by Terry Spear
Exasperated, Anice sighed deeply.
Matilda patted her arm. “Marry whom His Grace wishes. You will learn to embrace the changes as I have done. Marriages are partnerships after all. Marrying for love...you will grow to love whomever you wed. As for Lord MacNeill, let him well enough alone, dear cousin.”
Anice curtseyed to Matilda as her cousin motioned for her ladies to return.
But Anice would not be thwarted. If the Highlander needed a bride and she needed a husband, the match seemed perfect. Well, almost. Mayhap she would not like his temperament so very much. Though the notion he would touch more than just her naked thigh with his large, gentle hands certainly appealed. What would they feel like holding her close? And what would it be like to kiss his smiling lips? There was only one way to find out.
With her heart beating hard, she hastened for the keep where the Highlanders had disappeared. She entered the great hall and ignored the roving eyes of two English knights.
Then she spied the great man and his equally large companions. Her heart skittered.
Laird MacNeill stood betwixt the other two, taller by an inch or so, his hair a richer brown, his eyes the same earthy dark color. The fourth man, a blond with a beard, was nowhere in sight. She turned her attention back to Laird MacNeill. A sensuous smile curved his mouth, forming dimples in his cheeks. But his gaze wasn’t focused on her. Instead, he eyed an English lady. The woman’s dark tresses were plaited down her front, but her hair wasn’t half as thick or long as Anice’s. She wanted to scream at the Highlander for making a fool of himself over the Englishwoman. Rogue.
The other Highlanders were fairer, their long hair fastened back. She folded her arms. Mayhap if Laird MacNeill were not interested in her, one of the other gentlemen would be.
As if the one had heard her thoughts, he turned and smiled at her. Well built despite his youth, his hair was the lightest brown of the three men, and a slight scar marred his otherwise smooth cheek. Before she could consider the other gentleman, the youngest quirked a brow to see her gawking at him. Instantly, her cheeks heated. She unfolded her arms and smoothed her wool gown. The slightest of smiles curved the corners of his mouth, then he tugged on Laird MacNeill’s sleeve.
In no way did she act appropriately. She had no maid attending her. Yet, she remained rooted to the stone floor like an oak, unwilling to yield while she contemplated how to approach the Highlanders.
They seemed as reluctant to breech protocol and stood their ground, though they commented freely to one another, smiling with undisguised admiration while she stood ogling them impolitely.
She lowered her lashes and considered the rushes littering the floor. Mayhap this wasn’t a good idea. Would they think her a brazen woman to...to wish to make their acquaintance? Aye, they would imagine her nothing but a common leman.
She wrung her hands suddenly conscious they were cold and clammy. She turned intent on taking a walk...anywhere but here where she was making a fool of herself.
Anice hoped the Highlanders, well one of them at least, would follow her outside so she could convince him to speak to the king on her behalf and solicit his agreement to return her home. But she heard no footsteps echoing her own and knew then her folly. She was dressed as a lady in exquisite garments, the blue wool the finest of cloth. So they would not think her a serving girl. But these men wanted more than power and money, or at least the tallest of the three...Laird MacNeill did. He wanted a lady of quality, but she had to be an English lady.
She stomped down the path to the herbal and vegetable garden outside of the kitchen. Hedge walls surrounded the rectangular outdoor room. She walked along the stone paths, each separating sections of the garden for easier cutting of the plants for meals, medicine, and other uses. Lavender scented the air in the sweetest floral fragrance. When she breathed in the heady aroma, she nearly forgot her annoyance. But when she continued along the stone path, she fumed about the Highlander again.
Laird MacNeill had a Scottish accent like her. Why should he not like hearing the sound of his countrymen’s burr? ‘Twas not so bad a sound to her ear.
Footsteps reverberated behind her and she whipped around, not sure what to expect. Hoping to find the handsome laird following her. Wishing he’d ask her name and want her, just like she wanted him...well, any Highlander to take her away from all this...to return her to her own lands where she’d take on the role of lady of Brecken Castle.
