Anna awakened and stretched with leisure. She felt wondrous, both satisfied and desirous of more, both at ease and filled with anticipation.
Because of Bartholomew.
She smiled and reached for him, only to find herself alone.
Anna sat up with haste, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. She wore only her chemise though the fur-lined fullness of Bartholomew’s cloak was wrapped around her. It was light at the mouth of the cavern and she could see fresh snow falling. She heard Percy playing with the dog and pulled the cloak over her shoulders. It was when she gave the cloth a tug that she discerned the weight upon it.
Her crossbow.
The pale wood shone on the dark wool cloth and she stared at it for a moment, wondering that Bartholomew had left it by her side. The quiver of bolts was beside the candle and tinderbox.
Where was his armor?
Why could she not hear his voice?
Filled with dread, Anna swept to her feet. She was not reassured to discover that every piece of Bartholomew’s garb was gone, save the cloak, as well as every weapon, save the crossbow. She hastened to the opening of the cave in time to see Percy cast a stick for Cenric, who raced after it, tail wagging.
There was no knight watching them.
There were no other footprints in the snow.
Bartholomew was gone and had been gone for some time.
Worse, he had no intention of returning. The crossbow made that most clear—he had vowed to give it to her when he left Haynesdale for good.
But he was the rightful heir! He could not abandon them now.
“Anna!” Percy cried and raced toward her, his eyes glowing. The dog ran right behind him, still carrying the stick. “Bartholomew bade me stand guard while you slept.”
Cenric came to lean on Anna, his tail wagging in welcome.
“He is gone then?”
“Aye, at the dawn.”
“Do you know where?”
Her brother gave her a disparaging glance. “To save his friend, of course. That is what good knights do.”
He had gone to Haynesdale keep. And once he had freed Duncan—if he succeeded in doing so—he would leave.
Anna’s lips set and she turned back to the cavern to dress in haste. Bartholomew would not follow his scheme without hearing her thoughts on the matter first. The rightful heir could not simply ride away. It was his obligation to help the villagers of Haynesdale.
If Bartholomew had forgotten as much, Anna would be more than glad to remind him.
*
Haynesdale keep was even more quiet than Bartholomew had expected.
There was only one guard at the gate and that man seemed to doze at his post. Two men walked the summit of the wall, but their manner was desultory. The snow was beginning to fall more thickly and he wondered whether they were cold. He would have been, if his heart had not been beating with such vigor.
How many more were there? He knew four had ridden out in pursuit of their party the day before. Had those men returned? Had the Captain of the Guard ridden out, or did he remain at the keep? Bartholomew did not have a full tally of how many warriors labored beneath Royce’s hand. He could not hear horses at all and the village could have been a graveyard.
There would be Lady Marie and her maids, of course, but surely she lingered abed on a winter morn like this one. He had to assume that some servants were in the kitchens, so he would avoid that area as well as the great hall itself.
He eyed the keys Father Ignatius had given him. The smallest one was for the chapel in the village, though the priest had confessed it was not locked. There were no valuables there any longer and Father Ignatius did not wish to deny those remaining villagers the solace of prayer in a sacred space.
The next, which was nigh the same size but more ornate, was for the treasury in the keep’s chapel, where the reliquary had been secured.
