Bride of the Isle

by Maguire, Margo

  Adam stood in the sun, drying Margaret. He knew Cristiane could not remain underwater forever. Nor could she remain in the pool much longer. ’Twas too cold.

  She would have to come out and face him sooner or later.

  “Are you warm enough now, Margaret?” he asked, aware that his own body was more than just warm.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Cris-ty?”

  “She’ll come out soon,” he replied. If not, he would just have to go in and get her.

  She emerged at that moment, and Adam did not know whether or not to consider himself fortunate.

  “Cris-ty!” Meg called.

  Cristiane smoothed her hair back. “Aye, lass,” she replied, her eyes glancing nervously up at him.

  His intent was not to frighten her off, but to put her at ease…to make her realize she could trust him. “My lady,” he said, “Margaret and I will give you a moment’s privacy if you wish to leave the pool.”

  He gathered Margaret into his arms and stepped behind the waterfall, turning to face the stone wall. He called out, “Let us know when you are decent.”

  The rush of the water was so loud it prevented him from hearing Cristiane’s movements. He bit the inside of his cheek and waited. He would just have to trust Margaret to tell him when it was safe to turn around.

  “The fox, Papa!” Margaret cried, pointing.

  Without thinking, he turned quickly, and through the curtain of falling water, he saw that Cristiane was wrapped in a meager linen towel that covered her body only from her chest to her knees. She stood perfectly still, her eyes on the pool she’d just left.

  Adam glanced that way and saw a fox scurrying to the pool, apparently oblivious to the people around it.

  “Stay still, Meg,” he whispered.

  Carefully and quietly, Cristiane picked something up from the pile of clothes on the rocks. She took one step, holding out her hand. The fox stopped drinking, eyeing her warily.

  Cristiane took another step closer, and the fox sat up, sniffing the air. Suddenly it turned and dashed back up the rocks. Holding her towel around her, Cristiane took the last step to reach the place where the fox had stood, and dropped a crust of bread there.

  Adam thought his chest might burst when she bent to do so.

  Quickly, he turned back before Cristiane was aware of his gaze on her body—her plump breasts, her trim legs, the curve of her buttocks. “Are you warm enough, Margaret?” he asked.

  “Aye, papa,” she replied. “Want to…see the fox.”

  Surprised by the number of words she’d strung together, he did not reply right away, but let her down to the rocky floor. She immediately headed for Cristiane.

  “You may come out now, m’lord!” Cristiane called, tying her last lace. She looked utterly charming with her hair in glistening waves, curling around her face. Adam wondered how she would react if he were to take her in his arms now.

  “Cris-ty!” Meg cried, running to Cristiane. “Fox!”

  “Aye, you saw it, did you?” she asked.

  Margaret nodded. “Gone.”

  “It’s gone now, but do not doubt it will be back,” Cristiane said. “Do you not agree, m’lord?”

  “I would not be surprised,” he replied absently. He could not possibly want Cristiane more than he did at this moment. ’Twas fortunate that little Meg was present, else he’d have been hard-pressed to keep to his plan of accustoming her gradually to his presence.

  “Today?” Margaret asked, and Adam forgot exactly what they were discussing.

  “Mayhap,” Cristiane said. She sat down on the rock where her clothes had been, and put on her shoes. Margaret dropped down next to her. “And if he finds that crust, he will be back for more.”

  “Oh!” she replied. “Like…like ducklings!”

  “Exactly.”

  “Cristiane,” Adam said as he sat down, keeping his daughter between them, “shall we tell Margaret our news?”

  “Umm… ’tis up to you, m’lord,” she replied shyly.

  ’Twas as if she did not believe she would truly become his wife. Adam experienced a moment of alarm. “You have not changed your mind, have you?”

  “Nay, m’lord,” Cristiane quickly replied.

  She believed he looked relieved. For an instant, he had not seemed quite so distant, so…official. She knew Adam cared for his daughter, and she supposed it would distress him to learn that the one person who seemed to have a positive effect on Margaret had changed her mind and would be going away.

