Bride of the Isle

by Maguire, Margo

  “Come in, my lady,” he said.

  “Lady Cristiane,” Penyngton said from his bed, “’tis good of you to come.”

  “Thank you for inviting me,” she replied as she walked toward him. Adam was taken with her grace and poise. He’d seen hints of these qualities before now, of course. But she’d always seemed more Scottish than English.

  That had changed.

  “Be seated, my dear,” Penyngton said. “I would visit a bit before the meal is served.”

  “Thank you, Sir Charles.” She sat near the bed, dismissing Adam completely from her awareness. “I’m anxious to hear what you knew of my mother. When she spoke of her home in York, ’twas always with sadness. All I know is that she was banished to St. Oln, disowned by her father.”

  Penyngton shook his head. “’Twas a harsh punishment,” he said. “Though no one, not even your grandmother, challenged it.”

  “What happened?”

  Penyngton coughed into a clean cloth. “Let us save that story until after we’ve dined,” he said when he’d recovered. Adam recognized Charles’s delaying tactics and knew that, for some reason, he did not wish to speak of Elizabeth of York now.

  “How do you fare, Sir Charles?” Cristiane asked. Her sense of protocol and courtesy was flawless. Adam could almost believe she’d been tutored in the most cultured house in England.

  He sat back in his chair and observed her graceful movements as she conversed with Penyngton, pouring him a mug of water, standing to assist him in adjusting a pillow. He heard her musical voice, with barely a hint of the Scots burr that was so offensive to his people. The sound of her soft laugh drifted over him like talented fingers, eliciting a physical response. ’Twas all he could do to keep from groaning aloud.

  “—at the waterfall?”

  Cristiane and Penyngton both looked at him as if expecting a reply.

  “Sorry…I was not paying attention.”

  “’Tis naught, my lord,” Penyngton said. “Just that Lady Cristiane is taken by our waterfall, and it seems that Lady Margaret gained some enjoyment from it today, as well.”

  “That’s where you were this afternoon?”

  “Aye, m’lord,” Cristiane replied, looking at him directly for the first time since entering the chamber. “We carried our meal out there, and sat behind the falls to eat.”

  Adam frowned with puzzlement. “My daughter ate? Out-of-doors?”

  Cristiane shrugged as she nodded. “Every bit of what we brought with us.”

  Penyngton was smiling triumphantly behind her. Adam had to admit ’twas just short of a miracle that Cristiane had managed to reach something within Margaret, to somehow draw her out of her shell. Mayhap Charles was right in his assertion that Cristiane should remain here. Adam did not know if this change in Margaret would continue, especially if Cristiane left Bitterlee.

  “And…and how did my daughter find the falls?”

  “She found them delightful, m’lord,” Cristiane said. Her smile touched her eyes and every other part of her face, making it glow. If he’d thought her beautiful before, he could not think of a word to describe her now. Radiant, mayhap. Magnificent.

  The meal was served and they ate, conversing politely about the weather and the damage done to the town by the storm. Cristiane finally got over her discomfiture at having to see Adam so soon after…seeing him. He was modestly covered now, dressed in a fine black tunic trimmed in blue and gray, and black hose. His hair was combed neatly back from his handsome face, and she could tell that he’d recently shaved his afternoon whiskers from his jaw.

  She was unused to seeing a man’s naked face. Her father and all of his men were bearded, and ’twas near impossible to discern their features.

  Adam’s were well defined and striking. And if she looked at them overlong, her heart pounded and her throat went dry.

  “Your uncle Roderick, the Earl of Learick,” Penyngton said when the meal was done, “is your mother’s brother.”

  Cristiane nodded. She knew this much.

  “He was older by several years,” Charles continued.

  “Why did my mother’s father banish her?” she asked.

  “She fell in love with the wrong man,” Penyngton replied.

  Cristiane leaned forward and listened with rapt attention as Penyngton told of Elizabeth Huett’s doomed affair with Learick’s huntsman.

  “Alan was older and should have known better,” Charles said, “but your mother was quite a beauty in those days. She was a spirited and daring girl, who enjoyed running her horses and joining the hunt. I am certain he tried to resist her, but ’twas impossible. They were thrown together more oft than not, and…the inevitable occurred.”

  Cristiane swallowed. Penyngton’s words shocked her. She had never known her mother had loved another besides her father. It caused a wealth of confusion in her mind and a stab of pain in her heart, yet she had to hear what Penyngton had to say. She felt compelled to know all.

  “When the earl—her father—discovered them, he demanded that Elizabeth renounce Alan,” Charles continued. “In all honesty, I believe Alan tried to get your mother to see reason, but she would not. She ran away from her father’s house to Alan, hoping, I suppose, that he would take her away…that they would wed.”

  “Charles…” Adam’s voice broke in softly, but Cristiane hardly heard his voice.

  “The earl found out before—”

  “Penyngton…” Adam warned. “You’re upsetting the lady.”

