And then he would give her his reasons.
Chapter Seventeen
He refrained from touching her as they walked along the cobbled path through the garden, uncertain of his ability to make his proposal without scaring her off. He knew how Rosamund would have reacted if he’d touched her in an overly familiar manner at their betrothal. He did not want to elicit the same reaction from Cristiane Mac Dhiubh.
Nay, he would take some time with Cristiane. Wooing her, softening her, until she would welcome his advances.
“Were all seven ducklings still here this afternoon, m’lord?” Cristiane asked when they reached the pond.
“Aye,” he replied. “We fed every one of them.”
“Good,” she said. “If they can survive another week, I think they’ll be all right.”
He nodded in agreement. She seemed to know a great deal about wild creatures, and held a special affinity for them.
Rosy light from the setting sun glinted on Cristiane’s hair, and several tendrils had come loose from the combs. They framed her face softly, accentuating the delicate shape of her ears, the line of her jaw.
His fingers ached to touch her.
He knew how it felt to kiss her, to hold her. But he also knew how a wife responded to such advances. Rosamund had despised any physical intercourse with him. He was determined to exercise whatever restraint was necessary to keep Cristiane from becoming frightened of him.
“There is a bench on the far side of the pond,” he said when they reached the place where Cristiane and Meg had waded in to feed the ducklings.
“Oh,” she replied. “I haven’t been to the other side yet.”
Still, Adam refrained from touching Cristiane as they continued on the path, circling the water as he absorbed everything about her. She was surefooted, matching his pace as they walked. Not dainty, he noticed, though her skin was very fine and her bones sturdy.
She would have no difficulty bearing his children.
“Do you not have swans here?”
Adam flushed with color, and was glad Cristiane was looking across the pond and not at him. “Nay,” he said. “To my knowledge, Bitterlee has never had any.”
“There were none in St. Oln, either,” she said, “or I’d have known them.”
“I have no doubt you would,” he replied. “How did you learn so much about the birds and beasts?”
“From my father,” she replied. “He was a learned man, for all the warring he was forced to do.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “A scholar, he was,” she said, slowly making her way along the path. “He even studied for a time in Paris…before he wed my mother.”
“So that explains the book?”
“Aye,” she said. “And the reason my mother was sent to him, though I didna understand it entirely until Sir Charles explained the circumstances to me.”
“How so?”
“My uncle—my mother’s brother,” she said, “knew my father in Paris years ago. That was never secret.”
They reached the bench and sat down facing east, where the sky was a deep wash of blue upon gray.
“My mother never hid the fact that she’d had a falling-out with her father, which was why she left Learick,” Cristiane continued. “I never knew the particulars of their…disagreement…though I’d always known ’twas her brother who’d arranged for her to go to St. Oln.”
Adam said naught, but watched the play of the sky’s changing colors in her eyes. ’Twas clear that the loss of her parents was still fresh in her heart, yet it seemed to do her good to speak of them.
“She wasna happy there,” Cristiane said. “She never felt that she belonged.”
If Cristiane refused his proposal, would this be the reason? Because she knew how it was to be an outsider? He had every reason to believe he could make his people come to accept her. With Sara’s help, they would forget she was half-Scot, and would think of her only as the mistress of Bitterlee. His wife.
“And now I know the other cause of my mother’s sadness,” Cristiane said. “The way her father dealt with her lover…” She shuddered.
Adam was certain she would be just as much an outsider in Learick. The fact that she was the lord’s niece would not make her seem any more English to the people of Learick, especially now, with so many English lives lost in King Edward’s campaign against Scotland.
And there would be many at Learick who would remember her mother’s indiscretion with the huntsman. Who knew how that would affect the way they treated Cristiane?
“I suppose I’d worry about my parentage,” Cristiane said, glancing away, “but I know my mother went to Scotland and married my father several years before I was born.”
There was naught he could say about that, so he took the book from her hands once again, opened it and carefully turned the pages, reading a short passage in Latin aloud.
“Theologians sometimes discuss the substance of our earth,” Cristiane translated with ease, “trying to locate heaven. They want to know if it lies on the equator. They ask, where is hell? Do the heavens have power over things that can be born and die? Or over the rational soul…”
“Your Latin is far superior to mine, my lady,” Adam said.
“I doubt you have much use for it,” she said, blushing at his compliment.
“You are right about that,” he said. “’Tis fortunate I have Sir Charles to do all my writing for me.”
“Was it he who corresponded with my mother…who made the arrangements for me to be brought here?”
“It was,” he said, and it seemed a good time to make his proposal. “Lady Cristiane…”
The book lay open on his lap, unnoticed now, though the wind fluttered its pages. She looked up at him and unconsciously moistened her lips.
He cleared his throat. “You and Meg—Margaret—get on well.”
“Aye,” Cristiane said. “She’s a bonny child.”
“And the isle…it pleases you.”
“’Tis true,” she sighed. “If only there was time to explore every corner of it! But I’ll soon leave for York and—”
“Cristiane,” he said. He nearly took her hand in his, but thought better of it. “You need not leave Bitterlee.”
