Page 42 of Anice’s Bargain

He strode from his chamber, but the man standing outside his door did not appear to be a Werrick soldier.

This man was lanky and dark-haired with a serious expression made all the more so by his narrowed eyes. “Wedding day, eh?” His accent wasn’t English, but Scots. He pushed off from the wall he leaned against and the little black cat at his feet stretched. “To my sister-in-law.”

Ah, this was Bran, then. The one who had taken the castle and forced the eldest sister into marriage. Also the one who had killed many Graham soldiers.

Laird Graham would be greatly displeased with his presence.

“Aye.” James strode past him and down the hall. The black cat appeared beside him and tried to wind its way between his feet, forcing him to slow.

Bran winked at him. “Ye know what they say about Bixby, aye?”

When James didn’t answer, Bran went on. “I hope yer intentions in the marriage are honorable.”

Yet again, James didn’t bother to reply. Why should he? He owed no explanations to this man.

“If they’re no’…” Bran continued in a threatening tone.

The implied warning demanded a response. James peered down at the shorter man and flexed the powerful muscles of his back, knowing how much more intimidation it added to his already large frame. “Ye’ll what?”

Bran grinned up at him, nonplussed, with a mouth full of perfect teeth. Did all the people of Werrick have to be so damnably attractive?

“I wouldna have to do a thing.” Bran lifted one shoulder in a casual gesture. “Her sisters would handle ye.”

James lifted a brow. “They’re lasses, they canna be that bad.”

Bran scoffed. “Ye’d regret any wrongdoing. Of that ye can be certain.”

James relaxed his body and strode onward. “Is that experience talking?”

“Aye. And whatever is left of ye, I’d handle.” The warning edge had returned to his tone.

James cast a glance down at the man he would soon be linked to through his marriage. “I’ll assume the threat is derived from your own honorable intentions when ye were wed, aye?”

They arrived at the double doors of the chapel. Bran, who conveniently appeared to not have heard James’s last statement, turned and offered his hand to shake. James accepted and was met with a vice-like grip.

“Treat her well.” Bran opened his fingers.

James did not release the other man’s grasp. He held on for one last moment, delivering his own menacing message. With a lingering look at Bran, James pushed through the chapel doors and abruptly froze.

An entire congregation stared back at him in anticipation, as though he was supposed to do something. The priest had told him exactly what that was the prior evening, except the nervous man’s mousy blinks and constant flinching from him had been so distracting, James hadn’t been able to focus.

A hand slapped against James’s back.

“Good luck,” Bran whispered, and slipped away with such deft haste, he surely did not see James’s glare. The black cat trotted after him.

A slender woman with Werrick golden hair and flashing blue eyes approached, her manner as authoritative as it was kind. “You shouldn’t be here yet,” she whispered. “Follow me.” She cast a chagrined look at Bran, who offered only a shrug in return. She led James from the chapel to yet another door, this one smaller and far less ornate.

“You have your bag of gold coins?” She asked.

James nodded. “Are ye Marin?”

Her smile was bright and immediate. “Aye, forgive me my lack of introduction. And you are James Graham.”

He almost replied, but as soon as the simple door had been pushed open, all thought fled his mind. The small room of the chapel was crowded with the Earl of Werrick and his steward, William, as well as the twitchy priest. And Anice.

James swallowed hard and forced his feet forward.

“Isn’t she lovely?” Marin cast a knowing glance at him.