Winning the Highlander's Heart (37 page)

“Kemp told us the laird took the baron’s horses and scattered them to the wind.”

The ladies giggled.

“Aye, I hope the baron will no’ be too upset with milaird.”

Nola pulled a shift over Anice’s head, then helped Mary with a blue bliaut.  Afterwards they secured a pale blue silk girdle.

 “He told us about the baron trying to find ye,” Nola said.

“That is why he must not know who I am.”

“Ye are twirling your hair betwixt your fingers like ye always do when you dinna want me to know something.”  Nola hurried to help Anice with her hose and shoes.  “What are you no’ telling me, milady?”

“Naught that need concern you.”

Nola shook her head, her green eyes studying Anice’s.  “I’m no’ sure everyone in the castle realizes you have wed the laird.  I fear someone will make a mistake.”

Mary didn’t say a word, just watched Anice to see what she would reveal.

Anice took at deep breath and patted Nola’s shoulder.  “We will do the best we can.”

After she was dressed and her hair plaited, she hurried out of the chamber with her ladies.

Most of the courtiers had already gathered for the evening meal as sconces lighted the great hall.

As soon as she walked into the hall, everyone grew quiet.  Not good.  She was being treated like she was the lady of the manor.  What would the baron think?

Quickly the conversation renewed to a dull roar when her people realized their mistake.

Nola whispered, “It will be difficult for everyone to play this ruse, milady.”

“Aye.  Milaird is not here.  I do not see the baron either.”

“Have you seen him before, then?  Will he no’ recognize you, too?”

She saw him all right...naked at the farmhouse.  But she couldn’t let her ladies-in-waiting or anyone else know it, lest they discover she’d been naked with Malcolm before she was wed.  “I saw him, but was lucky he did not see me in return.”

About sixty men she didn’t recognize stood at the tables.  Most likely they served as the baron’s retinue.

Then her gaze rested on Conan, short cropped, black hair, black eyed, stockily built, speaking with another of the baron’s men, the faux bard.  How in God’s teeth had he been released from the earl’s dungeon?

Quickly she turned, but not before he caught her eye.  She bolted out of the great hall.

“Milady, what’s the matter?” Nola asked as she and Mary hurried after her.

“A man on the baron’s staff who knows me just saw me.”

“Then be the Lady Anice and--”

“Nay, no’ yet.  We must prove the baron...”  She stopped walking when she spied Malcolm, his brothers, and the baron headed straight toward her while they made their way to the hall.

Malcolm and his brothers saw her, but the baron had his head turned toward Malcolm as he spoke.

She ducked into the kitchen with her ladies.

“What are we to do, milady?”

“I must exchange clothes with someone.  He cannot discover I am here.  If only we could throw this Conan into the dungeon.”  She wrung her hands, then turned to Nola.  “Were any of the baron’s men here the night Lady Thompson died?”

“Nay, milady.”

Anice began to pace.  “Then someone on our staff is working for the baron.  He would know I am pretending to be Lady MacNeill.”  She cursed inwardly.

Angus hastened into the kitchen, his brown eyes darkened with concern.  “What is going on?  Malcolm says you are troubled about some—”

“Conan!  Did you no’ see him in the great hall?”

Angus’s brown eyes darkened.  “Nay, he must have left the hall after you did.  Probably in search of ye.”

“We have another problem.  A traitor is amongst my people.  He knows I am pretending to be Lady MacNeill.”

“But, milady, you truly are Lady MacNeill,” Angus gently reminded her.

“I ken, Angus,” she said, exasperated.  “I am the steward’s wife and he is no’ the laird of the manor and I, the lady.”

“I have to tell Malcolm about this, but he wanted me to find out what was wrong and escort you to the table.”

Anice swept a loose curl away from her face.  “My plan has gone awry.  Escort me then, as Lady MacNeill, lady of Brecken Castle.”

Angus grinned.  “’Tis about time.”  He held out his arm to her.

“Why?  Now your brother can be laird of the manor?”

He wiggled his dark brows.  “Aye, milady.”

She shook her head.  “He better no’ plan to make too many changes.”

“He will have to find a steward.”

“Most likely he will wish to elevate Dougald to the position.”

“Aye, milady, as the older brother of us two.  So he will have to find a new treasurer.”

Angus walked into the hall with Anice’s hand lightly touching his sleeve.  Everyone grew quiet.

She crossed the hall to the head table, glancing where Conan had stood, but he and some of the other men were missing.  Looking for her?

Baron Fontenot stood next to Malcolm.  He impressed her no more naked than now fully clothed.  She curtsied to Malcolm, and he bowed to her, but the look on his face showed his concern.

Before Malcolm could ask her what was going on, she raised her tankard.  “To Laird MacNeill, our new laird of the manor.”

Everyone stood holding their tankards in surprise, but no one responded.

“And to Lady Anice, now Lady MacNeill,” Angus added to help to explain the situation.

