Other dogs barked but he could not abandon this hound dog. It might well reveal their location, but more than that, he wanted its company. It jumped toward him with joy and he seized it, casting it halfway over his shoulder before he climbed the rope ladder anew. In this moment, he was glad that the dog was too thin, for it was a formidable weight and size even as it was. He was panting with exertion when he reached the summit of the ladder and the others helped to pull the dog onto the platform.
Cenric was none too pleased with the situation. His eyes were wide and he sat in the midst of the platform, as if terrified of falling from its edge. Percy and Father Ignatius patted the dog in an attempt to reassure it and it cautiously laid down. Bartholomew was certain the dog’s nails were digging into the wood.
“You risk your life for a dog,” Anna chided, though he knew she was pleased. “Whimsy!”
“I defend what I take to heart,” Bartholomew said even as he caught his breath.
“And so it is with a man of merit,” Father Ignatius said with approval. “Well done, my son.”
Anna granted Bartholomew a level look, then advised them all to be quiet. Percy whisked the rope ladder up to the platform and they all ducked down, the dog in their midst, to peer through the tree’s branches at the ground. Bartholomew imagined that in summer, when the tree was in full leaf, they would be completely hidden. As it was, he felt exposed.
Still, a hunter would have to think to look up. Who would expect a platform to be built in a tree in the midst of the forest? Who had built this one? He peered into the other trees around the clearing and thought he could discern another platform in a large oak tree opposite them. Were there people on it? He could not be certain. If there were, they were garbed in plain clothing and very still.
He removed the crossbow from his back as the sounds of pursuit grew louder and loaded a bolt under Anna’s watchful eye.
A trio of dogs raced into the clearing, barking as they followed the scent. Though Percy had brushed a bough over the party’s footprints, the snow looked different where they had walked. Two dogs passed by, following the false trail, but one slowed its steps to sniff beneath the tree. All on the platform held their breath as one.
The dog below took a step back and looked up the tree, its eyes glinting, and growled.
Cenric growled in return, though he could not have seen the other dog. Bartholomew felt the vibration of the dog against his side.
He could have killed the dog below, but its corpse would draw more attention than its growl. He aimed the bow and waited.
The dog’s ears flicked at the sound of Cenric’s growl.
It took another step back and its ears flicked, as if considering the puzzle of a dog in a tree.
A man whistled and the other two dogs raced back across the clearing. The one beneath the tree gave one last look upward, then heeded the summons as well. The dogs could be heard bounding through the scrub, and slowly the sounds of their passage diminished to naught.
The sun passed its zenith.
The snow melted in the clearing.
An owl hooted three times.
An owl? In broad daylight?
Anna stood up and hooted in reply. Her eyes were dancing as she watched Bartholomew’s reaction. “How many are hidden here?” he asked, still keeping his voice low.
“More than you will believe,” she replied. “Come, Father Ignatius, you will be most welcome.”
*
It was good to be back.
Anna always felt more at home in the forest than anywhere else. Here, she could trust her fellows. Here, she was safe. Here, she knew every man, woman, and child, what they believed and what they would do in any circumstance. It was a haven in every sense of the word.
Esme’s chickens were the first to surround them, clucking and pecking. Cenric bent to sniff them and they fluttered away, scolding with a confidence that was the result of Esme’s protection. The dog looked bewildered by their manner, but walked at Bartholomew’s side and left them alone.
Willa, the wife of Esme’s son, shooed the chickens out of the path of the new arrivals, her eyes bright with curiosity. Her husband, Edgar, was fast by her side, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. Anna understood that they two had stepped forward to discover the truth of her companion, while the others remained hidden. “Look at you!” Willa declared to Anna. “As finely garbed as Lady Marie herself.” She dropped to one knee. “And Father Ignatius! What a marvel.”
“You look well, Willa,” the priest said with real pleasure.
“And you bring a stranger to us,” Edgar said with disapproval, speaking quickly as if to interrupt the priest from saying more. He was a burly man and folded his arms across his chest to regard them all. His tone was filled with disdain. “A knight. AFrenchknight by the look of him.”
“I gather you have learned little good of knights,” Bartholomew said smoothly. He offered his hand. “I am Bartholomew of Châmont-sur-Maine. I vow that I will honor the bond between guest and host in this place, if you would offer me hospitality for a short while.”
Edgar blinked and stared at his outstretched hand. Anna smiled, for none of them had known a nobleman to speak to them as better than dogs. “You must not reveal us,” he decreed.
