The Crusader's Kiss

by Claire Delacroix

  Anna caught her breath and stared at him in obvious terror.

  “It is the smith’s daughter,” Gaultier declared and seized her around the waist. “I knew you were not dead!”

  “What is this?” Royce demanded.

  Gaultier made to cast her to the ground, but Anna kicked him hard in the groin. The knight turned the horse and struck Gaultier in the back of the head with a mailed fist, then snatched for Anna. She leapt toward his saddle and managed to grasp his belt. The other horses stamped and the rest of the party turned to ride out, giving their spurs to their steeds.

  “Ride!” Anna cried, even as Gaultier lunged for her. The maid kicked Gaultier as her palfrey cantered past him, but Gaultier still managed to catch hold of Anna’s kirtle. He tugged at her and she slid backward on Bartholomew’s horse, then he grabbed her ankle.

  He would pull her to the ground! Percy gasped in horror.

  “Filthy wretch!” Gaultier roared. “You are no lady, and you will not ride from this keep without my leave!” Anna hung on to the knight, even as Gaultier held fast to her ankle. The horse was sufficiently strong that the Captain of the Guard was dragged behind them. Gaultier would keep Anna behind! The knight tried to dislodge the captain’s weight, but Percy saw that he was constrained by Anna’s position.

  Percy had to help. He gave the squire’s palfrey his heels.

  “What are you doing?” cried the squire before him, but Percy did not heed his protest. They rode straight for the Captain of the Guard and he seized the squire’s short blade from his scabbard that he would be ready. As the horse drew alongside Gaultier, Percy stabbed at him.

  “Knave!” he cried.

  The blade was diverted by Gaultier’s coif, though, and only scratched his face. “Vermin! My lord, it is the smith’s other brat!” the Captain of the Guard roared and swung a fist at Percy. He struck the squire’s palfrey, which danced sideways, then bolted for the gate. Percy could only hold on and look back, helpless to do more.

  Indeed, he had not done enough.

  “Halt!” Royce bellowed. “Close the gates!”

  Percy heard the creak of the portcullis being lowered. As the squire’s palfrey galloped beneath it, he looked back in time to see Anna kick Gaultier again. Her kirtle tore before the knight’s grip loosed and she pulled herself closer to the knight.

  “Ride!” she cried again, and neither the knight who accompanied her nor his steed needed more encouragement. The Templars raced forward, the Scotsman falling to the rear. The portcullis was lowering quickly, but those riders bent low over their saddles and sailed beneath it.

  “Ride!” the Scotsman roared and slapped the rump of the palfrey that the other squire rode, hastening the others ahead of him.

  They had escaped!

  “You will not depart so readily!” Gaultier bellowed and snatched at the Scotsman, who was the last rider in the bailey. That man clung to his saddlebag and Percy feared he knew what was within it. The pair fell to the ground, the saddlebag clutched to the Scotsman’s chest, and his steed raced on with the reins trailing.

  The portcullis clanged to the earth right after the Scotsman’s horse. One of the squires snatched its reins and led it onward. The Scotsman and Gaultier were wrestling in the dirt, the saddlebag between them. Percy saw three more knights step forward and knew the Scotsman would have to surrender.

  “Nay!” Percy cried, for the Scotsman had been kind to him. He wished he could have made his blow count and killed Gaultier, as that man deserved. He did not want Royce to have the treasure, either.

  “God in Heaven,” the Scottish knight muttered, his destrier slowing its pace as he looked back.

  “Ride on!” the knight with Anna insisted. The maid’s palfrey galloped behind them, and the squires followed in a tight pack. They knew how to ride quickly, that much was for certain, and their horses were accustomed to it. The palfreys were followed by the Templars.

  “We must save ourselves that we can later save him,” one of the Templars said.

  “Naught will be gained if we are all taken,” the other agreed.

  “We will return for him,” the knight with Anna insisted, and the Scottish knight reluctantly turned his steed to follow.

