Mrs. Nichols did not keep them waiting on the threshold long. Nor did she linger over her choice of words. "Come inside, then. My daughter is waiting."
William took Tamara's arm and together they followed Mrs. Nichols inside.
The kitchen was large and filled with the smell of freshly baked bread. The hearth, on which the loaves were now cooling, was made from the same stone as the floor and gave the whole room a very primitive feeling. The walls had been white washed recently and they glowed almost opalescent in the firelight. There was a long wooden table covered with a thin white cloth in the middle of the room. Yet it was not the table that drew William's attention, but the girl who sat at its head.
Sarah Nichols had her mother's wide mouth and deep brown eyes, but they were set in a small, delicate face that was made of pure English cream. She was one of the most beautiful creatures William had ever set eyes on. His mouth went dry and his heart gave an involuntary flutter.
The girl looked up at him, then, and the expression on her face could
