Anice's Bargain

by Madeline Martin

  “Aye, my lady.” Ingrith winked at Piquette. “We’ll find a sweetmeat, won’t we?”

  Piquette cocked his head and lifted his ears.

  “Thank you.” Anice knelt beside her beloved pet. “You cannot come into the village because I’m afraid you cannot keep up with the horses, and I do not want you to injure yourself.”

  Piquette whimpered and gave a nervous lick at the air near Anice’s face.

  “Don’t worry, Piquette.” Ingrith joined Anice beside the great dog. “We’re going to go for a nice long walk.”

  He leapt and both women laughed. Anice quickly made her departure without having to pry the large dog from her side.

  She made her way to the courtyard to meet James so that they might attend the market together. He did not show. After several minutes of waiting, Anice went to ask after him with the stable master, who apologetically informed her that Mr. Graham had already left for the village nearly an hour ago.

  Truly strange behavior. And vexing. She twisted at her ruby ring and made up her mind on what to do.

  Irritated and determined, she had the lanky man saddle her horse, and tried not to judge how he did it compared to Peter’s swift efficiency. As with all the other thoughts of her old home, she pushed them away and focused only on what lay in front her. Or at least, what she could control.

  A touch to her belt confirmed the dagger Sir Richard had given her hung at the ready to be grabbed in a moment’s notice, should it be needed. She set off to the village on her own with the great wide spring sky open overhead and the green fields full of life sprawling on either side of her.

  On a typical market day, people crowded vendors, snapping up pastries with honey glossed currants, eyeing buckets of nails for the straightest ones, patting at tufts of wool for spinning. All looked as Anice had expected, at least for the people of Carlisle. The Grahams, however, hung about in clumps, idly fingering wares while they engaged in quiet discussion amongst themselves.

  Anice tethered her horse to a pole in front of the Flying Goose Tavern. A gust of wind swept down the row of aging cottages and sent the wooden signs swinging noisily on their rusted hinges. Were this a market day as any other, the sound would never have been heard above the din.

  Anice stroked her hand over her horse’s velvety nose and left to find her husband. It was a feat easily done as James stood so much taller, so much prouder and more powerful than any other man. He glanced in her direction and then swiveled around to fully regard her properly.

  She approached him with a smirk, waiting for him to apologize for having forgotten her.

  “Anice, what are ye doing here?” His smile was one of delight, while his brow bespoke of genuine confusion.

  She leaned closer to him and spoke in a low tone, mindful of the two men he’d been speaking to being within earshot. “I believe we were supposed to come together.”

  His eyes widened.

  There. Now he remembered.

  “Ach, Anice.” He shook his head. “It must have slipped my mind. Forgive me, mo leannan.”

  Mo leannan. That endearment was said in the intimate moments between them, when her heart did not feel tethered to her body and threatened to float away. It was not meant to be said in a moment of half-hearted apology amid people who glared their annoyance at her interruption.

  She extended her hands to indicate the ground she stood upon. “I found my way.”

  “So ye did.” He winked at her. His attention turned to the two men and he hesitated as though unsure what to say. “Eh, we were…that is to say I…”

  “I can see to some of the items I was going to look for,” Anice said in a rush. It was a lie. She didn’t need anything, with the exception of escaping the terribly awkward scene where she had been an unwelcome participant.

  If she were quick-witted like Ella, or perpetually optimistic like Catriona, she’d have had a more convincing statement to offer. As it was, she was simply the beautiful daughter whose falsehood came out sounding as flat as it was untruthful.

  James rubbed the back of his neck. “That isna necessary.” He flicked his attention to the men again.

  She held her smile as regret at her decision for having come soured in the pit of her stomach. She had given James an opportunity to let her flee, why was he not taking it?

  Suddenly, from around the corner came a wonderfully familiar face.

  “You really needn’t worry about me,” Anice said with a more convincing air. Or rather, she hoped it was a more convincing. “I can look about with Drake.”

