Anice’s vassals did not appear to be as accepting of the large reiver as were Piquette and Leila.
“James can assist you, if need be.” Anice smiled pleasantly at several people waiting for their turn to get their tea from her. The people remained in place.
Not that she could blame them for their suspicions. She harbored them herself. James had been kind, and Leila seemed to trust him, but he was still a Graham.
Regardless, only good would come of him getting to know her people better.
She made her way to James’s side and set her hand to his massive shoulder in a public show of solidarity. The people were forced to approach them both. Except instead of handing the packet to the sufferers directly, she delivered the instructions and allowed James to pass out the herbs.
Werrick’s young priest, Bernard, stepped forward when it was his turn, and cast a helpless gaze at Anice, with more nervousness than the twitchy man usually exhibited. Sweat shone on his bald head and beaded on his upper lip. He licked his lips and stayed back a step more than anyone else. But then, it was no secret the man was deathly afraid of reivers.
An unholy rumbling sounded from his bowels. He clenched his teeth and clapped a hand over his stomach. “My stomach.”
Isla ambled into the room. Her stare settled on Bernard and a smile stretched over her face. “Ate too much, did ye, Priest?”
His eyes bulged. With a trembling hand, he made the sign of the cross and muttered a prayer to himself, the bag of herbs held stiffly between his fingers. “This came from the witch?” He nodded toward Isla.
She folded her arms over her chest, an unctuous gleam in her eyes. “Aye, of course. Where else would it have come from?”
He pushed his hand to Anice’s and unfurled his sweaty fist, so the damp bag fell into her palm.
“I shall be fine on my own.” He swallowed thickly and staggered from the room.
Isla cackled, bending her bony body in half with the force of her mirth. “Do ye see where his stubbornness will get him?” She tsked gently, a smile still in place. “Too bloody high and mighty for his own good.”
“My da?” James asked.
Isla took the basket from Anice and waved her hand dismissively. “Ach, the man is fine. Just having a bout of weak chest. He’s as beastly as I imagine he always has been and is waiting to see ye.”
Anice breathed a discreet sigh of relief. The old laird would live. She realized that meant her fate would remain strapped to James, but it also meant her people would remain safe from an attack. At least for now.
Handing out the herbs had been a difficult feat. At least to James. Beneath their tunics and kirtles, many of the people were skeletal. Not only men and women, but children too, their eyes overlarge in their skinny faces. They’d been so starved that the bit of food had left them ill.
James had been hungry in his life. Who hadn’t? But never to that level of depravation.
His heart clenched. As much as he did not want this wedding, as much as he had his reservations of marrying a woman of Anice’s beauty, he was glad for the decision. If marrying would save these people, he would gladly fulfill his side of the agreement.
He opened the door to his father’s room, expecting to see the old man withering in his bed. Instead his father was sitting upright and drinking tea, his gaze bright and alert.
“Dinna get yer hopes up, lad.” He winked at James. “The devil isna done with me yet.” He drained his cup and held it out for James to collect. “Where have ye been? Off wi’ that bonny lass of yers? Or discovering the new fortune I got ye?”
“I’ve been handing out herbs.” James ignored his father’s action. “The ones whose stomachs were so weak, they canna take the simple bit of bread, meat and cheese they’re receiving.”
Laird Graham waved the cup in the air in silent demand for James to take it. “Ach, they’ll be fine. Nay doubt finer than if ye’d said ‘nay’ to wed the lass.” He laughed at his own macabre joke and broke off in a feeble wheeze.
“These are people’s lives, Da. Lives ye almost took without care.” James still ignored the damned cup.
Laird Graham shrugged. “I dinna know these people. I know we’ve been starving for years and they’ve no’ ever come to our aid. I know they have enough coin to afford fine clothes and costly horses, while we dinna even have a home to call our own. They’ve had everything, and for the first time in their lives, they’ve had to struggle. I canna feel bad for their loss.” He tossed the mug and sent it flipping toward the floor.
