Anice's Bargain Page 4

  He had loved her.

  His life had been lost as it had been lived, in the service of chivalry and employment to his noble birth. While Anice’s father had survived the battle at Berwick, Timothy had fallen in battle.

  Her guilt had been great when he’d been alive, heavy with the knowledge she had agreed to marry him based on his being a wealthy earl’s son, one of the king’s favorites. With no other viable talents to her person, she’d tried to benefit her family with her one attribute. Surely, marriage was the only thing a woman of considerable attractiveness was good for.

  But no matter how handsome Timothy was—and he was certainly handsome—nor how chivalrous or kind or smitten, Anice could not bring herself to love him.

  Her stomach twisted at the internal admission, the same as it always did. While marriages were often made without love, her inability to return his affection weighed on her. A burden that had become heavier to bear after his death.

  A sharp bark from outside broke through her unwanted reverie and her heart leapt to attention.

  Piquette!

  She broke into a run, not caring what she looked like as she sprinted to her returning dog. James Graham met her in the large entryway of the castle with Piquette, who appeared healthy and happy as he trotted affectionately at the Graham’s side. Anice skidded to a stop. Piquette cast a hesitant glance up at the reiver, no doubt won over by the food he’d been given.

  “Piquette,” Anice called. It was all her dog needed and he promptly bounded over to her, nearly knocking her to the ground when she knelt to welcome him. His dark brown eyes were bright in a way they hadn’t been in months and his whip of a tail would not stop wagging.

  The Graham approached her slowly, as though he feared frightening her. “He was well cared for.”

  She could see the truth in what he’d said for herself and hated the stab of jealousy at his ability to give Piquette what he had needed to be healthy. Or rather, she hated her own inability to provide for her dog. Doubtless Piquette had been given fresh meat while she had only been able to offer grain and bits of gritty bread.

  She rose, but kept her hand settled atop Piquette’s soft head. “Thank you.”

  She studied him for a moment then, this man who had cared so well for her dog, who had kept his promise, who had agreed to marry her when clearly, he did not wish to. Her cheeks heated at the amount of convincing Laird Graham had needed to get an agreeable reply from his son.

  James Graham.

  He was not unattractive, and he had treated her kindly thus far in their limited interactions. A beard bristled over his large jaw and she could not help but wonder how it might compare from the smooth caress of Timothy’s freshly shaven face. Not that Timothy had truly kissed her the way she’d seen other men kiss women. He’d been too aware of her femininity, too protective of her virtue.

  But what would it be like to kiss this man? To be kissed by him? His arms were large, thick with bulky muscle. Surely a simple embrace would swallow her against him. And what must his beard feel like? Scratchy prickles? Or was it soft? His lips showed beneath the thick strands of hair, pink and full. What might he taste like?

  The brine of salted meat? The earthy musk of home-brewed ale? Her head spun. Dear God, she was so ravenously hungry. Even her fantasies were laced with tasting food on men’s lips.

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The slight movement broke the spell of her curiosity and she jerked her gaze away. She’d been staring.

  How embarrassing.

  “Ye dinna have to do this.” He spoke low, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Anice tilted her face up to him. “Your father’s grand speech would indicate otherwise.”

  “Ye dinna want to marry me,” he said smoothly.

  “Is that an opportunity for escape? Or a warning?”

  Not that his answer would alter hers. She would marry him. No matter how large or intimidating he was. For he was truly large.

  And intimidating.

  But Anice was never one to fall quiet under intimidation.

  “You don’t want to marry me,” she stated bravely. “Is that what this is about?”

  His gaze narrowed and didn’t once trail down the length of her body. He was perhaps one of the only men in Scotland and England to not pay her beauty any mind. All men, including those who claimed to be chivalrous, had slid appreciative stares her way when they thought she would not notice.

  Not this man. His eyes did not move past her face, as though he were assessing her worth as a person rather than her beauty as a wife. As though he could see into her soul.

