The Crusader's Kiss Read online

  The knight was particularly quiet after this utterance, and Anna assumed he was skeptical of such optimistic omens.

  She continued in a scathing tone. “But then, you come from France yourself. I see it in your garb and hear it in your voice. Doubtless you would ally with him and sit contentedly at his board, oblivious to the suffering of those upon his lands.”

  “Perhaps I will,” the knight mused.

  Anna gasped outrage, then saw the Templars step out of the shadows ahead. The knight spoke to them quickly and in French, which Anna did not understand. They nodded and scanned the forest behind her, then followed the knight and herself into the camp. All of the party were awake, and their expressions were not welcoming.

  “One of our thieves,” the knight said, giving her a push toward the middle of the clearing. Did he speak English for her benefit? “She works with her younger brother, who fled with Duncan’s saddlebag and was captured by knights in the service of the baron who holds title to these lands. Percy and the bag have been taken to the baron’s keep.”

  The Scotsman winced and sat down heavily. The other knight laid a hand upon his shoulder as if to reassure him. “And so? We visit the baron together to retrieve our respective prizes?” he asked, that Highland lilt in his voice.

  “Take the lass like that and she will be dispatched to join the boy, whatever his fate might be,” the Scotsman said, his tone dour.

  “Precisely,” the knight who had captured her agreed. He smiled at her, which Anna did not trust a whit. “Which is why I would propose that we visit this baron, as a party on our way north to attend the wedding of Fergus, once a Templar and now a noble friend.”

  The other knight, who must be Fergus, smiled. “We arrive as friends, then, not foes.”

  “And the lass?” the older man asked. “No one could take a look at her and think her a boy in truth.”

  “Nay, they could not.” The knight’s eyes gleamed. “Which is why she will travel as my wife. Might we trouble you for the loan of some of that fine garb you bought for your betrothed, Fergus? Your generosity is such that Isobel cannot miss the sacrifice of one kirtle.”

  Fergus laughed, his manner so merry that Anna found herself liking him even though his amusement was at her expense. “Particularly if Duncan regains his property.”

  “I will not pretend to be your wife!” Anna protested hotly.

  The knight smiled with infuriating confidence. “Then I am in possession of a fine crossbow,” he countered with a shrug. “And Percy cannot rely upon our ensuring his rescue. Ah well.”

  “I will see to my brother myself.”

  He leaned close, his eyes shining with intent. “Not if I leave you trussed in a tree.”

  “You would not!”

  But his expression did not change and Anna knew he would. “Fiend! Knave and blackguard! You compel me to do your will, with no regard for my own choice…”

  “She sounds like a wife,” commented one Templar, then made to tend his steed.

  “I hope she is worth the trouble,” replied the other and they laughed together.

  “I will not welcome you to my bed!” Anna cried, struck with new fear.

  The knight slid a finger down her cheek. “We will be compelled to share a bed,” he murmured. “In order to ensure that our ruse is not discovered.” There was a twinkle in his eyes that Anna did not trust. Did he intend to take his pleasure? “But I vow the bed will be chaste, unless you insist otherwise.”

  The words could only be a lie.

  “Wretch!” she muttered and tried to kick him. She only lost her balance from her efforts but the knight did not allow her to fall. He caught her up and his gaze bored into her own, his manner solemn. His grip was uncommonly strong.

  “And so we make our wager. Alliance in the baron’s hall, the goal being the retrieval of both bag and boy, and on our successful escape from that place, our paths will part. We will have safe passage through the forest, and you will have the return of your crossbow on the northern borders. Have we a wager?”

  “Have you a name?” she demanded, unable to fully hide her resentment that she was compelled to accept his terms.

  Even though they were not unfair.

  “Bartholomew de Châmont-sur-Maine,” he said. “And you?”

  “Anna of Haynesdale village. The smith’s daughter.”

  “And have we a wager, Anna?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Bartholomew,” he corrected, that smile quirking his lips in a most alluring way. “We are to be wed after all, Anna.”

