Bride of the Isle (8 page)

“You are right in that, Lady Cristiane,” Adam said. “But ’tis a dangerous coastline here at Bitterlee. Only one short mile is sandy beach, and that’s down near the town. The rest is all high cliffs, and rocky escarpments.”

“I…I
see,” she said, masking her disappointment.

All were silent for a moment, then Adam cleared his throat. He looked as if he might speak, but changed his mind.

“We have a fine waterfall,” Raynauld remarked weakly, “on the far side of the castle wall…”

Cristiane gave a slight nod and wondered when she would be able to take her leave. Even among these people at table, she had never felt so alone. She wanted naught more than to escape to her chamber, as cold and unwelcoming as it was.

“There are many worthwhile sights on Bitterlee. I will show you myself,” Adam said, though he looked as if he might choke on his words.

Cristiane knew he had not intended to say them, but had only tried to fill the void left by her obvious disappointment. “Thank you, my lord,” she said in a small voice. “’Twill not be necessary. You have been away many days and must attend to—”

“Nay, Lady Cristiane,” he said. “I am at leisure to do as I please.”

She did not know how that was possible, but did not argue. However, she caught sight of Margaret at that moment, showing a great deal of interest in the conversation between Adam and herself. She knew naught of children and the things they liked, but said anyway, “Mayhap Margaret would like to join our tour?”

Adam hesitated, then a smile touched one side of his mouth. “Aye. Mayhap she would.”

B
right flashes
of lightning awoke Cristiane sometime in the night. Thunder crashed so violently that she wondered if the isle had been rent in two. Alarmed by the intensity of the storm, she tossed off her blanket and threw on the long-sleeved underkirtle that, along with a tub of bathwater, had miraculously appeared in her chamber after last night’s supper.

A high-pitched wail pierced the night, and Cristiane stumbled to her chamber door in the dark, wondering what the sound could have been.

Another door in the gallery opened, and Adam stepped out, holding an iron lamp. In the dim light, Cristiane saw that he was still fully clothed as he walked in the direction opposite her. Cristiane followed, doubting he even knew she was there.

He opened the door to another chamber farther down, and went in. With bare feet, Cristiane stepped into the doorway and watched as Adam approached his daughter, who cowered in terror in the center of her bed. She was silent, but her eyes were wide with fear, her mouth trembling.

Another crash
of thunder propelled her into her father’s arms.

He held Margaret close, rocking her, murmuring reassuring words to her. Cristiane looked behind her, but the nurse did not appear. ’Twas just as well, she thought. Adam’s loving embrace was likely to be of more comfort to the bairn than anything the stern old woman might do.

Cristiane felt a sharp pang of loss as she watched Adam with Margaret, and missed her father more than ever. She recalled the times he’d held and comforted her as a child, and wished for just a moment that she could share those times once again.

Returning her thoughts to the present, she saw that Adam clearly had no need of assistance, so Cristiane returned to her chamber.

But ’twas a long time before she was able to return to sleep.

Shortly before dawn, the rain stopped battering Cristiane’s window. The quiet woke her. She hoped wee Margaret had been able to settle down for the night and allow her father to get some sleep.

Clad in the thin undertunic she’d put on during the night, Cristiane climbed out of bed and went to the window, then opened the casement. Leaning out across the thick wall, she looked down.

’Twas still too dark to see much, but Cristiane had the impression that this chamber overlooked the sea. She sensed it from the sounds of the roaring waves and the distinctive salty scent.

Cristiane leaned farther and breathed deeply. The smell of the air was heavenly. The clean, pure scent of the rain mingled with the strong odors of the sea and the rich, dark earth of Bitterlee. By the sound of it, the waves were crashing majestically, and Cristiane suddenly had an urge to see it all with her own two eyes when the sun rose.

Leaving her
window open, she picked up a lamp and left the chamber. Quietly, she went to the end of the gallery, where the stairs continued on above her, and began to climb.

Castle Bitterlee was huge. It had many towers, and even more stairs and strange passageways. Cristiane was unsure where this stair would lead her, but from the conversation of the previous night, she thought it possible that it would lead to the top of the castle, mayhap to a parapet that looked out over the cliffs.

Without further thought, she continued up the steps.

When the worst of the storm had finally passed, Margaret fell asleep in Adam’s arms. He returned to his own bed, but managed to sleep only fitfully through the night. The weight of his responsibilities lay heavily on him.

He finally gave up on sleep sometime before dawn and made his way to the parapet, where his wife had seen fit to end her life.

