Winning the Highlander's Heart (11 page)

“Only that there was some discrepancy in the accounts.  ‘Twas none of my concern as the men would speak to my uncle.  He did not want me involved in such things.  To my shock and morbid distress, my uncle died two days later.”

“Do you suspect wrongful death?”

Anice’s cheeks paled and her lips parted in surprise.  Fearing she was about to fall from her horse in a faint, Malcolm pulled her from her mount.

She cried out and Mai rode up to join them.

“What is the meaning of this?” Mai fairly shouted loud enough for Malcolm’s brothers to hear and rescue the lady from the devil’s grasp.

“She grew faint,” Malcolm said.

“Och.”  Mai’s facial features turned from one of disdain to that of concern.

Dougald whipped around and headed back to them while Angus skirted the wagon to see to the matter.  He grabbed Anice’s horse’s reins.  “I will tie your horse to the back of the wagon, milady, if it pleases you.”

“I...I—”

“It pleases the lady.”  Malcolm told himself he did so to prevent her from injuring herself should she fall from her horse.  That the day remained cold and her hands like ice.  For a time, he would warm her and keep her safe.  But her body resting against his, already heated his to dangerous levels and his trewes seemed ready to split at the seams.

Dougald gave him a knowing smirk.  Then he cantered to retake the lead.

“I must apologize.  I thought you might have come to the same conclusion, milady,” Malcolm said when Mai dropped back out of hearing.

 “I had not.”  Then Anice frowned at him.  “And I did not become faint.”

He admired the lady for not wanting him to think otherwise, but he was not inclined to believe her.  “Your face turned as white as the cloud in yonder sky.  From the cold, your cheeks were quite cheerful, then the color drained away.  ‘Twas the same as the other times before.”

“I did not feel dizzy like before.  You shocked me with the notion.”  Her back relaxed against his chest, the feel of her soft body undoing him.  “However, you may verra well be right in your assumption concerning my uncle.”

“Did your uncle become sick all of a sudden?”

“For two days.  He was fine before this.”

Malcolm considered what might have been the cause of her uncle’s untimely death as she squirmed against his groin, trying to get comfortable in his saddle.  He stifled a groan.  “Mayhap someone introduced poison into the food.  Who would benefit from your uncle’s death?”

Anice sat quietly, then under her breath she said, “Me.”

‘Twas not the lady, he would stake his life on it.  “You would not have killed your uncle.”  The idea that some Norman laird murdered her uncle so he could marry her and take her properties infuriated him.  Would the killer do the same to the lass once he married her?  “Only Norman lairds have approached the king for your hand in marriage.”

She frowned at him.  “Why has His Grace not spoken of this to me?”

“Apparently whenever you were within the sound of his voice, he had other matters on his mind.”

Her cheeks flushed.

Again, the notion the king wished to bed her aggravated him, but he hadn’t meant for his words to come out so bluntly.  “If ‘tis a Norman, he must have had ties with someone on your staff.  Else why would your three highest staff members vanish, then one end up dead?  I would think nay harm would come to you as long as you are not wed.”

“But if the king says I must wed—”

He shook his head.  “Nay, you cannot marry a Norman laird.  We would not know which murdered your uncle, but you will entertain the gentlemen the king sends to court you.  My brothers and I—”

“And me.”  The fire burned in her green eyes again.

“Aye, lass, though I wish you had nay part in this, you will be the bait.”

“Well, see that you protect me, milaird.”  She snuggled against him, and he stifled another groan.  “But first you can warm me up a wee bit.”

“Aye, the pleasure will be all mine.”  Her lithe body wriggling against his chest and groin forced him to rethink the matter of wanting an English bride.  The hint of lavender scented her hair, and resting beneath his nose, enticed him to lean his head closer to hers just to breathe in her stimulating fragrance.  But ‘twas the curve of her body rubbing against his rock-hard shaft when his horse took every step that aroused him to painful levels.  Had they been alone together, he’d have loved nothing more than to relieve his tensions with the bonny lass...had she been agreeable.  Did she feel his arousal chafing her backside?

He glanced down at her exposed ankles as her gown rose with the way she was seated against his lap.  Immediately, he thought of her gown catching on his horse’s saddle during her escape from the keep at Arundel.  With only the most gallant of notions, releasing her hem and rescuing her dignity, he couldn’t help but enjoy the view when she fell on her arse, exposing her shapely legs.  Had served her right for fighting him in every way.  But now he wished her skirts would rise higher so he could get an eyeful of the lovely thigh he’d chanced to grapple that day.

He took a steadying breath and shifted his attention from the lass to the deadly business at Brecken.  The news concerning Anice’s uncle was worst than he suspected.  Believing the staff had absconded with the lady’s monies—though grave if she could not pay the king’s taxes—Malcolm had not thought her life in danger.  Until the king’s men found Laird Thompson dead.

Still, if the three men on her staff had been in league together, the other two may have fought with him and killed him.  Money and greed changed many a partnership.  But if her uncle had been murdered as well, this put the whole matter in a different light.

