Rising Fire by Terri Brisbin Page A

he said, remaining where he was. She’d become frightened of him the last time, and he did not want that to happen again. “How do you fare this morn?”
    â€œI am well, my lord,” she said, watching him without moving toward or away from him.
    â€œMore chores?” he asked, nodding at the basket on her arm.
    â€œAye. They never do seem to end,” she said, smiling. Then she spoke to him. “You seem at your ease, my lord. Have you no tasks to fill your hours?”
    He laughed at her words and shrugged. “My task is waiting on your lord to return,” he explained. “So here I sit, enjoying the cool breezes and the warm sun.”
    Now it was her turn to laugh as she looked above and around them at the customary Scottish weather—cloudy with an ever-present mist. Not the sunshine and breezes he’d said.
    â€œMayhap you are thinking yourself elsewhere than here? Mayhap your home in the south?” She walked closer and put the basket down on the ground. “Is it always warm there? In Normandy?” she asked.
    â€œNay, not always. But our land is tempered by the warm seas. It is sunnier there more often than here, though I know that some areas of the kingdom are more blessed than others,” he said as he rose and walked toward her. “I have heard of places that have golden sands and turquoise waters.”
    â€œAs your homeland does?” William picked up thebasket and looked at her before answering. “I take that to the men working the fields.”
    â€œCome. I will carry it,” he offered. “And tell you of my homeland as we walk.”
    Though she hesitated for a moment, she did not refuse. Brienne walked at his side away from the village, clearly not apprehensive nor obedient to her father’s wishes.
    William began with a description of his favorite places in the lands held by his mother’s family and those of her husband, his father-in-name. The rows of grapevines and other fruits. Verdant fields producing all manner of crops. The beaches and sea that he could see from the highest places on their lands.
    â€œTell me of the sea,” she said softly. There was such a wistful wanting in her voice, it made him smile. “I would like to see it.”
    â€œYou have never seen the sea, Brienne?” he asked.
    As a nobleman and a warrior, serving a king who traveled his kingdom and owning lands here and across on the Continent, William found it difficult to conceive of not traveling. Whether on land or sea, his travels had taken him wide and far. He forgot for a moment that those who lived tied to the lands and the lords who held them rarely left them. She shook her head.
    â€œDo you like the sea, my lord?” she asked.
    â€œAye, though it can be as fickle as the weather here in Scotland. And ’tis no place to be when it turns dark,” he said. “Though on a sunny, warm day, I like to swim in it.”
    â€œSwim? In the sea?” Her tone was curious and horrified at once.
    â€œHave you never swum in the rivers here?”
    â€œNay. Some of the children do, when the river is high, or in some of the deeper pools that gather at the turns, but I cannot swim,” she said, with a forlorn expression on her face.
    In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take her to the sea. To let her feel the waves coming in and washing up against her feet and legs. To be there when she first viewed its expansiveness and might. William did not know why he reacted this way to her—to this village girl who belonged here and who had no place in his life.
    But, then, watching her face come alive and her eyes sparkle as he spoke of his recent voyages, he wanted it to be so. They walked and he answered her never-ending questions about how it felt and how it appeared and sounded. By the time they reached the edge of the forest, she’d impressed him with the questions she’d asked and her interest and curiosity and