by Terry Spear
She didn’t seem happy about his death.
“Did you love him?”
“He was handsome and a young man. And very kind to me, too.” She took a deep breath. “I was to join him when I was fourteen. My father decided I needed some additional years of good breeding.”
“Was this before or after you ran away and slept in a cave?”
She smiled. “Before.”
So what had prompted her father to wish to keep her home longer? Malcolm would pose that question later. For now, he wished to know about the others. “And the third gentleman?”
“Ah, now he was truly the best.”
Malcolm stiffened his back, not wishing to hear any man would be better than him. Then he realized this must have been one of the Scottish lairds. “Did you prefer him because he was Scottish?”
“Aye, that I did.”
“And nay other reason?”
Her lips and eyes smiled at him. “Why do you not give up your search for an English lady and ask the king permission to court me? Your brothers would, I dare say, if I asked them.”
“You wish me to court you, lass?” Malcolm asked, his voice showing his incredulity, especially since she told him his kind didn’t appeal to her, though he never thought she spoke the truth. “The king wishes you to marry a Norman laird.”
“What do you wish?”
“That you do as you desire, lass.”
“Aye. But I have nay Highlanders seeking my hand. How can I marry one who I would wish when none are available?”
“So you would think me not such a bad choice?” How could the woman who raised his hair in anger, lift his heart in the next instant?
“Mayhap not. But you would have to hold two jobs. You would have to act as my steward and help me to solve the puzzle at my castle. And you would have to court me to win my heart.”
He lifted a brow, amused. “Think you I could not handle such a job?”
“Methinks you may not be able to as you wish an English bride.”
He smiled. “I would have to seek His Grace’s permission.”
“If he is agreeable?”
“I will put off my search for an English bride.”
“Aye, and that is why you shall have difficulty wooing me.” Her chin rose, but she wore a slight smile.
“Because?” The woman had no end to her riddles.
“Because I will not play second favorites. You either want me with all your heart and nay other will do, or you do not. I will no’ be the one for you, just because you cannot find another who wants you.”
The lady was truly to be admired. But if he should propose marriage to her, he would lose his wagers that would make him a fairly wealthy man. Even his brothers would gain a share of him. Still he could woo her, keep a closer eye on her while she was courted by whoever it was who wished her estates, and never propose marriage. Then he could prove to her she was interested in him after all.
“I take you up on your offer, milady.”
“It will not be an easy task, milaird.”
“The position as steward?”
She smiled. “The other. I will put you through your paces.”
“Of that, milady, I am assured.” Then he thought about the Scottish laird who she’d been betrothed to and the other he still hadn’t learned anything about. “About the Scottish laird. What happened to him?”
“He is not dead if you are worried I am cursed and bring death to any who are bound to me by marriage contract.”
He stared at her, disbelieving. That was why rumors abounded she was cursed, but what was more of an enigma was why she would be looking for a husband, if she already had one. “If he is still alive, what has become of him? And why would the king want a husband for you?”
“He ran off with a Scottish lass who had nay money or properties. ‘Twas true love. Except if King Alexander ever gets hold of him, he will end up like the other of my betrothed husbands. But in the meantime, the bans were cancelled.”
“Being betrothed to you can be hazardous to a man’s health.”
“Aye. Keep that in mind, milaird, should you truly wish to pursue me.”
She had the most devilish way of smiling at times, and this was definitely one of those times. She’d thrown down the gauntlet, and he most heartily accepted.
Then he recalled there was one other, and she had made no mention of this Scottish laird. “And the last?”
Tears filled her eyes and she quickly turned away. “You would not wish to know.”
He stared at her, wondering what had happened to him. Was she cursed after all? Or did she harbor some love for her betrothed husband that would transcend all time?
Why should it matter? If Malcolm did wed her, he would have lands, a castle, and a wife to give him a bairn. What would it matter whether she could give him her heart? He never thought any Englishwoman he would wed would love him either. ‘Twas the way of things. A marriage of convenience. His own mother and father had an arranged marriage, neither loving the other. His father had his favorite mistress, though he gave Malcolm’s mother four sons, his duty fulfilled to leave an heir to his estates, when he wasn’t drunk and tupping Isobelle. His mother had seemed content enough to raise her four sons and didn’t seem to mind their father was never around.
Malcolm had always known love and marriage were not part of the arrangement.
He glanced at Anice again, wondering what the devil was wrong with him that he would even care what she felt about the other Scottish laird.
Malcolm had tried to broach the subject of the circumstances concerning Anice’s final betrothal, but she seemed so distressed, he imagined he’d have to ask Mai. When they stopped to water the horses, he spied Anice reading the washed out missive, though nothing was clearer on the vellum than the three words Malcolm had read. Her brow wrinkled, and she shoved the missive back into Gunnolf’s pouch.
Malcolm attempted to speak with Mai as she stretched her arms out in front of her and groaned. Before he could open his mouth, Mai turned on him. “Do not be asking my mistress about her last betrothal, if ye know what is good for you.”
He didn’t like that she seemed to read his mind, but the abrupt way she hissed the words, made him pause. Still, Mai said nothing about asking her the question.
