Anice's Bargain

by Madeline Martin

  Fully naked, fully aroused, he came to her. He stroked a hand down her arm and then let it lazily sweep back up from hip to waist to breast. Anice drew in a shaky breath. “Of course I know myself.”

  “Nay.” He shook his head. “I’ve listened since I’ve met ye, and I disagree.”

  Anice lifted her face toward his, her mouth desperate for the sensual, masculine taste of him. One last time. Everything had to be enough, this one last time.

  “It’s all in what ye’ve said, mo leannan.” He did not kiss her. Instead he stroked her face and her neck and shoulders and breasts. His fingers moved in tantalizing, teasing caresses over her entire body. Slowly, gently, he eased her back to the bed. “Ella dances better than ye, Marin fights better than ye, Leila plants better than ye.”

  Anice stared at him in surprise. Had she said all those things?

  “It’s why I dinna tell ye how beautiful ye are.” He crawled over the top of her and brought his hands back to her face, cradling her in his palms. He stared down at her as if she were the only woman in the world to ever have mattered. “I’ve seen how ye dance, and my body has burned from it.” He grinned his approval. “I’ve watched ye teach a clan to sow crops in the course of an afternoon with yer kindness, yer skill and yer wit. And I’ve fought with ye myself.” He nodded approvingly. “Ye’re so, so much more than simply an attractive woman.”

  His mouth came down on hers then, sweet and tender. Sensual and loving. Anice clung to him as his kisses trickled downward to her nipples, to the dip of her navel, to the ache between her legs.

  She clutched the bedclothes as his hot tongue licked at her center. This had to be enough. This had to be enough.

  However, she knew it would not be. Despite the knowledge of his betrayal, despite her need to save her family, and despite the knowledge she would never forget this night, or the impact of his words, it would never be enough.

  A greater part of her would always want James. Forever. Not only because of how he made her feel, or because he was the only person in the entire world who understood her better than even herself, but because…because she loved him.

  James had waited far too long to say what had been in his heart for so long. He ought to have told her earlier how he felt, but he had stubbornly pushed it away. Foolish rationale that if he let her know how beautiful she was, how deeply he cared for her, he would be giving her power over him.

  The same as with Morna.

  Except Anice was not Morna.

  He loved her with his words, and now he loved her with his mouth, basking in the sighs and moans of Anice’s pleasure. Her breath hitched and she cried out with her release. He continued to taste her, to lick and tease until her body relaxed once more.

  His cock was swollen with desire for his bonny wife, eager to sate them both. He got to his feet and crawled on the mattress over her, the taste of her sweetness on his lips.

  He nuzzled her cheek with his nose and pressed a kiss to the spot under her ear that always made small bumps of delight rise on her skin.

  She arched her hips up, fitting their pelvises together so the sweet sensuality of her curves pressed to him. “I need you, James.” Her arms curled up his back and she clung to him as though her life depended on it. “Please. I need you.”

  It was a request she didn’t need to ask for again. Holding her to him, he shifted her underneath him and positioned himself between her legs. The cries of her crises only moments ago had left him hard for her. Hell, some days just looking at her left him hard.

  He eased himself against her and thrust inside the grip of her heat. She gave a breathy gasp by his ear. Her legs locked around him with the same determined grip as her arms, bringing them as close as they could possibly be.

  They had not been intimate like this, locked against one another as though every part of them touched. James cupped her bottom with both hands and flexed his hips, deep and fast into her.

  Anice. His lovely wife. So much more than she gave herself credit for. There was one final thing he hadn’t told her yet.

  His mouth caught hers and she kissed with a hungry, blind passion while their bodies joined again and again and again. He broke off the kiss and rested his brow to hers.

  “Anice, I’ve never told ye.” He released one hand from her bottom and braced himself over her, so he might look at her as he said it. “I lov—”

  “Nay.” She shook her head. “Don’t.” Her hips raised to his with more determination.