  Cristiane could not change her mind, even if she wanted to do so. She could not bear to leave Adam, or to leave Meg and the isle.

  “Meggie lass,” she said, glancing up at Adam, “your father has something to tell you.”

  Margaret turned to look at him, and he brushed one hand across her forehead, pushing back the wet strands.

  “Lady Cristiane has decided to stay with us on the isle,” he said. “She will become my wife…your new mama.”

  “Ma-ma?” Meg said vacantly. Then she frowned. “Ma-ma…in heaven with Our Lord.”

  “Aye, Meggie,” Cristiane said. The child’s words sounded as though they’d come straight from Mathilde’s lips. “Your true mama is in heaven. But I will be here with your father, to look after you.”

  The child said naught, but gazed at the spot where the fox had taken its drink. Then she turned to look at the waterfall, staring blankly.

  Adam’s expression was one of puzzlement.

  “Meggie,” Cristiane said, taking the child’s hand in her own. “Do ye not want me to stay?” She swallowed hard. What if the child did not want her? Would Adam withdraw his proposal?

  The child finally turned. Her gaze was focused, steady. “Stay,” she said. “And feed the ducklings!”

  “I’ve petitioned the bishop at Alnwick to waive the banns,” Adam said as they followed the path back to the castle. Meg wandered ahead of them, stopping every now and then to pick a flower that interested her.

  Cristiane’s heart did a little jump when she thought of Adam speeding up their marriage. Normally, ’twould take three weeks for the reading of the banns.

  “’Tis possible that we can be wed by week’s end,” he said.

  Was he anxious to have her as his wife, or just eager for Meggie to have a mother? Would he have sent her to York if Meg had decided she did not want Cristiane to stay?

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “I will not be a demanding husband, Cristiane,” he said.

  “Oh, but I—”

  “I would rather we did not start our marriage with any uneasiness or…fear…between us.”

  “I am not frightened of you, m’lord.” She could not imagine why he thought she’d be afraid of him. He’d never given her any cause to fear him.

  She thought she heard him take a sharp breath, but could have been mistaken, though there was no doubt he felt awkward with her. He limped along, quietly for a while, and Cristiane thought about the one kiss they’d shared. It seemed so long ago.

  She did not think he had disliked it, even though he had not attempted to repeat it. She wondered how he would react if she were to step in front of him and, somehow, get hold of him and…kiss him again.

  “You have had an astonishing effect on my daughter in a short time,” he said, jarring Cristiane from thoughts of a more sensual nature.

  Cristiane shrugged. “The lass spends too much time on her knees, praying for her mother.”

  “I knew that Mathilde emphasized prayer and devotions…”

  “Aye,” Cristiane replied. “But too much. She spends hours at her prayers.”

  Adam frowned. “I had not seen it. I assumed…” He shook his head. “’Tis inexcusable. I should have been more aware of what was happening.”

  Mayhap that was true, but from what Cristiane had learned from her mother, English fathers had little to do with their own offspring. Nursemaids raised them, and young lads were sent off to neighboring estates to be trained in the knightly arts. ’Twas u
nusual for Adam to spend any time at all with Meg.

  Cristiane wondered about these last two years since the Battle of Falkirk. She knew Adam had returned to Bitterlee newly widowed, and wounded besides. ’Twould have been overwhelming to deal with his own grief as well as his daughter’s. Mayhap he still grieved for his wife.

  “You were badly injured at Falkirk, m’lord?” she asked. When he did not reply, she went on. “I would imagine your recovery took a good deal of strength.”

  “Aye,” he said. “But it does not excuse my negligence with Margaret.”

  “It goes a long way toward explaining it,” she said.

  She knew by his limp that whatever had happened to his leg still bothered him. She wondered about the scar on his jaw and what other wounds he’d received while warring for the English king in Scotland.

  “I once broke my arm,” she said, “when I was just a bairn. The bone came clear through the skin. I remember ’twas sore after it healed. My mother put liniment on it and rubbed it every day, and my father made me use it, exercise it.”