What she found made her heart sink like a stone thrown into the loch. The cook curtseyed to her, then reached down and snipped basil, chive, and red valerian for the meal.
Anice had to find some other Highlander laird since none of the three were brave enough to seek audience with her. These did not impress her.
She greeted the cook, then stalked out of the gardens. She would find some other knights to take her home.
* * *
Malcolm MacNeill and his youngest brother, Angus, watched the defiant young woman stride toward the stables, while their brother, Dougald, remained in the keep, trying to find out who she was. Her bearing and dress were impeccable and of the finest fabrics. Definitely a lady. Though he’d never seen one climb out a castle window before to escape from...well, he wasn’t sure from what and he still intended to find out.
The interest she’d shown in them just now in the great hall...
Malcolm smiled. He could tell she was interested in him by the way her cheeks colored beautifully and her perky breasts lifted when her heartbeat quickened. Her green eyes had darkened, enough to intrigue him further. Had she wanted him to run his hands over more than her naked thigh?
He sighed deeply. ‘Twas an English lady he was bound to wed. Yet, the lass intrigued him like no other. But having an English wife...well, he knew he and his brothers would be more accepted by the king and other nobles if Malcolm and his kin married English ladies. Besides, after the trouble he’d had with Brenna, then Catherine.
He shook his head. No more fiery-tempered Scottish lasses.
Was she here looking for a husband like many of the ladies on the queen’s staff? At least he assumed she was on the queen’s coterie. More importantly, did the lass hold properties? Or was she like him? Having title, but no land? He had no need of a beautiful, titled, and penniless woman. He could offer her nothing in return. Then he chided himself. She was Scottish.
Serving as a steward for his older brother, James, had satisfied him for a while, but it was time to settle down. To have lands to call his own. That would remain his sole focus, he reminded himself.
Malcolm crossed his arms. “What is taking Dougald so long?”
Angus shook his head. “I imagine he is still trying to discover who the young woman is.” He glanced at Malcolm. “Think you she is the one for you?”
“She appeared interested, but she is Scottish.”
“Mayhap she was only interested in seeing Highland warriors up close.” Angus drew taller. “She is a bonny lass. If you dinna please her, mayhap I might have a go.”
“She pleases me.” Malcolm studied the wiggle of her narrow hips as her blue gown flowed over her backside. Soft curves and all woman. Touching every part of her came to mind, her full pouty lips, her nervous hands, the swell of her fine breasts, and more of her satiny, naked thighs. “She pleases me.”
Dougald stepped outside to join them. “I found out nothing about the lady, but we have an audience with the king.”
“I want to know about that woman.” Malcolm nodded in the direction of the lady arguing vehemently with the marshal in charge of the stables. Twice she wiggled her finger at the marshal to punctuate her statement.
“She appears to be a handful.” Dougald should know, as much as he got caught up with that kind of wench in the past, Malcolm thought.
The woman turned and stormed toward the castle, but as soon as she caught sight of the MacNeill brothers watching her, she stopped as if she’d reached the edge of a cliff and stood in peril of falling to her death.
Mal
colm’s gaze dropped to her bodice, snuggly fitting her breasts, the newer form of gown meant to show off ladies’ curves rather than hide them. A girdle of pale blue silk rope wound above her waist, crossed behind, then knotted in front with metal tassels hanging down from them. The girdle accentuated all the right curves. His attention switched to her hair hidden beneath white cloth. Why, when all the other ladies of the queen’s staff showed off their lovely tresses, did this lady wear her hair veiled?
“Either she is afraid of us,” Angus remarked, placing his hands on his hips, “or she is interested in us, as you have said.”
She wrung her hands, her gaze focused on Malcolm’s, then she strode toward them. Rather, toward the entrance to the keep. Her cheeks were cherry, and a wisp of hair the color of spun gold, tinted red, fluttered loose from her wimple. Though there were no freckles to bridge her nose, Malcolm thought she resembled a cousin on his mother’s side. He curbed the notion that twisted his insides. She wasn’t a relative, but she was Scottish.
