Bride of the Isle (14 page)

“Sir Gerard,” she said. ’Twas neither greeting nor pleasantry. She merely stated his name to somehow fortify herself.

Gerard did naught but stand in her path, folding his arms across his chest, presenting a daunting obstacle. “’Tis a fairer place than your precious Scotland, is it not?”

“Aye, Bitterlee is more than fair, Sir Gerard,” she said, raising her chin defiantly. She would not be cowed by his belligerent attitude.

“My nephew is in town,” he said, “working to clear away the debris from the storm.”

“’Tis good of him,” Cristiane replied, stepping away.

“And he enjoys the company—nay, the homage—of the townswomen,” Gerard continued. “Especially that of Sara Cole. A lovely
English
woman.”

Cristiane’s step faltered for an instant, but she proceeded on her path, drawing Meg
along with her. What did it matter to her whether Adam was in town with a thousand adoring women? He was lord of Bitterlee. ’Twas his domain, and there was no doubt in Cristiane’s mind that the people loved him.

But she could not help but wonder whether Sara Cole’s feelings for Adam were more meaningful, as Gerard had implied.

She and Meg walked up the path toward the waterfall, and Cristiane put her troubling thoughts from her mind. She’d dwelt enough on the circumstances of her parents’ marriage, and did not care to spoil the morn with thoughts of Adam with Sara Cole.

The sun was high when they reached the waterfall, and they climbed down the rocky slope to get to the base. Meg gave a happy cry and ran to the falling sheet of water, anxious to thrust her hands into it.

Cristiane was struck by the sharp contrast in the child’s behavior from yesterday.

“Come on,” she said with a laugh, following Meg to the back of the falls. “Let’s take our shoes off before they get soaked.”

They did so, then spent the better part of an hour walking over the flat rocks at the base, thrusting their feet into the falls, then into the pool.

“I don’t suppose you can swim?”

Meg looked up at her with wonder. “Nay,” she said.

“Then ’tis high time you tried it.”

A
dam learned that his daughter and Lady
Cristiane had left the keep more than an hour before. He gave his horse over to a groom, then headed out on the footpath toward the place where he knew they’d go.

It did not take long to reach the notch between the two trees, where he could see down to the waterfall.

The heavy fall of the water blocked the sound of any voices, but Adam was certain they would be here. He settled himself into the perch where he could look down and see them, and was startled to realize they were both in the pool. He had barely reacted to the sight of Margaret,
swimming,
when Cristiane lifted her out, then climbed out of the water herself.

They were both naked. Laughing.

Adam watched, transfixed, as Cristiane squeezed the water from Margaret’s hair, then raised her arms to do the same to her own. Her body gleamed white in the bright sunlight, her breasts full and high, her waist narrow, flaring to smooth, feminine hips.

Her legs were shaped as he remembered them, longer than they seemed under her long skirts, strong and well formed.

The sight of his daughter,
with her too-thin child’s body, laughing and dancing circles around Cristiane, was nearly overpowering. Cristiane’s smile was bright and engaging. She truly delighted in Margaret’s antics.

Adam felt as if his ribs expanded beyond their bounds, then snapped back too tightly. He forced himself to turn away, even though the sight of Cristiane’s lush body lured him, tortured him. He would not allow himself to intrude upon this moment of privacy, even though every drop of his overheated blood urged him to do so.

Steadying himself, he decided to remain in place until they left the waterfall, or at the very least, until they clothed themselves. At that point, perhaps he would join them at the base of the falls.

Cristiane finished lacing Meg’s gown and bade her to sit in the warm sunshine, on an outcropping of rock, away from the mist of the falls. It felt good to be sitting here with Meg, to be not quite so alone anymore. If only Adam…Nay, she would not even begin to think it.

“You’ve a natural talent for swimming, Meggie my sweet,” she said as she sat next to the child. She picked up some of Meg’s pale blond hair and began to fashion it into tiny plaits. “You float upon your back as well as those wee ducklings in your garden pond.”

“Ducklings!” Meg cried, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Ach, aye,” Cristiane replied. “We’ll feed them later. They won’t starve yet.”

“Now!”

“Nay, my wee one,” Cristiane said with a laugh. “We’ll sit here in the sun for a bit, then return to the castle so that no one will worry over our absence.”

Adam would not miss them, since he was occupied in town, but Cristiane did not want to make an enemy of Mathilde. She knew
she was treading on thin ice with the woman.

But ’twas so peaceful here at the falls that Cristiane could not face returning just yet. She made herself comfortable next to Meg and took in her surroundings. Birds chirped high in the trees above them. Squirrels chattered, and the small red fox that Cristiane had seen before skittered down the rocks to drink from the pool.

“Do you see it?” she asked Meg. “The little fox?”

Meg nodded.

“Stay very still and mayhap it will come closer.”