Malcolm would send a dispatch to the king, only he did not feel His Grace would accept his word without proof.  Anice and he only assumed someone murdered her uncle.  The king would not like Malcolm preferring charges that some Norman laird was responsible for her uncle’s death without even knowing the man’s name.

He and his brothers
had
to find proof before any laird made a proposal of marriage to her.

She rested her head against his chest.  He’d not had a romp with a lass in a good long while, and the feelings Anice stirred in him were not in the least bit brotherly.  But when he thought she had drifted off to sleep, he wrapped his arm around her and held her close, telling himself he didn’t want her to slip off his horse and injure herself.  ‘Twas not just her warm body heating his own, but the craving he had for her that stirred a steady flame.

Dougald glanced back at him, grinned, then pulled his horse around and returned to Malcolm.  Riding next to him, he said, “The lass did not get enough sleep last night?  Or did you make her faint again?”

“She is sleeping.”

“You could put her in the wagon, ye know.”

Malcolm took a deep breath, not wanting to experience the feelings she stirred deep inside him.  He was protecting her, warming her, no more than that.  ‘Twas his job.  “I do not wish to wake her now.  She might not be able to get back to sleep.”

Dougald chuckled.  “Aye, Malcolm.  Say what you will, but Angus and I know better.”  He kicked his horse and took the lead again.

If Malcolm were so keen to have an English bride, why was he so glad he could convince her not to accept a Norman laird’s hand in marriage?  ‘Twas only for her safety, he reminded himself.  Once they discovered who had killed her uncle, if that was indeed what had happened, he would not stand in her way to marry any she chose.

Yet, the notion she would not choose
him
, though he was not in the market for a Scottish lass, irked him. 
Damnable vixen
.  What did she not feel about him, appealing?

Giant oaks and winsome birches shaded the way through the Forest of Dean, situated between the rivers Severn and Wye.  Two gray-haired sheep badgers herded their livestock through the forest, but it was the pounding of horse’s hooves headed in their direction that gave Anice concern, her skin instantly crawling.

“Riders approaching,” Dougald warned.

The sheep badgers quickly moved their livestock deeper into the woods, trampling fern, their sheep bleating their distress.

“Stop your horse,” Anice said to Malcolm, not wanting anyone to see her riding with the Highlander.  “I will ride my own.”

Anice couldn’t seem to stay warm, but even so, she wished to ride alone.  No telling if Malcolm might need to use his sword.  Her own bow and quiver of arrows were on her horse if she needed to get to them also.

“You are still cold, milady,” Malcolm objected when she squirmed in his lap.  “And what if you should grow—”

“How now!” a man dressed in chain mail and tunic, riding a dappled gray destrier greeted Dougald.  “You are headed in the wrong direction, my good man!”

Thirty or so men dressed similarly rode up behind him.  Anice assumed they had been called to arms by His Grace in the coming war against his brother.

“Are ye joining His Grace and his men against his brother?”  Dougald asked.

“Aye.  Were you with Robert Curthose during the Crusades?”

“Aye, we returned when he did.”

“To take the crown from Henry?”

The knights sat stiffly upon their mounts, waiting to hear Dougald’s response, their countenances grim.  All Dougald had to say was they were in league with Robert, and the knights would surely slay every one of them.

“We fought during the Crusades for King William.  ‘Twas a shame he died.  We come from Arundel after having an audience with King Henry.”

The knight turned his attention to Anice sitting—now uncomfortably—with Malcolm still.  He slipped his arm around her waist and hugged her closer to his chest.  Her blood warmed.  Was he worried for her safety, or...or trying to show she was his?

“You are not fighting alongside the king against his brother?” the knight asked.

“His Grace has given us other business to attend to.  You seem familiar.  Have we met before?” Dougald asked.

“Aye.  Robert de Beaumont, Count of Meulan.  And ye, ye are the MacNeill brothers.  He waved a hand at Gunnolf.  “I see ye still have the Viking berserker with ye, as fearsome as ten men.”  He grinned.  “I hope His Grace will permit me to lead a force against Robert and the Norman lords who are loyal to him.”

Anice’s skin prickled.  Her Uncle Edgar Atheling came to mind as one of Robert’s loyal lairds, though he was Saxon and not Norman.  Yet, she assumed Robert would give the Saxon prince much in return for his loyalty.

The count glanced at Anice and a smile slowly appeared.  To Malcolm he said, “I can see why you would not wish to leave a young bride at home alone.”

Anice opened her mouth to speak, then thinking better of it, clamped her lips shut.  If she let him know who she was, the count might give Henry the news of how intimate she and Malcolm had become.  ‘Twould not matter how innocent their actions.  What if Henry sent the MacNeill brothers to Normandy to battle Robert?  He’d undoubtedly replace her staff with loyal Norman lairds instead.  Any one of them could have been in on the killing of her uncle.

“Godspeed,” the count said, then he and his men continued on past Anice’s party toward Arundel.

Dougald prodded his horse to a canter, and Malcolm did likewise.

“Why did you no’ tell the count we were not married, lass?”

“His Grace might have received word that you and I were too intimate with one another.  Nay matter the circumstances.  You must admit our actions do look a wee bit suspicious.”