  Why could he not be like other men and take in her appearance, rather than leave her nearly squirming like a worm baited on a hook?

  “Do you not find me attractive?” She’d intended her question to pull his eyes from her face to her body, something she was used to. Something she could bear. Only the words came out sounding arrogant and ugly.

  She licked her lips, giving in to the nervousness twitching through her. “Isn’t that what all men want? A woman with a title who is appealing and comes with a hefty dowry?”

  “There are more important things in life,” he answered with a slow, steady patience.

  Another unexpected response. The man was insufferable. “There are few men who would agree with you,” she countered.

  “There are many men who are fools.” The clatter of footsteps echoed around them. He slid a glance to the open hall at their left and stepped closer. His presence was too great, it seemed to suck the air from the massive room and left her heart pounding.

  “There is more to the world than titles and coin.” His gaze did slide down her now, but not with appreciation. “And beauty.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Such fascinating words when spoken from the mouth of a Graham.” She could not keep the harshness of her hatred from her words.

  “Ye’ll be a Graham soon, too.”

  She drew in a harsh breath at the revelation. Her thoughts swam in a dizzying mix of uncertain emotions made thick with hunger. She could not do this. Not until she’d had something to eat, until she could properly think. She turned to go.

  “Anice,” he said her Christian name in a low voice. There was something soft to it, sensual, beckoning, and despite her irritation, it made a warmth stir deep in her belly.

  She faced him once more.

  “I will only wed ye if ye come willingly,” he said. “I’ll no’ force ye.”

  She understood then of what he spoke. The heat of her cheeks stoked to blazing.

  He took her hand in his massive one and ran a thumb over her palm. Sunlight streamed in through the open shutters and shone on eyes that were more green than blue. He searched her gaze with those exquisite eyes, and she no longer felt as though she needed to squirm beneath his observation.

  “What say ye, Anice?” he asked softly. “Will ye come to me willingly?”

  James’s request hung in the air, poised between them with a discomfiting tension. Anice gazed boldly at him.

  “I will comply as is my duty.” Her tone was neutral and cool, thoughtless to what those words implied. She drew in a breath as one does when they intend to say more, but then did not speak further.

  “I will be a good husband to ye.” His voice filled the silence but did nothing to make it less uncomfortable.

  “I must take my leave.” She began to turn away.

  “A moment.”

  She hesitated and fixed her gaze on him once more. Her long-lashed eyes were pale blue and rimmed in a darker shade. Beautiful. Wary. The skin tightened around her eyes.

  “I know we are being pushed into this.” James drew the parchment-wrapped parcel from the satchel he carried. “We both have our roles to play. Mayhap we can be allies.”

  “Allies?”

  He handed her his gift, which she took cautiously. The parchment puckered against her grip and the briny scent of salted venison blossomed into the air. Her nostrils gently flared
.

  “What is this?” Her voice was soft with breathy hope.

  “Consider it a betrothal gift.” Seeing the hunger widen her eyes made James wish he’d pinched more meat from the cook’s tent. “I’ve also sent several men to notify the village of the castle’s need for supplies.”

  She clutched the gift to her chest. The slender bones of her hand stood out against her pallid skin. “I haven’t anything for you.”

  “Ye needn’t give me anything.”

  Her nostrils flared again, no doubt taking in deep breaths of the savory dried meat she clung to. “It doesn’t seem right to not have anything to give in return.” She swallowed and extended the parcel to him.

  Footsteps echoed off the stone walls, indicating their time alone was drawing to a close. He shook his head as she tried to return his present. “Give me a secret, then,” he said. “Something ye’ve no’ ever told anyone else.”

  She furrowed her brow at his request but drew the meat tight to her thin chest once more.

  “No one has ever truly known me.” Her words were rushed, as if she wanted to purge the secret from her lips. The parcel wrinkled in her grip. “I must—I must go.”

