In Bed With A Stranger (5 page)

Turning in a huff, Anne looked at the tarts and bread. Her mouth watered but she resisted the urge to eat them. Who knew when she would have more food. It was best to save some. A half filled belly was easier to endure than an empty one.

The sun set and with it the light faded. Candles were locked in a cupboard near the kitchen. They were handed out carefully, to conserve resources. Standing near an arrow slit, she watched the yard below. Light twinkled in the stable as the last chores were done. The retainers walked the walls, guarding as they always did. She was tempted to sneak down the steps and set her letter into the captain’s hand but it was such a great risk. Philipa did hold the estate tight in her grip. She’d turned more than one person out without a care for their plight. The captain might take the letter to his lady instead of her sire. With the earl at court so often, many at Warwickshire coveted Philipa’s good will.

Despair wrapped around her as she picked up the cloak. Icy fear gripped her heart as she pulled the wool around her body. She was so close to everyone she held dear and yet separated from them. Loneliness sent tears into her eyes despite her efforts to remain strong. With nothing but darkness to keep her company, she didn’t have enough strength to fend off crying. Sinking down against the wall, she pulled her knees closer to her body as the night grew colder. Somehow she slipped off into sleep, her mind full of dreams of the fire burning in Philipa’s room. She tried to get closer to it, straining toward the warmth but couldn’t seem to move, her body shivering so much she was stuck next to the stone wall.

She awoke more tired than when she’d fallen asleep. Her eyes burned as her hands ached from holding the front edges of the cloak tight against her chest. Her body was stiff from sleeping against the hard floor. Her toes felt like ice in her boots. Moving hurt. But remaining still did too.

The first rays of dawn were hitting the arrow slits, filtering in to where she lay. Standing up, she raised her face into those rays to feel the heat lick across her chilled cheeks.

“Riders ho!”

Her eyes opened wide as the call filtered up from below. With a rush toward the arrow slit, Anne searched the courtyard but the gates were still closed. Beyond the outer wall, a blue and gold banner was waving in the distance. It was tiny and dancing because the rider was moving quickly. The captain hurried up the ladder to the top of the walls in his shirt, clearly fresh from his bed. He used a looking glass to study the banner for long moments.

“Alcaon retainers. Sound the muster.”

The sergeant rang a large bell attached to the stone outer wall. Men began rolling out of their barracks, buttoning doublets and sheathing swords as they appeared in the courtyard. The banner was still some distance away because the castle was built on high ground.

So the moment was here…

May the Lord forgive her enough to allow her to live.

“Hurry up.”

Mary was out of breath and didn’t even climb to the top step. She gestured with a frantic hand for Anne to follow her down to Philipa’s chamber. Her stomach knotted as she descended, sure that her soul was going lower into damnation with each step.

“There you are. I hope the night has improved your attitude.” Philipa was already dressed and looking nervous for a change. “Yes. Good. We are agreed. Mary, fetch her that French hood with the veil.”

Mary pulled a brown French hood from a chair. The brim would wrap over her head and down low enough to cover her ears completely. There was a long veil hanging from the back that would reach her waist. It was made of lightest weight wool to keep her neck warm. A second piece of fabric was sewn to the front of the hood. This was light cotton from India. She would be able to see through it but not well. Ladies often wore face veils like it when the snow was flying to protect their makeup. Face powder smeared when the snowflakes melted against the skin.

Mary pushed it down onto Anne’s hair, uncaring how the edges cut into her cheeks. She flipped the veil into place, shutting out most of the early morning light.

“Perfect. That shall keep the staff from discovering us.” Mary smiled in triumph as Anne allowed her lips to press into a hard line. Out of habit she started to lower herself but froze before completing the respectable movement. Mary frowned, displeasure tightening her face.

A hard thump landed on the door.

“Hide yourself, Mary. Quickly, my lamb.”

Mary turned and ran toward the stairs that led to the alcove. Philipa smiled at her back, rare happiness glittering in her eyes. It vanished the moment she looked at Anne.

“Best you recall what I have instructed you to do. As soon as you are with child, tell the Scot you must return to your mother. Even an uncivilized Scot will not deny you that comfort.”

