Winning the Highlander's Heart (35 page)

Malcolm smiled at Anice, loving the way she twisted her hands together, the way her cheeks colored beautifully even beneath a coat of dust.  He had no plan to stand outside her chambers while his bonny bride bathed.  In fact, he had every intention of washing the grime off her soft skin himself.

When they reached the second floor, five ladies hurried into Anice’s chamber, carrying buckets of cold water while others waited for water to be warmed over the kitchen fire on the first floor of the keep.

Anice took a deep satisfying breath, most likely thankful to God she was no longer in the king’s guest chambers within his reach.  She turned her attention to the pale blue curtains left open to allow the cool air from the narrow windows to refresh the blue bedding.  She glanced at him when he shifted his gaze back from the bed to her.  Her cheeks grew red.  ‘Twas not the same to make love to him in the wide-open spaces, as contemplating such a thing in her verra own bed with all her staff knowing, he imagined.

The women glanced at Malcolm, seemingly not sure what to do with the lady now that she was a married woman, which made him believe none of the lasses were married.  Finally the striking redheaded Nola said, “Did you wish us to undress ye, milady?”

“Aye.  Laird MacNeill will leave the chambers.”

He crossed his arms, spreading his legs farther apart as if bracing himself for battle and to show he was here to stay.  ‘Twas not the same as it had been at Arundel when he’d had to leave Anice in the chambers alone at Mae’s insistence.  He had no intention of granting Anice’s wish.

“He is no’ doing as you say, milady,” Nola said, her voice terse, her look at Malcolm, piercing.

“He will.”  Anice sat down on a cushioned bench and the ladies began to remove her shoes, hose, veils, and wimple.

Malcolm sat on her bed, the ropes holding the mattress groaned slightly.  “You may remove my shoes and hose also.”

The ladies’ eyes grew big.

Anice smiled.  “If he doesna do a good job as steward, he can be our court jester.”

The ladies smiled, but none dared to laugh.

Malcolm grinned, not one to take offense at Anice’s jabs.  “Hurry, ladies, I am waiting for more of my wife’s garments to come off.”

The ladies giggled, all but Nola.  She took a hard stance.  “Are ye truly husband and wife, milady?  Ye are no’ pretending to protect yourself from Baron Fontenot’s men?”

Anice took a deep breath.  “Aye, we are truly wed.”

Nola glanced at Malcolm, her look concerned.  Had she worried her hostilities toward him would cause her trouble now that she knew he was the laird of the manor?

“Ye married at Arundel?” Nola asked Anice, her voice confused.

“Nay, on the way here.”

The ladies began to unbraid Anice’s hair.

“But…did King Henry approve?” Nola persisted.

Anice patted Nola’s hand and said to Malcolm, “She is my half-cousin, milaird, and overmuch concerned for me.”

Malcolm noted the resemblance, the green eyes, bright and sensual, the full, naturally red lips, and the red in their hair, though Anice’s was like shafts of satiny gold light tinged red, whereas Nola’s was red with highlights of spun gold.

“Aye, ye are drowning in the loch of troubles, milady, and if Mai is no’ here to watch over ye like a mother hen, ‘twill be my responsibility.”  Nola’s eyes darted back to Malcolm.

She had the same fierce determination to protect her mistress like Mai did, but the lady appeared to be more Anice’s age.  Mayhap, a year or two older.

“You need not worry, Nola.  All will be well once we prove Laird Fontenot is the criminal we are sure he is.  What has happened to the widow Lady Thompson?”

“She returned to her brother in Fife with her three young bairns.”

Anice stared at the floor for a moment, then nodded.  “’Tis a shame, but understandable.  What about Laird MacKnight’s wife?”

The ladies remained silent.

Anice frowned and stood.  “What has happened?”

“She died, milady,” Nola said, her face grief stricken.

Anice swallowed hard and Malcolm rose from the bed, worried Anice would faint.  “When?”

One of the ladies wrung her hands.  “The night Laird MacKnight vanished, milady.  Everyone was so concerned your staff had disappeared, no one noticed the lady had failed to appear at evening meal.”

Anice sat hard on the bench.  “How had she died?”  Her voice was hollow.

“’Twas like your uncle, milady.  We found her sleeping in the chamber already, only she was not sleeping,” Nola said.

“It had to be poison.”  Anice looked up at Malcolm, hovering over her.

“Are you going to be all right, Anice?” he asked, rubbing her arm.

“Aye, thank you,  but you ken, you are supposed to call me Agnes.”

He took her hand and kissed it.  “It will take a bit of getting used to.”

She turned to her ladies.  “What of Laird Iverson’s mistress?”

“Went home to her father.”

Anice rose and raised her hands so they could remove her dusty bliaut.  “What is being said about Laird Thompson’s murder?”

Nola cleared her throat.  “Laird MacKnight did it, as much as the two hated each other.”

“Aye.  And there has been nay sign of either he or Laird Iverson?”

“Nay, milady.”

The door banged against the wall.  Malcolm unsheathed his sword.  The woman who burst into the room screamed at the sight of him, half of her dark brown tresses loose from her plaited hair, her brown eyes wide with fright.

“Oh, milady,” she said with her hand to her breast.  “Tell me ‘tis no’ true.”

