Shivers
Having woken up shivering several times during the night, Adelina thought perhaps fear, uncertainty and resentment had more to do with her inability to get warm than the chilly night air. “We’d have frozen to death if you hadn’t procured these furs,” she told Glenda, who had already risen. “Thank you.”
The sulking maid thrust a chunk of bread and a slice of cheese into her hands, then began gathering up the furs. “Best make use of yon chamberpot quickly. They’ll be taking down the tent soon.”
With the stale food clamped between her teeth, Adelina scrambled to her feet. She’d just taken care of her needs when male voices reached her ears and the sides of the tent sagged.
Breakfast in hand, she escaped before the canvas collapsed entirely. “Thanks again,” she told Glenda, ridiculously grateful when the maid handed her a small tumbler of watered ale.
“Ye’ll need that to wash down yon bread,” she stated flatly.
It was tempting to toss the meager food into the bushes but Adelina would need her strength if and when rescue came. She chewed the last of the bread and drained the tumbler.
She wandered to her tethered horse, heat flooding her face when a scowling soldier emerged from beneath the collapsed canvas, chamberpot in hand.
Outrage threatened to boil over when Mandeville approached, but it would do no good to lash out at him. Indeed, things might get worse.
“I trust you are ready to proceed, my lady,” he said.
It wasn’t a question, so she gave no answer, but his next words took her aback. “May I?” he asked, nodding to the horse.
Without waiting for a reply, he put his hands on her waist. Grooms who’d assisted her to mount a horse in the past would never have initiated such intimate contact. But Mandeville wasn’t a groom, so why was she helping her?
When he lifted her, she had no choice but to grasp his shoulders briefly before reaching for the pommel.
No man had ever been so bold as to put his hands on her. In a way it was exciting, but the too-close proximity of his body and the odor of male sweat caused her stomach to turn over. When she looked down from her perch atop the horse, the glint of amusement in the major’s gray eyes added to her distress. Surely he didn’t intend…
She shook her head, dismissing the notion. King John would have him executed if he touched her inappropriately. Or was Mandeville trying to tell her he was a friend she could rely on? Whatever the case, she would need to keep a careful eye on Major Harcourt Mandeville.
* * *
Soaking wet, and chilled to the bone, Roland had never felt more alive. He’d beaten L’Raz yet again. He took it as a good omen that they’d survived the giant waves.
The crewmen, equally drenched, were jubilant, all except Terric who looked pale as he staggered from the rowing benches to the stern. “You’re mad,” he declared.
Roland grinned. “Admit it. You enjoyed the thrill of danger just a little.”
“I suppose,” Terric allowed with a reluctant smile. “What now?”
“Soon, we sail north of the island of Guernési, which is still in King John’s hands. There might be patrol boats plying back and forth from the south coast of England. Since he fears an attack from the French, the tyrant may have garrisoned troops on the island.”
“So, we run the gauntlet,” Terric concluded.
“Oui, but I’m not worried. I have a premonition all will go well from here on in.”
“Let’s hope you are right,” his cousin replied, stripping off his wet gambeson and holding it into the wind.
“We’ll make a sailor of you yet,” Roland quipped. “Here, take the tiller. I’ll relieve Adrien at the prow for a while.”
Casting an eye to the billowing sail that had miraculously survived the howling wind of the strait, he made his way past the rowing benches, acknowledging the congratulations of the crew.
“Well done, brother,” Adrien declared when Roland reached him. “I doubt I could have got us through. I had a difficult enough time hanging on here at the prow. You’ve got more Viking blood in your veins than the rest of us Montbryces put together.”
Roland appreciated the praise, but a ripple of unease stole up his spine. “We each have our strengths. I’m the sailor, you’re the scholar.” He thought it better not to mention he had a way with the ladies, whereas Adrien tended to be too shy with the fairer sex.
His brother snorted. “Much good that will do me. Unless I enter the Church.”
Roland tensed. “Is that what you want?”