Winning the Highlander's Heart (21 page)

Anice held her breath, but the knight never looked to see whose horse whinnied.  Fear snaked down her spine when she considered the men might back Robert’s rebellion.

Once the man entered the house, Malcolm waved for the party to continue.  Her heart dropped when Kemp jumped off Angus’s horse and ran to the farmhouse before any could stop him.  Standing on tiptoes, he listened at a window, shuttered to keep out the wind and coming rain.  Then he dashed for the tethered horses and gathered their reins.

Angus rode to the boy, helped him onto the horse, then the party rode north.

“I hope you are no’ planning on stealing the knights’ horses,” Angus said.

“I thought we would give them more exercise, then let them go.”

“Who were the men?” Anice asked.  “They might be on their way to aid King Henry.”

 “They asked if the farmer had seen two ladies and four gentlemen pass with a wagon.”

Anice took a deep breath.  “The baron’s men and they must not know about the massacre of their mercenaries.”

“But now if they try to follow, they will have a nice long walk.”  Kemp smiled at her.

She laughed.  “I knew you would make a good addition to our party.”

“This means we cannot stop until we are a good distance from the farmhouse,” Malcolm said, “but I doubt the weather will cooperate for verra much longer.”

They rode another hour before the raindrops began in such a downpour that the road turned into a slippery, sliding torrent of mud.

The constant rain finally seeped through to Anice’s skin.  Though she felt frozen to the bone, she was more concerned with her horse’s footing when the water rushed down the hill, nearly sweeping them away.  Already she had lost sight of Dougald who had maintained his scouting post some distance ahead.  She glanced back into the driving rain to see Angus no longer with them.  Her heart thundered with concern for Malcolm’s brothers and the boy.

“Malcolm!” she screamed over the wind and rain to get his attention.  “We have lost Angus and the boy.”

He reached over and grasped her reins.  “Aye...I do not want to lose you, too.”

But as he spoke, his horse stumbled, and he lost his connection to her.

“Malcolm!”

Malcolm’s heart wrenched when he lost hold of Anice’s reins.  The river of water swept him and his horse away.  In the blinding rain, he could see no sign of her, nor could he make out the elevation of the land.  “Anice!” he shouted repeatedly, attempting at the same time to move to higher ground.  But with the land turning to knee-high muck no way that he turned seemed less treacherous.  With low visibility and wind-driven rain, he couldn’t see or hear any sign of her when he attempted to get his bearings.  “Anice!”

He shook with cold, and he doubted they could stay out in this weather for long without dying from the chill.

Attempting to retrace his steps, he shouted until his voice grew hoarse.  Then a sheet of lightening illuminated the area shrouded in a ghostly gray mist.  He spied a shadow of something solid against the skyline beyond the curtain of rain.  A dwelling?  It had to be.  His spirits lifted, hoping Anice and his brothers had found it, too.  He inched his way through the storm while lightening forked a wicked streak into the ground a mile away.  A crack of thunder followed, adding to the noise of the deafening wind and downpour.

After what seemed like hours, he drew close to the byre of the house and hurried his horse inside.  Disheartened, he found neither Anice nor his brothers’ horses inside.

He pushed the door open to the house from the attached byre, and called out, “How now?  Is anybody here?”  No one answered in the darkness of the croft.

He searched for the hearth and finding it, discovered deadwood ready to burn.  After several tries, he lighted a fire and trembled so hard he could barely stand.  Intending to build a fire and provide a beacon in the storm, he then planned to scour the area for Anice again.

After managing the beginning of a fire, a noise in the byre cut his efforts short.  He grabbed his sword and rushed through the doorway.  The sight of Anice huddled on her horse, filled him with joy, but she shivered so hard he feared she wouldn’t make it.  “Anice!”

“S—so, c—c—cold,” she said when he pulled her from her horse.

He lifted her in his arms, his own skin icy still and further chilled by the touch of her wet clothes.  He hurried her into the room where the fire began to catch and the flames grew higher.

“I have to remove your clothes,” he said firmly, expecting her to argue.

“A—aye,” she said, raising her hands to unfasten her wimple and veil.  “Wh—where are y—your brothers and the—the lad?”

“There was nay sign of anyone here.”  Gladdened she wouldn’t fight him on this issue, he helped her to sit, then removed her shoes, but he didn’t want to think about his brothers.  Though he assumed as battle hardened as they were, they’d make it.  And Kemp was a sturdy lad, who’d had to endure a hard life, no doubt.  Anice was the one who worried him most.  Reaching under her skirt, he grasped her wet hose, unfastened the garter, and pulled one down, then the other.  Her skin was ice and her whole body shook so hard, her teeth rattled, but she stared blankly at his chest and said nothing more.

“Anice, talk to me while I help you out of your clothes.”  He worried she was going to die on him, like men on the battlefield who’d grown too cold to utter a word.  Their skin would be as frosty, and if they weren’t warmed up fast enough, they’d slip away into a sleep and never wake.  His heart pounded while he attempted to help her as quickly as he could.  Even now, her lips were blue and her skin colorless.

He helped her to stand, then pulled her arms from the monk’s robe.  He peeled off her drenched bliaut next, his own fingers numb and struggling with the effort.  “Anice, are you feeling a warmer?”  He had to get her to respond.  If she fell asleep now, she might never wake. 

“C—c—cold.”

