Winning the Highlander's Heart (2 page)

Humiliated, she jerked her gown loose and landed unceremoniously on her bottom on the grassy ground.  Horror of horrors her gowns were hiked up to her knees.  She yanked the hem down with a scowl.  His heated gaze shifted from her legs to her eyes and again, his lips curved up at the corners.

Bolting from the ground, she wished she could disappear like a dewdrop evaporated on a sunny day.  She darted around the backside of the circular keep.  Concerned about who might have watched her jester-like antics, she avoided looking altogether.

Her breath quickened and heart beat as fast as if she’d run a mile through the heather in the middle of summer.  Only ‘twas not her run that sent her heart soaring, but the man’s heated hands that had touched her naked skin and his roguish smile that burned her through and through.

Gently rubbing her hands together, she attempted to soften the sting.  ‘Twas not the way she planned to spend her days at Arundel.  Somehow, she had to convince her cousin to speak with the king on her behalf and allow her to return home before things got out of hand.  Well, more so than they were already.

The whole court was sure to know of her escapade by the time she broke her fast.

Reaching the side of the motte that faced the River Arun, she spied Queen Matilda seated upon a stone bench surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting.  ‘Twas not good.

If Mai told the king Anice was visiting with her cousin in her chamber, he’d know she lied.  Mayhap not.  He might have no idea where his wife sat at the moment.  Then again, Anice was certain he’d be apprized of her window escape now, too.  She lifted her chin.  She refused to be one of his mistresses.

“Lady Anice,” Matilda called out near the corner of the garden.

“Your Grace.”  Anice hurried to join her.  “May I have a word with milady alone?”

The queen’s hair, like her ladies,’ hung in long plaits free of the veils she had hated to wear when she lived with the Black Nuns of Romsey.  Anice could envision Matilda yanking off her veil and stomping on it in defiance of her Aunt Christina who was abbess and the subsequent beating and scolding she’d received from her.  The words Matilda had spoken in her defense before the Archbishop of Anselm of Canterbury before she was allowed to marry King Henry echoed in Anice’s mind.  Matilda had not taken the holy vows and her Aunt Christina had veiled her to keep her from the lust of the Normans.  She’d been much sought after as a bride, having turned down both William de Warenne, 2
^nd
Earl of Surrey and Alan Rufus, Lord of Richmond.  ‘Twas rumored even Henry’s older brother, William Rufus, king until his untimely death during the hunting accident, considered marrying her.  Despite Henry’s more recent love interests, he had espoused he’d been long attached to Matilda and had long adored her character.

Now, colorful silken cases elongated Matilda’s tresses while metal tassels extended them even longer.  ‘Twas every lady’s desire to have the thickest, longest hair.  Yet, Anice hid hers under a veil and wimple.  Teased mercilessly by the other ladies about her wild red hair and fiery temper, she chose to keep her tresses hidden until she returned to Brecken Castle.

Her cousin tilted her chin down, her eyes worried.  “What ails you, Anice?  Your cheeks are as red as Elizabeth’s gown.”

‘Twas the man’s hands that had clutched Anice’s bare thigh that forced the blush in her cheeks.  Not to mention exposing her legs and...och, she wouldn’t be able to forget the look on the Highlander’s face—a scoundrel’s fascination and unbridled amusement—all at her expense.

But the queen wouldn’t want to hear about that.  Nor that the king had propositioned Anice thrice already.  He would populate the English countryside with the greatest number of illegitimate children of any of their kings, if he had his way.

“Please, you must speak to His Grace and convince him I need return to my people.”

Matilda motioned for her ladies to leave them.  Her ladies quit the garden, standing out of their hearing.  Matilda spoke softly.  “His Grace wishes you to marry a Norman nobleman.”

“
I do not
want that!”  Anice scowled.  “You were born in Fifeshire yourself, Your Grace.  You were...”  Anice fell silent.  She wanted to remind her cousin that to an extant Matilda had been forced to marry to make an alliance of sorts to quell the unrest along the Scottish border.  Not only that but to tie the Norman bloodline into the queen’s royal Saxon line.  Though they were cousins, Anice still had to choose her words carefully.

“What is wrong, Anice?”  Her cousin’s words were spoken calmly, but she appeared concerned.

Your husband tried to interest me in joining him in his chamber earlier this morn while you were at chapel.
  That’s what Anice wanted to tell her, but she could not.  She knew very well Henry’s philandering hurt Matilda more than she would admit. 

Anice bit her lip.  How could she convince Matilda she must leave Arundel without telling her of the king’s amorous advances?  Did the man not stock enough fillies in his stable already?  She blew out her breath.  “’Tis naught, Your Grace.  I am only homesick.”

She knew Matilda wanted to return to Westminster where she mainly held court, though like now, she often accompanied Henry on his travels across England, but she hoped her cousin would understand her need to return home.

Wordlessly, Matilda studied her, and Anice wondered if her cousin knew the truth of her distress.

Taking a deep, exasperated breath, Anice considered her dilemma.  She wished no part of any Norman laird the king wanted her to marry either, who would wed her for her properties and not care one whit about a woman whose Scottish heritage they scorned.  Yet, another concern plagued her.  Would any marriage she attempted be truly cursed?  She squashed the worrisome notion down into the pit of her stomach.  For now, avoiding the king proved tantamount.

Not only that, the most dreadful feeling something awful would befall her people at Brecken Castle continued to plague her.  Early on, she’d learned to hide from others these strange premonitions that oft came true, but she couldn’t contain the dark foreboding that filled her with dread now, forcing her to seek any means necessary to return home.