The door thumped again. “Enter.”

The captain of the guard appeared, lowering himself before Philipa.

“The Earl of Alcaon awaits you in the courtyard, my lady.”

“We are ready.” Philipa gripped Anne’s arm, her fingers digging into the flesh. “Indeed we are.”

Indeed she was not nor would she ever be.

“God’s breath.”

Anne froze as she got her first look at the men awaiting her. They were huge. She might not have risked Philipa’s wrath to indulge her whims with a lover but she did know what men looked like, more or less anyhow.

They were much larger than any man she might name, aside from one or two of the villagers. Their bodies were cut with muscle as well. Her eyes lingered on their rolled up sleeves and the amount of bare skin on display. The morning chill didn’t seem to bother them; in fact they looked as though they were in prime health. Several wore kilts, pants being the oddity. Instead of shirts, they wore some type of undergarment that had wide sleeves without cuffs. Their doublets were made of leather and most of them fastened only a few times across their bellies. Boots laced up their calves to the knees, with antler horn buttons to twist the strips of leather around. Instead of fashionable livery, every bit of clothing appeared to be constructed for utility. The exception were the kilts, made from long lengths of fabric, woven with several color hues to form plaids. These were blue, yellow and orange plaid. The only uniformity in dress among them was the corner of those plaids resting over each man’s shoulder. The fabric was held in place by large metal brooches with pins tucked through them. There didn’t appear to be an unfit man among them, and thick swords were strapped to each and every back.

“He will come for you…”

Bonnie’s words echoed through her mind as one man broke away from the others. His hair was as dark as midnight and his eyes dark blue. His shirt sleeves were tied up at the shoulder, displaying how powerful his arms were. He looked like a Roman statue, all muscle.

“I am Brodick McJames.”

Philipa lowered herself, tugging on Anne’s wrist to ensure that she followed suit.

“Welcome to Warwickshire, my lord. Please accept our hospitality.” Philipa curtsied lower and more meekly than Anne had ever witnessed. But the Scot wasn’t interested in her show of deference, his gaze looked past the mistress of the manor to settle on Anne’s silent form.

He studied her lowered head, trying to see past the veil. She secretly prayed that the man would take Philipa’s offer and linger a few nights. That might undo Philipa’s foul scheme before it got a start.

“I regret that I dinnae have time to enjoy your kind invitation. I must return to my land.”

“I understand.” Philipa spoke almost too quickly but she covered up her glee with a loud sniffle. “Truly I do.”

He looked surprised but shook off the emotion quickly. “Good.”

His voice was rich and deep, his tone showing he was no stranger to commanding. “I give you my word that your daughter will have safe escort.” He climbed the front steps, growing larger with each one. When he stood even with them, his shoulders were above her nose.

“Thank you, sir.”

In all her life Anne had never heard Philipa sound so meek. She turned her head to stare at the woman, stunned to see such deception being played out. Philipa’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Now, Mary, mind your duty and greet your lord respectfully.” A flicker of temper appeared in her eyes. Anne knew that look well.

“My lord.”

Keeping her voice low, Anne lowered her head, remaining there for a long moment.

“My lady.”

He held out his hand, the palm facing up. A quiver went through her as she stared at it.

Eve must have felt the same quiver when she faced the serpent.

Philipa gave her a pinch and she placed her hand into his. With controlled strength, his fingers engulfed her hand. His large hand completely capturing her smaller one, he pulled her toward him, his eyes trying to peer through her veil. The fact that he could not seemed not to be a reason to linger. He turned, leading her down the steps. One of his men stood with a mare, holding it firmly as the earl walked her to it. Grabbing her skirts in order to lift her foot to the stirrup, Anne gasped when his hands unexpectedly grasped her waist. Her feet quickly left the ground as he tossed her up onto the back of the mare. His men sent out a cheer, their voices chuckling in the morning air. The earl flashed her a grin that transformed his face into that of a boy for a moment before it faded back to the confidence of a man. He watched her grip the front of the saddle and adjust her hips so that she was balanced on the horse side fashion.

“Mount.”