The fox finished its drink and looked up. It caught sight of Cristiane and Margaret, and stood perfectly still. After a few moments, it stepped closer, and then closer still.

Margaret and Cristiane did not move or speak, but there was a look of pure rapture on the child’s face.

Curious, the fox moved closer.

Suddenly, it turned and ran, scrambling up the opposite side of the rocky fissure.

Cristiane laughed aloud, and Meg joined her. “Tomorrow, we will have to bring some tasty little tidbit for Sir Fox,” she said.

“Tomorrow?”

“Aye, if you like.”

“And the ducklings?” Meg asked, astonishing Cristiane by stringing her words together.

Cristiane laughed and gathered the girl into her arms for a hug. “Aye, the ducklings, too,” she said, stroking her hair.

A sound from above startled them, and Cristiane looked up to see what caused it.

Adam was working his way down the rocky face toward them. Cristiane tried to calm her racing heart as she watched
his approach, reminding herself that ’twas his daughter he was after.

He certainly had not come to see the Scottish outcast he’d brought to Bitterlee, in her shabby brown kirtle. She reached self-consciously to her hair, all tangled up across her shoulders and down her back, and wished there was some way to hide the awful mess.

“Papa!” Meg said quietly. Adam would not be able to hear her, but he would be able to see the expression of delight in her eyes.

The warmth of Adam’s smile made Cristiane think her heart would melt.

He reached their rock and sat down, keeping Meg between them. Cristiane reminded herself that she was merely a visitor here. ’Twas true that she’d had some creditable effect on Margaret, but ’twas no hardship to do as Adam had asked, and spend time with the lass. In truth, over the past few days, she’d come to love wee Meg, every bit as much as she loved the child’s father.

Lady Cristiane stood abruptly and walked away from the place where they’d all been sitting only a moment before. Adam did not know what was wrong, only that tension coiled throughout her body.

Her hair cascaded down her back in spectacular red-gold waves, the wispy ends brushing the base of her spine. Adam could not keep himself from envisioning the naked woman cavorting on these rocks, taking joy in the moments spent with his daughter.

She turned suddenly, but kept some distance between them. “Have you decided when I shall leave for York, my lord?” she asked. There was a breathlessness and an urgency to her question, and
Adam wondered what had prompted it.

Surely naught untoward had occurred today to make her want to leave Bitterlee. She seemed to truly enjoy Margaret’s company, and Adam would put no limit upon their time together.

Gerard had been in town all through the morn, making a nuisance of himself while everyone else worked, so he could not be blamed. Adam doubted the servants would have been bold enough to insult her openly, either.

He wondered if Cristiane was anxious to go to York in order to question her uncle about the events leading to her mother’s banishment from home. He supposed that was as good a reason as any, especially after the sketchy story that Penyngton had told her.

“Cris-ty?” Margaret asked, tugging on his tunic. A serious frown creased her forehead.

Adam looked down at his daughter and smiled at her shortened name for Cristiane. “Aye,” he said. “Cristy.”

“Papa,” she said with agitation. “Cris-ty is…going?”

Margaret’s speech startled him, and he gazed at her without responding. Then he looked back at Cristiane. “Mayhap we can find a reason to keep her here a while longer,” he finally said.

Cristiane, her hands clasped before her, approached. “Another day, m’lord,” she snapped. “But then I must prevail upon you to provide m-me an escort. There is no further reason for me to remain on Bitterlee. I’ve d-done what you’ve asked…” she tipped her head toward Margaret without speaking of the favor he’d asked of her. “But now—” she breathed deeply “—I must take my leave.”

Adam took Margaret’s hand and stood. Together they approached Cristiane’s tense, but unwavering form.

He was not ready to let her
go.

“There is much more to Bitterlee than the paltry bit you’ve seen, my lady,” he said quietly. “The isle is particularly fine in spring, and anyone can see that you enjoy our little island. Please…consider remaining with us a few more days.”

“Stay,” Margaret added, and Adam silently thanked the little girl for her additional plea. He was certain Cristiane would not refuse her.

Yet he could see that she was torn between staying and wanting to go. He had not realized how important it was for her to meet her Yorkish relations.

“All right,” she said, as if she believed she was making the worst mistake of her life, “I’ll stay. But only for a few more—”

“Swim to-morrow,” said Margaret, her odd, choppy speech still surprising him.

“Aye, if the weather’s good…” Cristiane conceded.

“Mayhap I’ll join you,” Adam said, wondering what her reaction would be.

“Nay!” Cristiane’s face suffused with color.

Adam carefully schooled his own into a perplexed expression. “’Twould be my very great pleasure to join you,” he said, meaning every word. He could only imagine the pleasure he would have in that pool, naked with Cristiane Mac Dhiubh. “I would enjoy seeing my daughter swim.”

“’T-tis…a time for ladies only,” she stammered, though she attempted an assertive tone.

