Tess carried on, moving into her root cellar, which had many years ago been built into the side of the keep, half underground. Anice took up a bucket and went to the well to fill it for Tess. She hadn’t any idea how Tess managed everything that she did all day. From sunup until sundown, the woman labored with rarely a break, unless sitting and toiling over that enormous tapestry, as they tried to do at least once a day, was regarded as rest. Tess’s work moved her all about the keep and castle, and yard and village, every day, and Anice found herself in envy of exactly how busy and productive and needed she was. Anice could only dream to have such responsibility gifted to her. She helped where she could, wanting so much to be valuable here at Inesfree. She understood that her position—as ill-defined as it had been at Stonehaven, amounting to not much more than a guest of prolonged stay—did not lend itself to any permanent arrangement.
At the well, she was joined by two MacGregor soldiers, who must have noted her coming to have appeared so quickly. They looked to have no cause to be at the well, as they carried no bucket or vessel to fill.
Anice attached her bucket to the hook at the end of the rope and turned the crank to lower it. With a bit of grimace, she said, “I’ve forgotten your names—wait. Don’t tell me.” She looked to the dark haired one, with the pretty brown eyes. His face looked too young for either shaving or soldiering. “Colm?”
The lad grinned and nodded. Anice turned to the other, who reminded her of Sim, with his lighter hair and heavy lidded eyes, and being only as tall as her. “Niall?”
“Aye. And you’re Anice.”
They said nothing else, only smiled at her, and Anice guessed it was her job to make conversation. “Is your training done for the day?”
“Aye.”
“And what would be your plans, then, for the rest of this day?”
Colm said, with a bit of audacity, “That depends, lass. Are you wanting to make plans with me?” He was busy enough posturing before Anice that he didn’t think to help retrieve the now filled bucket from the well.
“She is no,” said Torren from behind him.
All three were startled by Torren’s gruff voice. Anice bit her lip, her dimples showing, trying to hide her amusement at the startled and frightful glances they turned upon the big man.
“Go on with you,” Torren said, chasing them off.
Colm dared to throw a brash grin back at Anice as he hastened away.
Anice left the bucket sitting on the flat stone at the top of the well. She set her hands on her hips. “Mayhap you’ll give me a list of names of the people who are allowed to speak to me?”
“It won’t include any boy no old enough to have hair on his bollocks.”
“Torren Beyn!”
“Aye, sorry, lass.”
“And the other day, it did not include any kind tradesman come to Inesfree at Fynn’s behest. And last week, it included not any serf, though he be a hard worker and decent man asking only a simple question of where to find the chief.”
“Aye, that sounds about right. And you can stop flashing those dimples at everyone and my job would be fair easy.”
“You are ridiculous.”
“And we ken you are incorrigible.”
Anice grinned at this oft-repeated abuse. “Is that how you got that dark look of yours?” she ran a finger over his perpetually furrowed eyebrow. “Keeping all the bonny lasses at bay?”
Torren smirked at her but otherwise ignored her query. He lifted the bucket from the well, and they started back toward the garden.
“I’ll be going into the village with Tess in a bit,” she thought to tell him.
“Aye, I’ll be available.”
“Torren—”
“Save your breath, lass, you ain’t going all that way without me.”
“You know Tess goes nowhere without at least two guards. Did you ever think you insult chief MacGregor, supposing his soldiers cannot keep me safe from all the dangers lurking in quiet gardens and peaceful villages?”
“No at all. You ken more than most what can lie between one point to the next.”
“I do.” She never wanted Torren to think she did not appreciate how well he cared for her. “Thank you, Torren.”
SEVERAL DAYS LATER, Anice sat with Angus at the table in the hall where daily he worked on some leather goods. Just now, she busied herself counting the bridles that lay across the table and stacking them neatly in the baskets that had been made for Angus’s leather trade.
“Will you teach me how to work the leather, Angus?”
