Page 7 of Anice’s Bargain

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The following day, a few minutes prior to noon, Anice trailed after her father as he swept from the solar. Her clipped pace matched his, as did her determination.

“I told you not to come,” he muttered. His mood had been sour since her return from the Graham camp the prior evening, going first from shock to outrage. Initially he’d declined any meeting with the Grahams, until Anice pleaded for Piquette’s safe return.

The Earl of Werrick was a formidable man whose primary weakness was his love for his five daughters. Anice might not be the most intelligent or talented of them, but she had always had a knack for coercing her father to her will.

“You have told me not to attend.” Anice did not slow her pace. “But I refuse to be left behind.”

“Anice,” her father bellowed in a tone he had not used with her since she was a child. “I do not wish to have you there.”

She went hot with humiliation. “Because I am not Marin?” she demanded. “Do you think me so incompetent that you doubt my ability to manage at your side throughout the negotiations?”

His face softened. “I was thinking more of what happened to your mother.” He averted his gaze and the muscle along his bony jaw went tight.

He had been like this for some time now: nostalgic, melancholy. Anice’s heart flinched. He missed their mother, though it had been many years since her death. But Marin’s leaving had caused his sorrow to dip deeper. No matter how hard Anice tried to take her elder sister’s place, the feat was impossible.

“I coordinated this meeting; I intend to see to the discussion as well.” Anice tried to keep her voice steady. After all, she knew well how to fake confidence.

Her father sighed and appeared every bit of his two and fifty years with the exhaustion and weariness emphasizing the loose skin under his eyes. “Very well, but I expect you to leave the speaking to the men.” He motioned for her to walk in front of him on their short journey down to the great hall. Not that there was much great about it anymore, save its massive size.

The trestles lay in neat lines, empty and nearly useless with so little food to be had; the once-lively chatter now rendered quiet with a general darkness of foreboding; the bustle of servants gone still with the grinding pain of hunger in their bellies. Rats didn’t dare enter the castle anymore for fear of encountering a desperate inhabitant of Werrick.

Even the rushes underfoot had long since gone bad and been swept away with nothing to use in replacement, leaving their steps echoing off the walls with a despondency that resonated in Anice’s heart. William, their steward, stood beside the dais at the ready, as well as Drake, their new Captain of the Guard after their former one, Sir Richard, had sought a quieter life in the country in his older age.

The heavy thud of shoes on stone sounded outside the hall as Anice and her father took their seats upon the raised dais at the rear of the great hall. Her father curled his hands around the carved arms of his chair, his knuckles white.

Mayhap the meeting had not been a good idea. But their alternative was what— to starve slowly?

The doors opened and the laird entered along with the man who had promised to care for Piquette. However, her dog was nowhere to be seen. Her heart lurched.

“Where is Piquette?” she demanded when they entered.

Her father shot her a look of stern warning to be silent. Marin would never have warranted such a reprimand.

The large man inclined his head in apology. “Forgive me, Lady Werrick. To ensure our safety, I was forced to leave him behind. Know that he is quite well and in eager spirits to see ye.”

Quite well, indeed. Anice shifted in her seat, unable to still the restlessness burgeoning inside her at this unwelcome news. As it was, she had not been able to sleep, not with images of Piquette being beaten or threatened, or worse—killed. Her heart flinched at such terrible musings.

“Piquette is with a man I’d trust with my life,” the man continued. “Yer dog is in fine care and has eaten his weight in venison after ye left.”

“Lady Werrick?” her father said with obvious irritation. “Lady Werrick died nigh on fourteen summers ago, and we’ve got you to blame for taking her light from our lives.”

Laird Graham scowled. “We’re here to come to an accord, are we no’, Lord Werrick?”

Anice’s heart was pounding with rage at the injustice her mother had suffered at the hands of the Grahams. But anger would not aid her in a time of negotiation.

Her father narrowed his eyes with obvious suspicion. “Aye.”

“Ye want us to leave yer lands.” Laird Graham let his glittering gaze shift around the barren room before coming to rest on Anice’s father. “What are ye willing to give us to make it happen?”

The Earl of Werrick did not answer. Anice turned to her father and found him clenching his jaw with stubborn determination. “Papa,” she urged quietly.

Her father pulled in a long inhale. “I imagine one such as yourself would arrive with a price in mind.”

“Ye’re a perceptive man, my lord.” Laird Graham grinned. His gaze slid over to Anice and lingered with clear consideration. “Yer daughter is unwed, aye?”

Anice stiffened. Surely the old man did not mean to ask for her hand. Time had shriveled him into a husk. His shoulders curled downward, shrinking what might have otherwise been an impressive height like the younger man with him. Laird Graham stood hunched, his stomach protruding like a woman swollen with child. His face was puckered like an apple left too long in the sun and his eyes glittered with gleeful malice.