  “And the prize,” he muttered, and Percy noted that all the men in the group were grim. For some reason, they carried that treasure, and he guessed that they would not readily abandon it.

  Or their comrade.

  But where would they hide?

  Surely Anna would not reveal the refuge and compromise the safety of all of Haynesdale’s outcasts? Percy watched the way his sister looked at the French knight and could not be certain.

  How could she abandon her hatred of Gaultier’s kind so readily?

  Chapter Seven

  Anna was torn.

  She knew they could not outrun the baron’s men. It was too far to another sanctuary.

  Yet, as much as she wanted to ensure the safety of Bartholomew and his companions, she could not help them to hide.

  Because that would mean revealing her fellows in the forest. Such a large company of horses could not be hidden in the forest for long, even if they were taken in by the outcasts from Haynesdale village. The baron’s knights would not rest until they had found Bartholomew’s party. Already she heard the baying of the hunting dogs and trembled that those who had been safely hidden in the forest until this day would pay the price for her deeds.

  Again.

  Who could have guessed that one theft could have led to so much going awry?

  And now Duncan was still held captive in Haynesdale. She wanted to be of aid, but she could not betray those who trusted her. It seemed there was no good solution, only choices that endangered all.

  She remained silent, hoping Bartholomew and his friends had a scheme.

  Otherwise, she would have to save Percy first and leave them in peril.

  Anna felt trapped, as if there were no good solutions. “The dog!” she recalled belatedly, thinking of another matter gone awry.

  “There was no opportunity to ask for him,” Bartholomew said, regret in his tone. “And no chance of gaining him now.”

  “Royce will hunt us to the ground when he realizes that we nearly reclaimed the treasure,” Fergus said, drawing his steed alongside.

  “Or do injury to the priest,” Bartholomew agreed. He glanced back at Anna. “He will guess that we had that man’s aid. Will he be safe?”

  “Sir Royce will not find him,” Anna could assure him with confidence. “Father Ignatius left the hall and village after helping us.”

  “Can we find him?” Fergus asked. “I would not leave him undefended.”

  His gallantry only added to her dismay. “He will fare well enough,” she said, not wanting to admit more.

  “You have a haven, then?” Bartholomew said with satisfaction. “Those are good tidings.”

  Anna did not make the obvious offer and to her relief, he did not pursue the question.

  For the moment. Bartholomew or one of his fellows would return to the matter of refuge and she must decide what to do. The location of the hidden sanctuary was not her secret to tell, for doing so would compromise the safety of all. On the other hand, these knights had saved Percy, and at considerable risk to themselves. They had lost one of their own and the sacred relic. She owed them much and came to believe she could trust Bartholomew’s word.

  What should she do?

  “They will pursue us within moments,” Enguerrand declared, drawing alongside Fergus and Bartholomew. “All they must do is saddle their steeds and open the gates. And he must know these lands better than we do. We are lost!”

  Even as the Templar spoke, a hunting horn was sounded from the keep behind them.

  Without exchanging a word, they all urged their horses to greater speed. Anna’s heart raced, and she was glad to see that they approached the bend in the road. She felt Percy watching her and knew she must decide.

  “It is only a matter of time until t
hey catch up to us,” Fergus said. “There is but one direction to look for us until the road forks!”

  “And that is in several miles,” Bartholomew agreed.

  “I cannot think there is a refuge to be found nearby,” Yvan said, glancing at Bartholomew. “It was you who advised this road. Do you know where we might find sanctuary?” Anna noted how that knight considered Bartholomew.

  Why would Bartholomew have brought his party through Haynesdale? She knew little of him, but in this moment, she realized she knew almost naught at all. Why would he have come to Haynesdale?

  “What of Duncan?” Fergus asked. “We cannot abandon him.”

  “We must leave him there for the moment,” Bartholomew said. “Anna? How far must we ride this day to safety?”

  “The lands to the north are Royce’s former holding,” she said with care. “And it must be nigh two days ride to a town.” She shrugged. “They must have thought you mad to have believed you could reach Carlisle in a day. It takes at least three to arrive there.”

