Nan pushed in front of Isla. “She won’t leave me be.” The cook set her hands stubbornly on her hips, her apron streaked with fresh flour. “She insists I’ll make everyone ill with my cooking.”
Isla rolled her eyes and dramatically pushed in front of Nan’s obtrusive frame. “The people havena had a sufficient meal in nearly two months. Ye canna give them strong food or their stomachs will rebel.” Isla stared pointedly at Nan. “I’ve told her as much, but she doesna listen and has given every person who has wandered down here a whole loaf of bread, a bit of cheese and ale. ’Tis far too much.”
Anice put up her hand to still their remonstrations. “Nan, your cooking is always delicious and will not require much seasoning or fat. The supplies do not appear to be as plentiful as they’d once been. Mayhap it might be prudent to utilize restraint. For now. I am certain your meat pies will be as delicious as ever, regardless.”
Nan flushed with pride, her face creased and kindly once more. She handed Anice a roll, still warm from the ovens, hot where it rested against her palm.
Isla slid a look of smug censure in the direction of the cook. The old healer pulled the roll from Anice’s grasp, tore it in half and gave a satisfied nod.
Anice stared at her halved roll. She wanted to shove the mass of it in her mouth. Instead, she swallowed down her desire and addressed the healer. “Isla, if Laird Graham dies, his clan will assume it was done with purpose. Every soul in this castle is once more at risk if he dies. If anyone can save that old goat, it’s you.”
Isla grinned, flashing the brilliance of teeth so straight and white, it was rumored she took them from the mouths of corpses. Anice, however, refused to believe such gossip. Just as surely as she’d cast aside the gossip that the woman was over three hundred years old.
“Aye, I can do it.” Isla lifted her large basket of assorted items for common ailments. Isla’s gaze fixed on a servant clutching a bowl of flour. “Bring up a pot of boiling water and some fresh linens to Laird Graham’s chambers, aye?”
The young woman nodded and Anice waved for the healer to follow her to the stately room, one both worthy of welcoming guests and keeping them easily guarded. No sooner had Anice turned away than she bit into the bread. It was soft under her teeth, and still hot enough to burn her tongue. She did not mind and devoured the entire bit of it, sharing a pinch with Piquette. Though it had been a meager amount, her stomach felt stretched to its limit with the meal and she realized her gratitude to Isla for the restraint.
She brushed her hand over her mouth to ensure no flour remained on her lips. James’s kiss popped into mind as surely as it had the entire walk to the kitchen from his chamber. Timothy had always been tepid in his affection, offering delicate pecking kisses, delivered more often to her hands than her lips.
Guilt singed her cheeks. Timothy was dead. It would not do well to think ill of him, especially when he had truly loved her so much. James though—that kiss.
Her breath caught to think of it. His large hand had been so impossibly gentle when he’d nudged her chin upward. The way his tongue had swept against her own, the way it captured her world in the grip of blazing lust. She wanted to clutch him to her, to kiss him more, let him lick her mouth, her neck, her breasts, every part she’d ever heard others discuss and had never experienced herself. A pulse of desire settled deep between her legs and made her long to rub her thighs against one another to experience the delightful ripples of pleasure.
In truth, it was what she had wanted of Timothy. She had agreed to his marriage proposal for the benefit of her family. She did not fully relish the idea of the children, not yet at least. But passion…oh, how she longed for passion.
And she had a sense James might be able to provide such lustful endeavors.
Midway to Laird Graham’s room, they came upon a man bent over the sturdy wall, his hands braced over his head while he retched. Chunks of bread and cheese sat in the clear liquid on the floor.
Isla tsked. “I told her no’ to give ye so much.” She lifted one side of her basket and rummaged about until she pulled loose a small satchel. “Put this in a bit of boiled water to steep and drink it all. It’ll cure yer pain.”
The man reached up without lifting his head and accepted the pouch of herbs with muttered thanks. Isla pointed a bony finger at him. “And dinna eat too fast next time, or this will happen again, aye?”
