Anna appeared to be taken aback by this, but Bartholomew did not release her hand. “You have done well for yourselves here,” he acknowledged, seeing that praise was due. “For there is more comfort in this forest than I would have expected.”
“Aye, there is that, thanks to Anna.” The company saluted her, but Bartholomew saw that she was still troubled.
“But the true son would find a willing army in his forests, if he deigned to return,” said the man and the company cheered as one.
Could Bartholomew so imperil these former villagers with a quest to reclaim his legacy? It was not the place of such men to fight, though he saw that they had the will to do as much. He feared that he found his desire mirrored in their resolve, and that to take them at their word would be unjust, for many would die.
He noted that they were thin, much like the dog, and knew the time in the forest had been hard upon them. Their garb was threadbare and their shoes worn through. They looked older than their years, even the children, and he imagined that the force of their will might not be enough to make strong opponents of them.
The man meanwhile turned to face the company. “Let us dance then, this night, as if it is to be our last. Anna and Percy are returned, and that is a matter to celebrate.”
“It would be folly,” Anna said. “The baron’s men may hear us.”
The man was dismissive. “You may rest assured that they are back in the baron’s hall, feasting themselves, for they are not men to sacrifice the comfort of a warm bed.”
“Or a warm wench!” cried another and the company laughed again.
“A cup of mulled wine,” sighed a woman and others nodded.
“A feast at Christmas in the baron’s hall,” added another.
“It is our right, and one withheld these many years,” grumbled another.
“But we may yet dance!” cried the first man and a ripple passed through the company.
There was a wildness about them, a recklessness that Bartholomew saw was born of desperation. He felt sympathy for them and dared to hope that he might be able to change their circumstance. On the morrow, he would try to free Duncan. In less than a fortnight, his fellows would return.
On this night, though, there was naught to be done but take the man’s suggestion.
“Then let us dance,” he declared and spun Anna around. Someone had a flute and began to play a tune, the others clapping their hands to the beat. They had no ale and only a thin venison stew in their bellies. They would sleep in the forest, on platforms built in the trees, and it might well snow again this night. Many would be cold. But they would take merriment where they could find it and Bartholomew admired their spirit.
He turned Anna before them all, and many whistled at the change in her garb. She flushed a little but he liked the sparkle that lit in her eyes. Then the tune became faster and she picked up her skirts, granting him a glance of pure mischief before she began to dance the jig.
It was a challenge, and one Bartholomew was inclined to take. He gestured to the musician, who played even faster, placed his hands on his hips and danced opposite Anna, daring her to best him at this. The company hooted, bets were undoubtedly laid, hands clapped and feet stamped, but there was only the merry sparkle of Anna’s eyes and the flash of her feet for Bartholomew.
Had he ever met a more beguiling woman? He was certain he had not.
*
The sky was filled with stars, when Anna took Bartholomew by the hand. The wind was rising and she knew that clouds would come before morning. She could smell the dampness of snow in the air and felt the pending change in the weather.
They would be safe and warm in the cave, though.
She liked that he did not ask her questions or make demands. He simply let her lead him away from the company. It was that cursed confidence to be sure, and the realization made her smile.
Many had retired, and still others made preparations for the night. They had danced vigorously and would sleep well. Wooden platforms groaned overhead as the villagers rolled themselves in cloaks and blankets and furs, whatever they could find, and huddled together.
But Anna led Bartholomew away. She was warm from their dancing, but her heart raced because of the admiration in Bartholomew’s eyes. The dog padded silently behind him, and she liked that he had won the beast’s loyalty so quickly. Her mother had always said that dogs were the best judges of men.
That she had reminded them all of this after a hound in the village snarled at Sir Royce had not been appreciated by the baron.
The land became rocky as they approached the cavern where she and Percy often took refuge. She paused in the last cluster of trees to listen and look. There were no footprints outside the cavern’s opening, and the snow gleamed in the starlight. She and Bartholomew crossed the river on the stones placed within its course, and she was impressed that the dog managed to do the same.
They ducked into the shelter of the cavern and she was glad it was high enough that Bartholomew did not have to bend. She continued alone to the hiding place at the back, locating the tinder and stolen candle. She lit it, then turned to face him, watching the golden light play over his features.
“Your own refuge?” he asked, looking about himself with curiosity.
“In a way. When Percy and I have stolen from the baron before, we have hidden here.”