“Then you can tell me—” But he quit his words when Anice approached. She looked tired and stressed, so he said no more of the matter.
Anice studied Malcolm, whose focus shifted quickly from Mai to her and noticed he abruptly ceased speaking. ‘Twas some question he had about her no doubt.
Mai avoided her look. Aye, mayhap about the curse? The vellum revealed little except it linked her with curses and betrothals. But who had given Malcolm the message?
“Are ye ready to ride again, milady?” Malcolm asked, while his brothers stood nearby watching.
“Aye, that I am.”
He helped her onto her horse. His large, gentle hands held her waist, lingering overlong, sending a sizzling blaze coursing through her. His eyes held hers and with the deep breath he took, his nostrils flared. Raking her with his hungry gaze, he cleared his throat, but didn’t say what he seemed to have on his mind. Yet, he also seemed not to wish to release her.
“Time we are off, milaird?” Mai did not oft fidget, but she wrung her hands in distress.
Malcolm gave her a harsh look; Gunnolf quickly helped Mai onto the wagon.
Slapping Angus on the back, Dougald grinned like an idiot, then mounted his horse. Angus’s smile was smaller, but his eyes revealed his unbridled amusement.
Malcolm’s hands brushed down Anice’s thigh, the touch erotic when his fingers caressed her all the way through her gown. ‘Twas indecent, and worse, everyone saw it. So why did she want him to touch her further? Around the rogue, she was shamelessly wanton.
He turned away from her, adjusted his trewes, then climbed into his saddle. With a wave of his hand, he motioned for Dougald to lead the way and hoarsely shouted, “Continue, brother
!”
Throughout the day, Anice and her escort stopped where they could to water and rest the horses and partake of the salted pork and ale they carried with them. But when they paused for the last time an hour south of Northampton, Anice skin prickled and she immediately sensed danger before the man appeared.
With beady eyes and short black hair, a stout man approached on horseback. “How now, good folk. Would you have a drop o’ mead for a fellow traveler?” His hand raised in greeting, showed he carried no weapon and meant them no harm, but the way he looked her over as if he appraised a side of beef for his master stirred her blood.
Dougald offered the man some ale. “Where are you bound?” His words were dark, and when he handed over the drink he watched the man with the caution of a battle-hardened warrior.
“Northampton for the night; same as you I suspect. I am Conan,” the man replied, responding in a cheerful manner as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
No one said anything in response, and she wondered if the other MacNeill brothers also worried about him.
“Where have you ridden from?” Malcolm wiped his brow with a wetted cloth. Like Dougald’s, his eyes remained fixed on the stranger.
“Hertford. And you?”
“Arundel.”
“Aye. I have sung a tale or two there.”
“You are a bard?” Malcolm asked, his tone edged with disbelief.
Everyone in their party watched the man, as if they suspected him, too, of being not who he said he was. Beneath his brown woolen cloak, the telltale sign of a sword hung at his hip. His horse was a destrier...a knight’s warhorse, not a simple bard’s. Was he a thief then?
“Aye, a bard,” Conan said, smiling, like a jester entertaining the royal family.
“You do not appear to be a bard.” Anice wasn’t above saying what was on everyone’s minds.
His smile broadened, but his black eyes challenged her. “The lady is right. I have been a knight, but I have given up my sword for a time. For now, I am a bard. Might I join you? ‘Tis better to journey with others than alone and become the victim of thieves.”
Anice tucked a wayward curl underneath her veil. “To Northampton?”
“Aye, and beyond with you if I may.”
She narrowed her eyes. They had never said their destination lay beyond Northampton. “Think you we travel any farther than that?”
Again, the man smiled. “’Tis my folly. I have no idea where you are bound.”
Yet, she thought his words a lie. “Why would you lay down your sword?”
“A most indelicate wound, milady, which has not properly healed.”
Before she could ask him to show her this wound, Malcolm interrupted her questioning. “’Tis only an hour to Northampton from here. You may ride with us, if ‘tis your wish.” Malcolm helped Anice onto her horse, but not before she cast him a scolding look.
She would have exposed Conan for his lie, if Malcolm hadn’t stopped her from seeing this man’s wound, which she assumed he didn’t have. No one of their party had given their names, yet this Conan seemed not to care. Why wouldn’t he, as a traveling bard, be interested in who he accompanied? Would it not add to his lists of tales?
Or did he not ask because he already knew?
She’d sensed he was danger well before she set eyes on him.
“Come, ride ahead with me.” Dougald’s voice was cheerful, but the underlying tone was a command.
As the party got underway, Anice asked, “Think you he lies, Malcolm?”
“Aye, lass, but you could have been a wee bit more subtle. You as much as called the man a prevaricator to his face.” Malcolm cocked a dark brow.
She was not one to play games with the likes of dangerous men. “Aye, because that is what he is. There is no reason to pretend he is not.”
“I did not wish you to worry that he might be a danger.”
“I would have asked him to show his wound, if you had not stopped me.”
Malcolm shook his head, his mouth tugged upwards. “I knew that is where your questioning was headed. Would not your steward have advised you to let him speak on your behalf?”