  Before James could offer a halting excuse or pathetic protest, she swept away from the messy intrusion and into the comfort of the familiar.

  Drake, ever the chivalrous one, bowed and immediately offered her his arm. She accepted and allowed herself to be spirited away. But even her escape did not allay the ache in the hollow of her chest.

  Not only had James not noticed the effort taken with her appearance, he didn’t appear to want her there at all.

  22

  James wanted to smash Drake’s perfect jaw. The bastard wouldn’t look so very fine with his mouth gone lopsided.

  “James,” Hamish hissed at him. “Are ye listening?”

  James grunted and turned from where his wife had slipped her delicate creamy hand against Drake’s rippling forearm.

  “Are ye sure ye can betray her?” Seamus cast him a dubious look.

  “Bedding a lass and betraying her are two verra different things.” James forced a casual shrug. The words on his tongue were bitter, but they needed to be said. Laird Graham may be a nefarious cur, but he was a careful nefarious cur.

  James knew that if he went to his father and asked to be part of the raid, the old man would realize the offer stank of duplicity. Instead, James would continue along with the Graham reivers and feign ignorance of his father’s hand in it.

  James had invested two days of discreet conversations and perfectly worded compliance. Surely, it would not be long until Laird Graham approached him.

  “I never got to sample Werrick.” Hamish leaned causally against the clapboard wall of a booth, which creaked in protest at his weight. “I hear the bounty is plentiful. Enough to feed a man for years.”

  James swallowed his disgust. “Nor have I.”

  “That’s shite.” Seamus knocked James’s arm with his sharp elbow. “Ye sample Werrick every night.”

  The two reivers laughed and barely escaped being pounded into nothing by James’s fist. Instead, his gaze slid to Anice as she selected an apple from a vendor, her arm still affixed to Drake’s arm. James narrowed his eyes, as though doing so could break the perfection of the other man.

  A hand extended from the shadows of the alley to James’s right and curled a finger at him, beckoning.

  Speaking of the old goat, there his father was now.

  James gave a nod to the two men and strode toward the alley. In doing so, he passed Anice and Drake and envisioned sweeping his wife from Drake’s arms and kissing her until she gazed up at him in the way that made his soul melt.

  Anice caught his eye and cast him such an affectionate look, it nearly pushed him to make the fantasy a reality. That is, until he shifted directions toward the alley and her expression took on a look of confused suspicion. Or maybe it was simply confusion, and the suspicion came from James’s own guilt.

  Regardless, someday he could explain this all to her, and then she would understand. No doubt she’d be grateful. He brightened at what that gratitude might entail from his alluring, lusty wife and strode into an open doorway in the alley.

  “What’s got ye grinning like a fool?” Laird Graham snapped.

  All elation faded at the gravelly voice. James’s entire life had been surrounded by hope for praise from this surly man. Even now, even in the face of the old man’s betrayal, there was a desperate part of James clinging to the cliff of acceptance from his father.

  The alley stank of rot and refuse, and the small square room beyond t
he doorway offered no reprieve from its assault. The space offered little with only a table, a sputtering candle for passable light, an empty hearth scarred black from years of use and two wooden chairs that looked like they wouldn’t support a flea.

  James clasped his father’s forearm in a greeting of unity and affectionate familiarity.

  Laird Graham gazed at his son. Bits of white whiskers thick as fish bones stood out against the old man’s sagging jaw and breath rattled in his chest louder than a cat’s purr. Still, his eyes held a quiet pride James could not deny wanting.

  Laird Graham tapped his temple with a yellowed fingernail. “I know ye’ve heard what it is I’ve got in my head.”

  “Mayhap.” James folded himself into the better of the two chairs and prayed it held. The rickety thing teetered but held. “If ye’re the one behind it…”

  In truth, James hated to sit during conversations such as these. It put one at a disadvantage to be so much lower than their opponent. However, he needed to appear relaxed, at ease.