‘Twas the end of any interest he had in the vixen. He breathed deeply, trying to rein in his feelings for the woman. He reminded himself any woman he’d touched so intimately would have had the same affect on him. Even now, his shaft sprang to life when the image came to mind of spreading her silky thighs and burying himself deep inside her. He’d not been with a woman in far too long.
She tilted her chin higher and avoided looking at them when she stormed past. He caught the look of her eyes as green as the sea and angry as if whipped into a frenzy on a stormy day. Just like his cousin’s would be when he and his brothers riled her. He twisted his mouth in annoyance. The woman could intrigue him all she wanted, but he would have no part of her.
He shook his head, wondering how he could have left his native land only to end up at the English castle, lusting after a Scottish lady.
She disappeared inside the keep, and Dougald asked, “Is she Scottish?”
Malcolm ground his teeth and nodded. “Aye, that she is.”
His little brother laughed. “Here, Malcolm has convinced each of us to select an English bride and what are we losing our heads over? A Scottish lass?”
“Think you she is here,” Dougald asked, ever the man of reason, “looking for an English laird to be her husband?
“Mayhap.” Malcolm attempted to appear as though the thought didn’t disconcert him, but it did, though why the devil he should care he couldn’t fathom. Finding a wife to wed was a matter of necessity. ‘Twas time to put his title to use, granted to him for having saved King Henry’s brother’s life, Robert Curthose, during the Crusades. ‘Twas time to have a castle, lands, his own people to command, and a bairn to leave his title to. Too bad, he had to suffer a wife to make it happen.
“If the lady is the king’s ward, he may be considering a suitable contract for her.”
“Possibly she thought we were some of her kinsman, then finding we were not, she quickly dismissed that notion.” Dougald rubbed his two-day growth of beard.
“You have a good point.” Malcolm motioned to the keep. “Come, we shall see the king.” Though he had to take care of more important business, his thoughts shifted to the feel of the woman’s naked skin in his grasp and the sight of her curvaceous legs when she fell on her arse on the ground, her gown resting at her knees, exposing her for his pleasure. Instantly, the blood rushed to his groin again. A bonny lass indeed and one to stay well away from. The rope-climbing incident from the keep should have warned him he’d do well to avoid her.
He glanced back at the gate. Had she been trying to leave the castle grounds without escort? Why in heaven’s name would she attempt such a dangerous thing?
He shook his head and hastened into the keep intent on finding out everything he could about the lass...but only for curiosity sake. ‘Twas for no other reason he wished to concern himself with the lass. Not because he couldn’t shake the vision of her cat-like eyes that held him in contempt, nor the way her cheeks burned with embarrassment, nor the passionate manner in which she expressed herself with the marshal. ‘Twas not because he felt obligated from rescuing her from the tower, nor because the feel of her silky skin sent a pleasure-seeking desire coursing through him.
Simply curiosity overwhelmed him and he had to investigate her further to satisfy this need. ‘Twas no other reason for his interest in her.
“Malcolm,” Dougald whispered to him. “You are headed the wrong way. What are you thinking about that has you headed in the direction of the ladies’ chambers?”
Chapter Two
Anice paced across the bedchamber, still fuming about the marshal not allowing her to remove her horse from the stable. Three knights had said they’d escort her home since they were headed in her direction. So what was the trouble?
The king. He had not approved her leaving, the marshal had reminded her.
Stewing further, she welcomed the solitude, the only sound, her leather shoes crunching on the rushes littering the floor, while the six women she shared the room with sewed with Queen Matilda in another solar that afternoon.
She glanced at the bed that filled a good portion of the large room. How long before the king tried to sequester her to his chambers again?
Thinking to changer her gown, she lifted the lid of her trunk. A gust of wind swept through a crack in the mortar between the thick stone walls, stirring a tapestry depicting women sewing in a garden. A purple bliaut hanging on a hook above this tickled her cheek.
