Free Uncertain Magic by Laura Kinsale

the abbey, she had examined and enthusiastically approved the contents. While Faelan saw to the horses she took it upon herself to spread the cloth and arrange the cheese, smoked salmon, and crusty bread on a convenient block of stone. She was working diligently, if inexpertly, to open the wine bottle when he returned.
    He lifted the bottle out of her hands, and with one deft twist freed the cork. Roddy had seated herself on the block next to the food, facing the water. He sat down in the grass beside her, leaning against the roughly dressed stone and stretching out one boot-clad leg as he poured the wine. In exchange for the offered glass, Roddy handed him a makeshift sandwich. They ate in a comfortable silence. It was pleasant, to have someone nearby and yet not intruding on her thoughts. The horses were content with their feedbags. A light breeze from the sea fanned her cheek and the egret feathers on the bonnet she had set aside, but all else was quiet. Even the gulls had deserted them, too wild on this empty coast to accept a handout.
    She finished her sandwich and stared around her at the quiet ruins. A melody came unbidden to her lips, the kind of haunting air she loved. She hummed it softly, liking the way the wind carried her notes away as if to please some fay sea creature drowsing far out on the shimmering waves.
    She realized, with a small shock, that she was happy. Her fears and doubts had faded into pleasant attention to the numerous small sensations that interested her. In the cool autumn day, there was just a trace of heat from the man at her side, the slightest warmth where his shoulder rested half an inch from her knee. She felt it even through her light wool skirt. Against the background of cerulean, his hair seemed very black. It made her think of his eyes and their blue beneath thick charcoal. She watched his hands idly as he poured another glass of wine. The fingers were long and perfect: strong, rather than refined.
    He was, she thought smugly, a handsome man.
    The idea made her lips curve upward. She had to remind herself firmly that theirs would be a marriage of convenience. He needed her for her money, not her person. Those fine hands had undoubtedly caressed far more beautiful women than Roddy was sure she would ever become. After their wedding, he might even decide to go back to his mistresses.
    A depressing thought. Not that she'd expected eternal devotion from him, but it would have been nice to…
    But no, that was mere fantasy. She wanted children, and proper management of the money and estate that would be their future. That was enough. He could keep all the highfliers he liked. It was, she told herself, one of the specific advantages of marriage to the Devil Earl—she would know no more than he chose to tell her.
    He slanted a look at her, and held up his glass. "To my bride," he said unexpectedly. "May you always be as happy as you were a moment ago."
    Before Roddy could summon a reply, he finished off the wine in one swallow and stood up. "Walk with me." He held out his hand. "We need to talk."
    His fingers curved around hers, giving her little choice but to obey. He did not let her go as he began to walk, but tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, a move that seemed so natural to him that she thought again, gloomily, of the women he must have known.
    "What is it?" he asked suddenly.
    Roddy looked up at him in startlement. "I beg your pardon?"
    He stopped and turned, and once again she was caught by the vivid blue of his eyes. "Why do you frown? I'd hoped you were enjoying yourself."
    "Was I frowning?" Roddy made an effort to lighten her expression. "I'm sorry. Of course I'm enjoying myself."
    He took her arm again and moved on. "Good. I like it when you smile."
    "My lord—"
    "Faelan."
    Roddy took a breath. "Faelan—there's really no need for gallantry. I realize full well that you've offered for me because of my portion, and I'm well satisfied. You don't have to pretend affection