Her brows came together for an instant over puzzled eyes. “But I—”
“Stay,” he said. “Remain on the isle and become my wife.”
Cristiane would have clapped her hands with joy if only Adam had shown some enthusiasm, some personal need for her, beyond that of taking care of his daughter.
His manner was cool, distant, as if her answer was of little consequence. She looked up into his eyes and saw something in the stormy gray depths, a flash of something she’d not seen before and could not identify.
If only he would touch her, mayhap even kiss her again. She longed to feel his arms around her, feel the length of his body pressed against hers. She needed to know that he wanted her as badly as she yearned for him. Then she would know how to answer.
Her reaction was foolish.
Many a marriage—even that of her parents—had been based on less. Titles, estates, political power…these were good reasons to wed. Truly, when she arrived at her uncle’s estate, there would be far less reason for any man to wed her, for she had no land, no dowry, no political connections. If anything, she would merely be an unwelcome Scot.
’Twould be much the same here, though the days spent with Meg, and the beauty of the isle, might be compensation enough.
Whatever spark had been in Adam’s eyes was gone now, every expression carefully concealed. But Cristiane had seen it, and she believed there was more behind Adam’s proposal than the convenience of gaining a new nursemaid for Meg.
His assessment was partially correct—the isle pleased her, and she got on exceptionally well with Meg. What he did not know was that she loved him, and would have stayed even if he had not asked her to wed him.
“I have no dowry, my lord,” she said quietly. His jaw was
rough with dark growth, and she could almost feel its texture without even touching him. Without noticing, she leaned closer, wondering how his whiskers would feel against her skin.
“A dowry is not necessary,” he replied, his breath mingling with hers. ’Twas warm and inviting, and Cristiane could not keep herself from inching even closer.
“’Tis unlikely that the people of Bitterlee will ever accept me as mistress here.” Her voice was a mere whisper. Blood pounded in her ears as she watched his eyelids lower, and he gazed at her lips. Surely he wanted to touch her. In another moment he would ki—
“That will change in time,” he said, suddenly standing. He stepped a few paces away, then turned and looked at her, his hands gripped into fists at his sides.
She could not help but notice that the pulse in his neck was racing and his expression was earnest. Cristiane could almost believe her answer to his proposal was of the greatest importance to him.
She did not understand why this should be so, but did not care to question it now. ’Twas enough that she would be allowed to stay. “Well then, my lord,” she said, looking into his stormy gray eyes, “I’ll stay. I’ll be your wife…”
“Papa coming too?” Meg asked as she took Cristiane’s hand. They went through the great hall and out the main door, walking through the bailey toward the path that led to the waterfall. The sun was high and warm, and ’twas a perfect time for swimming.
“Nay, Papa said he would see us later,” Cristiane replied. “He had some matters to attend in town.”
Her heart was full as it had not been in months, and there was naught that could spoil her day, not even the distance Adam kept between them. ’Twas no matter, Cristiane thought. She could only believe that would change after they were wed.
In the meantime, she and Meg would have their swim, would play near the waterfall for a while, and at supper Adam would announce their betrothal.
She smiled at the thought.
“Taking the half-wit for a stroll?”
Meg let go of Cristiane’s hand and buried her face in Cristiane’s skirts when Gerard spoke.
Cristiane did not know how the man managed to sneak up on her so often, but he’d done it again—caught her unawares, startling her with his cruel words.
“Try to keep a civil tongue, Sir Gerard,” she said, somehow managing to stop her voice from quavering. “Or ’twill be said the isle was named after you.” She peeled Meg’s hand from her skirts and led her forward again.
Some of the men in the bailey must have heard the interchange, because there was laughter behind them now, and Gerard’s angry voice in reaction to it. Cristiane did not know how she had summoned the nerve to speak in such a way to Gerard, but she was not sorry for it. And if he ever said another disparaging word about wee Meg and her lack of speech…well, Cristiane would not be responsible for her actions.
She took Meg’s hand in her own and continued down the path. Meg held on as if her very life depended upon it.
“I wonder if our bonny wee fox will come today,” Cristiane said once the castle wall was out of sight.
“Have you any…bread?” Meg asked, still cowed by the confrontation with Gerard.
Cristiane laughed, then stopped and hugged the child. “You are a quick one, my lass!” she said, treasuring the thought of becoming this child’s mother. She felt a fierce protectiveness toward her, and woe to anyone who would dare to hurt her. “Aye, I brought bread.”
They came to the place where the path turned and continued toward the waterfall. They climbed down to the rocks and wandered near the falls for a few minutes, while Cristiane glanced ’round, looking to see if the area was entirely isolated before shedding their clothes to swim.
Cristiane suspected the English would consider swimming naked barbaric, but naked was how she’d done it at home. Besides, she had no spare clothes—and no extra chemise—to wear in the water. Meg probably had one. Cristiane would find out about that before they came here again.
For now, though, they were alone, the sun was shining and the day could not have been more fine. “Come on, Meggie,” she said to the child as she pulled off her shoes. “There’s a lovely blue pool waiting for us!”
There was no reason to wait three full weeks to wed her.