The air up on the high tower felt as if it had been washed clean by the rain. Adam blew out the candle of the lamp he’d carried with him, and went to the wall. He had not bothered to dress, other than putting on braes and chausses, but he was immune to the bite of the cool air on his bare chest and back.

Wearily, he gazed down into the darkness and wondered how life on Bitterlee could have been so terrible that Rosamund would throw herself from this very wall. Adam loved the isle. He knew every rock, every plant, every stream. ’Twas all beautiful to him, even the isolation.

He knew now that the
solitude had been difficult for Rosamund, and he should have made a greater effort to bring visitors to her. He should have realized it and sent her to her father’s home for visits, especially when he’d been called by King Edward to Scotland.

Why had he not understood how important companionship was to her? He’d thought that with a husband and child to care for, she would be satisfied. She would not need the company of her parents or of her London circle. He had believed her temperament would improve once she became a mother.

What a fool he’d been, an ignorant lad with no knowledge of how to keep a wife content. If ever he married again, all would be different. He would be certain to surround his wife with friends, if that was her wish.

Unbidden, an image of Cristiane Mac Dhiubh came to mind. He wondered if she would make friends in York more easily than she would manage here at Bitterlee. Just because her uncle was Earl of Learick did not mean that Cristiane would gain immediate acceptance. Adam suspected that she would seem just as appallingly Scottish to all her Yorkish relations as she did to him.

Yet, to be honest with himself, she was not exactly appalling. She was most definitely Scottish, but he could not hold that against her. He’d seen with his own eyes how the people of St. Oln had treated her—a half-English outsider. He’d glimpsed a deep well of inner strength that she carried and drew upon whenever circumstances warranted. It made her more attractive to him than any superficial attributes he would have chosen in a woman.

Not that she was shy of superficial attributes. He was quick to arousal when he thought of her physical presence. From her expressive eyes to her graceful neck, her rose-tipped breasts to the feminine swell of her hips, the mere thought of her had the power to turn him to rock-hard awareness.

Adam raked one
hand through his sleep-disheveled hair. The earliest birds had come awake, and he knew the sun would soon rise. He had Bitterlee matters to attend this day, and needed to concentrate on them—rather than on Cristiane Mac Dhiubh. She was a temporary distrac—

“Oh! My lord!” gasped a feminine voice.

Adam turned to see Lady Cristiane stepping onto the parapet with a lamp in hand. She must have been unaware of his presence until the lantern had thrown its light on him.

“Good morn, my lady,” he said. With the light shining on him he could not see her, but he wondered if she wore the same look of appreciation and hunger that had been in her eyes when she’d seen him half-clothed before.

He heard what might have been a gasp, then she suddenly blew out the lamp, casting them in darkness again.

“’Tis early,” he said, more gruffly than he intended.

“Aye,” she replied. “The quiet of the morning woke me.”

’Twas a strange way of thinking on it, but Adam supposed she was right. When the rain stopped, it had become eerily quiet. He turned and faced the sea again, wishing there was enough light to see her. Was she as meagerly clad as he?

’Twas a notion that had an immediate effect on him.
Damnation!
he thought.
Why had he not gone to Watersby when he’d had the chance?

“The sun…” He
cleared his throat. “The sun will rise soon.”

She moved closer to the wall and set the lamp on the ground next to her. “Hear the kittiwakes? They’re ready to feed.”

Her voice was soft and intimate, like a lover’s. He would never grow accustomed to her manner of speech. Most of the time ’twas not terribly Scottish, though she had enough of a burr to make it not quite English. ’Twas all too enticing, with its smooth musical lilt—rolling sounds that washed over him like the cool waters of the waterfall north of the castle.

Adam gripped the stone edge of the parapet and forced himself to think of something else. “We have seals, too,” he finally said, “on the outer island.”

“Ach, ye donna!” Cristiane said, forgetting to mask her burr. She turned to face him excitedly and put one hand on his arm to steady herself.

“We do,” he said. Though he already had a death grip on the rock wall, the muscles in Adam’s arm bunched at her touch, and heat flared in uncomfortable places. He wished he had a tunic to better cover his reaction to her touch. “’Tis not much of an isle,” he added, turning away from her, “but a pile of rock off the north coast. For some reason, the seals like our insufferable weather.”

“’Tis not insufferable!”

“Last night’s storm—”

“Was truly amazing,” she said with awe in her voice.

Had he heard her correctly? She was not about to run from the isle as soon as she could get away?