  The footsteps were closer now. He didn’t stop her this time, but instead watched her thin frame dash down the hall with Piquette following at her side.

  Two young women entered the great hall then, hand in hand. They were younger than Anice and shared her golden hair and large blue eyes. Fine dresses of costly fabric hung from their painfully skinny bodies. The women slowed and gazed up at him, the taller one appearing thoughtful in her assessment, while the younger one beamed broadly at him.

  “You are James Graham?” the younger asked.

  He nodded. “Aye, I am. Are ye Lady Anice’s sisters?”

  “We are. This is Ella and I’m Cat. Well, Catriona, really. I would say you could call me Cat, but I suppose Lady Catriona is more proper. Though I would not mind if you called me Cat.” She smiled. “I hear you are to stay with us.”

  Her friendliness was unnerving. His clan had been trying to starve the inhabitants of Werrick Castle, but she seemed pleased to be in his presence.

  The concerned glance by the older sister, the one Lady Catriona referred to as Lady Ella, was more what James had expected. Wariness. Skepticism. A hint of fear and contempt.

  Still, James inclined his head graciously to the sisters. “Well met.”

  “My sister trusts too readily.” Ella stepped in front of the other girl. “I, however, have questions regarding your motivation. Why was it you laid so long a siege upon us? Was this what you wanted? A marriage to a daughter of the Earl of Werrick, Warden of the English West March?”

  James frowned. “I have never been in favor of this siege.”

  “You were there regardless though.” She gave an inquisitive tilt of her head. “Why?”

  In that moment, he might have mentioned his attempt to save a lad in one of their raids and how it had changed his life, or his many conversations to sway his father to a life of good, or his own aspirations to see his people living a life of honesty. However, the young woman did not seem one to indulge another’s contrition.

  Her lip lifted with censure, an indication he had paused for too long. “Your silence is reply enough.” She gazed up at him once more, unabashed in her study of him, then caught her sister by the shoulders and swept them both from the room.

  Dear God, this was going to be an interminable stretch of time. Perhaps even greater than when he’d thought he would die in that raid. Then again, at least death would have ended his suffering. As it was now, there was no hope for reprieve.

  His grating exhale echoed off the stone walls and empty floors. His father had backed him into a corner, forcing him with a woman who did not appear to want to marry him, sisters who resented his presence here, and an earl who no doubt would gladly kill James rather than see him marry Anice.

  And worst of all, James did not fault them, for he knew his own sins, and they were truly great.

  5

  Anice swallowed, but saliva continued to pool in her mouth. The frantic walk to her room left her inundated by the salty perfume of dried meat. It emanated from the wrapping she clutched and released little bursts of scent with every step. It rose around her like a miasma, fogging her brain and leaving her nearly mad with hunger.

  She practically ran into her chambers and slammed shut the door behind her. Without bothering to go to her dressing table, she unwrapped the worn parchment to reveal a fist-sized hunk of dried venison. Her hands shook with such desperation she nearly dropped it to Piquette who waited with an eager gleam in his eyes.

  “Oh pish,” she chided. “You’ve had several meals while you were cared for. This is one meal I cannot share with you.” Yet, as she spoke, she drew off a single sliver and tossed it to her beloved pet.

  Piquette snatched it from the air and swallowed it without bothering to chew.

  Anice peeled off another sliver of dried meat and lifted it to her lips. The saltiness of it hit her tongue, flavor exploding in her mouth. Herbs, salt, smoke from the curing flames. Pleasure radiated through her body. She leaned her head back against the smooth wood of her door and chewed and chewed and chewed the small bit of meat, savoring it as much as reigning in her control.

  It would be too easy to blindly devour the meat in great, savage bites and gnaws. But such a delicacy should be shared with her sisters. She tore off another strip and ate that one with less decorum, giving in to her desperate hunger.

  Only two months prior, meat was eaten daily, something sure and commonplace. Yet it had now become so rare and cherished.

