He wished it had not been so soon.
Bartholomew paused at the opening of the cavern to watch Anna for another moment. It was likely he would not see her again. He was glad that she slept, for he doubted she would willingly be left behind, and he did not want their last words to be contentious.
He had to free Duncan, and he had to do it alone.
Bartholomew kissed his fingertips in silent salute, then strode into the forest with new purpose. It was snowing, fat flakes cascading from a pewter sky, and the dog loped along beside him. He smelled a fire before he saw the smoke and headed toward the villagers to request assistance. Percy appeared and smiled, then beckoned Bartholomew to join them. He led Bartholomew to Esme, who muttered over a pot set on the logs.
“Anna took you to the cavern, did she not?” the boy asked.
“Aye, she did. She sleeps this morn.”
Esme nodded sagely. “’Twas the visit to the child’s grave that did it.” She exchanged a knowing glance with Bartholomew, then glanced pointedly at Percy.
“Percy, would you aid me with my hauberk?” Bartholomew asked. “Then I wish you would ensure Anna’s safety while she sleeps.”
The boy stood taller at the combination of these requests. He laced the back of Bartholomew’s aketon with speed and enthusiasm, heeding the knight’s quiet instruction. He faltered visibly under the weight of the hauberk, but doubtless recalled that Timothy was not much taller than he. He valiantly held it so Bartholomew could tug it over his head, and when it tumbled over the knight, the boy laced the back.
After Bartholomew donned his tabard, Percy buckled Bartholomew’s belt for him, his fingers brushing the hilts of Bartholomew’s blades with a kind of reverence. “I would be a knight,” he murmured and Bartholomew thought it would be cruel to remind him that such a role was not his birthright.
“Then you must defend widows and orphans and treat all you know with honor.”
“Even villains?”
“Especially villains. The mark of an honorable man is the respect he shows to all, whether they are worthy of his esteem or not.”
Percy considered this. “But villains must be brought to justice.”
“Which means they must come to a court, where judgment is made after consideration.”
“That does not happen in Haynesdale’s court.”
“But once it did,” Esme interjected.
“And once it may again,” Bartholomew said. “Do not blame the court for the merit of the judge.” He smiled at the boy, who was clearly thinking about this. “Now, go to Anna, please. Take Cenric with you, please.”
Percy turned and ran through the forest. The dog hesitated, looking between knight and boy, until Bartholomew patted it and pointed. Cenric bounded after Percy then, and Bartholomew watched them go with satisfaction.
And a measure of regret. Would he return here after Duncan was free? He did not imagine as much. His own words haunted him, for claiming Haynesdale with violence was not the proper choice. He must appeal to the king for the restoration of his family holding, and might well be declined for lack of coin to pay an escheat. He would have liked to have kept the dog, but could not risk the creature’s companionship when he ventured into Haynesdale for Duncan.
“There is porridge if you would have it,” Esme said. “It is not fine, but it is warm.”
“I would welcome it, thank you,” Bartholomew said and sat on a log beside her. She served him a large portion of the porridge and gave him a wooden spoon. True to her word, steam rose from the contents of the wooden bowl. “You are generous,” he noted. “Will this cheat another of their due?”
“You have greater need of it this day,” she replied. “Unless I miss my guess.”
He smiled. “You do indeed see much, Esme.”
“It is the dreams,” she said mildly. “I dreamed last night as I have not done in years.”
“What did you dream about?” he asked, simply to be polite. He blew on a spoonful of porridge.
Esme sighed. “A fine lady. I had almost forgotten how fine she was, and kind.”
“Had she a name?”
“Lady Gabriella of Haynesdale.”
Bartholomew’s heart skipped at the mention of his mother’s name.
