She couldn’t make out his face in the shadows, yet she was all too aware of his nearness. The heat of his body against her kirtle, the strength of his hands over hers, the way his soft burr held a note of tenderness.
A snuffling sound came from the ground and Piquette strode away. Anice turned her attention to the dog in an attempt to gain reprieve from having to answer James’s question. Nose to the ground, her beloved pet and protector shuffled off in pursuit of something delectable.
“Do ye want me to truly know ye?” he asked.
Her breath hitched. “What do you mean?”
“The first day when I asked ye for a secret, ye said no one has ever truly known ye.” He shifted closer and the pressure of his massive body against the front of her skirt increased. “I think ye want someone to know ye, or ye wouldna have said as much.”
“I was beside myself with starvation.” She waved her hand and gave a short laugh. “It was merely the ramblings of near-madness you heard.”
A pause hung between them. He ran a finger down her palm, slow, and with a deliberate sensuality. A shiver ran down her back and her nipples tingled.
“I dinna think so, Anice.” He released one hand from hers and cradled her face.
She exhaled a shaky breath. His touch was rough with calluses, but warm and lightly scented with cedar. He wanted to know her, to make her happy.
Why had she uttered that ridiculous secret? Of all the things she might have said, why must it have been that one?
“Tell me, Anice.” His caress was soft as a butterfly’s wing as it drew over her cheek. “Who are ye? Who is the secret lass ye dinna want others to see?”
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. This was too much. Too quickly. She had only met him days ago. This man was her enemy. The reminder fell flat in her mind, for he did not act like a foe, not when he was so very much like a lover.
Regardless, it would be impossible to tell him the truth, especially when he saw her exactly the same as everyone else: a dowry, an opportunity, a woman of great beauty with no other true value.
However, he had never told her she was beautiful. While many others had composed sonnets and sent gifts to praise her appearance, never once had James so much as said she was lovely.
She opened her eyes and found he stared down at her with quiet, glittering determination. As though he truly did want to understand her.
“Passion,” she whispered. “I want passion.”
She waited for a heated kiss, for that delicious press of his hardness against her pelvis. But he did not pounce upon her as other men might have. Instead his hand fell away from her face. “Passion? That is truly yer secret?”
His skepticism was obvious in the slow repeat of the word. Her throat went dry. She had to work harder to see him convinced.
After all, it was something she wanted. And it was a far safer confession than the truth, than facing her own inadequacies in life about being nothing more than a beautiful face.
“Aye.” Anice swallowed, her throat so dry, it stuck to itself. “I have always been handled delicately, like a flower that might wilt in one’s hands. I…I want passion. I want strong hands on my body, searing kisses, a man who can push at the boundaries of my imagination.”
He tilted his head. “Push the boundaries of yer imagination?”
Mayhap that had gone a trifle far, but there was no backing out now. “Aye.”
“And what are the boundaries of yer imagination?” he asked, after another long pause.
She bit back an irritated sigh. Why couldn’t he just launch himself at her as any other lusty courtier might? Why did he have to be so considerate? So thorough?
“I…” She bit her lip. “I liked what we did last eve.” Her cheeks scorched with heat. “When you…” Words failed her and required searching. “When you touched me.”
He gave a soft chuckle. “Ye’re giving me a fair amount to consider, lass.”
Anice’s tension splintered with a laugh. “I know.”
“It’s what ye truly want?” he asked.
The playful awkwardness melted into sensuality and drizzled over her like warm honey. “Aye,” she said again.
He put an arm around her waist and drew her against the wall-like strength of his large body. “Ye liked it when I kissed ye?” His fingers brushed over her lips so gently she might have thought it was the wind, had she not caught his wonderful scent.
She hummed her approval. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation where this might go. More kisses. More touches. More. More. More.
“When I cupped yer breast, did ye like that as well?” The pressure of his hand was unmistakable against the side of her breast.
Her breath caught. “Aye.”
“When I teased yer nipple too?” His fingers toyed unabashedly over the hard peak of first one breast, then the other.
Her knees went soft and dropped from underneath her. He tightened his hand around her waist, keeping her fully upright, being her support.
“And when I drew up yer skirt?” His voice was a low growl against her ear.
Prickles of delight raced over her skin. She could not so much as speak over the power of her own longing.
“Lady Anice?” A man’s voice sounded from the castle. Drake.
Anice stiffened. It was one thing to whisper of such inappropriate touching among themselves in the dark, and entirely another to be caught. She quickly slipped her hand into the crook of James’s arm and urged him forward. “Pretend as though we were merely walking,” she hissed.
Which was exactly what he did. He strode as easily from the shadows as though they had been out for an innocent stroll, rather than discussing his illicit deeds from the previous night and setting her body to burning.
“Good evening, Drake.” Her greeting was overly cheerful, a fact confirmed by the narrowing of his eyes in obvious suspicion.
He inclined his head respectfully, but not before shooting a dark stare in James’s direction. “Lord Werrick grew concerned when ye did not return after the sun went down.”
