Anice's Bargain

by Madeline Martin

“Once the remainder of our clan arrives,” James said by way of reply. Calm. He was far too calm for what had just been spoken. Which only meant one thing: he was involved.

  James, who knew the torment Anice and her family had suffered after her mother’s rape, at the fatal violence of Leila’s birth, at the near death they had faced from starvation only two months prior due to the Graham reivers. James, who she had thought so above it all.

  James, who at his core, was still a lying, thieving, murderous Graham.

  23

  Anice did not know how she made her way back to her chamber. Her legs were numb and her entire body trembled. She was only half aware of trying to keep silent on her return journey, though her thoughts were surely clattering about loud enough for everyone to hear.

  She opened the door and was leapt upon by Piquette, who had not appreciated being left behind, if the scratches gouged deep into the bottom half of the wood door were any indication.

  But she did not chide him. She fell to her knees and embraced her beloved dog. The warm fur of his wriggling body and the cold nose rooting about her cheek brought her comfort when she was surrounded by strangers. Especially when the man who should have earned her trust had just delivered the worst betrayal.

  Logic flooded back once more. She needed to hurry; to hang her robe, return the shoes to the chest and climb back in bed.

  In a flurry of activity, she cleaned up the proof of her clandestine actions, and dropped onto the mattress. No sooner had she pulled the covers up to her chest than the door swept open and James’s heavy footsteps entered the room.

  “’Tis just me, lad.” James spoke softly. The same as he’d done with his father.

  The memory turned her stomach.

  A rustling sound filled the room. “Go on back to sleep, Piquette.”

  The dog’s nails clicked over the floorboards and muted against his bed, which he flopped onto with a great sigh. James slid into bed beside Anice and pulled her against him. She did not stir.

  He traced a circular pattern over her bare shoulder where her chemise had fallen aside in her haste. Anice had to force herself to lie still rather than jerk her loosened garment back over the exposed skin.

  “Mo leannan,” he whispered. His mouth replaced his fingers on her shoulder. Even his lips were cold, his beard prickly as it met her flesh.

  Anice squeezed her eyes shut. How could he say such tender things to her when he was planning to assist his father in an attack on Werrick? She pushed past her distress and kept her breathing smooth, as if she were in too deep a sleep to notice his affection.

  Within minutes, James’s body relaxed and rolled heavily against hers as sleep claimed him.

  Anice, however, had no rest. How could she, when her mind churned with the ache of such treachery? When at last the graying light of dawn showed at the cracks of the shutters, she slipped from the bed, and put on her men’s trews and tunic to join Drake for sword practice. Every morning he was out before the sun rose, going through the motions of battle, training his body to be the perfect knight in the hope that someday he could follow his father’s noble path.

  He’d invited her to join him and she had, twice. Now her acceptance of his invitation would serve twofold: to keep her battle skills from getting soft and allow her sufficient privacy for discussion. Piquette did not so much as lift his head as she eased silently from the room. Poor thing was exhausted from the excitement of James and Anice both coming and going throughout the night.

  Anice exited from the main door of the castle, already unlocked by the servants who roused ahead of the sun to see to their daily tasks. Silent as a shadow, she slipped her dulled blade from its sheath and sprinted toward Drake.

  Though her leather-clad feet were silent on the cobblestones, Drake spun about to face her. He swept his blade up and stopped hers to keep it from slamming into the back of his head. A grin flashed on his face and he dropped into a bow. “Good morrow, my lady.”

  “Good morrow, Drake. May I join you?”

  He straightened. “’Tis always better to practice with another skilled soldier.” He flipped his blade with his wrist and eased back to allow Anice time to ready herself for the attack.

  She tightened her grip on the pommel of her blade. “I am here with purpose, Drake.”

  He lifted his own weapon and crouched in preparation for her attack. “I am always at yer service.”

