Christina was wrenched from a deep sleep by a chill at her back. Instinctively, she snuggled toward the heat of her husband, only to find emptiness and cold linen.
He was gone for some time if the icy sheets were any indication.
Her brow furrowed. Perhaps she’d slept longer than she realized? But when she dragged her eyes open, it was to find herself gazing into the early gray light of dawn filtering through the spaces in the wooden shutter.
As she could barely move, she wondered what could have caused him to wake so early. If it wasn’t for the freezing morning, Christina could have slept for another few hours. But winter was coming, and in the North it took a particularly frigid turn.Eilean a Cheo, the Isle of Mist, the Gaelic name for Skye, did not bode well. Shades of gray would probably be the only color to paint the sky for some time.
She stretched lazily, but even that took some effort. Every muscle in her body was stiff and weak with exhaustion. Heat flooded her cheeks as she remembered why.
Never could she have imagined acting with such wanton abandon. But in truth it had seemed the most natural—the only—thing to do. Her body had responded with a mind of its own.
He’d known exactly how to touch her. How to make her shake with pleasure until she soared into sensual oblivion. It was so much better than in her books!
A contented smile curled her lips. For all his cool indifference, her husband’s passion did not lie. Last night she’d seen a different side of him—a wild, passionate side, but also a gentle and considerate one. He’d not merely taken pleasure but given it.
He cared for her—he had to. She’d felt it in the tenderness of his touch, in the sounds of his pleasure, and in the frantic beating of his heart.
And when they’d collapsed in sated bliss, he’d been just as exhausted as she—the heaviness of his breathing and the boneless limbs gave proof that it had affected him.
Those long nights at the hearth seemed much closer.
But where had he gone?
She tossed the covers off and bounded out of bed, barely noticing the bracing chill in her eagerness to find him. Last night had broken down a barrier between them and she couldn’t wait to see him—to talk to him. A new day had dawned in their marriage.
She called for Mhairi, who slept in the adjoining mural chamber, and quickly washed and dressed. As she passed the lord’s solar on the way to the Great Hall, she noticed the door was slightly ajar. Hoping to find Tor there, she gently pushed it open to peek inside. Her attempts at quiet, however, were ruined by the squeak of the iron hinges.
The clerk startled, dropping the stack of parchments he’d been flipping through.
“My lady!” he exclaimed with surprise, moving back away from the table where he’d been standing.
Christina smiled, thinking that his voice squeaked louder than the door. “Good morning, Brother John,” she said cheerily. “You are up early this morning.”
He seemed to collect himself and returned her smile. “As I am every day. Matins at dawn, you know.”
She nodded, unable to prevent the wave of relief at the monotonous life she’d narrowly avoided. She hoped that Beatrix was happy. Word had arrived her first day at Dunvegan that her sister had made it safely to Iona. MacDonald’s charming scoundrel of a henchman had proved true to his word. Somehow MacSorley had caught up to the travelers and escorted Beatrix the rest of the way to the nunnery. The Islanders were reputed to be excellent seafarers, courtesy of their Viking forebearers. Her husband certainly gave proof to the characterization, but MacSorley’s extraordinary feat seemed incredible even for an Islander.
“Is there something you wanted, my lady?” the clerk asked.
Christina shook her head, bending down to pick up a piece of parchment that had landed near her feet. She glanced at it, seeing that it was a letter, and handed it back to him. “I was hoping to find my husband. Have you seen him this morning?”
“Nay, but he’s probably in the Great Hall with his men, breaking his fast.” He started to put away the documents. “I was just on the way myself. Perhaps I can accompany you?”
“I would like that,” she said. “But I do not want to take you from your work?”
He shook his head, his long, straight hair cut in a semicircle around his face quickly sliding back into place. “It’s nothing that can’t wait. Some correspondence, that’s all.”
They walked to the Hall together, chatting about the worsening weather and the long winter ahead of them. The young clerk, it turned out, had arrived at Dunvegan not much before her, and Christina was delighted to discover that he had spent quite a bit of time at a monastery near her home in Stirlingshire. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised to discover that the only person who’d been friendly toward her was also an outsider.
“We shall have much to talk about,” she said.
“We shall, indeed.” Echoing her thoughts, he said, “I hope you don’t mind my saying that I’m glad you are here, my lady. Yours is the first smile I’ve seen in quite some time. The chief’s marriage took the clan by surprise, but it’s easy to see why he fell in love with you.”
Christina froze, stopping a few feet from the entry to the Hall. “What?” She croaked. Her breath seemed lodged in her throat.
The clerk turned as red as an overripe beet. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t repeat the servants’ gossip.”
Christina didn’t mind at all. But trying to appear nonchalant, she twisted the thick gold bracelet at her wrist and said idly, “What exactly are they saying?”
