afternoon, Adela, my dear, and have a hearty appetite now.”
“Aye, madam,” she said politely as she moved to take the place Isobel indicated by her. Lady Clendenen followed, taking her place at Adela’s left with Sidony beyond. Adela noted with relief that Hugo had stopped beside Sir Michael, who in Henry’s absence sat next to the countess.
Macleod was beside Hugo with de Gredin beyond him.
Adela’s gaze rested thoughtfully on de Gredin. Surely, he had spoken as he had, and with the French accent, hoping to keep his identity secret a little longer. He had said he wanted to be her friend, had he not? Nevertheless, her doubt lingered.
Isabella’s minstrels played throughout the meal, but she had arranged no further entertainment, so Adela asked to be excused directly after supper.
The countess expressed a hope that she would join her and the other ladies for a short time in her solar. But she made no objection when Adela thanked her but said that she would prefer to go straight to bed.
“Run along then, my dear,” Isabella said with a warm smile. “Sleep well.”
Making her escape without further ado, Adela noticed as she left the dais that the chevalier smiled at her, but she hoped he did not mean to follow. Sorcha was not the only one who would think a private talk between them unseemly. Adela thought the same, although she had to admit, at least to herself, that she had not felt any such discomfort on the ramparts.
She could not decide what she thought of de Gredin. He seemed reassuringly at ease with himself tonight. Even when he had drawn Sorcha’s censure, he had recovered swiftly and with grace. Adela thought she could like him as a friend, but friendships between men and women who were not kin to each other were so rare that she could not call any to mind. Perhaps after Lady Clendenen married Macleod, the kinship would then be such that friendship between them could follow.
She realized that she was still thinking of him as the man she had met on the ramparts, despite her inability to detect similarity in the two voices. But logically, they had to be the same man if only because no one else remained at Roslin who could be the man on the ramparts.
And surely, he must still be at Roslin, because he had told her she could summon him easily if she needed him.
She went to her bedchamber, hoping her sisters would not feel compelled to follow. She was not usually one to seek solitude so often—certainly not as often as she had since her abduction. To converse politely with near strangers was a strain now, rather than the rare treat it was at Chalamine.
Even to converse with people she knew well took effort now. She suddenly recalled that she had told Sorcha about the strange fear of madness she had recently experienced. If Sorcha recalled their discussion, and recalled that Lady Clendenen and the chevalier had interrupted them, she might come in search of her.
Entering her bedchamber, she stirred up the fire and added fuel from the hearth basket to warm hands grown chilly again in the stone stairwell. The water in the basin was cold, too, and Kenna would not bring hot until she came to help her prepare for bed. Pulling a stool close to the hearth, Adela sat and held her hands out to the warmth as she gazed into the fire and tried to think.
The flames danced and flickered. Although they did little to move her thoughts in any sensible direction, they were both comforting and mesmerizing. She was still staring into them, her mind nearly blank, when the click of the latch startled her so much that she nearly tumbled off the stool.
Turning, expecting to see Sorcha, she beheld Kenna instead.
“Faith, is it time to go to bed already?”
“Nay, m’lady,” Kenna said, shutting the door carefully behind her, then moving toward Adela with one hand extended. “I’ve brought ye a message.”
“A message? From whom?”
“Me brother Tam said to ask nae questions, so I brought it straight up to
“Aye, madam,” she said politely as she moved to take the place Isobel indicated by her. Lady Clendenen followed, taking her place at Adela’s left with Sidony beyond. Adela noted with relief that Hugo had stopped beside Sir Michael, who in Henry’s absence sat next to the countess.
Macleod was beside Hugo with de Gredin beyond him.
Adela’s gaze rested thoughtfully on de Gredin. Surely, he had spoken as he had, and with the French accent, hoping to keep his identity secret a little longer. He had said he wanted to be her friend, had he not? Nevertheless, her doubt lingered.
Isabella’s minstrels played throughout the meal, but she had arranged no further entertainment, so Adela asked to be excused directly after supper.
The countess expressed a hope that she would join her and the other ladies for a short time in her solar. But she made no objection when Adela thanked her but said that she would prefer to go straight to bed.
“Run along then, my dear,” Isabella said with a warm smile. “Sleep well.”
Making her escape without further ado, Adela noticed as she left the dais that the chevalier smiled at her, but she hoped he did not mean to follow. Sorcha was not the only one who would think a private talk between them unseemly. Adela thought the same, although she had to admit, at least to herself, that she had not felt any such discomfort on the ramparts.
She could not decide what she thought of de Gredin. He seemed reassuringly at ease with himself tonight. Even when he had drawn Sorcha’s censure, he had recovered swiftly and with grace. Adela thought she could like him as a friend, but friendships between men and women who were not kin to each other were so rare that she could not call any to mind. Perhaps after Lady Clendenen married Macleod, the kinship would then be such that friendship between them could follow.
She realized that she was still thinking of him as the man she had met on the ramparts, despite her inability to detect similarity in the two voices. But logically, they had to be the same man if only because no one else remained at Roslin who could be the man on the ramparts.
And surely, he must still be at Roslin, because he had told her she could summon him easily if she needed him.
She went to her bedchamber, hoping her sisters would not feel compelled to follow. She was not usually one to seek solitude so often—certainly not as often as she had since her abduction. To converse politely with near strangers was a strain now, rather than the rare treat it was at Chalamine.
Even to converse with people she knew well took effort now. She suddenly recalled that she had told Sorcha about the strange fear of madness she had recently experienced. If Sorcha recalled their discussion, and recalled that Lady Clendenen and the chevalier had interrupted them, she might come in search of her.
Entering her bedchamber, she stirred up the fire and added fuel from the hearth basket to warm hands grown chilly again in the stone stairwell. The water in the basin was cold, too, and Kenna would not bring hot until she came to help her prepare for bed. Pulling a stool close to the hearth, Adela sat and held her hands out to the warmth as she gazed into the fire and tried to think.
The flames danced and flickered. Although they did little to move her thoughts in any sensible direction, they were both comforting and mesmerizing. She was still staring into them, her mind nearly blank, when the click of the latch startled her so much that she nearly tumbled off the stool.
Turning, expecting to see Sorcha, she beheld Kenna instead.
“Faith, is it time to go to bed already?”
“Nay, m’lady,” Kenna said, shutting the door carefully behind her, then moving toward Adela with one hand extended. “I’ve brought ye a message.”
“A message? From whom?”
“Me brother Tam said to ask nae questions, so I brought it straight up to
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