  Anice lunged forward and swung her sword. Drake blocked it and they remained face-to-face for a long moment. “The Grahams are planning an attack on Werrick.” She pushed off him.

  Drake’s jaw clenched. “Do they know ye know?”

  “Nay.” She feinted left, then attacked right.

  The blow was swiftly blocked. “When will the attack occur?”

  “In a sennight. Though Laird Graham wishes it to be sooner.” Anice pulled a dulled dagger from her belt and jabbed it toward Drake’s ribs.

  He deftly avoided the strike. “How did ye learn of this? Did yer husband tell ye?”

  Anice faltered, a move that could have easily won Drake the duel. Instead, he cocked his brow and gave her a moment to recover. A man on the battlefield would not give her such chivalrous courtesy.

  “I overheard him speaking to his father.” She ran at Drake.

  He spun away from the attack. “We must leave.”

  “Now?”

  “Aye.” His blade swung toward her, but she knocked it away.

  Above them, the sun was rising like a ball of glowing embers from between the low-lying hills. Already, the sky had lightened to shades of pink and gold.

  Anice dropped in a crouch and swept her legs against the back of Drake’s knees. “It’s dawn,” she hissed. “We can’t go now, not with everyone watching.”

  Drake caught himself. “They’re no’ paying attention. We could leave.”

  “And if they did notice?” She whipped around, putting momentum into the force of her blade. “We’d never make it out.”

  He knelt, avoiding the strike, while thrusting his sword at her. “Tonight then.”

  She leapt to a safe distance. “Aye, long after everyone has fallen asleep.”

  After James would return to their bed, following yet another secret meeting with his father. But Anice couldn’t voice such a thing out loud. It was far too intimate.

  Drake bowed. “I’ll be prepared.” He straightened and clasped her hand as warriors do with one another. “We will need to plan today. Piquette—”

  “Will join us.” Anice did not leave room for him to deny bringing her dog.

  A line of concern creased his brow.

  “They may hurt Piquette.” The very idea twisted Anice’s gut like a blade. “If they are vengeful.”

  Drake’s mouth thinned. “We’ll devise a way to bring him as well.”

  “Tonight, then.” Anice released Drake’s arm. “I’ll come to you when I’m free.”

  He nodded once and turned to leave as she made her way in the opposite direction.

  Yet the decision did not fill her with the relief she had hoped for. There was a hollow ache in her chest, one which James had filled in the short month they had been married. She had hoped what they had shared was real and long-lasting.

  She ought to have known better. Leila had predicted it, and now the warning was coming to pass. The pact had failed. Anice’s marriage had failed.

  Perhaps if she had been wise enough to have anticipated it, the reality of such loss would not have been so painful.

  The plans for the raid on Werrick were happening too quickly, and everything that could have gone wrong had gone perfectly right. James ran a hand through his hair. The day prior, he had sent the missive to Lord Bastionbury through a reiver he trusted. His hope was that if Bastionbury was there to side with Werrick, the combination of the two wardens would be too powerful a force for the Grahams to take on.

  James wouldn’t get a reply for at least several days. At the rate things were moving, the Grahams might
be well underway with the attack before he heard back from Bastionbury.

  Dejected, exhausted and frustrated beyond measure, James made his way to the great hall to break his fast. Piquette loped along beside him, abandoned by Anice. It was not surprising for James to wake and find his wife no longer in bed. It was unusual, however, to find she’d gone without Piquette.

  In his sorrow, the poor beast had scraped up the lower part of the door. James reached a hand to rub Piquette’s great floppy ears. “We’ll get ye some hearty fare to make up for it, aye?”

  Piquette’s forehead crinkled and his large, liquid brown eyes brightened.

  The two walked into the great hall amid the hum of conversation and savory scents of sizzling ham and freshly baked bread. It should have left James’s mouth watering, but his stomach had been in knots these last several days.

  What if Bastionbury couldn’t come to James’s aid?

  Was there a way to resolve this without causing a war?

