Page 55 of Anice’s Bargain

Drake hesitated and then slightly opened his arms, whether intentionally to her, or in preparation to move. Her body reacted before her mind could stop it. She practically ran into them as her tears fell.

He smelled like the leather from the stables that Peter cared for, and like hot bread Nan pulled from the ovens. Like home. She turned into him and buried her face into his chest to breathe it all in. It scorched and soothed her heart in one painful, wonderful inhale.

Drake, who was usually one to pull away from such an inappropriate embrace, put his arms around her and held her. He was strength when she needed it, and familiarity in a world that was foreign. “Ye’re a strong woman, Lady Anice, a daughter of the Earl of Werrick, and yer heart is good. This isna anything ye canna handle.”

He was right. She was a daughter of Werrick. She had gone out to the enemy, starving and vulnerable, and had come up with a way to end the siege. And now she was weeping at the sight of a ruined garden.

She pulled away and swiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Forgive me, my lady.” He drew his arms from her, and a flush of color stained his face. “I shouldna have—” he pressed his lips to stop himself. “Ye’re fully recovered?”

She nodded again. “Thank you. I’m much better now.” And she was. She had needed only the reminder of her own strength to restore her mettle. “And I do believe I practically forced you to embrace me.” She gave an embarrassed chuckle.

“I am here for anything my lady needs.” Drake tucked his arms behind his back. “And if anyone hurts ye, I ask that ye tell me at once. Even if it’s yer husband.”

“James would never hurt me,” she protested.

“Of course.” He inclined his head, a servant agreeing unfailingly with their masters, rather than in a way that signified his belief of her words.

Heavy silence followed, one she hoped he would fill with words to express how he truly felt about his new location, especially after she had given in so violently to her own emotions. Soldier that he was, he remained quiet, his hard jaw locked with secrets.

“Thank you, Drake. I believe I should like to go to my chambers to rest now.”

He snapped to attention, a warrior in need of a task. “I’ll escort ye.”

“I can manage,” she reassured him. Though guilt pinched at her for having said it. He was doubtfully as alien in this new home as she. “Forgive me,” she added as an afterthought.

“There is nothing to forgive, my lady.” He pulled open the heavy door with ease and held it for her.

Anice put her hand to Piquette’s warm back as they coursed through the snaking corridors of Caldrick Castle. In fact, they went through them several times. She became quite turned around and hopelessly lost in her own home.

* * *

James would not have believedit had he not seen it with his own eyes. Or mayhap he would have. If Morna had done it, why wouldn’t Anice?

Deep in his heart, he knew the truth of it. He hadn’t wanted to believe it. Not of Anice.

And yet, there they had been, in the tattered garden, Anice and Drake, locked in one another’s arms. James stormed through the castle, set on finding his cuckolding wife and— and what? He couldn’t ask for an annulment; his father had seen to that, crafty old goat that he was. He wouldn’t beat her, of course. He would never be that physical no matter what a woman did to him. He certainly wouldn’t beg for her fidelity.

Damn.

He turned the corner, and nearly tripped over a pony. Confused, he straightened to find not a pony, but Piquette tangled in his legs, and Anice fluttering about the two of them in a distracting attempt to help.

“Enough,” James growled.

Beast and wife alike froze.

“What are ye doing here?” James asked Anice.

“If I’m being entirely honest.” She swallowed and looked about. “I don’t know where I am. This whole castle, it looks the same from the inside.”

“Ye’re rooms are down that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction.

The tension melted from her face and a fragile smile wavered at the corners of her mouth. “Can you take me, please? I’d rather not get lost again. Poor Piquette is past due for a nap.” Her voice wavered somewhat.

Piquette gave a low grumble, as if confirming his mistress’s words.

“Aye.” Taking her to her room would give him the perfect opportunity to speak to her without a dozen ears straining toward their conversation. He would not have an audience for this discussion.