Page 16 of Anice’s Bargain

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James let his gaze linger on Anice’s lovely face, getting to truly study her for the first time. Her features were without flaw; so exquisite, she made Morna appear plain by comparison. A feat James would have thought impossible.

The idea did not sit comfortably in his stomach. Nor did the thought of kissing Anice. Not now, at least. He knew well the reputation of the Grahams, and of what some of the crueler men in their ranks were capable of doing. He’d been disgusted by such things, but his father never sought to punish the offenders. Yet another change he would implement when he was laird.

But he would not now kiss Anice for fear of making her assume he was like them. “I should go inside.” He indicated the door.

“Aye.” Anice set one graceful hand to the latch and opened the door for him.

To his surprise, she entered first, leading him into his chamber. The furnishings inside were fine, the kind his father and the older men of the clan discussed often when detailing their raid almost fifteen summers prior.

The great four-poster bed had green velvet trappings on either side so one might close themselves within at night, and a large trunk at its foot. A far cry from his bedroll in the pele tower. Tapestries hung from the wall, the colorful thread glinting with silk and gilt. If all the rooms were as well appointed as his, and all the daughters dressed as finely as Anice, it was no wonder his father had circled back to Werrick to test its impenetrable walls.

James put his bag on the floor beside the bed, unwilling to set the dirt-crusted leather upon the neatly made bed. “This is verra fine.” He glanced at Anice where she stood just inside the threshold of the room.

Piquette strolled past her and settled onto the floor by the unlit hearth with a great whump. Anice considered the dog first, then turned her attention to James. “Why did you not go with your father?”

Her question had been asked casually enough, but the intensity of her expression indicated his answer was of great import. He decided to go with what he knew best—the truth.

“I dinna want ye to think I was marrying ye for yer fortune.”

“Ah, yes. The man who does not want power or influence or wealth.” She recited the words coyly. “Or beauty.” She smirked and held up her hand with her fingers splayed. “However, you are a laird’s son.” She folded down her pointer finger. “You will marry into a good amount of land in one of England’s prime locations along its border.” She folded down her middle finger. “Those lands will yield a considerable amount of coin.” She folded down her ring finger.

“And then there’s ye.” He gently folded down her small pinky. He’d spoken without considering his words and immediately regretted them. Flattery to beauty was as dangerous as oil to an open flame.

She lifted a brow. “It would appear you have everything anyone else would want without wanting any of it. Tell me, why did you agree to marry me?”

“Ye’re clever.” He stepped closer to her and Piquette did not so much as stir, apparently comfortable with him after their time together at camp outside the castle walls. “Ye dinna take things at their immediate worth, do ye?”

She said nothing, but nor did she move back as he stepped closer still, so that they were nearly touching. Her floral scent teased at him, light and sweet and delightful. Like her.

“I dinna want this siege.” He smoothed a hand down his beard.

Her gaze remained locked on his, a challenge, or perhaps an invitation. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“I thought I might do some good in staying.” He could practically sense the warmth of her body radiating through his clothing. He should move back, put space between them.

Her lips quirked. “It would appear you did.”

“Aye.”

Her mouth was perfectly shaped, plush and entirely too kissable. Had she been kissed by another? Would he be her first?

Her breath drew in softly and her body swayed slightly closer, as if she were being drawn toward him. He tentatively put his hand to her cheek and her lashes swept down. Her cheek was warm, her skin soft. So, so soft. He swept the pad of his thumb over her high cheekbone and she opened her eyes to gaze up at him.

Desire burned her gaze, bright with curiosity and unmistakable. Another woman had looked at him once with the same smoldering innocence, and he’d sacrificed too damn much for her.

He wished Anice was not so appealing, or that he was handsome, the kind of man worthy of such loveliness. And he wished like hell he didn’t want to kiss her.

Like a moth drawn to a fatal flame, he lowered his face to hers. He had meant the kiss to be gentle, a delicate brushing of their lips, a taste of that full mouth. It had started off as such. At first. The initial connection had been almost imperceptible. Not enough.

He nudged the underside of her chin with his fingertips and she lifted her face toward his. Her lips were petal soft, warm and wonderful and sent a delightful sizzle of desire through his veins. Still, he’d carefully held back, until her mouth moved against his own, bold and inviting.

He caressed her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue and she gave an eager gasp. His hands cupped her face, cradling her as he swept his tongue into her mouth. She tasted fresh, like water, clean and pure. It made him hungry for more, for her.

She gave a soft moan and the length of her body pressed against him.

A powerful knock sounded, and they leapt apart like guilty children. Anice gave a shy laugh and tucked a lock of stray hair behind her ear. James smiled in spite of himself and went to the door, which had thankfully been closed. Piquette continued to sleep soundly at the cold hearth.