Page 26 of Anice’s Bargain

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In the following week, Anice came up with reasons to remain near James’s side. If he was suspicious, he did not indicate as much. Their interactions remained cordial; their conversations often centered on Laird Graham’s improving health, the weather, or the reserve of food being restored at Werrick. At no point did either one of them bring up their impending marriage.

Though Anice suspected it was not any further from his thoughts than it was from hers.

The upcoming wedding was the very reason she had not donned the white and gold gown for the feast that eve. The celebration had been anticipated by all ever since the portcullis of Werrick could once more be opened safely.

Isla, however, had maintained tight control on the mass quantities of food filling the larder. While unpopular, her orders were obeyed. Especially after an older man, who had been giving half his meager rations to his grandson, had died following his first hearty meal.

Over the days following the Graham’s departure, various foods had slowly been added to their diets until Isla deemed it safe for them to consume as they like, which had then resulted in Anice’s father declaring a feast.

She smoothed a hand down the green gown, skimming over the beads she’d sewn carefully onto the costly silk. The beads caught the light and twinkled with each movement. The perfect distraction for how the bones of her hips from the months of rationed food showed against the fabric.

Her hair was left unbound and in soft curls, her cheeks and lips gently rouged to compensate for the naturally rosy glow lost during the siege. The darkened surface of the polished copper mirror reflected a woman still fine-looking even after hardship and starvation.

She touched jasmine water to her neck and wrists and smoothed a bit over Piquette’s head as she bestowed a kiss onto his soft, russet-colored fur. For his part, Piquette looked quite handsome with a smart collar of dark blue silk studded with gemstones. Perhaps a trifle delicate for the dog whose breed had been trained to fell bears, but Piquette appeared to be rather proud of his distinguished appearance.

She opened the door to make her way down to the great hall to discover James waiting in the empty hallway. He stood with his feet spread and his hands clasped in front of an elegant doublet, evidently borrowed, given how his thick wrists jutted out from the sleeves. His shoulder-length brown hair had been bound back from his face with a thong, revealing the definition of his strong jaw beneath a carefully trimmed beard. He smiled sheepishly at her, an endearing expression on such a large and intimidating man.

He gave an apologetic shrug. “Ella insisted I wear this for the feast.”

“You look very fine.” Anice replied. And truly, he did.

James’s eyes ran over her and his brow furrowed. The bolster of confidence she’d gotten from the sparkling gown immediately fled, replaced by uncertainty.

Did he not care for the dress? Or possibly the way she’d styled her hair? She patted at her tresses to smooth away any strands that might have strayed out of place.

He smiled and it set her at ease. Until he spoke. “I see ye’ve put Piquette in a bonny collar.”

Piquette’s ears perked up at his name and the crinkles on his forehead deepened. Anice rubbed a hand over Piquette’s head, careful to not muss his brushed hair, and was rewarded with a stare of adoration. “I thought he ought to dress for the occasion.” She paused and added with some significance. “It seemed only fair since we all have taken such pains to prepare.”

James held his arm out to her as a courtier might do, entirely oblivious to her implication. She had spent the most considerable time of them all to ready, and he had not said a single word about how she looked.

Anice suppressed a sigh, slid her hand into the crook of his warm arm and allowed him to lead her to the great hall. The lilt of music in the distance grew louder as they approached, along with the most heavenly aroma of all the foods they hadn’t eaten in months: roasted vegetables and gravy-laden meats and buttery rolls. A true feast.

Anice’s mouth watered with the memory of such tastes. Every step led her closer, and her heart pounded so loudly with anticipation she could scarcely hear anything else. Her sisters already sat upon the dais with their father, and beside him was Laird Graham, engaged in lively conversation with Isla, his face glowing with good health.

James led her to the table, and both took their seats to discover a goblet of fine wine waiting for them and a massive trencher of food. The earl gave a speech, short and nearly unheard by the salivating masses who merely waited for the opportunity to indulge.

And once they were eating, the only sound to be heard was that of the musicians. Though Anice was no longer starving, her hands still shook as she brought the flavorful food to her lips. She drank deep from her wine and asked for another helping from the servant with the flagon, and then another still. All too soon, she discovered herself full and her spirits uplifted with the cheerful music. Most important of all though was the company of her family nearby, happy and safe.

“Are ye still hungry?” James indicated her empty plate.

Anice hesitated to answer. While her tongue craved the taste of more, she was far too full. James lifted the silver tongs left behind by the servant and raised his brows in silent question. As though he meant to serve her.

She put her hand to her stomach and shook her head. “I fear I’ve already eaten too much.”

“So then I should wait to ask ye to dance with me?” He grinned. “Or should I simply walk over to the musicians and wait for ye to follow me?”

She stilled at his words and immediately drank a sip of wine to cover the reaction. Had his question been intentionally specific?

“Ye have been following me, haven’t ye?” he asked, this time undeniably blunt.

Mayhap she ought to be indignant, but he’d said it with such a pleasant tone, and the wine had left her relaxed and joyful. “Whatever do you mean?” She widened her eyes in feigned ignorance.

He laughed and lifted his empty goblet for the servant to fill from the flagon. It would appear she was not the only one who had over-imbibed. “Ye dinna have to lie about it, Anice.” He winked at her, as if they shared a secret. “I know.”

“What is it you think you know?” She sipped her own wine and let the rich liquid sit on her tongue before swallowing.