James lunged forward and caught it with his fingertips, a mere second before it could smash on the fine wooden floor. His ire flared up. “Ye talk about a life of struggle, and I’m offering ye an alternative, one where we dinna have to steal and hurt others, and ye dinna seem to care.”
“I’m too old to care,” the old laird said in a petulant tone. “But ye’ve got yer opportunity to change the lot of the Grahams. Thanks to me.” Laird Graham grinned. “Off wi’ ye now. Go look at the advantage I’m giving ye, one I dinna ever have. And while ye’re about, see if ye can find that healer again.”
James frowned at his aging father. Aye, he was sitting up in bed, but his skin was still an unhealthy pallor, the lines around his mouth etched more deeply.
They had once been nearly inseparable, Laird Graham and his only son. And through it all, at least until James’s recovery, they’d fought like fishwives. If only his father could see the world as Lord Bastionbury had presented it; mayhap then his father could make amends prior to his death.
“Are ye feeling unwell still, Da?” James asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice.
Laird Graham waved a hand dismissively. “Nay, lad. I’m fine. But that woman has a bawdy sense of humor that gets a man’s mind going.” He grinned. “I’ve a mind to see what she’s all about.”
James stared at his father. “Isla?”
“The one with the fine white teeth?” Laird Graham nodded emphatically. “Ach, aye. Send her up.” He rubbed his palms like a greedy child.
James gaped at his father, unsure of what to say, but without any intention to summon the aged healer. The idea of them… James grimaced.
“Rest well, Da.” He nodded to his father and quit the room, disgusted not only by his father’s request for Isla, but also by his lack of remorse for the hardships he’d exacted on Werrick Castle.
A cloud of anger hovered over James as guilt nudged into his mind. He wished he had the Earl of Bastionbury’s patience. Were it not for the kindness and exceeding patience of the elderly Englishman, James might never have acknowledged and accepted the idea of a peaceful life.
James, however, lacked such diligence and composure.
Two people rounded the corner, nearly running into James. Anice. And Drake.
The latter churned at James’s ire all the more. The man was too bloody good-looking and might have been mistaken for a lass, were it not for the undeniable bulk of his strength.
“I was coming to inform you supper will be served soon,” Anice said, oblivious of his assessment of the other man. “Thank you for walking me, Drake.”
“Of course, my lady.” The man bowed slightly but lifted his brows at her as he rose. “Think on what I’ve said, aye?”
Anice’s smile did not waver. “Aye, I will. Thank you.”
There was something unspoken between them, and James did not care for it. He’d once been made foolish over an attractive woman. He would not be again.
“I dinna want supper, thank ye.” James shifted directions to go to his room.
“How is your father?” she asked.
He stopped. Piquette ambled toward him and nudged his palm with a cold, wet nose. “He claims the devil isna done with him yet.”
Anice offered a tight smile. Only then did James realize how unwelcome such words might be, when his father was the very devil who had mere hours ago threatened the castle with death.
“I’m no’ like him.” He didn’t know why he said it, why he wa
nted this woman to like him. But he could not stop staring at her, desperate in his hope for her approval, while he scratched at Piquette’s large head.
“I do not believe you are like him.” She lifted her chin as she said it. Mayhap in an attempt to convince herself. “I bid you a good night and will see you tomorrow for mass.”
“Aye.”
She turned and strode away, her face stony. Piquette flicked a lick at James’s hand and then trotted off after her.
Mass. The announcement of their betrothal would be called there. James found his way to his room without issue, thankfully. But the clench at his gut did not abate. Not when the banns would be read the following day. And while he told himself it would not be as bad as he feared, he knew deep down, it would probably be worse.
8
James was often aware of the attention he drew when he entered a room. His size alone was enough for most to turn their eyes on him. Entering the surprisingly large chapel within Werrick Castle was no different.