  Did lives have to be wasted on this venture?

  Those questions and so many more crowded in James’s mind, leaving room for little else. Surely, there had to be a way to stop this without fighting.

  Laird Graham was already sitting when James approached the raised table, in the seat directly beside James’s.

  “Ye may get the whole of my meal this morning,” he muttered to Piquette.

  Laird Graham gave him a seedy smirk and kicked out the chair meant for James in silent invitation.

  “I dinna need yer permission to sit where I like,” James said in a surly tone.

  “Ach, so then ye already knew.” His father tsked softly. “And here I was hoping I’d get to be the one to tell ye.”

  James grabbed a roll from the wooden platter in front of him and cut off a chunk of ham. He tossed the ham to Piquette, who had settled like a sleeping bear beneath the table. The meat disappeared without ever hitting the floor.

  “About yer wife and that warrior of hers.” Laird Graham licked his lips.

  James narrowed his eyes. “What are ye talking about?”

  “Then ye dinna know?” His father rubbed his hands together with barely contained eagerness. “She was up early this morning, training at swords with her protector.”

  The roll lost its scant appeal. James lobbed it under the table and heard a wet snap as Piquette caught it.

  “They’ve been spending a lot of time together, the two of them.” Laird Graham bit into a thick slab of pink ham.

  James shrugged with indifference.

  “Ye’re making the right decision, lad.” Laird Graham wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “It’s good to have ye at my side again, ready to fight.”

  He continued to prattle through the meal in his low, gravelly tone, though James had a difficult time listening. He could think of nothing other than Anice and Drake. Neither of whom he saw come down to the great hall for food.

  In fact, James did not see his wife until much later, when he purposefully went to her chamber to look for her. Ingrith was there with her, plaiting Anice’s golden hair into a thick rope of a braid down her back. The sweet scent of jasmine water hung in the air and stabbed at James’s heart.

  He hated his jealousy toward Drake. And he hated the lies he’d have to tell to Anice.

  “James.” Though Anice turned toward him with a bright smile, the way she’d said his name wasn’t the same. Flat. Lackluster. Without the heady excitement of which he’d grown accustomed. Her gaze was much the same—gone was the sparkle he’d come to anticipate.

  “I heard ye were practicing with Drake this morning.” The words did not sound casually as intended, but hard with accusation.

  The realization of this was echoed in Ingrith’s curious glance and Anice’s pinched brows.

  “I cannot lose my ability to fight simply because I’m a wife,” Anice replied slowly. “One never knows when an unexpected attack may occur.”

  The last statement came out hard and pointed, a dagger of words. Aye, there was a coldness to her demeanor to be sure.

  “I would protect ye no matter what.” The pressure in James’s chest squeezed.

  He would protect her; die for her if necessary. Even his betrayal now was to keep her safe. Hiding the truth of the attack, planning a way to stop it before men could be killed—it was for her, as much as it was for her people.

  A voice nagged him, begging him to tell her. However, he knew doing so would push her into danger. She would sacrifice anything to save her family, and he could not allow that.

  “Ye left Piquette,” he said, intentionally changing the topic of conversation.

  “He was tired.” Her gaze swept to her lap, masking her emotions. “You both were.”

  Ingrith rubbed a light rouge on Anice’s lips and cheeks.

  “Anice.” James said only her name, but it was enough to draw his wife’s face up. He hadn’t known why he’d said it, only that he wanted her gaze upon him.

  He needed her close to him, so that he might touch her, caress the sweetness of her. He stepped closer and ran a finger down her soft cheek. She continued to watch him without expression.

  “Ye’re so verra lovely, mo leannan.”

  She blinked suddenly, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Anice, are ye unwell?” He knelt at her side and took her slender hand in his large ones. “Has someone hurt ye?”

  Ingrith immediately backed away and busied herself with the trunk of clothes on the opposite side of the room. Anice shook her head and waved James off. “I’m simply thinking of Werrick Castle.”