Her lady-in-waiting stepped into the room, her blue eyes hot with annoyance. “Milady, Her Grace scolded me for not being with you earlier. She glimpsed you unaccompanied in the great hall with three Highlanders. You did as you pleased back home, milady, as it was your privilege and you were safe there, too. But here in the English castle, you must—”
Anice waved for the gray-haired woman’s silence. Having attended Anice since her birth, Mai oft shared her words of wisdom. But right now, Anice needed them not.
It did not matter to her lady-in-waiting though, and again, she spoke her mind. “A Norman knight said one of the Highlanders asked who you were, but he wouldna say as the Highlander did not belong here.”
The knight’s highhanded remark stoked Anice’s ire. “The knight did not like it that a Highlander laird would be interested in a Scottish-born lady?” But then the notion occurred to her that at least one of the Highlanders was intrigued with her after all. Hope sprang anew.
“Several Norman lairds have asked the king to grant them favor in seeking your hand, milady, I overheard Her Grace say to one of her ladies-in-waiting.”
Anice wondered why the king delayed telling her this. Was it because he wished to have a taste of her first? “Aye, the lairds wish me for my land and money. No’ because they are interested in me.”
“’Tis the way of the world, milady. You will be the lady of the castle nay matter who you see fit to wed. You need no’ marry some stubborn Scotsman.”
But Anice had her heart set on marrying one of her own kind. She had no understanding of the ways of the English. And no use for them either. “Would the king wish a Scotsman to marry me?” That brought a fresh worry to mind. What if King Henry did not want her to marry one? No, he would not want that. He’d want her to marry an Englishman, actually a Norman most likely, who’d swear fealty to his rule. In that way, the king would control her properties. Could he trust the Scottish warriors to be as loyal to him? She didn’t think so.
Mai avoided answering her question. “Are you ready to break fast, milady?”
“Aye. I have been ready since I missed morning meal.”
“You are not accustomed to the English rules yet, milady. Mayhap in a couple of more days you shall be well adjusted.”
Anice would not be staying at Arundel to grow accustomed to the king’s rules. One way or another she intended to be on her way.
With her stomach rumbling, she and her lady-in-waiting walked down the stairs to the great hall. Inside, tables had been erected for the m
eal like the fingers of a comb. The head table, the spine of the comb, sat slightly elevated and centered against the wall. The smell of burning tallow, of fresh baked bread and venison scented the air.
Anice had no intention of searching for MacNeill or his companions. Nay. She would sit at the table she normally did without any thought to where the Highlanders perched themselves. Why should she care where they sat, or what they ate, or how they conducted themselves? Why should she care when they were so determined to find English brides?
Well, at least the tallest one.
She had no interest in them at all. Not in their warrior bodies, their broad shoulders, backs, and tall statures. No interest in their dark eyes, especially the tallest one. The one with the dimples when he smiled at another lady that gave him a roguish, mischievous look.
Did the lady return the smile? Most likely. Too busy ogling the youngest Highlander, Anice hadn’t noticed the lady’s response to Laird MacNeill’s obvious interest in her.
Inwardly Anice groaned. It mattered not to her whom he attempted to charm. She took a deep breath and glanced around the room. Was there no other Highlander she could solicit to return her home?
“Milady,” Mai said, “Queen Matilda wishes to speak with you after the meal.”
“I just spoke with her before—”
“Something must be discussed, she said, but spoke nay further on the subject.”
Had the king decided whom she should wed? To think some man had to be bribed to marry her. Och, the notion incensed her and her blood quickly heated. Had she been a man, she could have married whom she pleased, and the castle and lands would have been her own.
When she stood beside a bench, her gaze searched for...not for the Highlanders as she truly didn’t care if they went straight to the devil, but for...the king and her cousin’s arrival. She readied herself to greet them like the other courtiers would when the royal couple arrived. The place grew quiet, and she took a deep breath, expecting to see them.