  “Bartholomew,” she echoed, liking the sound of his name. She wriggled pointedly. “I regret that I cannot seal our wager with a shaking of hands.”

  “It is of no matter,” he said easily. “I have learned well how to improvise.”

  Then without waiting for her to agree, the cur bent and kissed her soundly. The other men hooted and clapped approval, and Anna was flooded with new terror. She froze, convinced that his intent was to claim her fully and feared a repeat of her past.

  To her amazement, Bartholomew seemed to be aware of her reaction.

  To her greater astonishment, it changed his deed. He lifted his head and broke their kiss almost immediately, but did not release her. His eyes gleamed as he surveyed her, seeking an explanation. Anna tried to kick him as a reward for his cursed confidence and his audacity.

  This time, he let her fall.

  And his fellows laughed.

  Curse him to Hell and back again!

  * * *

  Bartholomew was not an impulsive man, but Anna’s audacity tempted him to be so. Her attitude and her assumptions irked him as little else had done in a long while, and there was a perverse pleasure to be savored in surprising her.

  He also had been startled to hear her speak of the seed of Nicholas, and the ultimate return of that baron’s son. He was surprised that the tale of his father had survived, no less that his own arrival might be anticipated. Even more oddly, it survived in this place that did not look in the least bit familiar to him. Had he forgotten all he had known? What of the mill? He could see it clearly in his memory, but there was none here. How could that be?

  And what of this baron who held Haynesdale now? She said he was the villain and treated those beneath his hand unfairly. Did that mean he was out of favor with the king? Bartholomew suspected not, which meant the current baron would have to die before there could be a question of making a claim. Did he have a son?

  Of greater import, could this maiden help him to claim his rightful due? Would she believe any claim he made to be the son of Nicholas?

  Would anyone else?

  And why had a kiss so terrified her?

  Anna tumbled to the ground and rolled a little, struggling furiously. Her eyes were filled with loathing when she glared at him, but Bartholomew crouched down beside her. “Reconsidered?” he asked lightly.

  “You take pleasure in vexing me.”

  “In truth, I do.” He admitted the truth easily, marveling in it even as he did so.

  “Knave,” she repeated. “Cur, blackguard, and scoundrel.”

  He smiled, untroubled by her words. “Insults will not improve your situation.”

  “There is no reason for us to pretend to be wedded,” she argued, the heat of her reaction making him wonder if there was more merit in the impulsive suggestion than he had anticipated.

  “There is every reason for such a feint,” he countered mildly. “What I desire is within the keep. What you desire is within the keep. The only way to release both is to enter the keep.”

  “I am not a simpleton.”

  “So, how would you propose we enter the keep, without arousing suspicion of our intent?”

  “You go as you are, a French knight visiting one of his own kind, and I will go as a boy, perhaps as a squire.”

  Bartholomew shook his head. “No one with any wits about them would fail to note that you are a woman. Your disguise, if that is what it is, works onl
y in darkness.”

  There was no question of having another woman disguised as a squire in the company. Anna would be quickly revealed, and that might prompt their host and his men to look more closely at their guests. Bartholomew would not so imperil Leila, who was garbed as one of Fergus’ squires and had answered to the name Laurent all the way from Jerusalem.

  He pushed to his feet. “I think that our pretending to be a wedded couple might serve our needs well.”

  “Which needs?” Anna demanded with obvious suspicion.

  What had happened to her? Bartholomew might have guessed that she had been used by a knight for his pleasure, given her hostility toward his kind.

  He spoke reasonably. “You do not trust me. I do not trust you. I can see no other way for us to be sure of each other’s actions at all times than to be pose as a wedded couple.”

  “Your arguments would give the tale credence,” commented the Templar Enguerrand and his companion laughed.

  “And visiting as guests will give us the opportunity to learn more of the keep and how well it is armed,” Fergus noted, to general agreement.

