Page 85 of Anice’s Bargain

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James rode at his father’s side and tried to keep from glancing back at Anice. The entire journey, he’d been tortured by her absence, by the not knowing. He wanted to spin about in his saddle and confirm she was still safe.

As it was, he could not arouse suspicion. Not now. Not here. The army Laird Graham led was far too large for James’s liking, and the separation between James and Anice weighed thoroughly on his thoughts.

“Are ye prepared to strike down the inhabitants of Werrick Castle?” His father leered at him.

“Aye. I’ve heard ye talk of it long enough,” James replied. But the words could only be uttered with half enthusiasm. He fixed his gaze on his father to solidify his resolve not to look back.

“I had my doubts about ye, lad.” Laird Graham narrowed his gaze at a distant shadow.

Werrick Castle.

The pace of the large party increased as they drew closer. James’s blood roared in his veins, but not with the excitement of an impending battle as it had years ago. Now it thundered with apprehension. For Anice. His wife. The woman he loved.

She was absent any armor, lacking a sufficient weapon, save the dagger he’d tucked in her boot. If battle broke out, she would be in the melee. Vulnerable.

And he was too far to reach her to come to her aid.

“Ye’re worried about yer wife, eh?” Laird Graham smirked.

James gritted his teeth. “Why would I care about that slattern?”

The Graham laird gave a wheezing laugh. “Because it’s obvious ye’re still in love with her, ye foolish whelp.”

The walls of Werrick’s outer curtain were in full view now, a dark band that stretched protectively around the castle within. James did not reply. There was no good answer to offer, not when his lie might come out too wooden.

“I actually believed ye at first,” Laird Graham said.

At first.James’s stomach slid down into his toes. He cast his father a wary glance.

“Ye put up a good show of it.” His father nodded approvingly. “Speaking with the Grahams, acting with keen interest in the raid. Until I intercepted that missive ye wrote to that bastard, Lord Bastionbury.”

A chill touched James’s spine. “What missive do ye think I wrote?” he asked through numb lips.

“The missive I know ye wrote.” Laird Graham shifted his gaze from the figure appearing on the battlements to James. “Ye’d always liked that bloody lord, looked up to him like he was yer da. Like ye wished he was yer da instead of the one ye got.”

James didn’t bother to protest his father’s words. His father had always clung to his own interests and had used James to get what he desired.

“I know ye went to the dungeon to see yer wife.” Laird Graham spat. “And I know ye freed that protector of hers. I tried to give ye the opportunity to tell me the truth, but ye only lied more.”

James was grateful for his betrayal now. If nothing else, Drake’s freedom would give the people of Werrick Castle a fighting chance.

Laird Graham grinned at him. “But I know much that ye dinna.” He snapped his reins and his horse flew forward.

Before James could give chase, before he could process what his father was trying to say, something jerked at his leg, swift and strong, so he was pulled from his saddle and flung to the ground.

James struck the hard earth with such force that it knocked the wind from his lungs. His legs thrashed in an attempt to find purchase, but rather than grass and dirt, his heel planted into something soft. A body.

Men fell on him in a heap, hands grappling, weight pressing, locking him into place. James kicked and punched and writhed, but none of it did him any good. Within seconds, he was fully restrained, his wrists bound behind his back with a rough rope.

“Lord Werrick,” Laird Graham’s voice cried out in the cool spring air and echoed off the thick stone walls. “Cede yer castle, or yer man will suffer the consequences of yer refusal.”

A scuffling came from the outskirts of the party and Drake was dragged forward. The tear at the collar of his shirt had been ripped to his navel and his bonny face was mottled with bruises and dried blood. The Graham reiver behind him knotted a rope into a noose and slung the loose end over the high branch of a tree. Drake tensed but did not attempt to run. Not that it would have helped. Instead, his gaze darted over the surrounding crowd. No doubt in search of Anice.

Forever her protector.

The reiver draped the loop over Drake’s head and fitted it snugly around his throat. After the long production of preparing Drake to hang, Laird Graham shouted up at the battlements once more. “He isna all ye’ll be sacrificing. We also have yer daughter.”