The man retched once more, and Isla waved him away as though he were a lost cause. They continued on their way, pausing thrice more for other inhabitants of Werrick suffering from the same affliction.
Anice had a new-found appreciation for Isla’s warnings and was glad to have followed her advice. “What is in the teas you are distributing?”
“Common remedies for disorders of the stomach.” She shrugged. “Chamomile flowers, root of ginger, a bit of linden. All soaked in heifer piss and left to dry in the sun for a sennight.”
Anice suppressed her grimace, suddenly gladder still for having heeded Isla’s warnings so as not to require the cure.
The healer pushed through the door to Laird Graham’s chamber. Anice could make out James’s large form in the dark as he knelt at his father’s bedside. He leapt to his feet at their arrival, his face anxious. In spite of his father’s malicious demeanor and their obvious disagreements, it was clear James held an affinity for the old man.
It was tempting to admire the sweetness in James. And yet, she did not know him. Not only did she not know him, he was a Graham, a member of the marauding reivers who once destroyed her home and ultimately killed her mother. She would do well to keep such thoughts forefront in her mind.
Isla strode to the bed and pressed her ear to Laird Graham’s narrow chest. Not that it seemed necessary when his wheezing breath whistled through the room. The laird truly was unwell.
Isla set her basket of herbs on the table and began to rifle through its contents, pulling out several herbs. She bound them together in a thick stalk, secured it with a bit of catgut, and lit it with a flint. Smoke rose from the bundle and filled the room with the musty scent of sage and several other herbs Anice could not name.
Isla bent over Laird Graham’s unmoving body and gently blew the smoke toward his face. He gave a chuffing cough and tried to turn his face away.
“Dinna fash yerself,” Isla chided. “This will help ye.” She waved a hand at James’s towering frame looming over her. “Yer son floating about my shoulders, however, willna offer any good.”
James didn’t move. “Will we need the priest?”
A slow smile blossomed over the healer’s thin lips, tinged with malice. Of course, the healer wanted Bernard called. Not for last rites, but because the twitchy priest’s fear of Isla brought her great amusement.
“Isla, nay.” Anice put her hand to her hips. The last thing she needed was Isla and Bernard sniping at one another over the dying laird.
Though in truth, it might benefit them all if Anice did go to the chapel within the castle to pray. If Laird Graham died in their care, it would not bode well for the inhabitants of Werrick Castle. There could be a war, another siege. One they might not escape from.
Anice shuddered to think how much worse it truly could have been. It was too easy to see how they might starve to death if they’d been forced to go on another two or three weeks.
Instead, she put her attention to James. “You needn’t worry. I do not think your father needs a priest. Isla is the best healer in all of England and Scotland.”
“Aye, ’tis true.” Isla cackled to herself and blew huffs of smoke toward the laird once more.
A knock rattled the door. Anice ran to answer it so Isla would not be disturbed from her work.
A man stood on the other side, his face pale, one arm clutched over his stomach. “Isla needs to come to the great hall. We’re in dire need of the healer.”
7
James cast a nervous glance at his da’s deathly pallor. If the healer was needed by the people of Werrick, then surely, s
he wouldn’t stay to attend to a man who’d been set on killing them all.
For certes, choosing them over his father would be far too easy. But the withered old woman did not depart from Laird Graham’s side.
She waved James toward her. “Blow this in yer da’s face for a bit, aye?”
James gently exhaled and a wash of gray white smoke swirled over his father’s face then dissipated into the air.
“Ye take these packets,” Isla said to Anice. “And tell them to steep it. I knew many would try to eat too quickly. I prepared these a while back in the event we were saved.” She winked at her own foresight.
A knock sounded at the door again. James blew on the steady stream of smoke curling up from the bundle of dried herbs and glanced over his shoulder as a petite redhead walked into the room with a steaming pot held with a cloth.