  “There is another option, lass,” Duncan said. “You could remain bound and be taken as our prisoner. Doubtless the baron has a dungeon for villains.”

  Bartholomew nodded approval, even as Anna looked daggers at Duncan. “A fine notion. I should know the precise location of our thief then.” He smiled at Anna, savoring her vexation a little more than he knew she appreciated. Aye, it was amusing to tease her, when her eyes made her thoughts so clear. “Perhaps you would find your brother there.”

  Duncan grimaced. “Although it is likely the pair would be compelled to face the baron’s justice.”

  “It might be a fitting solution,” Bartholomew mused. “Plus I could keep this crossbow,” he added, purely to annoy Anna.

  It worked perfectly. Her eyes flashed and she struggled with new vigor.

  “You are an irksome man, even for a French knight,” Anna growled, wriggling in her bonds. Aye, there was no hiding the ripe curves of her breasts and hips. Was she older than Leila?

  She had kissed like a frightened maiden, though. Bartholomew found his interest growing.

  “I shall take that as a compliment,” he said, as if disinterested in her fate. In truth, he was quite certain she would cede to his suggestion. “To the baron’s keep and his dungeons then at first light.” Bartholomew strode to the fire, intending to stir it up, even as his fellows began to prepare themselves to depart. “Even better, Fergus has no need to be generous with the gifts intended for his lady.”

  “I cede!” Anna cried, and Bartholomew ignored her for a moment. “I said I cede, sir!”

  “Did you hear something?” Bartholomew asked Duncan, who chuckled.

  “I addressed you and you know it well,” Anna said with that same fury.

  He looked upward. “The wind in the trees, perhaps.” The other knights chuckled then, and Anna fumed.

  “You heard me well, you cursedly confident man!”

  Bartholomew turned to face her, placing his hands on his hips. “Fear not, Anna. I will make as much haste as possible to see you reunited with Percy in the baron’s stronghold.”

  He thought he heard her swear under her breath and fought the urge to laugh.

  “We have a wager, sir.” Anna caught her breath and corrected herself. “Bartholomew,” she said through gritted teeth. “And I will not be the one to break it first.”

  “So, we do have a wager.”

  “We do.” She glared at him. “Sealed even with a kiss.”

  He rubbed his brow. “But you are of these parts. What if you are recognized? We could all be cast in peril, then.”

  “I daresay a wash will remove any chance of that,” Duncan said grimly. The men in the party laughed, and Anna fumed visibly.

  “Surely your friend has a veil for his lady?” she suggested with hope.

  “Surely he does,” he agreed. He reached for the knot of the rope. “We have a wager and now you must be made presentable.”

  “I can garb myself.”

  “But Duncan’s argument is a fair one. You are filthy and likely infested with vermin.” He made an elaborate grimace, just to see her eyes flash.

  “I am not!”

  “You do not look like any woman I would take to wife.” Bartholomew shook his head sagely. He was enjoying this encounter far too much. “Nay, if this ruse is to be plausible, I will see you scrubbed clean myself.”

  “Oh! You will do no such thing!”

  He lifted his hands away. “I thought you were not the one who would break our wager?”

  “But you did not mention this earlier. I would not be displayed nude before you all.”

  “Not before all.” He smiled. “Simply your lord husband.”

  Anna looked willing to flay him alive.

  “A wife should be biddable, Anna,” he reminded her gently. He knew he heard her teeth grind.

  Then she smiled at him, the smile of a woman who preferred to see him thrashed. “A knight should be gallant, Bartholomew.”

  Bartholomew laughed for he could not help himself. “And where is it writ that I will not be? Be easy, Anna. I do not partake of any feast unless it is willingly offered.”

  She lifted her chin, her manner yet indignant. “I bathed at Samhain,” she informed him. “That is sufficient until Beltane.”

  “A bath twice a year?” Bartholomew made a face. “That explains much of your scent, Anna.” Duncan chuckled at that and she glared at the men in turn.