  His father held onto the back of the other chair, but did not sit, clearly taking the advantage to remain standing. As expected, the old man made a competition out of even that and smirked down at James with his victory.

  “Ye’d betray yer wife?” Laird Graham asked.

  James paused as if considering. “Will ye allow the men to come back to Carlisle after to resume their efforts with the harvest?”

  “So ye can see yer precious oath fulfilled?” Laird Graham wrinkled his nose.

  His father’s disgust at the Earl of Bastionbury had rankled James initially. Especially as James had tried to convince his father to be a better man, to consider the condition of his soul once he departed this world.

  Now though, the vehement reaction held a different perspective. One of jealousy, of wanting. Mayhap for the affection and respect James once held for him, but James was no longer the eager-to-please lad of his youth. Or at least, not as overtly so.

  “Aye,” James agreed.

  James father gave a wheezing chuckle. “Ye knew I was behind this all along, aye?”

  “I was well trained.” James presented the flattery toward his father with a grin.

  Laird Graham eagerly accepted the offering. “What do ye hope to gain? I know ye care no’ for plunder.”

  “That ye get ye what ye want with one last raid of Werrick, my people vanquish the last bits of reiving from their blood, and ye give me what I want.”

  “Yer land and yer peace?” Laird Graham scoffed.

  “Yer understanding.” James put his elbow to his knee and leaned forward. “Ye turning to a life of good, while there’s still time to make amends.”

  Laird Graham shook his head, his gaze purposefully averted. “Ye know there’s no’ a hope for me, lad.” He released the chair, stepped forward and put a gnarled hand to James’s shoulder, the way he did when James was small enough to have to look up to see him. It’d been a good many years since either of those actions had occurred.

  “So, ye’re in then?” James’s father squinted his eyes and got the dogged, intense look he’d possessed when living in his prime. “To betray yer wife and take Werrick Castle.”

  James did not flinch outwardly from the question, purposefully worded to dig into any perceived tender spots. He met his father’s gaze with matched determination. “Aye.”

  Anice never had been good at pretending all was well when it so apparently was not. After James disappeared into the alley, her stomach had begun churning with acid.

  She and Drake had stopped at several booths while her fingers danced dispassionately over ware upon ware. She didn’t need a wooden bucket, or twine for dry tinder. Except that she felt compelled to see them all as she waited for James to reemerge.

  Her hand stroked over smooth white feathers. “These chickens are lovely,” she said with absentminded attention. Her gaze flicked to the empty alley. How long was James going to be in there?

  “Lady Anice, forgive me. I believe they’re dead.” Drake spoke carefully and with his usual chivalric softness, as if not wanting to offend.

  Anice jerked her hand back and regarded the befeathered form laid out in a stiff line across the counter of a booth. “So they are.” Her body grew warm with mortification. “Should we bring several home to cook?”

  “I believe they already arrive at the castle with efficient regularity, my lady.” Drake lifted his brows to the shopkeeper.

  The man nodded. “Aye, Mistress Graham. They were delivered this morning past.”

  Anice smiled. “And they are always of good quality. Thank you.”

  The shopkeeper gave her a toothy grin from beneath the tangle of his brown beard. “God bless you, Mistress.”

  Anice moved on to the next stall and examined several strips of rough leather laid out for purchase.

  “My lady.” Drake looked directly at her, his dark eyes reflecting his concern. “What troubles ye?”

  Anice glanced toward the empty alley once more and drew Drake from the seller’s stall. “Something is amiss,” she whispered. “Not only with the Grahams, but also with James.”

  Drake nodded once. “I’ve noticed as much myself. Thus far, I have no’ been able to uncover what is the source. Forgive me for saying so, but I dinna think it is anything good.”

  Anice’s stomach sank as he voiced her own concerns. “I am of a similar mind. Do you presume the people of Carlisle are safe?”