  James grabbed her to him again, mind swirling with a distracted inability to understand her reaction. He thrust into her with renewed vigor, desperate for release, expelling his frustration, wanting to possess her completely.

  She buried her face in his neck and loosed a muffled scream as her release took her. James was not far behind, his smooth pumps becoming shorter as the rushing swell of his climax overtook him.

  Once their breathing had calmed and her clutching grip on him had loosened under the languidness of post-coital bliss, he rose to clean them both. When he was done, he pulled Anice into his arms, snuggling her back to his chest and cradling her with the whole of his body.

  In those moments after pleasure, with heat still humming in their veins and cradled in the comfort of a shared bed, life was completely perfect.

  Except that in reality, life was completely imperfect. And his father would no doubt be waiting for him.

  James kissed Anice’s smooth, naked shoulder. “Ye’ve always been bonny to me, mo leannan.” She did not reply, clearly asleep as her deep, rhythmic breathing indicated.

  He roused himself with much regret. He longed to be back at her side, in the warm comfort of her bed. With her.

  Damn his father and this whole bloody scheme. James pulled on his leine and trews and quietly slipped from the room. But as he left, he caught a soft sniffling coming from the bed. He immediately said a prayer for his wife, in the hopes she was not falling prey to any illness and made his way to his father’s room. Surely, they had enough planned out that their meeting would be brief, and James could return to Anice before his side of the bed cooled.

  Lord Bastionbury had most likely gotten his letter by now. The thought invigorated James. With luck, he would have a reply soon. Preferably a favorable reply.

  He pushed open the door to his father’s room and saw not only the old man, but several of his reivers with him. A grim set to Laird Graham’s face bespoke of plans gone awry. Finally.

  Relief relaxed James’s shoulders.

  “How could ye?” Laird Graham growled. “I trusted ye.”

  A knot of apprehension coiled in James’s stomach. The first rule of being interrogated was to never assume the person knew the truth.

  “What in God’s name are ye talking about, old man?” James stalked deeper into the room and stood in front of his father.

  “I think ye know.” Laird Graham’s lips curled back to reveal his yellowed teeth. “I should’ve gone with my gut and kept ye out of this.”

  James crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll have my crimes told to me if I’m to be judged.”

  “Betrayal,” his father squawked. “Telling that lass of yers all about our plans.”

  James regarded the old man with a genuinely furrowed brow. “Ye mean Anice?”

  “Aye, unless ye got a different lass ye’re no’ telling me about.” Laird Graham cast a grim scowl at him. “And if that be the case, I hope ye’ve not told her as well.”

  “I didn’t tell Anice anything. What are ye going on about?”

  Laird Graham’s lower jaw thrust forward in a stubborn scowl. “Why else would she be leaving the castle tonight with her man?”

  “With her man?” James muttered. “Ye dinna mean Drake?”

  “Ach, aye, what other man would I mean?” James’s father rolled his eyes. “They’re always going together, whispering, the two of ‘em.”

  James didn’t need to hear this. His father was just trying to push a wedge between them, to keep Ja
mes for himself. It wouldn’t be the first time. James narrowed his eyes. “What are ye saying?”

  “Yer wife plans to sneak out of the castle tonight with Drake,” his father spoke slowly, as he would with someone who was hard of hearing. “Because ye told her our plans.”

  The old man was mad. Or had false information. Or both. Anice would never leave him. She would never do that to him. Just tonight, she had clung to him as they joined bodies. She was not Morna.

  “I told her nothing.” James unfolded his arms and leaned over his father. “And I dinna care for yer accusations toward my wife.”

  “Ye dinna know. Ye really dinna know?” Laird Graham stared at him for a long moment and then gave a wheezing laugh. “The stable lad saw Drake messing about within one of the stalls and later uncovered everything needed for saddling the horses quickly buried under the hay. So, why would they need to saddle their horses quickly, if they were planning to stay?” He turned to the other reivers. “Take him with ye when ye go. James needs to see this with his own eyes, then mayhap he’ll believe me: his wife is leaving by cover of night.” His father stared pointedly at James and added, “with Drake.”