  “Your arm seems well enough now,” he said, glancing at the faded scar on her forearm.

  “Aye…. You might think of doing the same for your leg,” she said tentatively. “If you have liniment, I could…” She stopped when she realized that she was about to tell him she would be happy to apply ointment and do the rubbing for him. She felt heat spread from her chin to her forehead.

  Adam slowed his gait and turned to her without speaking. ’Twas clear that he knew what she’d been about to say, and Cristiane could not tell how the idea set with him, for he kept his face carefully expressionless.

  “That is, if y-you had some liniment, you could try r-rubbing it….”

  “I have liniment,” he said, though his voice seemed different than before. Quieter, deeper. A muscle in his jaw flexed as she watched.

  Cristiane placed one hand over her stomach, vaguely aware of an odd sensation there. “Mayhap s-someone should, er, someone could—”

  “Cris-ty!” Meggie shouted, ending the awkward moment. The child ran toward them and gave the handful of flowers she’d gathered to Cristiane. Then she scampered off, with more energy than she’d shown before.

  Cristiane gave Meg over to Mathilde’s care and entered her chamber. A young handmaid was already there, pouring hot water into a tub. She smiled shyly.

  “Your bath, my lady,” the lass said, dipping into a slight curtsy.

  “Thank you,” Cristiane replied warily. None of the castle servants had been the least bit friendly to her, and she did not trust this sudden show of deference.

  “May I…would you care for help with your laces?”

  Cristiane could do naught but stare at the maid, wondering if she was imagining this interchange. Slowly, she turned, allowing the girl to unlace her.

  “I took the liberty of finishing your gown,” she said.

  Cristiane glanced at the neatly folded cloth that rested on the trunk at the foot of the bed. “Why, thank you,” she answered. “I…”

  “If I might be so bold, my lady,” the girl said, “’tis a wonderful thing you’re doing for Lord Bitterlee’s daughter.”

  Cristiane was too astonished by her words to reply.

  “The change in her…” the girl continued. “I cannot see how it can matter that you’re a Scot.”

  “Well, I…”

  “The child’s not been right since her mum died,” she said, “but what you’ve started…I think she’ll be all right now.”

  “I hope so,” Cristiane exclaimed. “She’s a bonny one.”

  Cristiane’s borrowed gown came off and she walked toward the tub while she unlaced her chemise. She did not feel the need for a bath now, having just been swimming, but she was not about to turn down the one offer of friendship she’d received since coming to Bitterlee.

  “What is your name?” Cristiane asked.

  “I’m Beatrice, my lady,” she replied. “But call me Bea, like everyone else does.”

  The great hall was full, and a special meal had been prepared for the occasion of Adam’s announcement. He knew it would take time for the people of Bitterlee to accept Cristiane, but he intended to demonstrate his commitment to her. And if necessary, he would challenge anyone to deny his right to make her his wife.

  Gerard gulped his ale as he stood near the main dais, sneering at Adam. “You can do better,” he said.

  “If you’re referring to my impending marriage, Uncle,” he replied tightly, “then I must disagree. Lady Cristiane is my choice.”

  Gerard spat into the fresh rushes.

  “A bloody Scot for a bride,” he snarled derisively.

  “Half-Scot,” Adam muttered, turning away from his uncle. “And you’d do well to remember it when she is my wife.”

  “She’ll wed you only to stay on Bitterlee, to become mistress here,” he said. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed her wandering. The isle reminds her of her home…of all she has lost.”

  That thought gave Adam pause, and he wondered if Gerard had been spying on her from one of his various hideaways on the isle.

  “She’ll be no wife to you, Adam,” Gerard continued. “’Twould be better to take yourself off to Watersby when you have need of a woman, rather than take this—this bloody savage to wife.”

  “Stay away from her, Gerard,” Adam stated, then turned away. He spotted Raynauld seated at a table nearby, along with Sir Elwin and his wife, Leticia. He could count upon these men to support Cristiane. They knew she was no bloodthirsty Scot. Nor was she a cold-hearted opportunist.