The low murmur of conversation eased upon his entry, and a sea of faces turned toward him with quiet curiosity. Those stares followed him to the end of a pew four rows back.
The woman he stood beside gazed up at him. “Where’d you come from?”
She clutched the hand of a small child, as did several other women around her, all of whom gaped at him. He could not fault them for their curiosity.
They were emaciated, their arms and legs stick-thin and practically lost in their oversized garments. James was thick with healthy muscle, his skin glowing with youth and vigor. In a room of skeletal frames, he stood out more so than usual.
“Ye’ll find out soon enough,” he muttered.
A glance about the room confirmed James’s father was not in attendance. While Laird Graham was not a religious man, James had assumed he would at least suffer through a mass in order to witness his scheme coming to fruition.
It appeared, however, that Laird Graham had decided to refrain from his victorious moment. For that, James was grateful.
“Excuse me.” A breathless voice panted at James’s right.
He turned to find the priest at his side, the man’s hands tightly clasped together. Bernard, if James remembered correctly.
Sweat dotted the top of the priest’s bald head. “You may sit with the family.” He unfolded his hands and indicated the balcony with a trembling finger.
James followed the direction and discovered Anice sitting in a gilded seat beside her sisters and her father. It did not escape his notice how Drake stood behind them all, ever the protector.
James hadn’t thought to look for the Werrick ladies when he first entered the chapel, but then he’d just wanted it all said and done so he could move on with his day. Whatever that might entail in his new location and role.
“I’ll be fine here,” he muttered.
Bernard’s eyebrows inched higher on his broad forehead. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m fine here.” James folded himself into the hard-backed wooden pew. Better to sit among the masses than over their heads in a clear indication of superiority.
The priest darted a nervous glance at the balcony and once more clasped his hands. “Can I not change your mind?”
James settled back, grinding the wood against his spine, as if he were perfectly comfortable. “Nay.”
Bernard cleared his throat and gave a tight-lipped smile. “Very well.” With that, he darted to the front of the chapel. All at once the lazy hum of conversation among the parishioners cut off into silence, followed by a collective rustling as the congregation sat.
The priest opened his hands in benediction. “Let us pray.” He bowed his head forward. The multi-hued light from the stained glass caught in myriad colors the shiny smoothness of his freshly shaved pate.
The inhabitants of Werrick Castle lowered their heads obediently. Bernard’s prayer thanked God for granting them peace in a time of war, and food in a time of famine. Simple notes of gratitude that were folded into several ornate speeches of a very, very long prayer.
“Prior to my sermon,” Bernard said at last. “I have a unique announcement to make.” He folded his hands over themselves in front of his waist and cast a coy expression. “Our own lovely Lady Anice is to wed.”
He paused and a collective gasp sucked through the congregation.
“God save Lord Clarion.” A woman in the pew in front of him made the sign of the cross.
James frowned. He’d never heard of Lord Clarion. Whoever the man was, he evidently had been tied to Anice in some way, and it seemed her Lord Clarion was dead. Mayhap she had loved him. And now James was to marry her.
At the pulpit Bernard cleared his throat and his cheeks flushed. The announcement had evidently not taken the path he’d intended. “Her newly betrothed is among you today. Three weeks hence after the final reading of the banns have been called, Lady Anice will wed James Graham.” He indicated James with a great flourish.
Silence ensued, followed by turning heads and horrified gazes. Their eyes burned with accusation; their mouths twisted with censure.
And James could not blame them for their hatred.
Bernard, oblivious to their malice, continued in his smooth, level tone. “Let it be known, I publish banns of marriage between James Graham and Lady Anice of this Parish. Once graced by the will of God and consummated, their union will seal a pact with the Grahams to enact a treaty between our people and provide peace.”
James had to resist the urge to glance behind him to the woman he would soon wed, to witness her reaction.