  25

  Anice hurried down the hall to the soldiers’ sleeping quarters. When she passed the entrance, Piquette at her heels, Drake appeared at her side—so silent she had not detected the rustle of his clothing as he moved. He put a hand to his lips to ensure she remained silent.

  Together they rushed toward the side exit of the castle, the one scarcely guarded at night, due to the treacherous terrain limiting its accessibility. It would be easy enough to use, so long as they stayed on the path.

  As they made their way to the door, Anice gazed down the hall behind them, under the pretense of looking out for any who might have followed them. In truth, she was looking back at the corridors that had finally become familiar, at the life she had begun to love. She would be leaving James. Forever. After what they had shared that night, after what he had confessed… There would be no recovery of what they had after such deception. On either of their parts.

  She looked away lest she change her mind. This was for Werrick, for her sisters. This was to save her family.

  And contrary to James’s tender words, he had betrayed her.

  Drake held up his hand for her to wait as he eased the door open. He scanned the area and paused. His eyes narrowed.

  Something was wrong.

  He drew back suddenly, but it was too late.

  A shout came from outside. Drake pulled at the door to jerk it closed, but someone grabbed at his gambeson and dragged him out. In a final effort to keep her safe, he left himself vulnerable to an assault, and shoved the heavy door closed.

  The hall fell silent for only a moment, then the door was flung open again. Piquette snarled in a savage way she’d only heard a few times in her life, each of them rife with danger. A net shot out, its weights clattering to the ground, locking Piquette beneath. The dog howled in outrage, thrashing uselessly against the tangle of netting.

  Anice shrieked her outrage and attacked. She grabbed the dagger sheathed at her side, and launched herself at the men surrounding her, kicking, punching, slicing. Any impacting harm she could exact, she did—all in an effort to save her sweet, innocent Piquette. Someone caught her around the waist and tugged her outside into the moonlit night. Cold air washed over her hot face and filled her lungs.

  Her wrist was twisted, gently but firmly, and the strength bled away from her hand. The dagger dropped harmlessly to the ground. Not that it mattered. She didn’t need any weapons to escape this ambush. A solid kick to the man in front of her caught him under the chin and knocked his head sharply to the side. He staggered back, revealing a disarmed Drake fighting with the same determination.

  Someone grabbed Anice from behind. She squatted down, forcing her weight to the ground, then kicked her heel upward into the man’s groin. He gave a choking sound and pitched forward. Anice did not wait for another to attack before she moved on to her next opponent.

  She drew her arm back and smashed the meaty part of her forearm into the next man’s face. His nose crunched beneath the savage blow. She turned to the next one, crouched, and swept his feet from underneath him. Once he was on the ground, Anice fell on top of him to lock him in place. She could break his neck.

  A glint of silver caught her eye. Her blade.

  She grabbed the dagger from the cold, wet grass and drew it up.

  “Anice, stop.” The voice was softly spoken, dejected. Familiar.

  Her hands dropped, and so too did her heart. A figure stood over her, blotting out the moon, but she did not lift her face to see who it was. There was only one man who was large enough to block out the moon.

  James.

  She could not bring herself to look up at him, to witness the pain of her deception. Only an hour ago, he had held her with such gentle affection, understanding her in a way no one else ever had. He had been about to tell her he loved her.

  She was grabbed and hauled to her feet. Still she did not look up. She did, however, glance to the side, in time to see Drake roughly manacled and poor Piquette struggling against the net just inside the open door.

  That forced her to lift her head and face her husband. His body was tense, arms folded over his chest, massive and impenetrable. His eyes though, his eyes glittered in the moonlight with every emotion he could not mask. Disappointment. Hurt. “Ye betrayed me,” he spoke so quietly, his words were nearly lost in the wind.

