Winning the Highlander's Heart (15 page)

“The lady has
not
given any reason for my not appealing to her,” Malcolm butted in.  “Are you ready to ride again, milady?”

She smiled at him.  “Aye.  Mai, are you ready?”

“As ready as I will ever be.”

Angus offered to help Mai onto her horse.  She hesitated to accept his proposal when Malcolm lifted Anice onto her own.

“Is anything the matter, lass?” Angus asked Mai.

“Mayhap my horse is weary of my riding him.”

Malcolm tried to hide his amusement.

“Aye,” Angus said, then motioned to the wagon.  “I will assist you into the wagon then.”

“Most kind of you, milaird.  You are truly chivalrous.”

Malcolm mounted his horse and glanced at Anice.  She too was smiling.

The party got on their way again, and this time Malcolm was determined to broach the subject of Anice’s four
almost
husbands.  When he had time to speak to Dougald, he would share his thoughts on his uncalled for behavior.  Whatever overcame Dougald to imply he wished to court the lady?

“I thought you had never been betrothed before, milady.”  Malcolm hoped she would enlighten him without too much prodding.

“You assume much about me, milaird.  I would think your concern important for the
English
lady you pursued, not me.”

He frowned.  Why couldn’t the wench tell him what he wanted to know without always making it a contest of wills?

In silence, she stared ahead at the road that crossed over rolling hill upon rolling hill.

“I was just curious.”

 “Aye.”

Blast the woman.  He was not interested in her as his wife.  Why could she not see he was just curious?  Mayhap he could ask Mai sometime later.  Mayhap not.  He wished to know now.  Patience had never been one of his virtues.

“Are you ashamed of your betrothals then?  I would think you would be proud so many wish your hand in marriage.”

She looked at him, a smile twitching on her lips.

The wench was aggravating him to damnation.  She enjoyed making him suffer to know the truth.

“Mayhap ‘tis none of your business.”

He knew sooner or later she’d speak those words.  They seemed to be some of her favorite.

“’Tis true, milady, that ‘tis nay concern of mine.”  He grew silent and attempted to pretend the beguiling woman didn’t interest him.

“The first I was betrothed to shortly after I was born, milaird.”

He glanced at her, surprised she spoke on the matter without further urging.  “Aye, and what happened to this laird?”

She smiled.  “He died before I was six.”

He frowned.  “Why does this please you, milady?”

“He was sixty-three when the marriage contract was signed betwixt my father and the laird.  The Norman laird could not wait long enough to be my husband.  He died comfortably in his sleep.  I was pleased because I was to be his wife when I turned twelve.  He would have been ancient by then, had he lived.”

“And the others?”

She shrugged.  “Of little consequence.  Why should it matter to you?”

 The bone deep compulsion to know was his reason.  “You do not have to tell me.  However, I wondered why the king was seeking a husband for ye if ye were already betrothed.”

“Aye.  I see now your reasoning.  The second was another Norman laird.  I was betrothed to him when I was eight.  But he was killed during the Crusades.”

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.