Marie’s laughter was throaty and her gaze was knowing. “That was not my meaning, sir, and you know it well,” she murmured. “I will summon you once your lady wife sleeps.”
How would she know?
Was there a means for Marie to spy on their chamber from her own? There must be. Bartholomew no longer wondered at their being granted the chamber beside the lady’s own. How would he evade her scheme? He had no desire to aid in her quest, though he could well understand that her situation was troubling. He also had no wish to set her against their small party.
Nor did he want to anger his host. He would need every memory of Gaston’s talents to see them free of this place and unscathed!
In lieu of a comment, Bartholomew only smiled. He stepped into the portal to the great hall, that he might be in view of her husband, and bent low over her hand. “I thank you, Lady Marie, for your kindness in showing me the stables. I have relied long upon the goodwill of my steed and would ensure his comfort wherever he rests.”
“Knights and their steeds,” she laughed, complying with his excuse. “I know your habits well.”
Bartholomew bent lower and brushed his lips across her fingertips. “You are most indulgent, my lady. I thank you for it.”
“How could I resist?” she murmured for his ears alone. “And now I await your indulgence.”
Bartholomew pretended not to have heard. He straightened and turned, escorting her to her husband’s side, well aware that Anna eyed him with disgust.
She could not hide her thoughts to save her life, to be sure, but in this case, her manner could only aid in their deceit.
Indeed, Marie chortled under her breath. “I see that the old rumor is true, sir.”
“Which rumor is that?”
“That the plain ones are the most easily driven to jealousy, for they are not confident of their hold upon a man’s affections.” She shrugged. “I suppose it is only reasonable.”
Bartholomew did not reply. He seated Marie beside her husband, aware of the intensity of that man’s interest, then took his place beside Anna. She gave him a look that could have cracked a stone.
Was she truly irked with him?
Or did she feign as much, because she thought it appropriate?
Bartholomew was surprised by how much he wanted to know. He drank his host’s health, then let the weight of his hand fall on the back of Anna’s waist. He could fairly hear her thinking and guessed that she wished to fling the weight of his hand aside. Her gaze flicked to his and sure enough, there was fire in her eyes.
“Did you miss me, my lady?” he murmured, as if trying to improve her mood. He smiled at her in warning.
“Of course, my lord,” Anna replied, her tone sweet. “You know I am fearful when we are parted.” She put her hand on his thigh just as he lifted the chalice to his lips. To his astonishment, Anna slid her hand over his chausses slowly.
Seductively.
Upward.
Bartholomew nigh spilled his wine when she eased her hand beneath his tabard and tightened her grip on his thigh. He met the challenge in her gaze and smiled back at her, more than willing to best her in this game.
“You have wine on your lip, my lady,” he murmured, then dragged his fingertip across her bottom lip slowly. Anna’s eyes widened in a most satisfactory way and Bartholomew liked how her cheeks flushed.
This ruse might result in a most interesting night, indeed.
*
“You looked to have seen a ghost, lad, back in the forest,” Duncan said to Fergus in Gaelic when they two finally had a moment alone. They were in the hall of the baron, but to one side and with no listening ears in their vicinity. They gave every appearance of warming themselves before the fire and admiring the hall’s design. Duncan ensured that the many squires and men-at-arms were not sufficiently close to eavesdrop.
By all that was holy, the keep was well-defended!
The younger man seemed to deliberately avoid his gaze as he stared into the flames. “That is as good an explanation as any,” he murmured, responding in Gaelic.
That Fergus did not pretend to be uncertain of the moment in question told Duncan he was right.
“Or was she a vision come to life?” he asked, pressing the lad a little more.
