The mood changed between them in that moment, their kiss becoming heated as it had not been before. It did not matter then whether any soul watched them, for this was no feint. Bartholomew kissed Anna as if he truly desired her, and she could not resist the urge to respond in kind. Her fingers were locked in the thick waves of his hair, and he feasted upon her lips with ardor. She had never been kissed with such passion and found her body responded of its own accord. She closed her eyes and capitulated, surrendering to sensation.
He scooped her up into his arms and made for the bed, and Anna clutched at him in uncertainty. It would look like passion to an observer, but her heart was racing. She was on her back on the bed, his weight pressing her into the mattress in a most terrifying way, when suddenly there was a rap at the portal.
Bartholomew broke their kiss with obvious regret. He took a deep breath, as if he, too, had been affected by their embrace. He left the bed, pacing to the window as he composed himself. Anna sat up in haste, feeling guilty and disheveled.
But they were believed to be wedded.
Leila entered the chamber, carrying a bucket of steaming water. Anna thought that Bartholomew and Leila exchanged a quick glance. About what?
Were they lovers?
Another serving woman followed Leila with a brazier filled with coals. Leila gestured that it should not be lit as yet, so the woman put it down near the bed, then left. The dog from the hall was at the portal and the woman made to shoo it back down the stairs, but Bartholomew stepped forward.
“What is the dog’s name?” he asked.
The woman sneered. “Cenric, for he is a Saxon dog. Of course, all Saxons are dogs.” She laughed at her own jest, then made to kick the beast, even as Anna yearned to strike her. The creature was nimble and evaded her easily, much to Anna’s relief. “Come along, varmint,” the woman said to the dog. “Out to the stables with you.”
“Leave him,” Bartholomew ordered and the servant eyed him with surprise. “I like a dog in the chamber. If this one has no place to sleep, he can remain here.”
“If you so wish it, my lord,” the woman said with a curl of her lip. “I would not welcome the fleas, but the choice is yours.” She then bowed and left.
Not a moment too soon, in Anna’s view.
Saxon dog.Anna felt her lips tighten in disapproval. Bartholomew gave her a look, and she knew her thoughts were clear. She turned away from the common wall and fluffed the pillows so that no others noted her reaction.
Cenric watched the woman depart, then eyed them warily. Bartholomew crouched down and put out his hand. The dog had clearly been kicked by others, for he sniffed at the air, before padding cautiously toward Bartholomew. He was a large dog, the kind of wolfhound that lords used for hunting, and his shaggy coat was a hundred shades of silver and grey. He seemed to have great eyebrows, like an old man, which gave him a friendly appearance. When he sniffed Bartholomew’s hand, his long tail began to wag like a ragged banner. When Bartholomew scratched his ears, he sat down beside the knight and leaned on his leg. That tail thumped against the floor.
“I once knew a dog like you,” Bartholomew told him. “The most faithful creature in all of Christendom. I miss him heartily.”
Leila turned to look at him. “When did you have a dog?” she asked, apparently surprised. At Bartholomew’s gesture, she recalled herself. “My lord,” she added. “I do not recall ever seeing you with one.”
“Nor I,” added Anna, wanting to buttress the other woman’s words for any who eavesdropped. “Though we have only known you a few weeks, in truth.”
Leila nodded. “That is true, my lady. The days have been so merry that I lost track of the time.”
“It was when I was a boy,” Bartholomew admitted. “Indeed, I scarce recall it myself, but when I saw this Cenric, I remembered that hound so vividly.” His tone was thoughtful, even dreamy, and Anna wondered at his manner. “He was as friendly as this, though I think he might have been larger.”
“Was this in France, my lord?” Anna asked.
“Normandy or Anjou?” Leila added. “You said you had been to both.”
“Before that,” Bartholomew said softly. “Long before that.” He straightened and surveyed the chamber, a new glint in his eyes that Anna could not explain. “I ask for your indulgence in this, my lady. I would not see a dog that looks so much like my former one dispatched to the cold.”
“I have no argument with a dog in the chamber. We always had several—”
“At the foundation,” Leila interjected.
Anna nodded. “Though they were smaller than this one.”
Bartholomew looked so pleased that she was surprised. He might have been a child on Christmas morn granted an unexpected gift. “He is too thin,” he mused, running his hands over the dog. “Particularly for one so young.”
“Perhaps the baron has no use for him,” Anna suggested. “And could be persuaded to part with the creature on the morrow.”
“He might sell the animal, if there are too many hounds in his stables,” Leila added.
“It would be suitable for you to have a hunting dog, my lord,” Anna agreed.
“Or even one to slumber in the hall,” Bartholomew agreed. He straightened from patting the dog, and Anna could not explain why he seemed to be more resolved than previously. He looked taller, even.