  Piquette flicked a glance up at her. She tossed a curl of venison to the floor. “No more. I believe you’ve had more than your share when you were with James.”

  James.

  She slipped another piece of dried meat into her mouth, and slowly ate, knowing she ought to stop soon lest there was no more to share. His gesture to bring her food had been kind. Yet he had appeared no more eager for the union than she. Was there another he loved? What was his opinion on her being English?

  Her thoughts stirred to life in her mind, the starving stagnation of her ability to concentrate finally returning due to the bit of food. She ripped off another small chunk, her final one. It would be enough to provide the energy she needed for her body as much and her mind.

  James did not wish to wed her.

  And he’d asked for a secret as his betrothal gift. She groaned and bowed her head forward beneath the crush of humiliation from having revealed that secret to James.

  It had all happened so fast, been so confusing with her muddled thoughts. The tantalizing scent of the venison had overwhelmed her. It had sent her system into a wild response where her pulse raced as though she were near death and her gums ached for the pressure of solid food while she chewed. She had not been able to think properly with her head spinning thus. Rather than come up with an interesting reply, a safe reply, she had offered the only thing that would rise through the cloudiness of her muddy thoughts—the truth.

  In fact, it was far truer a secret than ever she’d confessed.

  “Did I truly say that aloud?” The scraps of food in her stomach went sour.

  Piquette’s large head lifted to regard his mistress, but Anice shook her head at him. “No more. The rest is for the others, at least until supper. Which we shall have tonight.” A giddy bubble of excitement tickled in her chest. “We shall have supper every night. Oh, Piquette, we will have food.”

  The dog gave an eager chuff in celebration with her. The last few weeks had been miserable for everyone.

  She wrapped the venison in its simple parchment. Her sisters were as hungry as she and would benefit from some of the meat. She opened her door and quickly located Ella and Catriona in the corridor leading to their shared room.

  “We saw your future husband.” Catriona clasped her hands to her chest and grinned.

  Anice winced. “
Dare I ask what you thought of him?” She handed the wrapped bit of meat to Ella.

  “He seems a fine man.” Cat watched Ella open the parchment “He is quite tall and—” Her eyes went wide. “Is that venison?”

  “A betrothal present.” Anice put up her arm to keep Piquette from snuffling the precious food with his large, wet nose. “I thought it best to share.”

  “It was kind of you to do so.” Ella stared down at the gift in her hands.

  Cat swallowed, as her large stare fixed on the food. “We can’t, Anice. He gave it to you.”

  Anice put her hands to her hips. “Pish.” The way she said it, she reminded herself of Marin, who said the phrase in moments such as these. “It is mine to do with as I please and I want to share it with the two of you. Besides, this will prepare our stomachs for food tonight.”

  The sisters both pulled off small bits and smiled gratefully as they handed it back. Cat devoured hers with a haste even Piquette might envy, but Ella savored hers as Anice had done.

  The girls were too thin, their young bodies painfully skinny. The famished gleam in their eye as she passed them a second chunk made her grateful for her decision to share. No matter how bad it might be to marry a Graham, it would be better than watching these sweet girls slowly starve.

  “It was kind of James to offer this to you.” Cat grinned. “As I was saying, he is very tall and strong. Did you see how large his arms were? Like tree trunks.” She spread her fingers in the air to demonstrate their size.

  Ella tilted her head in ponderous consideration. “To me, he seemed conflicted.”

  Anice wrapped the remainder of the meat to share with Leila and Papa. Little more than a knot-sized amount remained. “What do you mean?”

  “He stated he didn’t approve of the siege.” Ella shrugged. “And yet he was still there. Either he was attempting to placate us by wiping himself free of culpability for his association, or he lacks conviction.”

  Ella’s explanation implied Anice’s future husband was either a turncoat or a coward. And while that might bother some women, Anice was simply happy to have her family fed.