But that would be folly. She fell under his spell, no more than that.
“Nay,” she said, and heard the tremor in her own voice. “Not that, sir. I cannot.”
There was a moment of silence then and she feared she had revealed too much.
“You must tell me who so injured you, Anna,” Bartholomew murmured finally and with heat. “And I shall see you avenged.”
It was a promise to thrill her heart, but not one to make her lose her good sense. Anna closed her eyes and recalled all the lovemaking she had ever overheard, then tried once again to moan with supposed pleasure.
They had an agreement, after all, and she would do her part to see both Percy saved and the reliquary relieved.
In the darkness, at least, Bartholomew could not see her blush.
Sunday, January 17, 1188
Feast Day of Saint Antony of Egypt
Chapter Six
It was clear to Bartholomew that Anna had been compelled to welcome a man and that against her will. The notion infuriated him, but there could be no doubting the meaning of her reaction to his own touch. She was not shy. Indeed, she was a bold maiden, more willing than most men to accept a challenge or a dare.
But when she was caressed, she recoiled in terror. He would have expected her to meet him touch for touch, to be as fearless abed as elsewhere, but she shrank from him in terror.
Even when they jested.
She had been raped. There could be no other explanation. He would have wagered his own life upon it. The notion sent fire through him, along with a need to see her revenged. He felt a cur for having teased her with a kiss, and a fool for not having guessed this secret sooner. Worse, he imagined that her dislike of French knights was rooted in this experience.
Aye, many a nobleman believed that pretty maidens in villages were there for his pleasure. The fact that it was commonly done did not diminish Bartholomew’s outrage that it had been done to Anna. It was wrong for any woman to endure as much, and he was appalled that Anna should have been so misused.
If naught else, his awareness of her past ensured that he gave her what she desired. He kept his distance in the great bed and held only her hand as they feigned the achievement of their satisfaction.
He was fiercely glad that he had made her laugh, even a little, in such circumstance.
When they had appeared to couple beyond all human endurance, he roared with his apparent release, thumping the mattress with his fist. The dog came to look upon them then, its curiosity aroused and Anna giggled again.
Bartholomew began to snore loudly, like a drunken lout who had had his pleasure and cared for naught else. He felt Anna pat the mattress and Cenric was quick to accept the invitation. The dog was large and warm, and Anna curled up with the beast between them.
That was no accident, he would wager.
Indeed, she would only sleep if they were not alone.
“Call Leila, too,” Bartholomew advised quietly, between his raucous snores. The bed was big enough for all of them, and he could see no reason for Leila to be cold. None could doubt that the bed would be chaste this night, with four of them sharing it.
Leila slipped into the bed at the invitation, and Bartholomew felt her settle on Anna’s other side. They four were nestled against each other and quite warm. To his relief, he heard Anna’s breathing slow. Within moments, he knew he was the sole one awake.
And that gave him the opportunity to consider the puzzle of Anna.
Bartholomew had always thought that village women knew more of intimate matters than noblewomen, for their chastity was not defended with the same vigor. They were often given young to a partner, whether wedded or not, and could have half a dozen children by Anna’s age. He supposed that also meant that they might be abused more readily, as Anna had evidently been.
Who had been a French knight who had taken advantage of her? Had the man been a guest in Royce’s abode? Had it been Royce himself?
Only in the darkness of that night did Bartholomew wonder whether Percy was truly Anna’s brother or her son.
There was no doubt that she returned his kisses as if she expected only pain to come from such an embrace, and he knew that she had little talent for subterfuge. Anna might be a good thief, but she would make a poor spy.
That was part of what he liked about her. She was honest and blunt. Her wits were quick and she showed no hesitation in sharing her views. He liked that he knew where he stood with her, at any moment. He liked that she was intrepid and that she was loyal to her brother. Aye, she would be the kind of person who stood by her word, regardless of what transpired.
He liked that well.