  “I will ensure they are.” The resolve in Drake’s voice was meant to convince her, but she did not need it. She knew him well enough after years of their acquaintance.

  More than his drive to become the knight his father had been, there was something in him that was moral and just, the kind of man who would lay down his life in the aid of an innocent.

  James reappeared in the alley and Anice’s pulse leapt to life. She pulled her arm from Drake’s. “I’ll discover what is afoot.”

  “Nay, my lady.” The finality of Drake’s tone stopped her for only a brief pause. “I canna have ye risking yer life.”

  She didn’t bother to argue with him. She’d learned long ago a staunch chivalric code of honor was not open for a challenge. Instead she simply inclined her head in a way that might pass off as being agreeable and left to rejoin her husband.

  James approached her even as she closed the distance between them. His jaw was tight, and he appeared weary.

  “What is it?” Anice asked.

  James shook his head and gave her an easy, lopsided grin. “It isna anything. I’m hungry enough to buy the lot of those pastries and devour them all. Let us return to Caldrick for supper, aye?”

  And while Anice agreed, she was not convinced all was as well as James tried to portray. Something was amiss, and she would find exactly what it was.

  For the next three nights, James slipped from their bed as soon as Anice fell asleep. She knew this because once the bulk of his warmth and weight eased from her side, she immediately woke. The first two nights he’d returned quickly enough that it did not stir her concern.

  The third night, however, he was gone so long, she wondered if he meant to return at all. It was near dawn when he finally came to her, icy cold and exhausted.

  The fourth night, she was determined to follow him. The subtle queries she’d made on her own had done no good. Ingrith had reported that the Grahams also kept from the villagers and left their secrets blanketed. With the exception of the maid’s claims that they continued to behave in a strange fashion, there was nothing further to add.

  In accordance with the prior nights, James slipped from Anice’s side once she was asleep. Except she was not truly sleeping. She’d merely altered her breathing to make it appear as though she was.

  She remained still until the door closed with a barely audible click, then quickly roused herself from the bed and slid on a waiting robe. Piquette, who typically did not stir when James left, lifted his large head sharply.

  “Nay, Piquette.” Anice whispe
red the words and made a lowering motion with her hand to instruct him to lay down. “Sleep.”

  She’d walked him throughout the castle and surrounding lands that day in the hopes of tiring out the aging dog. Piquette uttered a grumbling groan, obviously torn with indecision.

  “Sleep,” Anice repeated. “I’ll be back soon.” She gave a soft shushing noise and Piquette lowered his head, eyes drooping shut.

  After over a month at Caldrick, she’d finally learned the layout of the halls and did not bother with a lit candle as she made her way from her room. She closed the door quietly behind her to prevent Piquette from following.

  As anticipated, James’s steps on the stone floor of the silent castle echoed with enough sound for her to follow. Silent in her leather slippers, she whispered along the corridors far enough behind him so as not to rouse suspicion.

  The clop of James’s large feet on the stairs alerted her to follow him down the narrow spiral of stone steps. She moved quickly, silently, when a door slammed closed. She waited only a moment, then pushed it open to ensure she did not lose sight of her husband.

  There were no more footsteps, but there was the soft click of a door that was limned in light. She crept toward it.

  “How much longer?” The voice was thin and gravelly. Anice knew it at once to belong to Laird Graham.

  “A sennight,” James replied.

  A growl of aggravation sounded followed by a wracking cough. “That’s longer than I’d anticipated.”

  “Patience,” James said. “Ye’ll have what ye want.”

  Laird Graham spoke again, but it was far too soft for her to make out. She shifted closer and strained.

  “Patience, Da.” James spoke in a quiet tone Anice had always thought pleasing.

  But it was not pleasing now. Rather, it sent a chill of ice rippling down her spine.

  “Whatever it takes, we leave in a sennight, aye?” Laird Graham groused. “I’ve waited far too long to reclaim Werrick Castle.”

  Anice pushed her hand to her mouth to keep from crying out.