before them. “Olivia’s going to be sorry she missed this. I can smell the food cooking.”
“See the bonfires on the hills?” He pointed his whip. “That’s a tradition on Midsummer’s Eve. The villagers believe it welcomes summer.”
She grinned as they rattled into the village square. “So this really is a pagan celebration?”
“Let’s say it’s a Christian celebration with pagan roots.”
One of the villagers standing in the doorway of the tiny inn hailed him. Adam greeted the man by name and came to a halt.
“M’lord, a pleasure.” John wiped his hands on his apron. “We was hopin’ ye was comin’, but ye missed th’ cheese rollin’.”
“My misfortune,” Adam said, grinning.
John agreed solemnly. “’Twas a hearty sight.”
“What is a cheese rolling?” Adam quizzed, echoing the question in Bronwyn’s mind.
“Ye’ve never attended a cheese rollin’?” John studied them as if they were strange creatures. “We take a big wheel o’ cheese, see, an’ roll it down th’ hill, an’ th’ boys chase it, an’ th’ winner gets th’ cheese.” Seeking to comfort them, he added, “Still an’ all, ye’re here in time fer plenty o’ games. Th’ men are playing marbles now. Th’ boys’ll be tacklin’ a greased pig. We’ve got wrestlin’ with some o’ our best men t’ bet on, an’ this before ’tis total dark an’ we can light th’ bonfire in th’ square. Son, take th’ lordship’s horses an’ put them in me stable.” A ten-year-old ran to the ponies’ heads, and Adam descended to help Bronwyn down.
“Is this yer lady?” John asked, not bothering to hide his fervent interest. “The lady ye would wed?”
“Indeed it is.” Adam wrapped his hands around Bronwyn’s waist and swung her down. He kept his hands there while he gazed at her, and a hot blush worked under her skin. “Lady Bronwyn Edana, daughter of the earl of Gaynor.”
“A fine lady t’ come t’ our humble celebration,” John said.
Crowding close under the villager’s arm, a woman Bronwyn suspected was his wife asked, “But did ye come without a chaperone?”
Adam let Bronwyn go, and she turned to the woman. “My sister was ill. Mab will be along later, and for this brief visit I decided to trust Lord Keane.”
“Did ye now?” The woman examined Adam with a critical gaze. “No doubt ye could trust him with yer life. But with yer virtue?” She twisted her thumb down and turned profile in the doorway. Her belly, swollen and waiting to be delivered of its burden, gave a visual warning more potent than words. “Don’t let yer trust carry ye too far.”
Nudging his wife behind him, John sputtered and apologized. “Ye’ll excuse Gilda, m’lord, she’s in th’ last stages an’ taking advantage o’ me soft nature.”
Adam grinned again and without words invited Bronwyn to share his amusement. She couldn’t help herself. She responded. In the radiance of his pleasure, she realized Gilda’s warning came too late. Bronwyn would trust Adam. Trust him with her life, trust him with her virtue, for no better reason than an instinct that claimed him as hers.
“Look at the flames licking out of those barrels.” Standing on the top of the knoll, on top of a rock, Bronwyn clapped her hands like a child given a sugar plum. “Why do they roll them down the hill?”
Adam stood below and watched her excitement in the flickering light of the bonfire. “It’s a tradition,” he said, as he’d said so many times this evening.
“Have they always done so?”
Smiling faintly, he said, “I suppose. You’ll have to inquire.”
The idea was parent to the action. Holding her skirts, she leaped from the rock. Adam thought he heard a ripping sound, but, unperturbed, she bounded to the fringe of the bonfire. Giving way good-naturedly, the villagers closed behind her. They’d come to like her as she cheered the marbles and the wrestling. She’d laughed until she cried as the boys struggled
“See the bonfires on the hills?” He pointed his whip. “That’s a tradition on Midsummer’s Eve. The villagers believe it welcomes summer.”
She grinned as they rattled into the village square. “So this really is a pagan celebration?”
“Let’s say it’s a Christian celebration with pagan roots.”
One of the villagers standing in the doorway of the tiny inn hailed him. Adam greeted the man by name and came to a halt.
“M’lord, a pleasure.” John wiped his hands on his apron. “We was hopin’ ye was comin’, but ye missed th’ cheese rollin’.”
“My misfortune,” Adam said, grinning.
John agreed solemnly. “’Twas a hearty sight.”
“What is a cheese rolling?” Adam quizzed, echoing the question in Bronwyn’s mind.
“Ye’ve never attended a cheese rollin’?” John studied them as if they were strange creatures. “We take a big wheel o’ cheese, see, an’ roll it down th’ hill, an’ th’ boys chase it, an’ th’ winner gets th’ cheese.” Seeking to comfort them, he added, “Still an’ all, ye’re here in time fer plenty o’ games. Th’ men are playing marbles now. Th’ boys’ll be tacklin’ a greased pig. We’ve got wrestlin’ with some o’ our best men t’ bet on, an’ this before ’tis total dark an’ we can light th’ bonfire in th’ square. Son, take th’ lordship’s horses an’ put them in me stable.” A ten-year-old ran to the ponies’ heads, and Adam descended to help Bronwyn down.
“Is this yer lady?” John asked, not bothering to hide his fervent interest. “The lady ye would wed?”
“Indeed it is.” Adam wrapped his hands around Bronwyn’s waist and swung her down. He kept his hands there while he gazed at her, and a hot blush worked under her skin. “Lady Bronwyn Edana, daughter of the earl of Gaynor.”
“A fine lady t’ come t’ our humble celebration,” John said.
Crowding close under the villager’s arm, a woman Bronwyn suspected was his wife asked, “But did ye come without a chaperone?”
Adam let Bronwyn go, and she turned to the woman. “My sister was ill. Mab will be along later, and for this brief visit I decided to trust Lord Keane.”
“Did ye now?” The woman examined Adam with a critical gaze. “No doubt ye could trust him with yer life. But with yer virtue?” She twisted her thumb down and turned profile in the doorway. Her belly, swollen and waiting to be delivered of its burden, gave a visual warning more potent than words. “Don’t let yer trust carry ye too far.”
Nudging his wife behind him, John sputtered and apologized. “Ye’ll excuse Gilda, m’lord, she’s in th’ last stages an’ taking advantage o’ me soft nature.”
Adam grinned again and without words invited Bronwyn to share his amusement. She couldn’t help herself. She responded. In the radiance of his pleasure, she realized Gilda’s warning came too late. Bronwyn would trust Adam. Trust him with her life, trust him with her virtue, for no better reason than an instinct that claimed him as hers.
“Look at the flames licking out of those barrels.” Standing on the top of the knoll, on top of a rock, Bronwyn clapped her hands like a child given a sugar plum. “Why do they roll them down the hill?”
Adam stood below and watched her excitement in the flickering light of the bonfire. “It’s a tradition,” he said, as he’d said so many times this evening.
“Have they always done so?”
Smiling faintly, he said, “I suppose. You’ll have to inquire.”
The idea was parent to the action. Holding her skirts, she leaped from the rock. Adam thought he heard a ripping sound, but, unperturbed, she bounded to the fringe of the bonfire. Giving way good-naturedly, the villagers closed behind her. They’d come to like her as she cheered the marbles and the wrestling. She’d laughed until she cried as the boys struggled
Similar Books
