How had Anna conspired to arrive as the knight’s wife?
And why?
“While you are here, you might as well give last rites to the prisoner in the dungeon,” the Captain of the Guard said to him when he would have returned to his modest home.
“I did not know there was a prisoner in the dungeon,” Father Ignatius said with a mildness he did not feel.
“Well, there is, and he dies tomorrow,” Gaultier snapped.
Father Ignatius fought against the horror that rose within him, even as he inclined his head.
That another prisoner should be executed was deeply wrong, for there had been no court, but it was also a warning of the price of dissent.
Father Ignatius believed he could make more difference in Haynesville alive. “Then I shall be glad to visit him,” he said, bowed and made for the dungeon.
So it was the Father Ignatius finally found himself making a decision. For him, it was remarkably impulsive. But when he unlocked the dungeon and found young Percy alone in tears in the darkness of that dank cell, his resolution was made.
This was the fearsome villain who was condemned to die?
Percy was but a boy, and a frightened boy at that. Father Ignatius then understood Anna’s appearance in the keep, if not her disguise. He knew her to be fiercely protective of her younger brother. Was the knight she accompanied in league with her? Why would he aid her?
“Father Ignatius!” Percy cried in amazement, his face streaked with tears. “Can you help me?” He must have been terrified to be confined here in darkness, with only rats for company.
Rare anger rose inside the priest, an outrage that was only awakened when the strong abused those weaker than themselves.
The priest crouched down beside the boy, who seized his robe. Father Ignatius dropped his voice to a whisper. “Of course, I can help, Percy,” he said with newfound resolve. “But first, tell me how you came to be in this place.”
*
Exhaust him with her passion.
Anna could not push Bartholomew’s suggestion from her thoughts. He had pledged to keep their bed chaste this night. Had he changed his intent? That kiss might have been a hint of what was to come. Leila had said he was honorable. Was it true? He had caressed her in the hall. Had that been a feint or a hint of what she could expect this night? It was her nature to simply ask for the answers she desired, but her awareness that they might be watched—and overheard—precluded that.
Anna wished she knew him better.
She wished she had some experience of expecting good from knights, instead of the pursuit of their own interests.
Her hands were shaking when she folded away the fine stockings, and she knew she took too much time with disrobing and washing. She thought it likely a lady might linger over the task and did not wish to reveal her truth. She also wanted to delay the inevitable as long as possible.
She did not dare to look at Bartholomew as his squire aided him in removing his mail and garb, though there was little reason for shyness. She had seen him nude in the river that very morning, but the chamber was more intimate. She felt herself in greater peril where there were fewer witnesses, and fewer to respond to a cry.
Not that she had gained much aid when she had cried out on that fateful night. Anna shuddered in recollection and realized Leila was watching her closely. The other woman pressed her hand briefly, as if to encourage her. Anna took a deep breath and smiled for her. She wished she was not so easily read, but it was her burden.
Bartholomew meanwhile had been divested of his hauberk. She was keenly aware that he was shedding his boots and chausses. It was hard to believe she had met him less than a day before, but Anna reminded herself of it repeatedly.
She knew so little of his nature.
He was kindly to the boy and thanked him, then drew the curtains on the bed on the side of the common wall. Did he mean for them to have privacy? Or that none could see his deeds? Anna wished she knew! He placed a lantern on the far side of the bed. The dog returned to sleep by the brazier, which now burned low, and Leila dragged a pallet alongside it. Anna’s hair had been combed out and she wore only her chemise. The chamber was cold but she stood there, hesitating to join Bartholomew in that great bed. Though she yearned to seize her cloak and curl up on a pallet alongside Leila, she knew that any observer would find the choice curious.
She lifted her own crossbow from the neat array of Bartholomew’s belongings and rounded the bed on silent feet. Both Leila and Cenric watched her.
Was Bartholomew nude in the bed? Was he asleep already? Her mouth went dry.
“Husband,” she said softly. “Do you not always sleep with your weapons nearby?”
“I have both sword and knife, my lady,” he said. When Anna took another step, she could discern him in the shadows of the bed. He was sitting, his back braced against the wall behind the head of it, his eyes glowing as he watched her. The sword was on the floor, in its scabbard. The knife, she could not discern. “But if you would prefer I have the crossbow as well, then I will keep it to hand. Did you bring the bolts?”
She had and offered them to him, keeping one herself. He was watching her and she could not guess why he smiled when he saw what she did. The weight of the bolt was reassuring in her hand, cold and solid. She could stab with it, if necessary.