The healer’s withered face crinkled more with her eyes narrowed. “Ye two can go now. I have the help I need.”
James hesitated, his hand still clutching the cluster of smoking dried herbs.
Isla hefted the steaming pot from the young woman’s arms without the benefit of the cloth, her fortitude and grit far more than James would have credited for the spindly woman. She was so wretchedly thin, she looked as though she might break.
She motioned to the young maid. “Get the herbs from him and wave them about the old goat’s face.”
“I’d like to stay.” James tightened his grip on the herbs and pulled them back, away from the young woman’s reach. The servant cast an uncertain glance toward Isla.
Isla set the pot by the hearth with a puff of irritation, strode over to him and plucked the herbs from his hands with wiry strength. “Ye’ll do me no good hoverin’ about. Off with ye.”
James opened his mouth to protest when his father gave a rattling cough. He immediately kneeled at his da’s side.
Behind him, Isla gave a long-suffering sigh. “Do ye see what I mean? How am I to get to him with ye in my way?”
A hand rested gently on James’s shoulder. He turned abruptly, expecting to see the sour, wrinkled visage of the old healer and instead saw Anice’s comely face, her brows pinched with sympathy.
“Mayhap you could join me in distributing the herbs?” She held up the basket she held in her other hand and offered a kindly smile. “It would give you a chance to know the people of Werrick Castle. And the distraction might be welcome.”
James cast one more glance at his da’s pallid face.
“Dinna worry, lad, he’ll no’ die.” Isla edged around James and glared down at the Graham laird. “He’s too stubborn to go, I’ll give ye that. And he’s too bloody important to us. Off with ye now.”
Reluctantly James got to his feet, cast one final, regretful stare at his father. He lifted the basket from Anice’s arm and allowed her to lead them from the room.
As they walked, his mind churned with turbulent thoughts. What if Laird Graham died, and he wasn’t there to say goodbye? What would happen if his father was no longer in charge of the Grahams?
Certainly, he wouldn’t have to marry Anice. He would have full reign of the clan to do with as he pleased without his father’s interference.
He would have everything he’d been wanting. But he could not bring himself to wish for his father’s death. Laird Graham might be mean spirited and blinded by avarice more times than not. But for all his gruffness, the old man loved James and showed his oldest son affection in his own peculiar manner.
After all, Laird Graham had sacrificed his desire for Werrick Castle to offer James the opportunity to fulfill his wish for a life without marauding. James knew how long his father had wished to take Werrick Castle again. And he’d given it all up for James.
“It is difficult to see someone you care for suffer.” Anice’s soft voice drew him out of his ruminating.
He made a low hum of consideration and shifted the basket more comfortably against the crook of his elbow. Its weight made him grateful for having insisted on taking it from her.
She twisted the small ruby ring. “My mother died during childbirth. I was by her side when she finally succumbed.”
There was a quiet pain in Anice’s voice James could not ignore. It was one with which he was familiar regarding his own mother. “I imagine that was difficult to have been there for,” he said. His own mother had died in childbirth as well, to a sister who also had perished, but he hadn’t been allowed to be present. Not that it had kept him from hearing her screams.
Anice drew in a heavy breath. “She was beyond comprehension at that point. Carrying the babe had been difficult as she was so filled with despondency after—”
The baritone of male voices came from the open doorway to the great hall. James stopped and caught Anice’s free hand. “After what?”
“After the attack on our castle.” Anice slid her gaze from his. “After what happened to her. She walked about the castle empty-eyed, as though already dead. In truth, we feared for her child as much as we feared for her.”
“Did it live?”
Anice smiled to herself. “Aye, by a miracle. Another magnificent sister we named Leila.” She peered into the great hall and nodded in the direction of a girl wearing fine blue silk dress and a somber expression. “There she is now.”
Unlike the other daughters of Werrick, this one had dark hair and appeared to be…
His heart squeezed. Little Leila appeared to be approximately ten years old, the same age a child might be if…
“Yer mother.” James spoke slowly, dreading the answer as much as he hated voicing the question he suddenly needed to ask. “What happened to her before her death?”
