Page 30 of Aurelia

“We take a census at the end of each year and there have been three births thus far, another should occur within the next few days.” He gestured to the narrow but hardpacked path they rode on. “You will use this road most often as it encircles the island. There are several others that cross it and of course, a few roads leading to individual houses, but we will stay on this so you can familiarize yourself with the village of Crewe.”

“Is that another island?” she asked, pointing toward the south.

“Yes, although the term island is rather grand to describe it. It has been built over the centuries by the Lairds of Crewe. We still haul rocks on barges from the mainland, although not to increase the size of it anymore, but to add to the protective barrier around it. It hosts one of the smallest lighthouses in Britain, which is operated by Old Walter. The island is called Nesta’s Perch after an eccentric ancestress of mine who went to live there after her husband died. She is believed to have died there, although nobody ever found her body.”

Miss Burton’s lips curved into a charming smile. “Does she haunt it?”

“Of course.”

“And Old Walter does not mind?”

“His wife ran off with a lover ages ago and he is fond of saying that Nesta’s shade is the only woman who could abide him.”

As they rode up over the ridge Roland gestured to a tiny bay down below. “Down there, hidden in a system of caves, is the home of the Thorsson family, the only inhabitants of the island who can claim a more ancient lineage than my own. Thorsson claims his ancestors came with the original jarl who settled the place hundreds of years before the Conquest.”

Miss Burton gazed around her with obvious admiration. “The island must have been desolate, but also wild and beautiful without a human presence.”

Roland gave her a look of surprise.

She flushed slightly. “You are thinking that is a rather naïve and romantic view.”

“Not at all. I am pleased that you appreciate the stark and unusual beauty of Crewe.”

They rode for a while in silence as they gradually descended to the water’s edge.

Roland gestured to the right. “This is the largest pier and most protected of our bays. When you decide to practice your rowing, you should do so here, where you can experiment in relative safety. There is usually somebody nearby if you should get into any trouble. Have you rowed before?”

“Only on a little pond near home. I imagine it could be quite dangerous here?”

“It can be if you are not paying attention. A smooth glassy sea can turn violent in the blink of an eye, so you must always be aware of your surroundings.” He paused, and then said, “I will have Celsa take you out tomorrow if conditions are favorable. She is very comfortable in a skiff and has been rowing since she was a child. Do you swim?”

“Yes, but—again—only in a stream or a pond, never the ocean.”

Roland was assaulted by an image of her with a wet, transparent chemise plastered over her lithe body, full, high creamy breasts floating on—

“I daresay the water is extremely cold?” she asked.

Like a rock thrown into a pond, her question shattered the arousing image. Which was just as well as it was bloody uncomfortable to ride with his cock at full mast.

“Most of the time the water is frigid,” he agreed. “But we also get tropical currents at certain times of the year.”

Miss Burton reined in and pointed to something near the water line. “What is that?”

Roland followed her gaze. “It is a ducking stool. Or cucking stool, as some of the older people call it.”

“Ducking stool?” she repeated, her tone less certain than any he’d heard out of her yet.

“Yes, for punishment.”

“You can’t mean—” she bit her plush lower lip, halting the flow of words, her hazel eyes growing rounder by the second.

Roland waited for her to finish, amused when she couldn’t muster the words to finish her thought. “It is where men bring willful wives to discipline them,” he said.

Her full, coral pink lips parted, the sight evoking such carnal thoughts that Roland had to shift in his saddle. Christ but she was lovely when she shed some of her prim, stern façade.

“Discipline?”

Roland had to bite the inside of his cheek not to burst out laughing. He could almost hear Arthur scolding him. As usual, he ignored it.