His hands stopped, his tool stilled. “Why would you be wanting to harden your soft hands, lass.”
“I need to find some occupation.”
“That’s why I heard you asking the lass about becoming Inesfree’s gardener out in the orchard? And before that, wondering if Metylda would teach you the healing arts?”
Anice nodded. “Everyone keeps telling me I don’t need an occupation, but what is my purpose, then? And how should I support myself?”
“You just sit there and be as bonny as you are, and soon you’ll have bairns to keep you busy, and you’ll be crying for less to do.”
“That would involve a husband,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“That’s where the bonny comes in, lass.”
“Angus, you cannot know if I am pretty, which I am not. My eyes are too big, and my hair is chopped off.”
“Bonny is more than seen, lass.”
“Yes, I know. Pretty and ugly are on the inside.”
Angus nodded and chortled softly but then stopped abruptly and tilted his head, a slight frown adding more wrinkles to his forehead. He listened carefully to the sounds in the hall. Anice looked around, wondering what had caught his attention, having learned that Angus’s other senses more than made up for his lack of sight.
“Has the lass come?”
Anice knew the lass was only and ever Tess.
“No, Angus, she’s still gone into the village with Serena.”
His frown only deepened, his face a study of concentration, moving his head to the left and then right, trying to understand whatever it was that he felt or heard right now.
“Angus, what is it?”
“Who comes?”
Anice swiveled her head again, this time turning all the way around to consider the doorway. “There is no one but—”
Gregor Kincaid, who stood just inside the entryway, staring at her. His stance was such—feet braced apart, hands not quite hung loose at his sides—that he appeared to have come quickly into the keep and stopped suddenly.
“‘Tis the Kincaid,” she said for Angus’s benefit, startled by the husky tone of her own voice.
“Ahh,” said Angus, as if some other question had been answered as well.
Anice stared at Gregor, hardly believing that she might have forgotten how those piercing eyes of his could so quickly disable her. He seemed content just to stare at her, obviously having no care for the effect this had on her, while her heart flipped, and her breath caught, and her mind whirred. He appeared as wonderfully handsome as her dreams had insisted he was, his thick dark hair pushed off his forehead and trimmed close to his head, the sharp lines of his cheeks and jaw as hard as the rest of him. Her eyes settled on his lips then, recalling exactly how they had felt against her own, watching now as a slow, hesitant smile lifted the corners.
“Come on, then, Kincaid,” Angus grumbled with good humor, tossing his head toward the door, “before either of you expire from all this heat.”
“Good to see you as well, Angus,” said Gregor, coming further into the hall.
Anice rose from the bench, two leather bridles forgotten in her hand, and faced Gregor as he stopped only feet from her.
“Anice, how do you fare?”
Anice curtsied, which had the Kincaid frowning. “Dinna start with that, lass. Tell me how you’ve been, what you’ve been doing....”
“I’ve been very well, sir,” she said, her voice even. “
Inesfree is a very happy place.”
This seemed to please him. He nodded and his lips quirked for a moment. And he seemed to wait, his brow raised, but Anice hadn’t any more words to give him.
Anice could only stare at him, unable to think of anything to say to him. Oh, she could tell him a thousand things: she rode Fearchar daily, mostly with Torren outside the walls of Inesfree; she was learning—Sister Eugenia would be appalled—hand-to-hand combat defense from John; she spent much time with Tess, working on the tapestry and new gowns, and visiting the sick and learning how to make soap; she told stories to Bethany, fantastic tales her mind created to entertain the child; and she no longer was afraid of the MacGregor, certainly not when he was around Tess, which softened that fierce warrior to not much more than a man deeply besotted of his intended.
