincidence, lad, and you know it well,” Duncan murmured. Fergus smiled in acknowledgment.
“What do you mean?” Bartholomew had to ask for he did not understand.
“This lad was born to the caul. He has the Sight, though he seldom tells what he has seen.”
“Witchery,” whispered one Templar, and they crossed themselves as did their squires. The other scanned the forest, seeking yet more unwelcome surprises.
But the sole one for Bartholomew was the sight of the thief transformed. He could not tear his gaze from Anna as Leila finished the braiding and coiling of her hair, for the elegant length of her neck was revealed. She looked fragile and feminine, as he had not guessed her to be. The wimple and veil gave her an alluring mystery, and it seemed to him that her eyes sparkled in new awareness of her charms. She cast a shy glance at him, then smiled and blushed a little, evidently noting his reaction and finding it discomfiting.
She had been abused by a man then. He would have to treat her gently.
Truth be told, Bartholomew found the blend of traits in her nature most beguiling. Perhaps he had never been smitten with a woman because they seemed to be concerned with their garb and their embroidery, or their likelihood of bearing sons. He admired that Anna possessed a crossbow and acknowledged that she had given him a fair contest in the woods. He doubted that any who had known her as a ruffian would recognize her like this.
Bartholomew was intrigued by this maiden and sensed that state would not abandon him soon.
Anna rose to her feet as Leila laced the sides of the crimson kirtle, then turned in place with obvious delight at her garb. “Sir, I thank you for your generosity,” she said to Fergus and bowed low in her gratitude. Even her way of speaking had changed, as if the garb wrought a transformation in her very nature.
“You will earn it, if we retrieve the saddlebag with your aid,” that knight replied. He smiled at Leila, who was hastily breaking her fast.
“Which means we must know all you can tell us of this baron, his household, and his defenses,” Bartholomew said. “His keep cannot be far by the road.” He was looking forward to seeing the keep in daylight, for there had been naught familiar about it in the night. Perhaps he would recognize it better this morning, and from the vantage point of the road.
Surely there could not be two holdings called Haynesdale? Nay, it could not be so, for Anna had shared the tale of his own father. Bartholomew was the seed of Nicholas, and his arrival was evidently anticipated by Anna.
Still, it was disconcerting to have no memory of this place at all.
He watched as Anna considered the height of the sun. “This road leads directly to his gates. With such steeds and a stately pace, we will reach it by midday.”
“An excellent time for guests to arrive,” Fergus said with satisfaction.
“A hot meal would be welcome,” Duncan said, echoing Bartholomew’s own thoughts.
“Not a cup of ale?” Fergus teased and they laughed together.
Bartholomew nodded. “Then we should set out, that we are at his gates before we are discovered and believed to be trespassers.” He smiled at Anna. “As you have no steed, my lady, it seems you must ride with me.”
“I could ride with my maid,” she countered with familiar defiance.
“You could, if I trusted you.” Bartholomew strode to Zephyr, who stamped in anticipation of a run. “Or if I did not wish to confer with you about our host.”
Anna folded her arms across her chest, showing no inclination to do as he suggested. “But what of this company? Who are you all and from whence did you ride? How did such a company come to be assembled? And what is your destination?”
“We ride from Jerusalem,” Fergus said to Bartholomew’s relief. “For I return to Scotland for my nuptials, after the completion of my service with the order.”
“We brought tidings of events in Outremer to the Temple in Paris,” Bartholomew added.
“And once there, the gratitude of the Grand Master was such that he granted Fergus an escort to his home,” Duncan said, gesturing to the two Templars. They bowed their heads to Anna.
“Enguerrand,” confided one.
“Yvan,” added the other.
“Jerusalem?” Anna echoed in awe. “You rode from the Holy City itself?”
Bartholomew nodded. “We did.”
“And why do you go to Scotland?” she demanded of him.
“To witness the nuptials of my friend, of course.”