It was too late to be out, she knew. Regardless, she hadn’t expected Drake to come after her as though she were a child. Irritation vexed her. She climbed the stairs and called for Piquette, who took several moments to appear, most likely having been chasing squirrels about in the orchard.
Her irritation with Drake dissipated suddenly when he strode past her and discreetly pushed a bit of parchment into her hand.
12
The note. James had seen it pass from Drake’s damned hands into Anice’s and had rescued it from the flames. Ire rose in him like bile.
The stables tonight.
Anice hadn’t seen him do it. And for all her talk of passion, she was doubtless already well-versed in such matters of intimacy. Innocence at kissing could always be pretended. He’d known her excuse for passion to be a flimsy mask for what she’d meant by her confessed secret, but he hadn’t presumed she’d been protecting Drake.
James could scarcely contain the energy pumping hot through his tensed muscles. But what he was about to do required a warrior’s stealth. Control. He drew a deep breath to rein in his anger and silently cracked open his door to reveal a guard standing in front of it.
James waited until the man looked down the opposite end of the hallway, then shoved the door open completely. It smacked into the guard, catching him off-balance. Without allowing the man to recover, James jerked his elbow upright and caught his opponent under the chin.
The Werrick soldier dropped to the ground like a heavy sack of grain. He’d rise later, once James was down the hall and on his way to the meeting point to witness the planned tryst.
Undoubtedly, Anice thought she’d been discreet when she read the note and deposited the scrap into the hearth. She hadn’t accounted for the bit of parchment to float just outside the reach of the flames as she checked about her.
He’d been a witness, unseen, and had rescued the missive from the fire.
The
stables tonight.
The three words ground into him like splintered wood. Anice had played him a fool, the same as Morna. Fire burned in James’s veins so intensely, he wanted to roar.
The handsome warrior was Anice’s lover. James would interrupt them, catch them in the act to have his proof and discover the true secret she’d been so unwilling to bare.
A tight band squeezed at James’s chest, brutal and unexpected. He ought to have anticipated such from Anice. After all, she was the most incredible beauty he’d ever laid eyes on, more so than even Morna. Still, he’d thought Anice above that. Their interactions had suggested a woman of better bearing.
But then, she too had lied.
James avoided the soldiers as he navigated the darkened halls of Werrick Castle, until he made his way into the cold night air through one of the side entrances. The guard there had been as easily handled as the one outside his room. Not slain, of course. He’d simply knocked the sense from the soldier.
The moon was bright that evening and shone down upon him with more light than he preferred. He skirted the castle walls, moving soundlessly among the shadows to ensure he was unseen. His heart hammered in his chest like a war drum. He’d initially been so eager to catch Anice in her betrayal, but now he was apprehensive. His stomach roiled with disgust.
He needed to face what she was. He crept into the barn through an open doorway and stopped. A figure stood in the shadows. One he recognized to be Anice.
She squirmed and writhed. As though in the throes of passion.
The world shrank around James and suddenly he did not want to be there. He didn’t want to witness her deception. The air became too thin to breathe and he was immediately transported to that awful day. When he’d stumbled upon Morna.
These stables at Werrick were empty, so like the ones he’d found Morna in, the motion of her moving. Except Anice did not cry out with pleasure.
She gave a growl as she twisted about. Her arm stretched behind her back. The sound did not seem to be laced with passion.
She uttered a very unladylike curse.
Piquette laid on the floor by the wall, a massive lump in the dark.
The edges of James’s panic softened. Anice was alone, or certainly she would have asked for assistance as she was obviously struggling. She wouldn’t be alone long, however, or there would be no point to the note.
She might very well be attempting to disrobe, given the awkwardness of her movements.
No sooner had the understanding struck him, the sound of footsteps came from outside the stables. Anice stilled at once and her attention snapped to the front of the stables. She uttered another curse and ducked deeper into the shadows.
As though she were frightened.
Piquette lifted his large head.
James’s heartbeat came faster, this time with concern rather than dread. The air crackled with awareness, the way it often did prior to battle. His body tensed and he crouched lower in the darkened stable, prepared to strike.
The footsteps went silent, but James could sense an additional person in the stables with them. It was in the pressure of the air, the tension in his gut. Was it Drake? Someone else?
Why was Piquette not getting to his feet?
The shadow of a man stretched over the front wall, arms drawn back, hefting something upward. A sword? Or a hammer? An axe, mayhap? James did not pause to see. He flew from hiding like a beast and launched himself at Anice’s attacker with his full weight.
Anice had been expecting an attack. She had not, however, anticipated a giant to spring from the shadows, like a nightmare, to thwart the impending battle.
James sat atop the Master of the Horse’s chest with one massive fist raised to bring down upon the man’s face. Peter, for his part, was very brave in not cowering from the man who easily outweighed him twofold.
“Stop.” Anice grabbed James’s large shoulders and hauled him off the Master of the Horse.
“Peter,” she gasped. Piquette was at her side now, prancing from paw to paw with his apparent unease.
Peter slowly got to his feet and dusted off bits of hay from his clothes and shaggy dark hair. “No better practice than with an actual Graham, eh?” His full mouth lifted in a half-smile that showed a dimple in his cheek.