“He would not have wasted his breath.”
Malcolm chuckled. “If this Conan had refused to disrobe in front of the lady to show off his indelicate wound, I would have had to force the issue. But nay way did I want him to expose himself to you, milady.”
“What if he lies?”
“My brothers and I can ask to see this wound of his this verra eve without your witness.”
She harrumpfed.
Again, he laughed. “Milady, your cheeks are crimson.”
She tilted her chin higher. “We must do what we must to ensure the safety of all concerned. If he is not who he says he is, what reason would he have to lie?”
“Any number of reasons. He owes someone money, has left a troublesome wife behind, or a lady who he is not wed with bairn, and an angry father wants his head.”
“Or he could be a spy for His Grace’s rebellious brother.”
Malcolm nodded. “Aye, and is traveling the area in disguise.”
Taking a deep breath, she said, “I think he knows who we are. Or at least me.”
Malcolm stared at her, worry etched in his features. “What makes you believe so, lass? Do you recognize him?”
“Nay. But he did not ask who we were and he made my skin crawl the way he looked at me, as if he were studying me to see if I fit the description he had been given.”
Malcolm turned to watch the man. “I had only assumed the man feasted his eyes on you because you are such a bonny lass. I had not suspected he might have been in search of you. But I noticed he did not ask our names. You saw how we did not offer them either.”
“Aye, that’s why I assumed you were suspicious of him, too.”
“He rides too fine a horse and—”
“His cloak outlined his sword.”
Malcolm looked at her. “You are verra observant, milady.”
“I fear our safety depends on our vigilance at all times.”
“Aye.” He sat taller in his saddle. “Which is why either my brothers or I will accompany you at all times.”
“Even to my bedchamber?”
A slow smile turned his lips heavenward while he watched Conan. “Only I would take you there.”
“If I should become indisposed.”
He faced her and his smile broadened.
A trickle of heat curled into her belly. What she wouldn’t give for him to join her in her bed. Then again, whatever was the matter with her? He would have to have a change of heart about having a Scottish lady for his bride before she could even indulge in such notions. Though, if he’d reached a wee bit higher when he’d slid his hands up her thigh...och, she had no business thinking about that.
She wished now she had more than the ability of second sight, and could instead read Malcolm’s thoughts as his eyes looked sinfully seductive in the fading light while he studied her with a devilish smirk.
When they reached Northampton, they passed a small abbey, St. Andrews Priory on Broad Street. Merchants dealing in fine cloth displayed their linens on Mercers Row and on Woolmonger Street, the dying and weaving of wool took place. A grand castle sat watch over the town, protecting its inhabitants from any incursion.
Malcolm said, “I have met the Earl of Northampton, Simon de St. Liz, builder of this castle. He was one of William’s Norman lairds during the conquest and came to have the lands and title in thus a manner—King William had Waltheof, the Norman Earl of Huntingdon, executed, some say for having been involved in a revolt with the earls against the king. William thence offered the earl’s widow his own niece, Judith, as a bride to Simon. But she refused saying Simon had a halting in one leg she could not abide.”
Anice quirked a brow. Was the woman so shallow so as not to please her king, or was Simon really that dreadful a lord? On the other hand, Anice had most likely displeased King Henry when she had said no to h
is advances. But still the circumstances were different. One was the offer of a husband who was favored by the king. The other was an offer of a lover’s tryst. Then again, his wanting her to wed Norman lairds hadn’t set well with her either.
“This infuriated King William,” Malcolm continued. “He seized the castle and honor of Huntingdon, which the countess held in dower. She and her daughter lived in a state of privation on the Isle of Ely. But Simon was not to be deterred and though he was disappointed in not obtaining the countess of Huntington’s hand, he made his addresses to her daughter, Lady Maud. She did accept and King William granted Simon both the titles of earl of Huntingdon and Northampton.”
“And you met him...”
“During the Crusades at the Battle of Antioch. I think he would welcome old comrades at arm.”
“I do not know this earl. ‘Tis good I brought you along then.”
Malcolm chuckled, shaking his head. “You are a treasure, lass.”
His words warmed her thoroughly, but she wondered what he would think of her should she tell him about her fourth betrothed husband. Her head pounded with frustration to think she had the worst luck with gaining a husband. Malcolm would not think her a treasure if her learned of the manner in which her last betrothed died, she was certain.
Before they reached the castle, Conan quit the group.
“Where is he going?” Malcolm drew closer to Dougald, with Anice at his flank when the self-professed bard headed for Draper Street.
“He says he has other business to attend in town. If he can finish it quickly, he will join us and entertain the earl for a meal.”
Malcolm’s jaw hardened. “I suspect the earl may know him, and he does not want that revealed. Did he tell you anything that might give us a clue as to what he is about?”
“He is very careful not to let secrets slip, Malcolm. But I suspect it has something to do with the lady.”
Malcolm frowned. “How come you by this notion?”
“I told him the lady is marrying a Highlander.”
Anice gripped her reins tighter. “Why would you tell him this?” What if the word got back to Henry? She tried to squash the annoyance she felt that Dougald would say anything so foolish about her to a stranger.