“Aye, that you are, lass.”  He dropped her bliaut on the floor, then grabbed the shift that clung to her body like a translucent, second skin.  Nothing was left to the imagination, as her extended pink nipples poked against the wet fabric, and the triangular patch of golden red curls at the apex of her thighs caught his eye.  Yet, his only concern was removing the icy garments, then getting her tucked into blankets and onto a straw bed.  He yanked the shift off, then pulled his own monk’s robe and tunic off.  Though his skin was wet, he held her close for a moment, trying to warm her body with his own, his arms rubbing hers vigorously.

“Y—you are sh—sh—shivering, too,” she bit out between shudders.

“Aye, lass, we took a wee bit of a chill.”  As much as he didn’t want to stop holding her tight, their bodies warming each other, he had to find something dry to wrap around them.  He helped her to sit down before the fire. “Rub your arms and legs.  I will find blankets.”

Much relieved, he found three woolen blankets and straw tucked away in a corner of the house, stored there until it was needed for nighttime.  After grabbing the blankets, he hurried back to Anice who clutched her legs with her arms and lay her head on her knees, her face turned toward the fire.  He wrapped all three of the blankets around her and rubbed her back and arms.  “Anice, speak to me.  Are you getting warmer?”

She lay down on the floor and closed her eyes.

His heart plummeted when he thought he might lose her.  “I will make us a straw bed.”  He stalked across the room to retrieve the straw.  “Anice, lass, talk to me.”  He had to keep her awake until he warmed her enough.  With haste, he seized an armload of straw and hauled it back to the fire, hoping that between the blankets, fire and him, he could revive her.

After grabbing the remaining straw, he fashioned a bed out of it, then yanked off his wet trewes.  “Anice, lass, tell me what you are feeling.  Can you feel your fingers?  Toes?”  She didn’t respond, her eyes still shut tight.  Not good.  He removed one of her blankets and laid it on the straw.  Then he lifted her off the bare wooden floor and rested her on the bed.  She shivered violently, though it wasn’t a good sign, he preferred it to her being deathly still.  Though he desired more than anything to join her and warm her body with his own, he piled more wood on the fire to keep it going while the storm raged outside.  The wind swept through the walls and shuttered windows, howling like a wounded animal while intermittent flashes of light poked through the cracks and thunder followed.

S
atisfied the fire would last a while, he laid out their clothes to dry the best he could, and climbed under the blankets, pulling her into his arms.

He rubbed her back, trying to get her warmed, though his hands were as cold as her silky skin.  “Anice, talk to me,” he whispered against her cheek.

She murmured something inaudible.

“Anice.”  He lay her on her back and covered her with his body.  “Do not leave me now, lass.  I cannot pursue you if you are gone.”  Though he said it half in jest to force any reaction, he couldn’t help feeling he was losing the lass.  No matter what, he couldn’t.  Not the way he had felt about her from the moment she slid down the rope from the tower keep at Arundel to now.  She was his to protect always.
 

She mumbled incoherently again.

“Speak to me, lass.”  He nuzzled his face against hers, fighting the reaction his body had as he lay on top of her.  ‘Twas not chivalrous.  Yet, how could he not feel something for her, as wonderful as she felt beneath him?
 
Her lack of response sent another trickle of dread down his spine.

For what seemed an eternity, he held her close, rubbing her arms to warm her and speaking to her with encouraging words.  Her shivers lessened, and her temperature seemed to rise, but she was still incoherent whenever muffled words escaped her lips.  Though he couldn’t help but notice her soft body beneath his, nor the curve of her breasts against his chest, nor the way his staff hardened against her stomach with an ache he couldn’t fulfill, he attempted to keep his mind on ensuring she lived.  ‘Twas all that mattered for now.

He realized he’d truly fallen for the lass, from the moment he’d first seen her at Arundel.  No matter the wager he lost, his brothers were right, he wanted her for his own.  Not because she had property and money, but because she was Anice, a woman who inspired, amused, and pleased him and when he least expected it, tantalized him with her quick-witted, tongue-lashing swordplay.  Yet, he still didn’t know what had become of her fourth betrothed husband.  Was the lass truly cursed?

When the fire grew low, he left the warmth of their makeshift bed and threw some more timber on the hearth.

Anice stirred and mumbled some more nonsensical words.

Her words tugged at his heart.  He had to ensure she made it through this.  He quickly returned to the bed, and she moaned when he lifted the blanket to climb back in with her.  “Anice, lass, you have to be all right.  Kemp counts on you to make him a groom and a Highland warrior.  And you have me who wants to wive ye.  No one else but ye.  Please believe me.”

The cold had taken its toll on him, too.  Exhausted, he slept with his arms wrapped securely around her, her back fitting against his chest as she drew her legs up, sitting against his thighs while he attempted to keep her as warm as physically possible.

Later, men’s voices stirred him from his ragged sleep.  He lay muddle-headed trying to discern what he’d heard.  Was it his brothers?  They spoke again.  He quickly sat up.  ‘Twas not his brothers’ voices.

Chapter Nine

Malcolm covered Anice’s face with the blanket, then grabbed his damp trewes and shoved them on when four men stepped out of the byre into the house.

They appeared to be knights, bearded, wet, and bedraggled.  The situation couldn’t be worse.  “How now,” Malcolm said in greeting, but edged in the direction of his sword.