Page 110 of Marin’s Promise

Anice bit the inside of her cheek and focused on the sharp pain rather than the cut of her father’s words. He had not meant them, after all. Or at least, he had not meant for them to hurt. Anice’s eldest sister, Marin, had been gone from Werrick for almost three years, living in their mother’s favorite castle in England. Hunger made Anice’s head swim. It was all too easy to remember the peaceful life there with lovely rose gardens and sunlit gardens. And food. So much food.

Sweet, fresh apples with juice that ran down one’s chin when she bit into the crisp flesh. Crusty bread that broke under her fingers and revealed the soft, steaming doughy center. Slathered with butter. Greasy, salty—

Stop.

“Perhaps we can speak to the Grahams,” Anice suggested abruptly. Anything to take her mind off food. “I’ve heard reivers will sometimes bargain.”

Her father shook his head, his stare going distant. It tugged at Anice’s heart when he did that, lost to the horrors she wished she could blot from his memory.

“I cannot lose another messenger.” He looked down at her with his large, solemn eyes—eyes that had shone with joy when Anice had been a girl. How she missed those long-ago days, back before her mother died.

In a brave attempt to bring a message to the king requesting his help, their messenger had rushed past the Grahams, gotten caught, and paid with his life. He’d lived only twenty summers, the same age as Anice, and had volunteered hoping to save the lot of them. Anice’s father had reluctantly agreed. The young man’s body had been left in front of the gates the following morning with the missive torn, the dozens of pieces fluttering in the grass about him like macabre, blood-spattered moths.

Several more men had followed that messenger, either to escape the stomach-gnawing hunger within Werrick’s walls, or in an attempt to help. And while Anice did not know if any of them made it through, they remained without aid.

“We haven’t tried discussing it with the Grahams ourselves,” Anice protested.

“And who would go?” he asked.

Anice straightened. “Me.” She ran her fingers over her dog’s soft fur. “Me and Piquette.”

At the mention of his name, Piquette stiffened to attention, always loyal, always brave.

He blinked and his face reddened. “Absolutely not.”

“Mayhap they wouldn’t kill a woman.”

“Nay, you know what they would do to a woman.” His jaw flexed beneath his gaunt face. Anice opened her mouth to protest, but he swept a hand in front of her. “I’ll not discuss the idea of sending one of my daughters to be left at the mercy of those barbarians. “He turned on his heel and strode from the kitchen. His footsteps rang out on the flagstones until the door closed behind him, muffling his derisive departure.

A little black cat wound its warm body around Anice’s feet and cast Piquette a wary glance. Poor Bixby hadn’t been the same since Marin left. Though in truth, it was most likely her husband, Bran, who the cat missed the most. Bixby flopped in front of her and she gently nuzzled his chest with the toe of her shoe, much to Piquette’s grumbling agitation. Anice bent and rubbed her fingers at the little white star on Bixby’s chest, while scratching behind Piquette’s ear. It was easier to offer affection to the animals than to regard Nan and the pity dulling the older woman’s eyes.

Anice wasn’t Marin. That much was obvious with each passing day. She didn’t help their steward, William, with the books the same way Marin had; she didn’t have the soothing patience; she wasn’t as organized and couldn’t keep the castle together as Marin had. As with much else in Anice’s life, she was failing where others had succeeded, no matter her immense effort and good intentions.

Nan’s warm brown eyes fixed on Anice. “I’m inclined to agree with your da. There now, you needn’t be upset.” Nan settled a hand over Anice’s cheek. Though there was little food to be had, the comforting scent of baking bread still clung to Nan’s sleeve.

Since Marin had left, Nan had taken on more of a maternal role with the remaining four sisters—yet another area where Anice had been found wanting.

Bixby rolled abruptly. His ears flicked and he darted into a shadow. At least one of them would eat well today. He always knew where to find the rats.

Piquette watched him with a furrowed brow, too big and clumsy for an attempt of his own.

“If I went down there, mayhap I could make them listen.” Anice kept her back held straight as she spoke. She was a woman of twenty, running the Werrick Castle as lady of the keep. Had Timothy not been slain in combat she would even be a wife.

If only he hadn’t been pulled to the battle of Berwick with her father. If only he’d returned home, they could have resumed their plans to wed. Memories of her time with Timothy twisted at something inside of her, the same as it always did when thoughts of him surfaced. Not with the regret of a lover, but rather, with a pang of guilt.

“How about a smile on your lovely face instead?” Nan smoothed Anice’s hair from her brow. “Your beauty is enough to cheer up the whole of Werrick.”

Anice swallowed the rising ire within her and complied. Not for herself, but for Nan.

She kept the smile pitched to the corners of her mouth until she was out of the kitchen where she let it fall without ceremony. Piquette nuzzled her palm with his big wet nose.

No doubt her father would have trusted Marin to go speak to the Graham reivers. He might even allow Ella, whose intelligence could unravel any stitch of trouble. Or Catriona, whose immaculate aim with an arrow could knock a feather from a bird mid-flight a hundred yards in the air. Or Leila, with her ability to foresee what was to come.

But Anice had none of those qualities. She was simply beautiful. A dull, shallow label she loathed. Regardless of how much she despised it, she clung to the praise. While paltry, the notoriety was better than being nothing.

Despite her father’s refusal and Nan’s warnings, Anice knew best how to aid her family. And it had everything to do with her beauty.

She waited until the castle went still that night, then crept down to the kitchen. In more ordinary times, servants would have been awake still with dishes to scour and foods to prepare for the following day. In their new life, everyone went to sleep early, even the servants, conserving their little strength remaining.