Anna caught her breath and stared at him in obvious terror.
“It is the smith’s daughter,” Gaultier declared and seized her around the waist. “I knew you were not dead!”
“What is this?” Royce demanded.
Gaultier made to cast her to the ground, but Anna kicked him hard in the groin. The knight turned the horse and struck Gaultier in the back of the head with a mailed fist, then snatched for Anna. She leapt toward his saddle and managed to grasp his belt. The other horses stamped and the rest of the party turned to ride out, giving their spurs to their steeds.
“Ride!” Anna cried, even as Gaultier lunged for her. The maid kicked Gaultier as her palfrey cantered past him, but Gaultier still managed to catch hold of Anna’s kirtle. He tugged at her and she slid backward on Bartholomew’s horse, then he grabbed her ankle.
He would pull her to the ground! Percy gasped in horror.
“Filthy wretch!” Gaultier roared. “You are no lady, and you will not ride from this keep without my leave!” Anna hung on to the knight, even as Gaultier held fast to her ankle. The horse was sufficiently strong that the Captain of the Guard was dragged behind them. Gaultier would keep Anna behind! The knight tried to dislodge the captain’s weight, but Percy saw that he was constrained by Anna’s position.
Percy had to help. He gave the squire’s palfrey his heels.
“What are you doing?” cried the squire before him, but Percy did not heed his protest. They rode straight for the Captain of the Guard and he seized the squire’s short blade from his scabbard that he would be ready. As the horse drew alongside Gaultier, Percy stabbed at him.
“Knave!” he cried.
The blade was diverted by Gaultier’s coif, though, and only scratched his face. “Vermin! My lord, it is the smith’s other brat!” the Captain of the Guard roared and swung a fist at Percy. He struck the squire’s palfrey, which danced sideways, then bolted for the gate. Percy could only hold on and look back, helpless to do more.
Indeed, he had not done enough.
“Halt!” Royce bellowed. “Close the gates!”
Percy heard the creak of the portcullis being lowered. As the squire’s palfrey galloped beneath it, he looked back in time to see Anna kick Gaultier again. Her kirtle tore before the knight’s grip loosed and she pulled herself closer to the knight.
“Ride!” she cried again, and neither the knight who accompanied her nor his steed needed more encouragement. The Templars raced forward, the Scotsman falling to the rear. The portcullis was lowering quickly, but those riders bent low over their saddles and sailed beneath it.
“Ride!” the Scotsman roared and slapped the rump of the palfrey that the other squire rode, hastening the others ahead of him.
They had escaped!
“You will not depart so readily!” Gaultier bellowed and snatched at the Scotsman, who was the last rider in the bailey. That man clung to his saddlebag and Percy feared he knew what was within it. The pair fell to the ground, the saddlebag clutched to the Scotsman’s chest, and his steed raced on with the reins trailing.
The portcullis clanged to the earth right after the Scotsman’s horse. One of the squires snatched its reins and led it onward. The Scotsman and Gaultier were wrestling in the dirt, the saddlebag between them. Percy saw three more knights step forward and knew the Scotsman would have to surrender.
“Nay!” Percy cried, for the Scotsman had been kind to him. He wished he could have made his blow count and killed Gaultier, as that man deserved. He did not want Royce to have the treasure, either.
“God in Heaven,” the Scottish knight muttered, his destrier slowing its pace as he looked back.
“Ride on!” the knight with Anna insisted. The maid’s palfrey galloped behind them, and the squires followed in a tight pack. They knew how to ride quickly, that much was for certain, and their horses were accustomed to it. The palfreys were followed by the Templars.
“We must save ourselves that we can later save him,” one of the Templars said.
“Naught will be gained if we are all taken,” the other agreed.
“We will return for him,” the knight with Anna insisted, and the Scottish knight reluctantly turned his steed to follow.
“And the prize,” he muttered, and Percy noted that all the men in the group were grim. For some reason, they carried that treasure, and he guessed that they would not readily abandon it.
Or their comrade.
But where would they hide?
Surely Anna would not reveal the refuge and compromise the safety of all of Haynesdale’s outcasts? Percy watched the way his sister looked at the French knight and could not be certain.
How could she abandon her hatred of Gaultier’s kind so readily?
