Authors: Margo Maguire
Castle Bitterlee
Autumn, 1303
B
itterlee’s two noble swans paddled
regally across the pond, their small brood following faithfully. How they’d happened to come to Bitterlee was a mystery to all on the isle, but no one questioned it overmuch. The beautiful fowl seemed to exemplify the recent growth and prosperity of the isle.
Music played all around, and the castle grounds were teeming with townspeople, here to celebrate the harvest and the renaming of the isle. There had already been games and dancing, and soon the feasting would begin.
Adam stood behind the bench where Cristiane sat holding their tiny son, Thomas, and rubbed her shoulders. While Thomas slept, she tipped her head, first to one side, then to the other, to afford Adam better access. Her muscles were tired after the long day, and his attentions were appreciated, but Cristiane always cherished Adam’s touch.
“Ah…that feels heavenly, Adam,” she said.
He leaned down, touching his lips to her ear. “’Tis naught compared to what I have in mind for later, love,” he said quietly. Shivers
of delight ran though her with his promising words.
“Oh?” she asked, smiling. “And what might that be?”
“Mama,”
Meg called out, “Charles will not hold my hand near the water!”
Adam sighed. “I’ll handle this,” he said, straightening. “Your son is a feisty lad.”
“
My
son?” she said, displaying a distinctly innocent face.
Adam tossed back a smile at her as he went to deal with little Charles, who had been a trial to his sister ever since he’d learned to walk.
Naturally the children had a nurse, but Cristiane would never wholly entrust their care to her, not after seeing the damage that a mediocre nurse could do to a child. Though Mathilde had done only what she’d thought best, she had nearly succeeded in making Meggie as timid and fearful as she’d made Rosamund.
“The lad knows his own mind, m’lord,” Sir Raynauld remarked. He had become Adam’s seneschal soon after Charles Penyngton’s death, and was proving to be an apt manager.
Cristiane knew that Adam missed Charles, just as he missed Sara, who had left Bitterlee more than a year before.
Their lives were full, though, and life was good on the isle. So good that Adam had decided that their home had been called the Isle of Bitter Life long enough. ’Twas time to change its name to reflect the prosperity and joy of its inhabitants. And he’d petitioned the king for permission to do just that.
Cristiane’s heart beat a little faster as she watched her husband lift his small, giggling son to his shoulders. Those big hands that she’d always admired were so gentle and loving,
with her and with their children.
Little Charles ruffled his fingers though his father’s hair, making a delightful mess of it.
“He is stubborn is all,” Meg said in true sisterly fashion. “He could fall into the pond, and then what?”
“Why, you would have to reach in and save him,” Adam said.
“Any young maid who swims as well as you should have no trouble,” Raynauld added.
But Meg’s annoyance with her little brother was clear, as was her opinion of her father’s and Raynauld’s teasing. She lifted her chin in a truly superior manner, turned and walked away with great dignity, until she saw some of her friends running down the path. Then she quickly shrugged off her regal air and joined them.
Cristiane repositioned Thomas and stood up. His birth in midsummer had been an easy one, and she felt as fit as ever. Adam returned to her with Charles still on his shoulders, and put one arm around her waist.
“My lord,” Raynauld said, “they’re signaling for you to come and begin the feast.”
Taking their leave of the pond, they started down the path, back to the bailey, where trestle tables had been set up out-of-doors, and were now laden with platters of food and pitchers of ale.
“Have you decided whether to give your speech before or after the meal, my lord?” Raynauld asked.
“Before,” Adam replied. “If I wait until later, they’ll all be too far into their cups to hear my brilliant remarks.”
The children’s young nurse met them near the keep and took the baby and Charles away. Adam placed Cristiane’s hand upon his own and
accompanied her, with great formality, to the dais.
Adam gained everyone’s attention and began his speech, talking of their great harvest, and the season’s tremendous fishing successes. He spoke with pride of his growing family, of the traditions of the isle and of his hopes for the future.
“Which is why I’ve asked the king to allow me to call our isle home by another name. A new name…a more fitting name. Raise your cups,” he called out, even as he raised his own. Cristiane came to her feet next to him and he put his arm around her. “Drink to the Isle of Hope!”
There was silence for a moment while they drank, then the cups hit the tables, and the shouts and applause were deafening. The music resumed and Adam looked down at Cristiane. She had brought love and good fortune to him. She had given him the hope he now felt in his heart.
When she looked up at him, her eyes were bright with pride and happiness.
“You know you are queen of the Isle of Hope,” he said, taking her in his arms.
“Only if you are king, my lord,” she replied.
“Do not mention that to King Edward,” he jested. Then he tipped his head down, while she raised hers, and their lips met somewhere in between. Adam pulled her close and kissed her deeply, as she slipped her arms around his shoulders, then up to his neck.
Their actions did not go unnoticed. The crowd clapped and cheered noisily at their lord and lady’s amorous activity.
Adam was breathless when he finally broke the kiss, but he kept his wife in his embrace. “You are my life and my hope, Cristiane,” he said fervently. “I love you.”
She reached up and touched his face. “Oh Adam,” she replied. “My life could not be fuller, or happier. I love you, too. With all my heart and my soul.”
Hand in hand, they joined
the crowd, enjoying the frolics of the inhabitants of Hope.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6019-4
BRIDE OF THE ISLE
Copyright © 2002 by Margo Wider
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