“I am the smith’s daughter,” Anna said proudly. Bartholomew shook his head, but she dared not linger lest she feel compelled to tell him more.
After all, there was a deed she had to complete, and she would need Father Ignatius’ aid to see it done. She should speak to him about it. She left Bartholomew without further explanation, well aware that his gaze followed her.
He was curious, to be sure, and keen of wit. She could not help but wonder how long it would take him to unveil her secrets.
*
Royce stared at the reliquary, a little embarrassed that he had not made the connection sooner. First, a remarkable prize is discovered in the possession of the smith’s youngest child, a boy known to be a troublemaker and banished to the forest as an outcast. There was no good explanation for the boy, who was a peasant, to have such a marvel in his custody. Insolent brat that he was, Percy had been disinclined to share any tidings of how he had come by the reliquary.
Undoubtedly he had stolen it.
But it had never occurred to Royce that the boy might have stolen it from the party that had arrived at his gates the day before, not until they had been caught in what had obviously been an attempt to retrieve it. They had only come to the gates of Haynesdale to fetch the reliquary.
He should have seen the truth of it sooner.
But where had it come from in the first place? Royce had never seen the like of it. Even when the mass was celebrated at the king’s own chapel, there were never such magnificent pieces as this shown to the faithful. Not even in the great cathedrals were such treasures displayed.
Worse, he had never heard of this reliquary, or even the saint whose name was engraved upon it. Still, that was of less import than its presence in his abode. Royce might not be the most clever baron in Henry’s kingdom, but he had a nose for trouble.
This mysterious relic brought trouble, and he had a feeling it would bring more.
He wanted very badly to be wrong about that. He wanted to keep this remarkable prize, so he demanded the prisoner be brought to him. He had the Scotsman escorted to the chapel. They were a barbaric and superstitious lot, in his experience. Perhaps the setting would loosen the Scotsman’s tongue.
If not, there were other means of encouragement that could be used. In fact, Gaultier would be disappointed if the prisoner confessed too much too soon.
The door was hauled open and Gaultier appeared on the threshold. His expression was grim and the cut on his cheek was angry. He looked to be in even worse temper than usual. The Scotsman was getting a bruise on his cheek—indeed, it looked as if he would have a splendidly blackened eye—and he looked scarcely more amiable than Gaultier. Royce did not doubt that Gaultier had already tried to encourage the man to confess more.
The Captain of the Guard did have an unbridled taste for violence. Doubtless the Scotsman had many more bruises beneath his garb.
Gaultier released the prisoner’s arm, and the Scotsman gave him a disparaging look before putting a step between them.
“I would not advise you to run,” Royce said smoothly.
“I do not intend to flee,” the Scotsman said gruffly. “I still have sufficient wit to recognize that the gates are barred against me.” His gaze flicked to the reliquary and Royce placed his hand upon it.
“Familiar?” he asked.
The Scotsman granted him a cold glance. “It is my sworn duty to deliver it safely to its destination. Of course, it is familiar.”
“You tried to steal it.”
“I tried to retrieve it.”
“I say it was not yours to retrieve.”
The Scotsman smiled. “And I say it is not yours to claim.”
“By what authority do you claim possession of this prize?”
His gaze was unswerving and he spoke with conviction. “By the highest authority there is.”
Royce was more unsettled than he chose to admit. He spoke mockingly as a result. “Are you saying that God granted it to your care?”
“Does God not grant all quests to all men?”
Royce frowned. “I mean, to whom did you swear that you would deliver it?”
“That truth is not mine to share.”