Early that morn, Adam had dispatched a man to the bishop in Alnwick, with letters from the priest of St. Oln, and Lady Elizabeth, and another from Father Beaupré, attesting to the lawfulness of the match. It should only take a few days for the journey, then to see the bishop and gain his permission. ’Twas possible to be wed by week’s end.
Adam would wait no longer. He did not think he could wait any longer.
He gazed down at the pool where Cristiane and Margaret swam. He’d promised himself only to keep watch over them, but found he could not keep his eyes from straying down to them.
And why should he not?
The one was his own little daughter, the other his betrothed, soon to be his wife…
Even though she stayed mostly in the water and out of sight, Adam’s body reacted in a manner that was becoming familiar. It had been years since he’d felt this way. He wanted Cristiane fiercely, but there was no doubt that she would be terrified by the intensity of his need.
He vowed to keep control.
They would have many long years together, and Adam would not spend them the same way he’d passed his years with Rosamund, with her ignoring and avoiding him.
He wanted Cristiane.
And he believed that, with care, he could foster and encourage the glimmer of interest he’d seen in her eyes. He knew ’twas not impossible for a wife to desire her husband. He’d seen evidence of it with some of his men. Elwin, for instance. The men often made veiled remarks regarding his lusty wife.
But Adam’s mother, as well as his own wife, had abhorred their husband’s touch.
Adam wanted this marriage to be different. He wanted Cristiane to feel every bit as eager to touch him as he was to touch her. He wanted to hold her through the night as they slept in his bed. He did not know why this ideal held such appeal—his parents had certainly never done it, nor had any other nobleman of his acquaintance. He’d never spent an entire night with Rosamund. She had never once visited his bed, and on the occasions when Adam had gone to hers, she’d made it clear he was unwelcome to stay the night.
Adam had no doubt that keeping Cristiane Mac Dhiubh close to him as they slept would be too great a pleasure to deny.
He would see that she became accustomed to him, to his presence. It would need to be done gradually, so as not to alarm or frighten her. He would spend time with her, walk the beach with her, make certain their first night in their marriage bed was as pleasurable for Cristiane as it was for him.
He rubbed one hand across his mouth and over his chin. He was getting ahead of himself.
Stepping away from the notch in the trees where he had kept watch over the path as well as the waterfall, Adam decided to put his plan into action now.
He grinned as he started down the rocky incline to the floor of the falls, certain that, with his daughter there to make her feel secure, he could begin to make Cristiane feel safe with him. Alone.
Meg took to swimming like a wee duckling. Cristiane was delighted with her progress, and knew ’twould not take many more lessons before the lass could be trusted in the water alone. Meg floated belly-down on the water, dunking her face, propelling herself with her arms and kicking with her legs.
The water in the pool was cool, but not unpleasantly so. Meg tolerated it without going blue, so Cristiane let her stay in a while longer, playing splashing games with her. She doubted Meg had ever had this much fun in her few years of life.
Old Mathilde was much too dour for a child like Meg, and Cristiane decided to speak to Adam about her. Today, when she’d gone to find Meg for their swim, she’d found her on her knees on the stone floor of the chapel, praying for the soul of her dead mother.
Common sense told her that that was n
ot a likely way to get wee Meg to move past her grief.
The child splashed and laughed, and suddenly her eyes went even brighter.
“Papa!” she squealed.
Chapter Eighteen
Cristiane whirled in dismay. She was fully naked in this clear water, and Adam Sutton stood directly above her.
Her clothes were draped over a rock a good fifteen paces away, along with the two drying cloths she’d brought for herself and Meg.
“Watch me!” Meg cried, putting her face in the water and showing her father what she could do, while Cristiane could do naught but offer the same support she’d given before. ’Twas awkward, holding on to Meg while keeping herself shielded from his view, but she managed somehow.
“Very good!” he said. “And is Lady Cristiane a good swimmer, too?”
She cast him a look that challenged his question.
“Yes!” Meg cried. “She dives deep!”
“Ah…” Adam said. “Shall I join you? I li—”
“Nay, m’lord!” Cristiane exclaimed in alarm. The last thing she wanted was for Adam to disrobe and step into the pool.
Meg suddenly shivered, and Cristiane knew she needed to get out of the water and into the warm sunshine.
“’Tis time to stop, my lassie,” Cristiane said, propelling the child toward the edge of the pool. “Your papa can pull you out.”
“Nay, Cris-ty,” she said with a pout. “You!”
“Not this time, my wee one,” Cristiane said, ducking down so that the water reached her chin. “Put up your arms and let your father take you.”
Adam was too close to the pool for Cristiane’s peace of mind. She crossed her arms over her breasts, but had never been so conscious of her nakedness. She felt the coldness of the water, too, and knew she would soon have to get out, as well.
She watched as Adam lifted Meggie out and took her to the rock where the towel was set out. He wrapped his daughter up and rubbed her body from shoulders to ankles, and Cristiane could only think how ’twould feel if he did the same for her.
At that moment, he looked up, locking her gaze with his, and seemed to know exactly what she’d been thinking. Blushing wildly, she submerged herself to cool off.
Bride of the Isle Page 16
