Winning the Highlander's Heart (17 page)

When they reached the gatehouse, a black bearded, surly gate guard met them.  “What business have ye here?”

“We have come to see His Laird Earl,” Malcolm said.  “I am Laird MacNeill and fought with him at the Battle of Antioch.”

“Aye, I will have word sent at once, milord.”

The earl was pleased to remake his acquaintance with a fellow Crusader and quickly had Malcolm and his party seated at the evening meal.

The hall grew loud with conversation as many watched the newcomers.

“Have you ever heard of a bard named Conan?  He was a knight in the Crusades,” Malcolm asked Simon.

He lifted his tankard and paused as if trying to recall, then shook his head.  “Not a bard, but I remember Sir Conan, if it is the same man.  Steely black hair and eyes.  Stout in build, if I recall accurately.”

“Aye, sounds like the one.  Do you know who he served?”

“Baron Harold de Fontenot.”

Anice’s stomach churned when she overheard Malcolm and Simon’s conversation.  This Conan was a spy for the same man who sought to have her hand in marriage.  Malcolm reached under the table and squeezed Anice’s hand clenched in her lap.

“You say he is a bard now?” the earl asked.

“Aye, to hear him tell of it, he has a wound that will not heal.”

“But you do not believe him?”  The earl waved at the surveyor to begin serving the meal.  “I can tell from the tone of your voice you have doubts.”

T
he surveyor waved his key to summon the pantler.  The young man cut the upper crust from a round, spicy, colored loaf of bread and served the top slice for the earl.

“He rode a destrier and carried a hidden sword.”  Malcolm buttered a slice of bread.

“Aye, mayhap he has caused some trouble in Lord Fontenot’s court.”

Anice squirmed in her seat.  More likely he was still very much employed by the baron.

“You have come at the right time.”  The earl leaned back in his chair.  “The annual fair begins tomorrow.”

Anice frowned.  Now ‘twas her turn to be disappointed.  What she wouldn’t give to see all of the goods offered for sale at the fair from communities from miles around.

Malcolm’s brows rose, and he smiled a wee bit at her.

“I’m afraid we must continue on our way.”  Her voice was very small and disconcerted.  But she had to return to her people first thing.  She stirred a mixture of plums, quince, apples, and pears, spiced with rosemary, basil and rue in a pastry tart.

But to miss the chance to see the annual fair?  She groaned inwardly, knowing how much Malcolm must have hated missing out on the hunt.

“This reminds me of yester eve’s dilemma, milady,” Malcolm whispered to her.

“’Twas no dilemma,” she said matter-of-factly.  “We could not delay our trip for the hunt, nor can we postpone our journey for a day at the fair.”

“Mayhap, milady, you can wander through the stalls for an hour or two.  Even your lady-in-waiting seems to perk up.”

A sparkle appeared in Mai’s gray eyes that had not been there earlier.

Disheartened to disappoint her lady-in-waiting, Anice mainly had to be concerned with the welfare of the majority of her people.  “We should leave without delay.”

Malcolm smiled brazenly in response.  His attitude should have irritated her, but she knew she deserved it after he’d missed the love of the hunt.

After they dined on mutton and finished their wine, they thanked their host and excused themselves to take a walk around the inner bailey.

For sometime, they sauntered without speaking, then Malcolm cleared his throat.  “We still have a long way to go.  It does not hurt for you to take some pleasure along the way.”

“How can I when I denied you and your brothers the pleasure of a hunt before?”

“That was different.  If we had stayed at Hertford to hunt, we would have been delayed through to the noon meal.  But a walk through the fair will not take more than an hour or two.”

She studied his somber face.  “Methinks you have some darker reason for wanting to delay our journey.”

He shuffled his shoes in the dry dirt, his eyes shifting from the ground to her gaze.  “I believe Conan will think we will leave at first light.  He will either tag along, or meet up with us later.  I believe an ambush will lay in wait somewhere along our path.  Dougald said what he did about you marrying a Highlander for a reason.  He assumed Conan works for Fontenot.  The earl has confirmed this.  If Fontenot is capable of murdering your uncle, he will take whatever measures necessary to ensure he takes you for his wife.”

Disconcerted, she stared at him.  “I do not understand the plan.”

“What if Lord Fontenot offers money to brigands to attack us on the road heading north?  His orders would be to kill the men, but not to harm the women.  The baron rushes in to save the ladies, only the brigands will not live to tell the tale.  Fontenot nay doubt would tell them he would arrive, and the men would disappear before he had the chance to kill any of them.”

Anice stopped walking.  “You cannot be serious.”

“If I wished your hand at any cost, I would do such a thing.  That is if I were a blackguard.  If he is a decent laird, he would not think of plotting such a crime.  But if he already killed your uncle, he will stop at naught to have your hand.”