Anice drew a slow, steadying breath and refused to meet his gaze. “She was attacked when your clan took Werrick Castle. She tried to keep us safe after Papa had been struck down. A man took her.” She curled her hand into a fist at her side. “He dragged her away where he beat her, raped her and left her for dead.”
Anice thought unveiling the truth behind her mother’s death to James would allay the burning anger inside her chest, but it did nothing to dampen the flames. For his part, he remained silent.
A glance at his face showed a furrow of pain on his brow. Guilt cut into her for goading him with the story. Guilt!
It was foolish, of course, but she could not still the twist of discomfort.
Leila made her way toward them, oblivious of their prior conversation, and slipped her hand into Anice’s while staring up at James. “You are James Graham, correct? The one who will marry Anice.”
Of all the inhabitants at Werrick Castle, Leila was the most well fed with the sisters all saving a bit of their rationed food for her to eat. Regardless, the youngest was little more than skeletal arms and gaunt cheeks. Evidence of her pathetic appearance was obvious in James’s sorrowful expression.
He set the basket to the floor and knelt in front of Leila, so his eyes were level with hers. Piquette licked at the air beside James’s face, but he backed farther out of reach with a light chuckle. “Aye, that is right. And are ye the wee Lady Leila?”
She nodded.
“Well met, my lady.” He lifted her free hand and brought it gently to his lips. as though she were a great lady at court and he a cultured courtier.
To Anice’s surprise, Leila beamed at James. “Indeed.”
It was a rare thing to see so wide a smile from the youngest Barrington sister. Leila pulled her other hand from Anice’s and put it to James’s bearded cheek. “You didn’t want this siege.” She lowered her head in reverence. “Thank you for helping to bring it to an end.”
If the smile had surprised Anice, her sister’s words left her speechless. Leila had not offered any foretelling or emotional insight to people in over three years. Not since she had missed Marin’s attack and fell victim to her own self-doubt.
James blinked. “Thank ye for understanding.”
Leila lowered her hand from his cheek. Piquette lapped his tongue near James’s face once more,
but he eased back with a carefree grin and rubbed the dog’s giant head.
“Will you take him out for a bit, Lamb?” Anice asked. “We’ve got several people to attend to.” She nodded to Isla’s basket on the floor at James’s feet.
Leila nodded enthusiastically. “Come, Piquette. We can finally go outside.” Her lips pursed with an unladylike whistle and she patted her thigh.
Piquette gave an excited hop with his massive front paws, then stopped and hung his head in Anice’s direction, as if seeking permission. She laughed. “Go on with you both. But mind you bring a soldier.”
“Of course,” Leila tossed over her shoulder as she ran from the room with Piquette galloping at her heels.
“That is Isla’s, is it not?” A man pointed to the basket at James’s feet. “We were told she was coming to the great hall with teas. Is she following you?” the man craned his neck to peer at the empty doorway.
“Nay, she is detained,” Anice replied. “We have been sent with items in her place. Do you suffer from stomach pains?”
The man slid a wary gaze in her direction, evidently uncomfortable answering her. His hands slid around his belly, which gave a rumbling gurgle. Sweat shone on his pale brow.
Anice bent to retrieve a packet of herbs from the basket and tucked it into his hand. “Steep this. It will aid your digestion.”
The man muttered his thanks and ran off with an awkward, clenched gait.
“Mayhap I speak with the men and ye see to the lasses.” James nodded toward a woman approaching them.
Anice slipped several bags of the tea from the basket and made her way to the woman as two more men entered. James’s attempts to offer the packs of herbs went without receipt; the men opted for the embarrassment of their irritated stomachs with Anice over acceptance from the enemy. It did not escape her notice that James even attempted to sit at a table, minimizing his intimidating height. Still no one approached.
Anice's Bargain Page 6