Everyone from Anice’s court cheered and drank to the newly married couple.

But the baron and his men did not.

Anice and Malcolm sat and everyone else did, too.

“I do not know what you are trying to pull, but His Grace gave me permission to have your hand in marriage,” Fontenot said gruffly to Anice.

“Actually,” Malcolm said as he took Anice’s hand in his, then kissed it, “the king was considering five other Norman lairds for her hand as well.”

“
You
are not Norman.”

“Nay.  My people descend from the Irish king, Niall of the Nine Hostages, therefore, I am a true Scot.  When King Henry learned one of his Norman lairds murdered Anice’s uncle to obtain her hand in marriage and her properties, His Grace agreed to allow me to wed her.”

The baron stared at Malcolm with cold hatred.  “It could have been you and not a Norman lord who murdered her uncle.”

“Because as the king verra well knows, I did not ask for the lady’s hand in marriage.”

“Nay,” Anice said, her chin tilted up to make a point, “Laird MacNeill did not.  He asked the king for an English bride and was verra sincere about it.  Malcolm did not know me, was not interested in marrying me—”

“Yet he did.  Why?” the baron asked, his tone icy.

“Why we fell in love, Baron Fontenot.  He saved me from a fall from a verra high place and from then on, we could not be separated.”

Malcolm took her hand in her lap and squeezed it as he grinned at her.  Was he thinking of how he’d slipped his hand up her gown to her bare thigh at Arundel?  She was.

The baron stared at the table for a moment, then looked at Malcolm, his voice dark.  “You were with her in the farmhouse.”  He rose from his chair.  “I should have run you through when you told me—”

“That he wouldna move his wife who was sick from the cold away from the fire?  What kind of a husband would you be if you allowed another laird to speak to you like that?” Anice asked, and tsked.

The courtiers’ conversation ceased.

“You had not been married,” the baron said, outraged.

“Aye, that we had.  His brothers and my groom witnessed the wedding.  We are verra much married.”

The baron sat back down.

To her surprise, he didn’t make a move to leave.  She was certain he was thinking if he could kill her uncle, he could kill the MacNeill brothers, too.  The difference this time was her people knew.  However, he must have figured they didn’t have the proof to convict him of the crime or the king would have already sent for him.

Still, not only did they have to prove the baron was behind the murders, somehow she had to find the traitor in their midst.

Conan and the men returned to the keep and when he saw her sitting at the head table, he looked at the baron who motioned for him to take his seat.

Malcolm leaned over to her and whispered, “Think you your people will mind if I cut the meal short?”

She grinned at him and with a hushed voice responded, “You have a mind to ravish me, do ye?”

“Aye, lass.  Just what I have in mind.”

The bread was cut, with the top of the crust served to Malcolm.  He looked at Anice as if to see if she wished the first piece.  She motioned for him to give it to the baron.

When an omelet of eggs mixed with almonds, currant, saffron and honey was served, Anice considered it.  Turning to Malcolm, she whispered, “Share my meal with me, milaird.”

He stared at her for a moment, then getting her meaning, nodded.  “Aye, and your drink, lass, if you dinna mind too much.”  He set aside his tankard.

“Nay, ‘tis safer that way, my husband,” she whispered back.

“Something wrong with your meal?” the baron asked.

Anice knew Baron Fontenot would mention the fact Malcolm wouldn’t eat his meal.  Did it perturb the baron that he couldn’t kill her husband so easily?  If she could, she’d force the baron to drink and eat Malcolm’s portions.  When he refused, their case against him would be more assured. 

“Nay,” Malcolm said to the baron, “there is naught wrong with my food.  The lass and I grew used to sharing our meals on the journey here.  Romantic, dinna you think?”  He shoved his eggs to the baron.  “But do have mine.  You must be ravenous from your travels and nay sense in wasting food.”

Anice stifled a grin.

The baron pushed the omelet away.  “One is enough for me.  Two would appear glutinous.  You may give it to the poor, if you desire.”

Malcolm motioned to the young man serving them.  “Give my omelet and all of those foods prepared for me to Sir Conan.”  He pointed the baron’s knight out.  “He is a good stout man and nay doubt needs more to eat.”

“Aye, milaird,” the curly, redheaded man said, then quickly carried the omelet to Conan’s table.

Conan glanced at the baron, who made no response.  The knight nodded at the redhead, then the young man returned to the kitchen.

Conan watched Anice, his look pure menace.  Would he eat the meal that had been served to Malcolm?  Or would he find some way to dispose of it?

Malcolm leaned over and kissed Anice’s lips.  ‘Twas not a simple kiss either, but one of feeling that forced a slow burn to sizzle deep inside her.  She kissed him back, too, forgetting for the moment her people watched her every move.  Her hands slid to his waist while his held onto hers.  ‘Twas not for the baron’s benefit she touched Malcolm’s tongue with her own, nor pressed her lips against his with as much enthusiasm.  She loved him with all her heart and would give him up for no one.