  Fergus swore. “Never did I think I would curse the wilderness so! We have need of a town.”

  “A cave,” Yvan suggested.

  “We are doomed!” moaned Enguerrand.

  “Nay, I think not,” Bartholomew said, glancing back at Anna. “You have a suggestion, I would wager. Perhaps we might share the sanctuary used by the priest.”

  “He is not there yet. Just ahead, there is an old crooked elm off the right of the path. He awaits us there.”

  “We cannot all hide in an elm, no matter how old or crooked!” protested Yvan.

  “Anna knows of a haven,” Bartholomew reminded them quietly.

  “Will you take them there?” Percy asked and all the men looked at him.

  Anna sat straighter behind Bartholomew, knowing the men would protest her one condition. “There is a haven, but it is not my right to reveal it, for others take sanctuary there.” She saw Bartholomew’s disappointment. “I cannot take you there.”

  “What madness is this?” Enguerrand demanded. “We saved your thief of a brother!” He was as outraged as if he had made the plan and taken the risk, though Anna knew he had been a reluctant participant.

  “We imperiled our companion in that quest,” Fergus reminded her gently.

  “And lost the relic,” Leila said, her tone more scathing. It was clear she thought little of Anna’s choice.

  “I cannot do it,” Anna said. “And the horses cannot be hidden. They will bring dogs and all will be lost.”

  “But…” Fergus began.

  Bartholomew held up a hand for silence. “Anna speaks with sense. If her refuge offers no hiding for the horses, we will be found, along with those she would defend. Remember the burned forest we saw yesterday and the tale of it.”

  “But still,” Enguerrand protested.

  Bartholomew rounded the curve and slowed his destrier. “Of course, we will let you return to the forest and ride on to draw Royce’s men away.” To her surprise, he leapt from the saddle then lifted her down.

  “You have no time,” she argued, fearful for his survival.

  He granted her a sparkling glance and seized her crossbow from where it hung on the back of his saddle. “You will give me refuge, or never see this again.”

  “Curse you!” Anna said.

  “Ride on,” Bartholomew said to Fergus. “Meet me where the forest is burned at the next new moon.” He seized Percy from behind Hamish and put him on the ground. “I will find a way for us to retrieve the reliquary by then, and Duncan, too.”

  “Can you trust her?” Enguerrand demanded.

  “So long as I hold her prize, aye, I can,” Bartholomew said, then spared Anna a glance. “And she knows more of these lands than we do. Alliance may offer our sole chance.”

  It was a compromise that Anna did not like—though truly, she was glad that this would not be the day she saw the last of this knight.

  And she admired that he would finish what he had begun.

  “Fair enough,” Fergus agreed and reached for the reins of Bartholomew’s destrier.

  “But my lord!” Timothy protested.

  “Ride with them,” Bartholomew instructed. “You will be safer.”

  “But your hauberk!”

  “I will find a way. Fear not and ride on!” Bartholomew cried and slapped the rump of his destrier. That beast sprang forward with a nicker, and the entire company gave their spurs to their steeds. The horses galloped down the road, both Timothy and Leila looking back in concern. Bartholomew gave them a jaunty wave, but Anna seized his arm.

  “We must hide!” she hissed, and he followed her immediately. Percy had already ducked into the undergrowth and she turned her steps toward a large crooked elm.

  Father Ignatius was there, his hand upon Percy’s shoulder. He carried a large sack, and Anna assumed he had brought some provisions and perhaps a Bible. Bartholomew held up a hand as the sound of hoof beats became louder. They ducked down in the undergrowth and watched the shadows of the passing horses. Dogs ran with the steeds, baying and barking after the departing party.

  She wished that they had left Cenric behind. Of course, there had been no opportunity to ask for the dog or to offer to pay for it, and she already knew this knight well enough to understand that he would not have simply taken it.

  “Four,” Bartholomew whispered when they were gone.

