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Terric watched the shoreline of Ellan Vannin disappear over the horizon. Another day at sea and they would reach the coast of Cumbria.
He was thankful seasickness no longer plagued him. His emotions were tied in knots as it was.
He longed to reunite with his sister. He had no way of knowing if she knew he was alive.
The possibility she’d already been wed to the elderly baron sat like a lead ball of dread in his belly. His beautiful sister deserved a young, vibrant husband…like Roland, he supposed.
He thought he’d become reconciled to a long exile in Normandie, but the resentment churning in his gut refused to abate. He and Adelina were the last of the English de Quincey line, yet they might be forced to spend their lives in a foreign land. Even when John died, there was no certainty Melton Manor would be restored to their family, nor their perceived disloyalty pardoned by the next monarch. Isabella hadn’t yet provided her husband with an heir.
Roland had asked if he thought Adelina would be content to live in Normandie. The honest answer was, he had no idea.
As the moon rose, he prayed all would go well when they reached Cumbria. He had to stop wallowing in self-pity. Roland had saved his life. He loved the man, so why was he being so unreasonably selfish? If his cousin loved Adelina, truly loved her…
Therein lay the problem. Terric had no inkling what true love was.