“Morrigan,” Anice said, giving her a hug.  “If ye are asking if I am wed to his lairdship,” she motioned to Malcolm and continued, “aye ‘tis true.”

Morrigan stared at Malcolm for a minute, then looked back at Anice.  “But Baron Fontenot has told us he will wed ye.”

“Nay.”

Malcolm resheathed his sword and removed his belt, hoping to stir the ladies to work faster on Anice’s clothes.  The ladies waited for Anice to tell them what to do next when she stood in her translucent shift.

Her tone firm, Anice said, “Laird MacNeill, you cannot stay.”

“The ladies will have to get used to us being man and wife.”  Though he suspected it would be easier for them to get used to it than Anice.  He pulled off his tunic and smiled as the ladies considered his bare chest.

“You are supposed to be investigating—”

“I am supposed to protect ye, too.  We will investigate later, after we have had our bath, evening meal, and a good long rest.”

She folded her arms.

He yanked off a shoe, then the other.  “Ladies, you may leave now.  I will help your ladyship take her bath.”

The ladies didn’t move an inch and looked to Anice to see her response.

“Laird MacNeill...,” Anice said, her tone more pleading.

He took her shoulders in his hands and kissed her mouth with pent-up passion, trying to ignore Nola and Morrigan’s gasps and the other ladies’ giggles.  Anice closed her eyes and tangled her fingers in his hair, grabbing handfuls and holding on with dear life. 
‘Twas what he’d wanted to do
for many a mile.  The lady was now his and he would not have her say otherwise.  She leaned against his chest, bracing her soft body against his arousal and moaned softly when he nibbled on her ear.  ‘Twas only the beginning.

When he released her, he smiled to see her cheeks beautifully colored.

Flustered, Anice motioned to her ladies to leave.

“Remember,” Malcolm said, “she is my wife and lady-in-waiting to Lady Anice.  Spread the word to all you can for her safety sake.”

Nola frowned at him, then quit the room, while Morrigan gave him one more long look before she exited behind her.

“Aye, milaird,” one of the older ladies said, humor reflecting in her voice, then she hurried out of the chamber, shutting the door behind them.

“You ken, milaird, they are my ladies to dismiss, no’ yours.”

“Aye, but if you do not have them do as I want, I will.”

She crossed her arms.  “And what exactly do you want?”

He grinned at her and unfolded her arms.  “Ye, milady.  Every bit of ye.” 

Malcolm lifted Anice’s chemise shift and dropped it on the bench, then grabbed her, and set her in the bath, splashing water on the floor.  He admired Anice’s creamy skin and soft curves, a patch of golden curls at the joining of her thighs, her rosy nipples already peaked and ready for his touch.  And he, like a randy lad, was ready to take the lady, dust covered or no’.

“What have you in mind, Malcolm?” Anice asked, her lips and eyes smiling, her gaze shifting from his to his shaft pressing hard at his trewes, throbbing with need.

 “Bathing with ye, though it might be a wee bit tight.  I will order a larger tub made on the morrow.”

 “And embarrass me?”

 He yanked off his hose and dropped his trewes, then climbed into the tub behind her, and slid his legs on either side of hers.  The feel of her soft thighs resting against his muscular ones, heated his blood.  She leaned against his steel hard shaft, and he stifled a groan.  “When you’re swelling with child, you will need a bigger tub.”

Chuckling, she shook her head.  “Nay, I would no’.”

He pulled her long hair aside and kissed her cheek.

“I cannot help worrying that if His Grace disapproves of our having married—”

“You worry more than even my brother, Angus, does.”

She smiled.  “No’ that much.”

He grabbed two cloths and a bar of soap left on a table beside the tub.  Lifting the soap to his nose, he sniffed the aromatic herbs, attempting to get his mind off what he wished to do with Anice next—lift her onto his lap and bury himself deep inside her.  “I have never seen a solid bar of soap, only the soft soap made of mutton fat, wood ash, and natural soda.  What is this made of, lass?”  He handed her a cloth, then pulled her hair aside and ran the other wet one over her back.

“’Tis a gift from my cousin, Her Grace, from a knight who traveled to Spain.  ‘Tis made of olive oil, soda, and a little lime.  Some sweet smelling herbs were added, but I know not what.  Does it please ye?”

He wetted it and ran it over her back.  “Aye, lass, it smells fine.  But ‘tis you sitting between my legs, that smells even better.”

“Shush, Malcolm.  You shouldna speak like that.”

He gave a short bark of laughter.

“You gave me a nice back rub before.  I shall give you one this eve in return.”

The thought of her bent over him, her skin brushing against his, her tender strokes, sent a thrill straight to his loin.  “Seems we willna be having the archery competition after all.  Mayhap we will have to come up with another challenge.  Think ye love me, Anice?”  He knew she did, but he wanted her to say it repeatedly, to assure him it was so.  ‘Twas fate she should escape from the Arundel chamber and slip into his hands, then fall in love with him.

She ran the wet cloth over his knee and down his leg.  ‘Twas not the warm water heating his flesh, but the way her hands touched him with a gentle caress.  Never had he delighted so in bathing.  “Aye, Malcolm.  I love ye because you keep me safe.”