Bride of the Isle (16 page)

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 not 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.

C
ristiane 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.

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 unusual 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.”