Anice tugged on the rope and when it held, she climbed onto the stone sill. Grasping the rope, she swung over the edge and held on tight. Her arms strained while she wrapped her legs around the rope and began to shimmy down.

A pounding on her chamber door produced a rash of chill bumps to trail along her arms.

Across the courtyard a man shouted, “Milady!”

A streak of panic shot into her bones as she clambered down the rope.

Couldn’t a lady take a walk in the kitchen gardens—even if she got there by extraordinary means—without causing an uproar in the king’s staff?

The thud of hooves galloped on the grassy earth in her direction. She cursed under her breath. She needed no horseman’s help to descend a rope. Her hands slipped on the coarse hemp and her heartbeat quickened. She was a wee bit out of practice.

“Drop to me! I’ll catch you!” the man’s deep, sexy voice shouted with a distinctive Scottish burr, as he guided his horse beneath her.

She snorted. If she dropped to whoever stood below her, no doubt her skirts would fly up around her ears. “‘Tis nay concern of yours. Move away.” She meant to speak her words harshly, commanding the man to do her bidding at once, but her voice sounded way too soft and overmuch like pleading to her ears.

She glanced down at him, sitting astride his roan destrier. Belted at the waist, a pleated saffron wool tunic rose to mid-thigh, exposing his brawny muscular legs. The narrow tunic sleeves stretched down his arms, widening at the wrist, revealing large hands that clutched his horse’s reins with a fierce grip.

Her gaze drew up his massive chest to his dark brown hair, highlighted with reddish strands hanging loose about his broad shoulders, framing and at the same time softening the harsh angles of his face. He had the kind of manly nose that befit Scottish royalty, a sturdy square chin that tilted up toward the heavens, and the kind of lips women begged to kiss. Not a Norman or a Saxon, but a handsome devil of a Highlander. ‘Twas not his broad shoulders and chest that gave her pause, but his furrowed brow and darkened brown eyes that compelled a longer look.

Her fingers slid again and her heart leapt into her throat. To her surprise the man quickly stood in his stirrups, his hands outstretched ready to catch her.

“Jump, lass, and I shall catch ye.”