Perhaps shewouldkill Royce for him.
“I have to find Bartholomew. Where did he go?”
“He asked for direction to the old mill from here,” Father Ignatius confided.
*
“There are women I would trust in such a situation, lad, but this Lady of Haynesdale is not one of them.”
Bartholomew lay in the snow alongside Duncan, his chin on his gloved fist, watching the old mill. The sun was just past its zenith and naught moved in the old village save a herd of goats that wandered across the snow. A pair of villagers tended them without much interest, and they bleated as they dug beneath the fresh snow for fodder.
“I do not need to trust her, not if I follow Anna’s scheme.”
Duncan grimaced. “I think it risky to trust her even so far as that. She might be in alliance with her husband, for truly, she has as much to lose as he.”
“There are many barriers between me and the barony.”
“And the simplest solution for Sir Royce would be to see you dead now, before any of those obstacles are conquered.”
Bartholomew granted his companion a glance. “Do not suggest that I break my word.”
The older man shook his head. “You have no argument from me over the keeping of a pledge, lad. What other man of your acquaintance has spent years keeping his word, and traveled the breadth of Christendom to do it?”
“You have?”
“If Fergus has found trouble in my absence, my life is over as I know it,” Duncan growled. “I swore to repay his father for saving my life, and so his father dispatched me to ensure his son returned from Outremer.” Duncan glowered at the village before them. “If he has found some mischief to make it otherwise, when I could do naught about it, I will be vexed indeed.”
“Fergus will return soon enough.”
Duncan’s brows rose. “And so I pray that it will be.”
“Years keeping your word,” Bartholomew echoed.
“And I did not regret a moment of it, not until we reached Paris.”
“Why was that?”
“Because I found something I cared about other than my word, lad, but one commitment must be fulfilled before another can be made. You do not have to argue the matter with me.”
Bartholomew considered the older man, wondering what he had found of greater import. “What did you find?”
“Who, lad. The question is who.” Duncan smiled. “A wee lass with fire in her eyes.” He sighed.
“Radegunde,” Bartholomew guessed.
Duncan’s eyes narrowed as he peered at the mill. “One pledge fulfilled before making another. That is all a man can do.”
It startled Bartholomew to realize that he and Anna were not the sole lovers kept apart by circumstance. “When Fergus returns, I will ride to Killairic with you, and threaten his life that you might fulfill your pledge.”
Duncan smiled. “I appreciate the offer, lad, but you have more than sufficient challenge before you.”
That was true enough.
“Look,” the Scotsman murmured. “She comes.”
Bartholomew watched as Lady Marie arrived before the mill. She rode a fine mare, and her maids were on smaller palfreys. All glanced about themselves furtively. One seized the reins of her lady’s horse, and the other dismounted, hastening into the mill with her lady. The second maid led the three horses away, taking cover in the forest.
“She guards the road to the new keep,” Duncan murmured and cast Bartholomew a knowing glance. “The lady is well prepared for her assignation.”