Adam decided not to toy with her now. But he
would
return on the morrow, and stand guard while his ladies cavorted unclothed, here on the rocks.

Adam and Margaret fed the ducklings that afternoon without Cristiane. Wee Meg’s eyes had pleaded with her to accompany them, but Adam had said naught. Cristiane knew she would not be at Bitterlee for much longer. ’Twould
not do for Meg to become too dependent upon her.

The best thing was for Adam to take up what Cristiane had inadvertently begun, and he obviously knew it. So instead of going along and enjoying the fine day, and the company of Adam and Meg, Cristiane spent the afternoon alone in her chamber.

Besides, she could not bear to spend another hour with them, not now…not when her feelings were so fresh, so raw.

She realized that she’d been falling in love with Adam Sutton from the moment he’d taken her arm in St. Oln amidst the hostile people of her village. He had not judged her harshly, despite her Scots blood, regardless of the losses he’d suffered because of her people. He had kept her safe on the journey to Bitterlee, had been kind to her, treating her with deference, entrusting her with his daughter.

He’d been naught but chivalrous and noble since the moment they’d met. How could she help but love him?

While Adam and Meg went to the kitchen for a loaf of bread, Cristiane entered the keep alone. She had promised to stay longer on Bitterlee, but she knew it could not be for too many more days. ’Twould only hurt the worse when she finally left.

Cristiane hurried across the length of the hall, hoping not to meet anyone, but Gerard stood near the steps, blocking her way. She stopped short when she saw him.

“In a hurry,
my lady?
” he sneered.

Cristiane started to move
past him, but he grabbed her arm.

“Come, come,” he said, pulling her toward the table, “and join me in a cup.”

“Nay,” Cristiane replied, trying to tug her arm away. “I must respectfully decline, Sir Gerard. I have sewing to—”

“Your stitchery will wait,” he said, his thick brows coming together in a daunting frown. “Is it not possible for a Scotswoman to show any courtesy or
respect
at all?”

Cristiane shook her head and freed her arm. “Your pardon, Sir Gerard,” she said, containing her anger, “but I…” She swallowed hard. All she wanted was to get away without any harsh words exchanged. “I must go.”

He gave a low laugh. “Ah, now I see what my nephew sees in you,” he said. “Fire enough in those eyes to entice him to your bed, yet—”

Shocked by his words, Cristiane nearly slapped him. Instead, she spun away and darted up the stairs, loath to hear any more of his degrading talk.

“He may bed you,” Gerard called after her, “but he’ll never wed a savage like you!”

She stopped stock-still on the stair for an instant, cut to the core by Gerard’s caustic laugh. Then she clambered up the stairs as quickly as she could, but did not escape before his parting words slammed into her heart.

“’Tis fortunate he did not promise your mother he would take you to wife,” Gerard bellowed. “He only said he’d bring you here and
then
decide if you were suitable.”

’Twas nearly suppertime when Adam arrived in Charles Penyngton’s bedchamber, to find Sara Cole attending him. She
was simply dressed, as usual, in a well-made kirtle of good cloth. Her neatly combed hair was only partially visible beneath a modest veil.

The room felt overly warm due to the fire in the grate, but Charles needed the extra heat. His visitors made do.

“Margaret speaks now,” Adam said as he paced the length of the chamber. He felt entirely at ease with Charles and Sara. And though he did not officially recognize her as his sibling, they had become close over the last few years.

“That’s wonderful news, my lord,” Sara said, handing a cup of steaming brew to Charles. “What happened? Did Mathilde…Oh! Your Scottish lady!”

“’Tis amazing, the effect Cristiane has had on her,” Adam said. “My daughter actually
talked
to me about ducklings, and a red fox that she saw near the waterfall. And swimming…Cristiane is teaching her to
swim!
”

“And you question whether or not to make her your wife,” Penyngton said, choking on the healing decoction. The seneschal shook his head. “You must know, my lord, that any relation of mine would be a worthy—”

“Charles, ’tis not a question of her worthiness.” Adam stabbed his fingers through his windblown hair. “She is as worthy as any woman I’ve known—honest and caring, and she loves the isle.”

“But…?”

“
But
…she is so confounded Scottish!” he said. “And…”
Untutored, unrefined, untidy
were the words that came to mind, but he did not voice them. They were unkind, and ’twas not Cristiane’s fault she’d been born to a humble Scottish nobleman.

Adam resumed pacing, and no one spoke. Charles continued sipping from his mug, and Sara remained in her chair next to the bed. The occasional crackle of fire was the only sound as Adam
traversed the chamber twice.

“One minute her burr is as thick as mud, but the next, she sounds exactly like the granddaughter of an earl,” he said. “She looks the part of a barbarian from the north…” Although now that she had a decent gown to wear, and combs for her hair, he had to admit she did not look nearly as wild as she had merely a week ago.