  ’Twas true that she liked the isle…but what did that matter? The mistress of Bitterlee ought at least to feel comfortable on her island home. He would not tie himself to another wife like Rosamund, a faint-hearted woman who felt trapped and secluded here.

  Voices suddenly grew quiet, and Adam looked up to see that Cristiane was standing in the gallery at the top of the stairs.

  She was so beautiful that his throat went dry. She fairly shimmered in a gown of gold cloth that hugged her body from her breasts to her waist, then flared just below her hips. He nearly groaned aloud, wondering how she could be as alluring fully clothed as she was naked.

  Her hair was tame, perfectly demure, and partially covered in the same golden cloth as her gown. She glowed with an aura of health…and nervousness, Adam realized.

  He climbed the steps to escort her down, and saw that her hands were clenched at her sides. “My lady,” he said as he turned and took her hand, placing it atop his own. “Do you see Sir Elwin there?” he asked as they descended. “Next to him is his wife, Leticia. And Raynauld beside them.”

  “Where is Meg?” she asked, and he saw her glance toward the main dais, where his uncle was sitting, hunched over a large mug.

  “She will take her meal in the nursery this eve, with Mathilde,” he replied, glad to have something to speak of, to take her mind off what awaited them below. “And no prayers for her tonight, beyond one quick one before bed.”

  Cristiane’s brows raised, widening her eyes delightfully. “What will Mathilde do with her then?”

  “I told her to teach Margaret a game or two,” he said, wishing he could pull Cristiane into his arms and kiss away the lines of worry.

  She smiled at his jest, a tense smile, but it pleased him when she no longer resembled a prisoner being led to the stake. He knew this was difficult for her. She was entirely among strangers, people who had yet to make her feel welcome.

  And she was to become their mistress.

  Raynauld came to the foot of the stairs when they reached the bottom.

  Cristiane was as glad of his appearance now as she’d been when he’d shown up on the staircase of the English inn and helped Adam get her to safety.

  This room was not as hostile as the inn…or was it? Gerard stared malevolently at her, and it seemed that everyone else waited in silence for her to commit some grave error.

  “Lady Cristiane,” Sir Elwi
n said as he approached, “may I present my wife, Leticia.”

  A pretty round woman with rosy cheeks and glossy black hair smiled shyly at her. “’Tis my pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady,”

  “No greater than mine, Leticia,” Cristiane said, and with her words, the silence in the hall broke.

  Everyone began to speak again. Servants moved about the tables, setting out platters of food and pitchers of ale. Musicians began playing, and a pair of jugglers thrilled the crowd with their antics.

  “Shall we be seated?” Adam asked. He put his hand at Cristiane’s back and felt her trembling. “The worst seems to be over.”

  They were approached by several of Adam’s knights, and Cristiane was introduced to the reeve of Bitterlee town. She was as gracious and polite as Adam could possibly have wished.

  He had hoped that Penyngton would be well enough to join them, to bolster Cristiane’s morale, but the seneschal was too ill. His cough was worse, and he was feverish. For the first time since his friend’s illness, Adam was truly worried for his life. He was pale and drawn, and coughing seemed to wrack the very life from him.

  Adam had summoned Sara from town to come up and do what she could for him, and she’d promised she would remain with him as long as he needed her.

  That was some relief, although Adam had hoped to introduce Sara to Cristiane tonight. He doubted that he would ever acknowledge her publicly as his sister, but he would certainly tell Cristiane of their relationship. Besides, Sara was a respected resident of the town, and Cristiane should know her.

  The Bitterlee cooks provided a pleasing, impressive meal, yet Adam noticed that Cristiane merely picked at her food. She also sat stiffly in her chair, although her most avid detractor was nowhere near. Gerard had disappeared.

  Adam glanced around the hall, and though there was plenty of entertainment, ale and good food, the guests were strangely somber. The people of Bitterlee were not ready to accept her as their lady, though the knights of his garrison were slowly coming ’round.

  Adam turned to her. “By what miracle do you manage to induce my daughter to eat?”