 How could she leave Arundel without the king’s permission?  She could not.  Not unless her cousin convinced him to allow Anice to return home.

Squinting to get a better look at the inner bailey, she watched as the man—who’d touched her so inappropriately—rode toward the stables with three others.  His broad shoulders and the way he held himself erect commanded respect.  He wore a claymore at his back and a dagger at his hip.  And his clothes were of quality fabric.  He rode a nobleman’s horse, not a common mount, so she assumed he was a man of some import.

“Who is that?” Anice enquired.

“Earl of Pembrinton, but you would do well to avoid the man.”

Anice raised a brow, genuinely intrigued.  “Why?"

“He seeks audience with His Grace as he is in search of an English bride.  It matters not whether she is young and pretty, or that he loves her.  He desires what most men crave.  Power and money.  He is a titled lord without properties.”

Anice’s heart fluttered.  “Mayhap I should meet this Highlander.”  Though she had already met him,
way
too intimately.  But perhaps he would agree to return her home,
if
she could obtain the king’s permission.

Matilda shook her head quickly.  “He is not for you, cousin.  From what I have heard, he had some difficulty with a couple of Scottish families and marriage alliances.  Marrying an English woman would end the strife.”

Anice’s blood heated like a blade of steel grew white hot over an open flame.  To think he would prefer an Englishwoman to a bonnie Scottish lass.  “But if he seeks property and—”

“I am certain he believes marrying an English lady will afford him greater entitlements.”

“Then he is nay a true Highlander, but a...a blackguard.”

“Watch what you say, Anice.  I know how strongly you feel about the English, but I am married to His Grace and this is my rightful place now.”  She took a deep steadying breath.  “Not only that, but the English educated King Malcolm, after all.  My father loved my mother, though he was a Scotsman and she, a Wessex-born princess.  Now Prince David has taken a fancy to a Norman lady here, while receiving his education with us.  I am sure if King Henry is agreeable, my brother will marry her.  ‘Tis the way of things.”

Anice groaned deep inside.

The Scottish kings were bought and paid for by the English.  Even Matilda’s brother, King Alexander, was considering taking King Henry’s illegitimate daughter, Sybilla, for his wife. 
That
was partly why her cousin Alexander had given her to King Henry as his ward, rather than her being a ward of the Scottish king when her uncle died so suddenly. 

Exasperated, Anice sighed deeply.

Matilda patted her arm.  “Marry whom His Grace wishes.  You will learn to embrace the changes as I have done.  Marriages are partnerships after all.  Marrying for love...you will grow to love whomever you wed.  As for Lord MacNeill, let him well enough alone, dear cousin.”

Anice curtseyed to Matilda as her cousin motioned for her ladies to return.

But Anice would not be thwarted.  If the Highlander needed a bride and she needed a husband, the match seemed perfect.  Well, almost.  Mayhap she would not like his temperament so very much.  Though the notion he would touch more than just her naked thigh with his large, gentle hands certainly appealed.  What would they feel like holding her close?  And what would it be like to kiss his smiling lips?  There was only one way to find out.

With her heart beating hard, she hastened for the keep where the Highlanders had disappeared.  She entered the great hall and ignored the roving eyes of two English knights.

Then she spied the great man and his equally large companions.  Her heart skittered.

Laird MacNeill stood betwixt the other two, taller by an inch or so, his hair a richer brown, his eyes the same earthy dark color.  The fourth man, a blond with a beard, was nowhere in sight.  She turned her attention back to Laird MacNeill.  A sensuous smile curved his mouth, forming dimples in his cheeks.  But his gaze wasn’t focused on her.  Instead, he eyed an
English
lady.  The woman’s dark tresses were plaited down her front, but her hair wasn’t half as thick or long as Anice’s.  She wanted to scream at the Highlander for making a fool of himself over the Englishwoman. 
Rogue
.

The other Highlanders were fairer, their long hair fastened back.  She folded her arms.  Mayhap if Laird MacNeill were not interested in her, one of the other gentlemen would be.

As if the one had heard her thoughts, he turned and smiled at her.  Well built despite his youth, his hair was the lightest brown of the three men, and a slight scar marred his otherwise smooth cheek.  Before she could consider the other gentleman, the youngest quirked a brow to see her gawking at him.  Instantly, her cheeks heated.  She unfolded her arms and smoothed her wool gown.  The slightest of smiles curved the corners of his mouth, then he tugged on Laird MacNeill’s sleeve.

In no way did she act appropriately.  She had no maid attending her.  Yet, she remained rooted to the stone floor like an oak, unwilling to yield while she contemplated how to approach the Highlanders.

They seemed as reluctant to breech protocol and stood their ground, though they commented freely to one another, smiling with undisguised admiration while she stood ogling them impolitely.

She lowered her lashes and considered the rushes littering the floor.  Mayhap this wasn’t a good idea.  Would they think her a brazen woman to...to wish to make their acquaintance?  Aye, they would imagine her nothing but a common leman.

She wrung her hands suddenly conscious they were cold and clammy.  She turned intent on taking a walk...anywhere but here where she was making a fool of herself.

Anice hoped the Highlanders, well one of them at least, would follow her outside so she could convince him to speak to the king on her behalf and solicit his agreement to return her home.  But she heard no footsteps echoing her own and knew then her folly.  She was dressed as a lady in exquisite garments, the blue wool the finest of cloth.  So they would not think her a serving girl.  But these men wanted more than power and money, or at least the tallest of the three...Laird MacNeill did.  He wanted a lady of quality, but she had to be an English lady.