LITMIR.BIZ

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of Cristiane’s bright blue eyes, or the delicacy of her nose and jaw. This woman did not have full, soft lips like Cristiane’s, lips that could…

      In frustration at his wayward thoughts, he turned and prowled back to the open door. He’d managed to avoid thinking of her all day, and now this. The image of her face came to mind, as well as all the attributes below her neck.

      “When my men arrive,” he said, turning, “we won’t tarry. I want to cross before the rain comes.” He would get Cristiane situated somewhere in the castle and forget about her. Soon he’d meet with Penyngton and have him draft a letter to all the lords of the realm. One of them had to have a daughter of marriageable age. Adam would have a marriage contract drawn up, and wed a proper Englishwoman.

      Then he’d be able to get on with his life.

      “Aye, m’lord,” the innkeeper said. “Wise. There’s some cold chicken, and mayhap a bit of mutton left.”

      “Whatever you have will do, Edwin,” Adam said.

      The innkeepers left him to his own devices as they went to the kitchen to prepare the meal. Adam walked back to a table, sat down and lifted his drink.

      He knew what his problem was, and it had naught to do with Cristiane Mac Dhiubh. Any woman that pleased the eye could solve it. Mayhap he should send Elwin and Raynauld ahead with Cristiane to Bitterlee. Then he could ride inland to Watersby, a good-size village at a crossroads, where the tavern women were pretty. And willing to take care of a man’s needs.

      If he rode hard, he would make it there before dark. He could spend a couple of days slaking a need that had not troubled him for eons, then return to Bitterlee, refreshed and immune to Lady Cristiane’s allure.

      He had almost convinced himself that it would be best to head out for Watersby when he reminded himself it had been a week since he’d seen his daughter. Little Margaret was frail and sickly, and he could not stay away for as low a reason as he’d just considered. Nay, he was not so depraved as that.

      He would return to the isle and see to his daughter, just as he should.

      A gust of wind caught one of the shutters and slammed it against the wall of the inn, forcing Adam’s attention back to the elements. Mayhap the storm would come sooner than he expected. He went outside and glanced down at the harbor, then looked at the sky.

      The clouds were still far in the distance, but he hoped Elwin and Raynauld would ride into the village soon. They would have time for a quick meal, then make the crossing before the rain came. Judging by the cold bite of the wind, this storm was going to be more than a gentle shower.

      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

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