“You’ve been on Bitterlee less than a day,” he said quietly, drinking in her scent. Her hand remained on his bare arm, and he harnessed the urge to find her fingers and take her hand in his, to touch his lips to the back of it. “How can you judge?”

“I cannot, not
really,” Cristiane said, restraining her burr once again, “but ’tis a beautiful place…Oh, Adam, look!”

The first rays of the sun splayed out over the water, giving an eerie cast to the scene. Within moments, though, the sky turned a brilliant pink, casting various shades of red and gold over the sea.

“’Tis breathtaking,” she sighed.

True enough. Adam could not recall seeing anything quite as grand as Cristiane Mac Dhiubh enjoying her first sunrise on Bitterlee. Her eyes were wide, framed by gold-tipped lashes. Her lips were full and moist, and entirely too alluring.

She turned slightly toward him, her body close, too close for his own to ignore. He felt his hands grow moist and his heart begin to pound. The rushing surf was naught compared to the roaring in his own ears.

In the growing light, he saw that she was covered from neck to toe by a thin linen kirtle, yet her enticing form would never be hidden from him again, no matter how well covered it might be. Burned into his memory was the way she’d looked in the firelight the morning he’d seen her undressed.

’Twould take only the slightest movement of his hand to pull her close, a trifling tip of his head to bring his lips into contact with hers.

And every fiber of his being demanded that he do so. He could divest them both of their clothes in seconds, yet Adam knew this was not an acceptable tack. Cristiane was under his protection.

“Is there a path down to the beach?” she asked, her voice subdued, her breath warm on his chest.

“There
is no beach,” he said roughly. He balled his hands into fists and stepped away. “Not up here near the castle. And no way down to the water, anyhow.”

“But—”

“Just rocks and birds down there.”

He lied. ’Twas possible to get across the rocks and down to the water. He had tried to convince Rosamund to go down with him when they were young and newly married, but his wife had had no interest in dallying near the water with him. She had shunned the lovely pool by the waterfall, too.

“I’m sure you will enjoy the gardens, though,” he said in a conciliatory tone. ’Twas not an easy climb down to the beach, and he did not want her to risk it, especially not alone. “There is a great deal of new spring growth, and we have a large pond…”

The sunlight was more golden now, and Cristiane seemed to realize suddenly how inappropriately dressed she was. She’d been at ease in the dark, but now, when she knew he could see her, she felt the need to cross her arms over her breasts.

When she licked her lips unconsciously, Adam’s entire body clenched, and he forced himself to look away. Though she was decently covered, the linen shift was thin, and it fit entirely too snugly for his peace of mind.

She seemed to know it.

“I—I’d best be going back to my chamber…” she said as she stepped away. “Before, er, I…”

He heard her bare feet softly retreating, and when the stairway door closed, he was able to breathe again.

Cristiane did not stop until she opened what she thought was the door to her room. Mortified to have stepped into some other bedchamber, she turned and fled, quickly finding the door to her own.

She knew her
color was still high, and she pressed her hands to her cheeks to cool them. She resolved in future to avoid these early morning interludes with Adam Sutton, since they only served to embarrass her.

Yet she could not regret the few moments she’d spent enjoying his warmth as he stood nearly naked beside her.

His body was so different, so intriguing. Where she was soft and smooth, he was hard and muscular, and covered with hair. She’d ached to touch him, to run her fingers up the hard planes of his chest through that mat of hair, and see if he was as solid as he looked.

Heat flooded her cheeks anew and Cristiane stepped over to the basin of fresh water. She washed her face, cooling herself at the same time, then took a long draught of water before dressing.

She had to get away from here.

A clean kirtle that had once been a deep green color lay on the trunk at the foot of her bed. The fabric had faded and was worn thin in places, but was in much better condition than the gown she’d been wearing these last weeks. Hastily, she pulled it on over her head and then fastened the laces, finding it as snug a fit as the underkirtle.

Refusing to be disappointed by this gift, she vowed nonetheless to begin sewing as soon as Adam found some cloth for her to use.

She sat down and pulled on her shoes, taking half a moment to appreciate Adam’s kindness in buying them for her. She quickly laced them, then left her chamber in search of a way out. She did not want to chance another embarrassing encounter with Adam.

There were so many passages and doors here in the keep that it was unnecessary to go through the great hall in order to leave. She knew she had only to find the correct passageway, and it would lead her to an outside door. Following an instinctual sense of direction, she made her way to the main floor, without meeting anyone.

The sun was
barely over the horizon when she finally let herself out of the keep through a door near the chapel, with the intention of making her way down to the water.