  Cristiane realized then that there were tears on her face. She sniffed and brushed them away. “What happened, Sir Charles? Why did they not wed?”

  Penyngton gave a quick glance in Adam’s direction, but continued. “Alan was killed by an arrow that night. ’Twas put about that he was taken for an intruder at Learick Castle, and your grandfather refused to give any more details. Your mother was locked in her chamber until a suitable bridegroom could be found.

  “Within weeks, she was on her way to wed the laird of St. Oln, in Scotland,” he said, “a man who was willing to take the dishonored daughter of an English earl.”

  Cristiane stood abruptly and walked to the fire. She said naught, for there were no words in her heart, only a tortured coil of anguish and confusion. Adam was suddenly behind her, his hand at her waist.

  “Was there some very good reason for…?” he began angrily, turning to speak to Penyngton. Then he let out a long breath of frustration and turned abruptly back to Cristiane. “Come,” he said, “you need some air, and I…I’ll walk with you.”

  He picked up a lamp, and she went with him mutely. He kept one hand at her lower back, guiding her up the stairs, pondering what possible reason Penyngton could have had for telling Cristiane her mother’s sad history. The lady already grieved her parents’ recent deaths. Why dredge up this sorrowful tale now?

  ’Twas still raining, so they did not go outside. They walked down the corridor to Cristiane’s chamber, and Adam opened the door, guiding her into it. She stood unmoving, just inside the room, her eyes gazing blankly at nothing.

  He cleared his throat. “My lady…”

  Absently, she looked up at him. “Aye?” she said quietly. A slight frown marred her perfect forehead.

  “Will you be all right?”

  “Oh, aye,” she replied. There was surprise in her voice, as if she had just noticed she was not alone. “Just fine, m’lord. You needn’t…I mean, ’tis a bit of a shock, learning of my mother’s…of her, umm…”

  “Lover.”

  Cristiane nodded. “I never knew there was anyone but my father.”

  Adam did not know what to say. Clearly, Cristiane was distressed after learning about her mother and Learick’s huntsman. Both her parents were dead now, and it had happened so many years before that—

  “My mother never quite fit in at St. Oln,” Cristiane said. Her voice was quiet and sad. She ran one hand along the opposite arm, as if to ward off a chill. “My father adored her. He’d have done aug
ht for her, if only…”

  Her nose reddened and her mouth twitched, as if she would weep, and Adam expected to see tears. But they did not fall. He closed the distance between them and drew her into his arms, though he knew he could do naught to protect her against the sad memories. She shuddered once and he held her more tightly.

  Adam did not know how long they stood thus, but his intentions of giving solace soon changed to something different, something more. Her body felt soft and yielding against his own, and he could not keep from running his hand across her shoulders and down her back.

  She made a small sound and slipped her hands ’round his waist, holding him close as she lifted her face from his chest. Her eyes were clear and dry as she looked up into his.

  He wanted her as he’d never wanted another woman.

  But it was not to be.

  Cristiane slept badly. She’d sat up through the deepest hours of the night, listening to the rain, thinking about her life and all that she’d known in St. Oln. She’d finally found sleep near dawn.

  Her eyes were swollen and her head felt stuffed with goose down when she awoke late the next morning. But the day was warm and the sun shining, and Cristiane was not one to dawdle inside when the weather was fine.

  She washed quickly, but before she was fully dressed, a tap at the door interrupted her.

  ’Twas Meg.

  Cristiane glanced up and down the corridor outside her chamber, but saw no one else. She could not imagine where Mathilde was, but did not question the nurse’s absence. “Come in while I put on my shoes,” she said, wondering if Adam was nearby.

  Meg entered and climbed up on the bed.

  “Would you care to walk with me this fine morn?” Cristiane asked, smiling at the child.

  Meg smiled back and nodded.

  “Well, then, you’ll have to say so.” Cristiane had gotten a word or two out of the child the day before, and saw no reason to let her continue getting away with her silence.

  “Go…walk-ing?”

  “Aye,” Cristiane said, grinning broadly. “We shall go walking.” ’Twas another small success, but she was pleased nonetheless. She took Meg’s hand and they went down the two flights of stairs to the great hall, where one servant was sweeping out old rushes and another dusting the massive mantelpiece. No one else was in sight.

  They went out the main door of the great hall and walked down the massive stone staircase, just as a group of knights rode into the bailey on horseback. One of them stopped and removed his helm when he saw them.

  Gerard Sutton.

  Cristiane refused to retreat, even though the malevolent look in Gerard’s eye was intimidating. She took a firmer hold on Meg’s hand, tightened every muscle in her back and continued down the stair, determined to go ’round him.

  He turned his horse and stepped ahead, then dismounted directly in front of her. Cristiane had no choice but to step back.

  “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 Englishwoman.”

  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.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Adam 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 coul
d 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.