They all had met in the stables for years to practice: Anice and her sisters with the Master of the Guard and Peter. After the initial attack by the Grahams, when Peter had been too young to aid anyone, he vowed never to be helpless again. He wanted to be a part of their training so that he could defend not only himself, but others as well.
“Pish.” Anice regretted the phrase as soon as she said it. The word made her sound too like Marin, when she so clearly was not. After all, Marin would never have allowed James to escape his room and follow her.
In fact, how had James come to escape his guard to follow her?
She had been so careful, only reading Drake’s note after depositing James at his chamber, and then burning it. But she’d been so excited that they would finally have a serious practice after so many long months without it, when they had been too weak to expend energy on mock battle.
She spun on James. “How did you get here? Why are you here? And what has become of your guard?”
His face remained a mask. “It appears we’ve both had our trust betrayed tonight.” The mask broke, however, when he slid a stabbing glare to Peter. “With yer dallying with the stable lad.”
“I would never so disrespect one of Lord Werrick’s daughters.” Peter’s hazel eyes flashed. “And I’m the Master of the Horse.”
“James, this isn’t as it appears.” Anice kicked the padded armor she was trying to put on beneath a bit of hay.
“Ye could have told me ye had a lover.” James spat the words out and indicated Peter’s sword on the ground. “Though what ye two were about, with him coming at ye with a blade, is beyond me.” He cut his glare to her this time. “Mayhap it went beyond the boundaries of my imagination.”
Anice’s stomach flipped at her own words being flung back at her. He didn’t understand. And, of course, she couldn’t tell him about their meetings to train for battle. If he were spying like her father suspected, that knowledge could make them lose their advantage. She had to figure out a way to get him from the stable before—
Drake appeared in the doorway then with her sisters at his heels. Cat popped around behind him and took in the scene with a wide smile “Are we allowed to tell James now?”
“He isn’t supposed to know.” Ella peered around with obvious curiosity. Her mouth fell open. “Peter, are you injured?” She rushed to him at once and began fussing over him. But then, Ella had always held an affinity for Peter.
“It’s fine to tell him,” a soft voice said from behind the older siblings. Leila slowly walked around her sisters and made her way to James. She settled a small hand on his arm. “I trust him.” Her nose wrinkled. “He is not like his father.”
James tilted his head in a nonchalant show of agreement. “The lass is a wise one.” While less angry, he did not appear any less confused. “What is all this about?”
Geordie entered the stable with a sword buckled at his hip and glanced around. The young man had been squire to Sir Richard, but now awaited a station with another knight somewhere in England to conclude his training. In the meantime, he could always be found with Cat, same as when they were children. His gaze fixed on her, and an affable grin stretched over his wide mouth in his usual lovestruck manner. Cat, as always, was completely oblivious.
Anice sighed, at the sisters, at James, at the ridiculous situation. Leila said they could trust him, but Anice had her doubts. He was, after all, a Graham.
Leila met Anice’s gaze and nodded slowly.
“We intended to train,” Anice said slowly. “Though we anticipated doing so without your knowledge.”
“Train?” James frowned and looked at Anice and her sisters, as if seeing them for the first time. She could understand how they
appeared from his eyes: her with a sword propped behind her, the daggers shoved in Leila’s belt, a bow and quiver slung over Cat’s back and the battle axe propped at Ella’s shoulder. “Ye mean in weaponry?”
“Of course.” Cat bounced on her toes. “We haven’t been able to do it for half an age because we had to conserve our energy, or so Isla said. Now that we have had enough food again, she’s told us we can resume our practice.”
James indicated Anice’s sword where it was propped against the wall. “I can show ye a bit, if ye like.”
“I’ve already been trained.” Anice couldn’t help the note of pride in her voice.
James put his hands up in surrender and backed up a step. “I leave ye to yer training then, but I’d like to stay to watch.”
“Aye,” Leila answered. “Mayhap you can offer advice on how to fight a Graham, should the need arise.”
“If any Graham attacks here from this day onward, I’ll be fighting at yer side,” James said with sincerity.
Anice studied him skeptically. Did he truly mean he would go against his own people?
She put her back to Ella and set the question from her mind. If they were going to train, they ought to start soon, or it would grow too late to continue. “Help me with my armor, if you would please. It’s given me a beast of a time.” Ella turned from Peter and helped strap the thick padding to Anice’s chest, an impossible feat earlier while wearing her kirtle.
While they usually donned breeches and shirts for practice, they’d agreed dresses would be prudent in the event James or Laird Graham saw them coming to or from the stables. While Leila trusted James, Anice did not anticipate she would do so with Laird Graham.
Once her armor was securely in place, Anice swept her sword from the wall and strode past James. All the others followed her, except Ella who glanced toward Peter. “Would you spar with me tonight?”
The handsome Master of the Horse often trained with Ella, which most likely had only increased her affection for him. Anice didn’t have the heart to tell her sister how often Peter slipped away from supper early in the evenings with his arm around one of the various female servants of Werrick Castle.
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