Bernard let the silence drag out while his words settled over the congregation. “If any of you know cause of just impediment as to why these persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, you are to declare it here and now.”
James did not have only one objection—he had several. But he remained seated in the hard-backed pew, resigned to the deafening quiet of the church, and his own inevitable misery.
Anice squeezed her clasped hands in her lap in an effort to remain silent. She didn’t want this marriage any more than the man she would have to marry. Aside from the woman who had remarked on her former betrothed, no one spoke a word.
Timothy. Anice hated the twist of her stomach at the mere thought of him. When their banns were read aloud almost five years prior, he’d sat beside her as a guest of the castle, contented with the announcement, as though suddenly the world was right.
James had declined joining her, from what she’d gathered from his exchange with Bernard, and now he did not so much as glance up at the balcony.
Bernard’s pause dragged on for some time, as though encouraging the congregation to protest. His pale eyes swept over the balcony and lingered on her, as if to say, “Now is your chance, my lady.”
But it was not her true chance. Bernard was deathly afraid of marauders, even more so than he was of Isla; however, he must realize that Anice’s sacrifice was integral for their survival.
When the silence had stretched too far, Bernard slapped his hands together. “Then there it is, the first of the banns.” He nodded and proceeded with his sermon.
Anice ought to have listened to his preaching, however, her gaze continued to settled on the head of wavy brown hair sitting higher than all others around him. James.
An uncomfortable hollowness echoed within her heart. She wished the woman had not mentioned Timothy. Wasn’t it bad enough that Anice was being forced to marry her greatest enemy? Did she now have to be reminded of her former betrothed?
The air held a clamminess that stuck in her throat and left her with a sense of suffocation. Bernard’s monotone voice droned on and on and on. She was glad she sat, for surely her legs would have given way if she’d been standing.
Anice remained in her seat after the sermon drew to an eventual close and waited for the room to clear so that she might light a candle for her mother. The same as she did most days after mass. She glanced down as James lifted his gaze to the b
alcony when rising from the pew. His stare hovered on her for a moment, long enough for her heart to suspend mid-beat, and then he was gone.
She made her way down the narrow stairway and to the front of the chapel. Her footsteps rang off the stone walls in the large, empty room, reminding her she was gloriously alone.
Except she wasn’t alone. Another figure bowed over the flickering flame of a candle. Her father.
He lifted his head at her approach. “Anice.”
“I came to light a candle.”
Her father eased himself up from his knees. “I wanted to speak with you.”
“Here?” Surely, the solar was a better place for a discussion.
He gave a good-natured smile. “Do not put on pious airs with a man who knows you better.”
Anice said nothing, as they both knew he was right.
“The banns appeared to go well,” he offered.
She did not want to think of the banns, or of how James had not bothered turning to look at her. “There were no protests.”
Her father nodded slowly, obviously mulling over an idea. “While he’s here, I want you to keep a watchful eye on your betrothed.”
“You want me to spy on him.”
The earl tilted his head in quiet confirmation. “We’d be fools to trust any of them, and you keep that forefront in your mind. See where he goes, who he talks to. Be with him at all times.”
“I’m to be his guard?” Anice asked with incredulity.
He gazed down at the flame and his jaw tightened. “Aye.”
She folded her arms over her chest, but it did not calm her heart’s rapid beat. “This is my punishment, I presume? For allowing him to remain here.”
“Daughter, your marriage will be punishment enough, though you’ve done nothing wrong. In fact, you’ve done a very brave thing, and you did it for our vassals and those you love. Your decision is commendable.”
“And now I am to guard him?” She hoped she was able to keep the petulant frustration out of her tone.
He put his hand to her cheek, the way he had done when she was a small girl. But now the warm power of his palm had gone cool and dry. “My sweet, lovely Anice, I want him to have time to get to know you. For surely once he does, he will fall in love with you and will have no choice but to treat you well.”
Anice's Bargain Page 7