“Then we will have to confuse them.  He knows how many men are in our party.  He would make sure he had enough ruffians to attack ye.  Probably, he would not mention you’re battle-skilled Highlanders.  Still, if there were enough of them, it could be disastrous for us.  I propose we split up.”

“Nay.  We stay together and—”

Her blood heated.  She was not used to being countermanded, and she wouldn’t allow her word—unless she could be proved wrong or someone had a better idea—to be discounted.  “They will be looking for a wagon with two women, three men on horseback, and the driver of the wagon.  If we leave the wagon behind, that will give them pause.  Gunnolf and Mai will stay here.  I do not think she can ride another day.”

“That leaves the three of us men and ye.”

 “Aye.  We can ride faster without the wagon to slow us down.”

He rubbed the dark stubble covering his chin.  “It might work.”

“One other thing.”  She raised her brows with determination.

“Why do I get the notion, I will not like this one other thing one wee bit?”

“I will dress as a man.”

He frowned and shook his head.  “Nay.”

“Hear me out.  If they are looking for two women, three male riders, and a wagon driven by another, but all that passes by are four male riders, heavily armed, do you not think they will let us pass while they wait for the real ‘us’ to come along?  Fontenot would have their hides if they attacked the wrong party, then alerted the right one before they arrived.”

“What if they attack anyway, thinking we are the four men and kill you, too?  And how would you be armed?”

“I will use my bow.  You will wear your armor and be verra imposing, milaird.  These brigands will think twice of striking such a force.  I can see them shaking in their boots as we pass them by.”

Malcolm’s face was dark and filled with concern.  “I do not like the plan, lass.”

“Are we to walk into an ambush then?”

“We can bypass the road we plan to take.”

“It would delay us overmuch.”

He began to walk with her again, his back rigid, his brow furrowed.  “I had thought of a disguise, but...let me discuss this with my brothers.  If any can come up with a better plan, we will let you know.  I must say, we could make the split during the fair.”

“You do not think they would attack there?”

“Nay.  Not only will Simon’s men be watching for thieves at the fair, Conan most likely suspects you would want to return home at earliest convenience and would not waste time tarrying there.”

Anice nodded.  “Then ‘tis time to retire.  I will tell Mai of our plans.”

“
If
my brothers agree to it.”

She tilted her chin up, not to be thwarted.  “I will have nay doubt a difficult time convincing her to stay behind.”

“I am serious, milady.  We must all be in agreement.”

“Aye.”  She agreed, only she was bound and determined to have her way.

They turned and crossed the bailey toward the keep.

“I must have a word with Simon, though,” Malcolm said.

“What have you on your mind, Malcolm?”

His lips rose.  “I would offer to pay one of his men to send a letter to His Grace on my behalf concerning my intentions toward you, milady.”

She couldn’t help the blush that rose to her cheeks.  Yet, she wouldn’t make it easy on the Highlander who wished an English bride.  “Aye.”

“I would take you to your bedchambers, but—”

“Mai and I can manage without your assistance, milaird.”  She wished he would escort her, but his countenance was dismal, and she assumed it was better that he take care of business.  What she wouldn’t have given to have his bruising kisses again, his tongue devilishly teasing hers, hers mimicking his roguish actions, and his wayward thumbs stroking her breasts indecently.  Moist heat curled between her thighs.  Och, her mind was tainted with the most evil notions.  ‘Twas imperative she wed a man soon before these illicit thoughts took control of her and turned her into a shameless woman.

When they reached the keep, Malcolm bowed low to her, his dark eyes catching her gaze, transfixing her.  “On the morrow then, bonnie lass.”

Had she not such an audience, she would kiss him good night, but she didn’t want the sweet, innocent kiss that she had first bestowed upon him.  She wanted the passion he’d exhibited in the hayloft when they had no audience.  After all, hadn’t that been the reason for her having such pleasant dreams?  They both hesitated to depart, then smiled at the indecision.  Quickly, she pressed her lips to his, and just as rapidly, pulled away.  “Again, to thank ye, milaird.”

Her whole body heated, and she couldn’t look him in the eye when she hurried toward the stairs.  Close on her heels, Mai clucked.

“I will have to earn your thanks more often, milady,” Malcolm called after Anice, tickling her and sending another rash of heat sweeping through her.

“What did I tell ye, Angus?” Dougald said, closing the gap between them and Malcolm.

“Aye, he has lost his heart to the bonnie lass,” Angus responded.

“I have not had much success at marrying a Scottish lass,” Malcolm objected.

“That has nothing to do with you.  God’s teeth, if it hadn’t been for father’s interference,” Angus said.

“More than interference, drunken betrothals,” Douglas inserted.  “To commit you to two lassies at the same time--”

“And say you were the next earl in line of succession when James was,” Angus added, laughing.

Malcolm fisted his hands.  “Aye, the drunken sot.  Because of Da, the ladies’ families wished to run me through.  Didna help that James wanted neither of the lassies, or that Da died before he could straighten out the matter, and make the arrangements for James instead.”