And his savagery.
Anna had to restrain her urge to spit upon him. Bartholomew tightened his grip upon her fingers, evidently having guessed her reaction and granted her a quick sidelong glance of warning. She smiled at him, though she knew her anger showed in her eyes when he arched a brow. She stared at her toes then, apparently demure, and fumed. If they had hurt Percy…
Bartholomew put her hand in his elbow and closed his fingers over her own.
“Welcome to Haynesdale,” Sir Royce said, his manner not particularly welcoming. The men bowed to each other, then exchanged introductions. Anna kept her gaze downcast, even as her heart thundered in fear.
“To what do I owe this unanticipated honor and pleasure?” Sir Royce demanded. Though his tone was fulsome, a sharp edge of suspicion touched his manner. Anna spared a glimpse at him, only to see that his eye had narrowed and he surveyed the company assessingly. Aye, it was easy to recall his brutality when his expression was as forbidding as it was in this moment. He considered the two Templars, and Anna wondered whether it had been their presence that had seen the gates opened at all.
“Circumstance alone,” Bartholomew replied with apparent cheer. “We ride north but my lady wife tires. We had hoped for a night of rest and would beg your hospitality.”
Anna grimaced, disliking that the stop should be blamed upon her supposed feminine frailty. At least with her head bowed, none could see her expression. Bartholomew’s grip tightened upon her fingers as if he had guessed it.
He was cursedly observant.
“But why are you on this road?” Royce asked. “Few appreciate its charms.”
“And so we were fortunate to do as much,” Fergus said, his Scottish accent more pronounced than it had been. “For I thought I recalled the way to Carlisle, but discovered I had erred. This is the mark of my years in Outremer. I nigh forgot my way home!”
The men laughed together at this, though Royce only smiled.
“Your holding has fine forests,” Duncan said with approval. “Are they held in trust for the King of England?”
“Of course they are,” Royce snapped. “Still you do not tell me why you are here.”
“I return to my own wedding in Scotland,” Fergus explained with ease. It was as if the knights had not noted the rudeness of their potential host, but Anna knew they could not have missed it. He gestured to Bartholomew. “And my good friend from France accompanies me to wish my lady and I well.”
Bartholomew bowed. “And I have been so fortunate as to find a bride myself.”
Anna curtseyed low, keeping her head bowed. She could feel Royce looking at her and prayed silently that he would avert his gaze without realizing who she was.
Fergus indicated Duncan. “My man, of course, escorts me as ever he does, and we have been blessed by the companionship and defense of these two noble knights.”
“Templars,” Royce huffed. “I do not mean to be rude, but why do you have such companions as these?”
“These two knights have served with the order,” replied one Templar, his manner so resolute that none would dare challenge him. “So great is the respect of our Grand Master that he insisted we escort Laird Fergus to his home.”
Royce was unconvinced. “I have never heard the like,” he protested, and Anna feared he would send them from the gates. “I regret that I have no space for guests on this night…” he began, but there was a flutter of activity at the portal to the hall. Sir Royce fell silent and Anna dared to hope they had won a reprieve.
Chapter Four
All eyes were drawn to the portal as a woman of considerable beauty emerged from the shadows. Truly, she could not have timed her appearance better.
It was Royce’s lady wife.
Anna had not seen her since her triumphant arrival at Haynesdale, but Marie was just as slender and her hair just as dark as it had been eight years before. She appeared to be just as elegant and poised, as well.
Truly, there could not have been a woman more different than Anna. She slanted a glance toward Bartholomew, for he must be accustomed to women like Marie. She felt aware of her own shortcomings.
At least in posing as a noblewoman.
Marie paused on the threshold, as if ensuring that all appreciated her beauty before she proceeded. She was lovely. She was garbed in silk of a golden hue, the fabric shimmering even in the wan sunlight. She might have been an angel setting foot upon the earth. She might have been a vision from afar; Anna was aware that every man and boy in their small company caught his breath in awe.
Marie, Lady of Haynesdale, deigned to greet them. There had been speculation that Marie no longer drew breath, that she had been imprisoned by her husband or even that she had fled. All of those situations would have explained the lack of a son.
The way Marie floated to Royce’s side, an adoring smile upon her lips, did not.
Anna glanced up to find Bartholomew apparently transfixed by the lady and did not like it a whit.