She could tell him all these things, and so much more. But something had changed, either between them, or in her, that she felt no burning need to say everything that crossed her mind. Or maybe it was something else, their changed circumstance. She’d given it much thought over the past weeks. She gone to Stonehaven with him because of some infatuation with him, or at least that’s the conclusion she’d arrived at with hindsight. She been entranced by his good looks and fortitude, by the very essence of the Fist of Scotland. She’d been happy to spend time with him, and he had proven himself a hero to her when he’d saved her from Hugh. And maybe she’d have remained infatuated with him, maybe it would have grown had she stayed. But he was set to marry another, or possibly already had. And the truth of it was, she couldn’t have a relationship with him. What little they had shared—though it had been rather mind-numbing and then heartbreaking for all its brevity—what had seemed easy and natural, was now unacceptable because of his promise to Nathara.
“You enjoyed a good journey here?” She asked, as the awkward silence stretched out, feeling that she should fill it with something. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Angus listened to their very stilted conversation.
Gregor set his palm atop the hilt of his sword. “Aye, rained us out from Stonehaven but cleared soon enough.”
“Us?”
“Fibh and Kinnon have come along.”
Her brows lifted with this happy news. “But where are they?”
“Stables, perhaps, or they’ve found Torren.”
“I’ll find them,” she said excitedly. “Excuse me, sir.” And she set down the forgotten bridles and dashed through the door out into the bailey.
“WAS THAT HOW YOU’D envisioned your reunion?” Angus asked when Anice was gone.
Gregor let out a rough breath. “No even close.” He pursed his lips, staring blindly at the door through which she’d escaped, considering that awkward interaction, and her very happy and hasty departure.
“Didn’t think so. That’s a nice lass, that one. Shame she has such sadness.”
This turned Gregor around to face Angus. “She’s no happy here?”
“Seems to me,” Angus continued, “she’s about as happy as she can be.”
“What do you mean?”
Angus set his leather pieces down on the table and laid one wrinkled hand atop the other. “Anice is as softhearted as the lass, you ken—no weak, they ain’t that; Jesu, look what they been through. Gentle souls, me Nan would have called them. I ken when I came to Inesfree and first met Tess, she always had hope, even when it seemed pointless. Hoped the people would like her, hoped the chief would love her, hoped Bethany would speak, all those things. But this one, she’s no hope in her.” He lifted a hand to stave off any possible response. “Oh, I ken she dinna show it, always smiling and giggling, that one.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “But you catch her unawares, just sit and listen to her when she’s quiet, she’s just bursting with it, the sadness. And that’s the shame of it. The good ones should never be so sorrowful. What they done to her that she has such sadness in her?”
Gregor just stared at the old man’s eyes, looking for any indication that he did in fact have sight. His words sank in. He supposed he agreed with him. There was absolutely a woefulness that surrounded Anice. Maybe that’s what made a person so want to care for her, to see her taken care of, or damn, just kiss her.
“She’ll lose it, mayhap,” Angus said then, nodding along with his thoughts. “She’ll find whatever it is she’s looking for—her purpose, she says—and maybe the sadness will leave her.”
“Her purpose,” Gregor mused, walking to the door, leaning his shoulder against the frame. Anice stood across the way, near Inesfree’s stables. She’d found Fibh and Kinnon, was smiling at them. He watched her ruffle her fingers through Kinnon’s hair—the lad had had a proper trim only last week, shearing off so much that it was near to the same length as hers. Kinnon shrugged her off, smiling and reddening. Fibh said something that drew Anice’s attention and a pretty squeal of laughter.
Anice was oblivious, happy with her friends, happier with them than she had been to see him, he realized. She was more beautiful than ever in a gown of fine burgundy wool. Her hair had grown, was still short but now almost covered her ears. She wore a silk band around her head, just a pretty silk piece that knotted at her nape and decorated her hair, seeming to have no other purpose.
She spoke now, relating some tale that involved her lifting her hands high, swinging them around. So many heads turned her way, her animated face and graceful movements captivating even those not in her circle.
Two MacGregor soldiers stood idly near, their gazes upon Anice, their appreciation obvious. Gregor felt his lip curl, debated striding up to the pair and knocking teeth out.
