Margo Maguire - Bride Of The Isle

Impatiently, he paced outside near the door, anxious for his men to arrive with Cristiane. When he finally spotted them on the road, still a fair distance away, he felt both relieved and on edge.

Some of the villagers began to approach him cordially, glad to pass the time of day with the lord. Many followed him back inside the wineshop, where Adam gulped another cup of ale, listening to their news. He learned who’d died in recent weeks, and who had birthed new babes.

Still holding a great deal of animosity toward the Scots for their losses at Falkirk, the people complained of the shortage of men to tend sheep and till the fields. Adam promised to send his knights to help, as they had done the previous spring. He knew there was too much work for the men who remained here. It would be years before the population returned to what it had been before so many had gone with him to answer King Edward’s call.

Raynauld finally entered the wineshop, with Elwin and Cristiane following. By degrees, the people became quiet as the strange woman proceeded deeper into their midst. They recognized Lord Bitterlee’s knights, but the young woman with the flaming red hair was strange to them.

Cristiane kept her eyes down and remained behind Raynauld as he pushed through to Adam’s table. Adam stood and pulled out one of the rough chairs for her, and watched as she sat.

The villagers knew better than to question the lord, but he could see they were full of unfriendly curiosity regarding the stranger he’d brought into their midst. He resisted the preposterous urge to gather her into his arms and protect her from what he was sure would be a hostile reaction to a Scottish woman audacious enough to step upon English soil. Adam wished to spare Cristiane that. She’d had enough difficulty in past weeks—from her own people.

The innkeeper’s wife brought a platter of food to the table, and as Adam and his party began to eat, the people slowly dispersed, leaving Adam uncomfortably close to Cristiane.

“’Twill be good to get home,” Elwin said, cutting a leg from the cold roast fowl that had been put before them.

“Aye,” Raynauld agreed, “before the storm hits.”

“Looks like a good ’un about to start.”

“We’ll make it,” Adam interjected.

“How do we cross to the isle?” Cristiane asked quietly.

“A galley will carry us over,” Adam replied. “The crossing takes a quarter hour, mayhap a bit more.”

Cristiane nodded.

“Have you ever been on the sea, my lady?” Raynauld asked.

Adam watched as Cristiane bit her lower lip, and he knew her answer before she spoke. “Nay,” she finally replied. “I havena.”

Her burr was thick suddenly, and Adam remembered how that had happened before, when she was nervous. “’Tis a very easy crossing, Lady Cristiane,” he said.

“Aye, ’tis true, milady,” Elwin added. “Naught to worry about.”

“Ach,” she said, with a shrug that caused her shoulder to brush Adam’s arm. Her body was warm, welcoming. He clamped down on his inappropriate reaction to her touch. “I’m na worrit.”

Elwin laughed. “Tell me that when your color comes back.”

She lowered her eyes and blushed, feeling the heat. She had to know that the color was back in her cheeks, if only from embarrassment, but she did not say more.

“Did you send a boy to the ship with the horses?” Adam asked his men.

“Aye, m’lord,” Sir Elwin replied. “All will be ready when we arrive on the wharf.”

“And oarsmen?”

“Aye,” said Raynauld. “They’ll be there.”

Cristiane ate little, but Adam did not remark on it. He would not urge her to eat, then board the galley. It could very well become a difficult crossing if the winds continued, and then they’d all be glad her stomach was empty.

He remembered that Rosamund had never had an easy time with the crossing. She did not usually become acutely ill, but her complexion would grow sallow, and she’d lose all color in her lips. After she reached dry land again, ’twould take an hour or more before she returned to normal.

’Twas a quick, but windy walk to the wharf, and Cristiane held on to her skirts with one hand to try to keep them from blowing up to her knees. With the other hand, she captured her loose hair and held it tight.

Adam forced his eyes away from her lissome form.

The horses and Cristiane’s mule had been sent ahead on another ship to the island, so Adam and his party boarded a lightly burdened galley. Hopefully, ’twould make their passage all the faster.

The wind took on a bitter bite as they found their seats in the open ship. The galley was manned by eight oarsmen, and Raynauld and Elwin added their strength to the rowing, too. They would use no sail, for the wind was too sharp, but Adam had faith that they would make good speed to the isle.

For the first time in days, Adam felt a lightening of his spirit. Soon he would be home, where he belonged. His promise to Cristiane’s mother had been partially fulfilled, and he was now free to undertake the responsibilities he’d neglected far too long at Bitterlee.

The men rowed the ship out of the harbor on rough seas. The bow reared up and crashed over the waves as they made their way toward the land mass that rose up ahead of them. Adam stood at the bow with the ship’s master, exhilarated by the ferocity of the elements, and kept watch as they rowed farther out.

The wind took his breath away, whipped his hair to a tangled mess and pasted his clothes to his long, muscular frame.

“That’s a Scotswoman you brought with ye, eh, m’lord?” the master asked.

Adam raised an eyebrow at the question, but did not begrudge the man an answer. He’d been the skilled master of the harbor for many years, always loyal and reliable. “She is,” he replied simply.

The man pursed his lips and thought a moment before speaking again. “D’ye think the island people will take to her, m’lord?”

“’Tis no matter. The lady is my guest,” Adam said, raising his voice to carry over the wind. “She will be up at the castle for the length of her visit. I don’t expect the island people will be bothered by her.”

Adam thought the master made a sound deep in his throat, but could not be sure, because the man turned away just then and began to shout orders to his oarsmen. Adam dreaded turning to look at Cristiane, certain that he would find her cowering in the hull of the ship, green to her gills.

Instead, he watched the sky as several large brown skuas rode the wind, impervious to the impending storm. They screeched as they flew, then dived into the waves or at the smaller gulls, each one securing a meal. Adam watched them for a long moment, putting off the time when he’d have to go and see to Lady Cristiane.

An unfamiliar, musical sound made him turn to the hull of the ship, and he discovered Cristiane standing at the port side, pointing up at the flying birds. She laughed as she watched them dance across the sky, and the color in her fair cheeks was good.

The wind blew her skirts up above her ankles, and she absently pushed them down with one hand. Adam was painfully aware of what lay beneath those skirts, and he desperately hoped that the wind became no fiercer. Otherwise, Cristiane would most certainly be embarrassed.

And Adam would have to throw each and every man who saw her overboard.

He crossed to her and gripped her arm more fiercely than he intended. “The seas are rough, Lady Cristiane,” he said. “’Tis best if you take a seat.”

“Ach, but—”

“’Tis true, m’lady,” the master shouted from his post at the bow. “Can’t have no accidents on m’ ship, now!”

Cristiane complied with both men’s wishes, finding a seat away from the oarsmen. Adam sat down beside her, oddly disturbed by her ease in the circumstances. He should have been relieved that she was not puking over the side, yet her exhilaration in the face of the wind and high seas was confusing. Never had he known a woman so comfortable with the elements.