  She glared up at him, trying to force anger to burn away the awful grip of guilt wringing her heart. “You betrayed me first.”

  “Take them to the dungeon.” James turned his back to her. “Leave the dog.”

  Not Piquette. Anice jerked free of her captor and spun around to plant a punch to his jaw. Strong arms captured her and held her fast in a grip. It wasn’t the hold that stopped her from fighting. She’d gotten out of worse.

  It was the scent.

  That scent of cedar, masculinity, intimate moments, a man she once thought she loved. It disabled her senses and left her sagging against the hard body she knew better than her own.

  “If I were to hurt anyone this night, it wouldna be him,” James growled in her ear. “Get the manacles on her and take her to the dungeon.” He released her and several men caught her.

  The clank of the heavy metal sounded as the cold weight of the iron bonds were clapped over her wrists behind her back. As the reivers did this, James knelt to Piquette and gently stroked the dog’s head. The low murmur of his voice carried toward her, indiscernible, but obviously meant to be soothing.

  “Go on with ye.” The man behind her nudged her forward.

  As Anice was led inside, Drake was already being walked back into the castle.

  James settled beside Piquette and gently stroked his head while speaking in soothing tones. The dog ceased his struggling and whined as Anice passed by, staring up at her with liquid brown eyes.

  “’Tis fine, Piquette,” she said in a reassuring voice to the old dog. “All will be well.”

  It was a lie, of course. But Piquette took comfort, as she’d hoped, and ceased his whimpers.

  She tried to shove the scene from her mind. She tried not to think of how James had looked at her. Instead, she considered what she had lost: the opportunity to warn her family.

  They descended the stone stairs into the dungeon. The air was icy and thick with the odor of wet dirt and mold. A shiver prickled down her back.

  She had let emotions cloud her actions. When she could have continued to fight and push on, she had allowed her heart to dictate rather than using her head.

  As the door to her cell swung closed with an echoing finality, all she could think of was Werrick Castle, and how greatly she had failed.

  It had taken nearly the entire night for James to calm down enough to go to the dungeon. In that time, he had refused to see his father. The old man would gloat and goad.

  It was impossib
le to say what James might have done in such circumstances, especially when his blood already ran hot with rage. Memories of Morna dredged from the dark areas of his mind and tangled with thoughts of Anice, procured images of her lithe, fair body stretched over Drake.

  James stalked down to the dungeon. It had been in his mind to see Drake first. To smash that pretty face of his into something no one would want to look upon again.

  But it was not the way Lord Bastionbury had taught him. James balled his ire into his fists and made his way to the wooden door barring him from the second woman to have broken his heart.

  The guard unlocked the cell and stepped back while James entered.

  “Go.” James nodded to the man.

  “But it should be locked—”

  “She willna leave.” Of that, James was certain. His heart hammered in his chest so hard, he could scarcely hear. He bristled with impatience.

  The man obeyed the order with no more protest and quickly made his way up the stone stairs.

  Dread and anxiety mixed into a noxious brew in James’s gut. It churned so violently that it left his hands shaking. A deep breath in, and a deep breath out, and finally he was ready to face Anice.

  He pushed through the door and found her beside the open doorway with a length of wood clenched in her fists like a club. A disassembled chair lay only a foot behind her.

  James shut the door and glared at her. “First ye betray me, and now ye intend to beat me?”

  She did not lower her weapon. “You betrayed me first. I only did what I had to.”

  “Ach, pray tell what I could have possibly done that forced ye into Drake’s arms?” James could not quell the bitterness rising in his voice. “I did everything for ye, Anice. I stood up against my da for ye; I’ve cared for ye. I learned to read in English for ye, so ye wouldna think me too ignorant to read the book ye gifted me.”

  The chair leg in her hands drifted downward slightly. “You learned to read English for me?”