  “They will double back,” Anna said. “We will be found.” She fixed Bartholomew with a look. “You must be blindfolded to go farther.”

  His lips parted. He looked back to the road, then to her. “A fine time to mention such detail.”

  “I cannot betray them,” Anna said with ferocity.

  “Them?” Bartholomew echoed, looking between her and the priest with obvious curiosity. “How many hide in these woods?”

  “At least half the village of Haynesdale,” Father Ignatius said. “I did not think so many were killed in that fire as Sir Royce maintained.” He nodded at Bartholomew. “They have learned a distrust of knights and noblemen. Decide, my son, for it must be this way if you are to continue.”

  “And make haste!” Percy said. “Or we shall abandon you here.”

  Bartholomew nodded once, then sat on a log. Anna tore a length of cloth from the hem on her chemise and wrapped it several times around his head before knotting it securely. “You will have to trust my guidance,” she said quietly.

  “If I trip, I will be sure to break the weapon you so value,” he countered, and she had to admit that it was not an unreasonable reply.

  “Once again, we make a wager to see the goals of each of us achieved,” she said and was rewarded by his quick smile.

  “Quickly, now,” she urged then, and Percy gathered some boughs. Fortunately, there was little snow on the ground here where the trees were dense overhead even in winter. They moved with haste, Anna leading Bartholomew by the hand and Father Ignatius steadying his other elbow. Percy trailed the group, sweeping over the marks of their passage and tucking bracken across the path to disguise the way. The deeper they went into the forest, the quieter the air seemed to be. There was no smell of wood smoke or any notable signs of men.

  Anna saw the bent twigs that were left as signals and the quick movement of shadows on either side of the established route. Word of their party would reach the haven before they did, and she anticipated a full greeting.

  Father Ignatius would be surprised by the size of his flock that survived in the forest.

  * * *

  The sorry truth was that Duncan had seen worse prisons.

  This dungeon was not so fine a place, but the vermin—thus far—were neither numerous nor bold, and the dampness was constrained to one corner. It did not smell fair, but it was not a dung heap either. It was damp but not as cold as he might have expected.

  Aye, he had seen worse.

  That was precious little consolation now that he found himself trapped in this one. Indeed, it said much about his life, and little good
.

  The realization disgruntled him.

  The entry was from above, a trap door in the floor, which was the height of three men above him. There was a rope ladder that could be lowered into the dungeon but he had simply been cast through the hole. It was a blessing that he had not broken a bone on impact with the packed dirt floor.

  Duncan had paced the space to confirm what he already suspected. It was roughly square and offered no other way out than the trap door. There was not a foothold or a handhold to be found in the walls, which were cursedly smooth—not that it mattered for scaling one even to the top would still leave him too far from the trap door to escape. He did not even imagine that a trio of men could work together to escape this place.

  It was of simple but cunning design.

  To think he might have still been with Radegunde.

  Duncan paced the dry end of the dungeon, then he stood beneath the door for a while. He refused to sit while he had a choice, and he was determined to remain alert. Curse duty and obligation! Curse his own integrity! If he had not been so resolved to keep his word and escort Fergus home, as promised, he might have been with Radegunde.

  Radegunde.

  Of course, he would not have been the man he was, if he had been able to so readily discard a vow, and Radegunde might not have felt affection for him, as a result.

  Still, it was more than sobering to realize that he might never see her again.

  Would she learn of his fate? He did not believe that Fergus would abandon him readily, but was not certain how much the party would risk. Certainly, they would try to regain the prize of the reliquary for it was their mission to deliver it safely. But given the choice between relic and himself, Duncan knew there would be only one decision they could make.

  They were sworn to the saint’s defense, after all.

  He wondered whether he would ever see daylight again, when he heard a key turn in a lock. The trap door was flung open, emitting sudden light into the dungeon so that he squinted at its brightness.

  “Sir Royce would speak with you,” said a man gruffly, then kicked the rope ladder down into the hole. “Hasten yourself, for if you cannot climb on your own, you will lose the chance to beg his mercy.”