  “Ye have me.”

  A tear ran down her cheek, and she nodded. She didn’t understand exactly how much she had him, but she would. When the mess of this was behind him; when she realized what he had done. She would understand.

  24

  Finally, Anice knew James truly did find her lovely. And yet it had hit her with an empty pang.

  He left the room after delivering such a stunning piece of flattery, and it haunted her as she set upon her tasks in order to leave him. The work had consumed her thoughts, for which she was grateful. Food was smuggled from the kitchen, a large sling was fashioned for Drake to wear across his chest to help secure Piquette in his lap as he rode the horse, and they’d planned how best to ease the horses from the stalls without arousing suspicion.

  Throughout it all, James’s words had come back to her again and again.

  Ye’re so verra lovely.

  She tried to push the compliment away, but it was a stubborn thing that refused to be set aside. Instead, it curled around her heart like a thorny vine, squeezing and pricking deep.

  Initially she had thought to beg off from a night of intimacy with her husband. She could cite an aching head, or her monthly courses. Doing so might arouse suspicion. But there was more to it. After dawn, she might never see James again. She would certainly never be held by him again, or loved by him again, never have him whisper “mo leannan” in her ear again.

  A knot of emotion lodged in her throat, as it had throughout the day.

  Nay, she wanted this last night with him. To pretend he was still the man she had thought him to be and make her peace with her decision to leave.

  Ingrith kept Piquette for the first part of the night, as was usual. Not only did it allow Anice and James time alone, but Ingrith told Anice having the large beast at her side helped her feel safe enough to sleep.

  When James came to her chamber later that night, it was only the two of them. Anice’s heart pounded at the sight of him, racing with too many emotions to name.

  He drew her into his strong arms and surrounded her with his clean, cedar scent. “Are ye better?”

  She was not but could not trust herself to say so. Instead, she simply nodded against his chest. He drew back slightly and held her face in his hands. “I know ye miss yer family. I think mayhap I havena told ye enough how verra much I care for ye.”

  Nay. Not this. Not now.

 
; Anice opened her mouth to protest, but James lowered his head and kissed away her words. His lips moved over hers with such tenderness that her knees seemed to melt away from her legs.

  “I never told ye how lovely ye are.” He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face upward. His gaze swept over her features like a savoring caress.

  “You were the one person I wanted to find me beautiful,” she whispered. “I’ve been trying—”

  “I hope I still am that one person,” he said playfully.

  Her insides shrank in horror at her slip.

  “I havena ever said it on purpose.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip and left a slow, pleasant burn in its wake. His fingers slid down her neck, grazed over the swell of her breasts and gently pulled at the ties of her gown. “Everyone tells ye ye’re bonny.”

  One by one, he slipped free the binding of her kirtle.

  “It isn’t their opinions I seek,” Anice replied.

  “Nay, but ye hear them nonetheless.” He pushed the loosened garment from her shoulders, so she stood only in her shift. “Ye know ye’re lovely.” He drew the feather light fabric off her and let it float to the ground.

  She was naked, bared for his viewing. James gazed at her, slowly up and then back down. “Ye’re so verra beautiful,” he murmured. “But ye’re more than yer appearance, Anice. It’s why I never said it to ye.”

  Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”

  His fingers moved to his doublet, working free the toggles as he spoke. “Ye once told me no one has ever truly known ye.”

  Her cheeks went hot at the memory. She had been so dramatic, so hungry, so ready to offer anything for food. “It was a foolish thing to say.”

  The doublet slipped off and he tugged his leine over his head. It was her turn to allow her gaze to feast upon him with appreciation. God’s teeth, he was a powerful man. Solid muscle and strength. Her core pulsed with desire for the weight of him between her thighs and the stroke of his length inside her.

  “It was an honest thing to say.” Next came his trews, tugged slowly from his muscular thighs. “But I dinna think even ye truly knew yerself.”