John Cardmore and Torren walked up to the group then. Torren handed some wrapped package to Anice. Her eyes lit up and she covered her mouth with her hands briefly before accepting the package with one hand and placing the other on Torren’s arm, reaching up to kiss his cheek. Gregor’s captain’s face didn’t redden as Kinnon’s had with much less attention, but the big man did smile and gentled his expression while he watched Anice.
John Cardmore casually moved near to Anice. Gregor lifted a brow, watching him sidle closer in small increments, lifting his hand, about to touch her sheathed knife when her hand moved to cover the handle as she tilted her head and stuck out her tongue at John. MacGregor’s captain chortled at being discovered, or at Anice’s playful response, his bark of laughter carrying across the bailey. Must be some game they played, Gregor assumed, as Torren gave the lass an approving nod.
“She does just fine here, as you can see.”
Gregor straightened and turned to find Conall close to him. He nodded and returned his gaze to Anice. “I never doubted that she would.”
“Did you just get in?”
Gregor turned again, giving up his solemn perusal of Anice. He and Conall stepped further inside. “Aye, just a few minutes ago. Wouldn’t miss the wedding. Will Jamie come?” he asked, referring to their friend, James MacKenna.
“I expect him, but I hear some trouble came to his door.” Conall informed him. “John de Musselburgh—”
“Let his name be scorned!” Angus interjected harshly, still seated at the table, his hands once again employed with the leather pieces.
“De Musselburgh threatened action against Jamie if he refused to submit to Edward,” Conall finished.
Gregor shook his head and plunked his hands on his hips. “The English would be well cast away if not for the duplicity of our own Scottish lords!”
Conall laughed then. “I sent word to Jamie to let de Musselburgh ‘hear’ that he was on his way to England to do just that—but to come here instead, and not miss the wedding.”
Gregor laughed at this as well but said soberly, “De Musselburgh is a disgrace to his own intelligence. When the mood shifts once again, when we rejoin Wallace next spring and his army numbers in the thousands, we’ll no forget who betrayed us by greater means than only pretending a fealty to Edward.”
“Aye,” agreed Conall.
They caught up on all
other news and their doings over the last few months, with Gregor learning of the battle brought to Inesfree only a short time ago—and by Tess’s own father!—before ending his own discourse with the battle at the border that found him Anice.
Conall help up a hand at the mention of Anice. “You’ll have to wait on that telling until Tess comes along. Otherwise, one of us will be forced to repeat it.”
“I am sure the lass has already told Tess the entire tale.”
Conall nodded, accepting this as a possibility. “Aye, and I am sure my bride-to-be will want to hear it from your lips as well.”
“Make sure the stories match, and fix the parts that dinna,” said Angus with a chuckle.
Chapter 15
Gregor was not at all surprised to find Anice so well received at Inesfree. He found her in a similar circumstance to what she had lived at Stonehaven for that brief time, sat at supper with a group of soldiers, her tiny frame lost somewhere between Torren’s brawny mass and that of a MacGregor man.
“I wonder if dear Anice can feel the sparks from your gaze upon her back,” Tess commented.
He glanced sideways at Tess, as he sat with the family upon the raised table. “I’m no sure, but here’s hoping the one beside her can sense it,” he retorted, angling a glare at the MacGregor soldier with his head bent toward Anice. He was of a foul humor just now, and truthfully had been since he’d come and had been all but ignored by Anice while she shared plenty of smiles with everyone else.
Tess rested her wrist upon the table and fixed him with a good stare. “Gregor, really. Return her to Jardine, if that’s what you want for her.”
“I’d rather you dinna put your nose—”
“Be very careful, Gregor,” Conall warned from the other side of Tess.
Drawing a deep but still frustrated breath, he turned to acknowledge Conall’s glare and then shifted his gaze down to Tess. “Apologies, lass. You dinna deserve that.”
An indulgent and sad smile softened her face. “Oh, Gregor, do you really have to wed that other woman?”
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