He bellowed the command as he swung up on his own mount. The horse was coal black, its eyes flashing.

“I saw him on a black steed…”

Anne lifted her eyes to the man on the horse. He wrapped the reins around one powerful hand, commanding the horse expertly. His eyes were focused on her, trying to penetrate her veil as his kilt rose up to show his legs. They were just as sculpted as his arms as he clasped the horse between his thighs. Wheeling about, she stared at the sword strapped to his back. Bonnie’s words sent a shaft of apprehension through her.

“You’ll have a baby before next harvest moon.”

She mustn’t.

There had to be a way to avoid it. The man holding her reins kept them, mounting his own horse and pulling hers along. She shivered as the household waved good-bye to her, calling out good wishes. She stared at the wide backs of the men in front of her, each one powerful. Their leader radiated strength as he rode back through the gates. Her mare followed, gaining speed as they cleared the outer wall.

Stiffening her resolve, Anne didn’t look back. Instead she looked straight at the wide back of the man she had to outwit. Where there was a will, there was a way.

That was the only thing she had time to think about. Bonnie’s dream would have to pass away this time.

She would make it so

There were not enough saints.

Anne gripped the saddle horn tighter, lamenting the lack of heavenly ears to lay her pleas on. Considering her plight, she needed more holy patrons to intercede on her behalf. Her gaze wandered over the shoulders of the earl. He was so powerfully built, she might not have believed it without seeing it herself. She wasn’t even sure that it was natural for men to grow so broad.

Yet he appeared in harmony with the huge steed beneath him. Confidence radiated from the pair as firm hands held onto the reins. He clasped the sides of the animal with his thick legs, his back remaining straight as the horse climbed the steep trail.

Keeping this man at arm’s length was going to prove a challenge. To his way of thinking, she was his wife.

Yes, many more saints.

Anne frowned. Praying was all well and good but she needed a firm plan if she was going to give her father time to discover her plight. Her belly grumbled as her horse was tugged further along the trail. Warwickshire Castle grew smaller as the sun moved over them in an arc toward the west. The corset dug into her hip where it was too long. Shifting about only moved the pain from spot to spot until her entire side throbbed. She tried to keep her motions small or at least to mask them by adjusting her seat when the horse moved. Every man accompanying the earl found a reason to look her way. They were clever about how they did it, looking over the trail beyond her or inspecting their dirks sheathed in the top of a boot.

Their curious eyes found a reason to look her way.

Yet she was as drawn to them as well. Their bare knees mystified her. Warwickshire was on the borderlands and considered chilly by English standards. The last pair of English knees she’d seen outside the bathing room were on one of the young groomsmen in the stable, who was still more of a boy and prone to forgetting to dress appropriately. Every man with her now didn’t even have their doublets closed. The edges of the leather flapped open, allowing the afternoon air to ruffle the linen of their shirts. The protective sleeves attached to those doublets were tied behind their backs, obviously unneeded to ward off the chill. She shivered just looking at their bare collarbones.

But none of them looked cold. That drew her attention. Each man seemed at ease, most of them eager to be heading home. Their mounts took to the rocky trail expertly. Each horse confident as it picked its way. Not that she might blame them for being jovial. Knowing that you were returning home must be a wonderful feeling.

One she wished she knew. Envy took root in her chest. She hadn’t even been allowed to bid farewell to her family.

She resisted the urge to look behind her. Gazing on Warwickshire so far in the distance just might be more than her composure could bear. At least she might keep herself from tears. Crying would be useless. She had so often considered Lady Mary to be weak for all her sobbing. That doubled her resolve to remain calm as the day drew longer. The earl only drew his men to a halt twice. Both times he did it near a river so that the horses might drink.

Her feet were asleep and dismounting sent prickles of pain up her numb legs. She had never sat on a horse so long. There had never been any need to. Horses were expensive and they generated further cost in stables and feed. Besides, her life had been Warwickshire. The villages and the castle proper. Her feet served her well enough for traveling between them. She didn’t earn enough in an entire year to even buy a horse as fine as the one she was riding today. Giving the mare a pat, Anne smoothed her fingers over its shiny coat.