  “How oft do you bathe?” she demanded.

  “As oft as possible,” Bartholomew replied and took note of Anna’s surprise. He stood her up then and felt the vibration of rebellion in her body as he untied her bonds. He met her gaze steadily, his manner serious in his intent to ensure she took his warning to heart. “Know that if you flee, I will catch you, and our discussions will not be as friendly as they are now.”

  “I do not find our discussions so friendly as that.”

  “I will destroy the crossbow and abandon your brother.” He fixed her with a look and her lips tightened. “Are we understood?”

  “Swear it to me,” she demanded. “Swear that you will treat me with honor, and swear it on something of import to you. I have not known much good when at the mercy of knights.”

  Bartholomew wondered what she had endured, for he saw a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. That fleeting expression changed all for him. He drew his sword and she flinched visibly, but he supported the weight of the blade on one palm. He showed her the pommel, which was formed of a rock crystal orb. The sphere had been halved once and a shard of wood trapped between the two halves. It was snared in a setting shaped like a dragon’s claw, which held the orb securely together.

  “This is a splinter from the True Cross,” he informed Anna, whose eyes widened. “And this blade a gift from my patron and friend, who blessed me with such a weapon that I might always strike true.” He kissed the orb, then held the sword up so that the first rays of sunlight illuminated it. He heard Anna catch her breath. A shadow was cast upon the snow by the upraised blade, a cross with fire at its summit. She looked from the shadow to the sword to Bartholomew with obvious awe.

  “Upon this talisman, I pledge to defend you as if you were my wife in truth, and to treat you with honor. I vow to do all within my power to see Percy set free, Duncan’s belongings returned, and you left safely wheresoever you desire.”

  Anna swallowed visibly. “I swear to show you the same honor,” she whispered. Bartholomew offered the orb to her and she eyed it for a long moment, then touched her lips to the crystal. Her eyes closed and her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, the expression making her look angelic and sweet.

  Her manner changed in that moment, for her defiance seemed to melt after her lips touched the token. She took a steadying breath before her gaze locked with his and her animosity was gone. “Thank you, Bartholomew,” she said quietly and he smiled
at her.

  Indeed, his heart gave a strange lurch, and he wondered if there would be more gained in this adventure than the return of Duncan’s saddlebag.

  He sheathed his blade and untied her bonds, feeling that the fight had gone out of her. He did not trust her, that was certain, but he was glad to have reassured her.

  And truth be told, he was looking forward to seeing her clean and suitably garbed. Was Anna a fair maiden? Bartholomew was curious indeed.

  * * *

  A shard of the True Cross.

  Anna had never thought to see such a marvel. Given that assurance from any other, she would have doubted the relic to be genuine, but the reverence in Bartholomew’s gaze could not have been feigned. He could not have seen that the Templars both dropped to one knee when he held up the sword. Both Duncan and Fergus bowed their heads and crossed themselves, while the squires stared in awe. It was clear they all believed this prize to be what Bartholomew claimed.

  It had seemed that a divine finger had touched the orb of crystal, sending a beam of light through it as if to approve of the marvel, or to endorse it. Either way, Anna had found herself convinced of the relic’s merit.

  And much closer to acknowledging that the knight might have some merit as well. What manner of friends did he have, if one granted him such a prize as this for a gift?

  He took her back to the river, the weight of his hand heavy on the back of her neck, leaving his armor behind. He also left his fellows behind and she was glad that she would not be exposed to all of them.

  Could she trust him?

  Bartholomew shed his tabard and boots while the last of the rope was still knotted around her knees and wrists. Anna could not resist the urge to steal glances at him but dared not look fully upon him. He tugged his chemise over his head and she saw that he was yet tanned from the summer’s sun. A fleeting glimpse revealed that he was also finely wrought and muscled. He returned to her in his chausses and she averted her gaze, blushing as he made quick work of the last knots.