Page 10 of Anice’s Bargain

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Anice’s father was vexed.

He paced up and down the lushly appointed solar, his face furrowed into a map of hard lines. “There has to be another way.”

Anice had looped through the circular conversation again and again with him. She swallowed down her sigh. Marin, after all, would have been patient in such a situation.

“You know there is no other way,” Anice said levelly.

“First your mother and now you.” The earl scrubbed a hand at the back of his head where a lifelong cowlick had begun to reveal a patch of flesh beneath his thick gray hair. He stared at her, his eyes large and haunted. “You’re too beautiful, my sweet Anice. They’ll destroy you, crush that loveliness and leave you wilted.”

“I’m no flower, Papa.” Anice said it as gently as she could, but it was hard to keep from giving way to her frustration. She was his beautiful daughter, the one whose merit of note was relegated to her appearance. How she longed to be more, to have a talent or a skill worth noting.

“Do you want to do this?” he queried.

She hesitated. It was the first time he asked what she truly wanted.

She met his gaze, sure of her answer as it rose from her heart. “I want to see our people fed and healthy. I want to ensure the family I love remains safe and comfortable. I want this for all of you.”

Her father’s gaze searched the floor. “Marin would have known what to do.”

His words ground at Anice’s nerves like salt. “Marin is not here.” Her heartbeat pounded at her temples and the air was growing thick. She couldn’t stay in this room any longer, going over the same conversation, bearing the reminder that she was the lesser daughter.

“I’m here,” she said. “And I did find a solution.” Nothing more could be said to that. Anice strode toward the closed door, desperate to be free of this bothersome discussion with no logical end.

“What of Timothy?” he father demanded of her back. “This is not like what you shared with him. This is no love match.”

Her cheeks went hot with rage or guilt or shame, or possibly a combination of all three. “Timothy is dead.”

With that, she pushed through the door and strode with clipped steps to the quiet privacy of her own room. Or rather, Marin’s former room—the one that had once belonged to their mother. Regardless of its ownership, it would be silent within.

Anice didn’t want to think of Timothy even as his image edged into her mind. The thick golden waves of his shoulder length hair, his clear blue eyes. He had smiled solely for her, always thinking to send her trinkets and flowers and poetry.

Anice’s heart flinched.

He had loved her.

His life had been lost as it had been lived, in the service of chivalry and employment to his noble birth. While Anice’s father had survived the battle at Berwick, Timothy had fallen in battle.

Her guilt had been great when he’d been alive, heavy with the knowledge she had agreed to marry him based on his being a wealthy earl’s son, one of the king’s favorites. With no other viable talents to her person, she’d tried to benefit her family with her one attribute. Surely, marriage was the only thing a woman of considerable attractiveness was good for.

But no matter how handsome Timothy was—and he was certainly handsome—nor how chivalrous or kind or smitten, Anice could not bring herself to love him.

Her stomach twisted at the internal admission, the same as it always did. While marriages were often made without love, her inability to return his affection weighed on her. A burden that had become heavier to bear after his death.

A sharp bark from outside broke through her unwanted reverie and her heart leapt to attention.

Piquette!

She broke into a run, not caring what she looked like as she sprinted to her returning dog. James Graham met her in the large entryway of the castle with Piquette, who appeared healthy and happy as he trotted affectionately at the Graham’s side. Anice skidded to a stop. Piquette cast a hesitant glance up at the reiver, no doubt won over by the food he’d been given.

“Piquette,” Anice called. It was all her dog needed and he promptly bounded over to her, nearly knocking her to the ground when she knelt to welcome him. His dark brown eyes were bright in a way they hadn’t been in months and his whip of a tail would not stop wagging.

The Graham approached her slowly, as though he feared frightening her. “He was well cared for.”

She could see the truth in what he’d said for herself and hated the stab of jealousy at his ability to give Piquette what he had needed to be healthy. Or rather, she hated her own inability to provide for her dog. Doubtless Piquette had been given fresh meat while she had only been able to offer grain and bits of gritty bread.

She rose, but kept her hand settled atop Piquette’s soft head. “Thank you.”