Page 17 of The Guardian’s Bride (Highland Secrets #3)

“D a!” The boy ran on fast little legs to overtake the dogs, then stumbled, laughing, rolling partway down the hill, scrambling to his feet. One of the dogs leaped over him, rounded, nosed at him, then ran in tandem with the boy.

“Colban! Here to me, lad!” Aedan squatted on his haunches, arms spread wide to welcome the boy and the dogs tumbling into his arms and all over him, laughing, barking, the dogs licking faces, bounding over to Rowena, who stepped back, smiling, staying out of the way of the happy tumult. She got her share of licked hands too, though the dogs, one large and one small, wheeled back to the man and boy fast enough.

“It is good to see you!” Aedan managed to stand, little boy hanging off one shoulder, the taller hound bounding up, pawing his chest, panting with delight. “ Ach , you lot,” he said to both dogs, “give me a moment with my lad, will you? Look how tall he has grown! All but a man, and his da not here to measure his great feet for new boots!”

“I have new boots, see!” Colban stuck out a foot to show him. “Sir Patrick had them made for me.”

“Sir Patrick? Do you mean our neighbor, Patrick Wemyss? Marjorie, lass!” Aedan grinned as the woman stopped on the hill just above them, hands on hips, her smile wide and dimpled, her cheeks rosy. Her hair, as golden-red as a bright sunset, was braided in a halo around her head beneath a simple kerchief.

“Aedan MacDuff, where have you been these weeks?” She smiled as she spoke. “I am glad to see you hale and whole and still with the living, since we had no word.”

“No time to scare up a messenger! They did not get me yet, and I see the lad is hale and whole too, and I have you to thank for it.” He reached out an arm and she ran to throw her arms around him and the boy too, dogs leaping about.

Rowena stood by, silent and smiling, one hand fending off an affectionate dog. Her eyes stung with tears to see such love, bright and clear, in their greeting. She felt a tug within, a wish that she too was part of that warm, laughing embrace. But she folded her hands, feeling as if she stood outside in the cold, watching through a window as a joyful family sat round a cozy, crackling hearth fire. She yearned for the same, missing the dream of the family she might have had once.

Her family at Kincraig was warm and close. But she had lost her dream of her own little family and had tucked that away. Yet now she saw Aedan MacDuff as the center of his, his big heart and cheerfulness like a glow enveloping them. She smiled, taking in that joy and strength, wishing she were part of it too, with him.

“Greetings, lady,” Marjorie told Rowena. “Aedan, who have you brought us?”

He released his sister, set his son down, and held out his hand to Rowena. “No need to be shy. This is Lady Rowena Keith of Kincraig. I am escorting her home. This is my sister, Lady Marjorie MacDuff, and my son Colban.”

“Welcome to Caisteal Duibh!” Marjorie wove between circling dogs and held out her hands to meet Rowena’s grasp. “Colban, where are your manners, aye?”

“My lady!” Colban bounced toward her and bowed like a knight in a royal court. “I am Colban MacDuff,” he said, straightening and puffing out his little chest, “son of Aedan, son of Duncan, son of Colban, son of Malcolm, son of—stop it, Cheese!” He pushed at the dog nosing into him.

“Cheese!” Rowena laughed, petting the dog’s head. “It is lovely to meet you, Colban mhic Aodh mac Duibh. And Cheese, you too,” she said.

“The big one is Cheese and the little one is Bean.” Colban took her hand, looking very serious as he bowed again. Then he looked up at his father. “Does she have the Gaelic, Da?” He spoke in English.

“Just a little, but we forgive her because she knows the old ways.”

“Then I am glad she came to stay with us, and I will teach her the Gaelic.”

“Ah, but the lady must go home and I promised to take her there, so we can stay only a day or two. And you will travel soon too, with your Aunt Marjorie and Great-aunt Jennet. I will explain all,” he added to Marjorie.

“You had better,” Marjorie said. “Our lady aunt is eager to see you. Come.”

Aedan sat at dinner, pleased and satisfied. Family again. It meant all to him. All. And with Rowena here as well—he sucked in a breath to stop the thought before it could take him too far into the dreams he had set aside years ago, dreams that clamored now.

They gathered for an early supper in the great hall, a raftered room with whitewashed walls and planked floors. Cushioned chairs sat beneath tall, shuttered windows and the long table was flanked with benches. Swords and shields were hung on the walls between lengths of plaid in bright patterns, with plaid curtaining the windows and covering cushions too. At the center of the great room, a tall iron fire basket radiated heat. Altogether, the cozy atmosphere meant home to him, and he would protect it however he could. Just now that meant moving his family away for a while.

Silent, he watched them fondly: Marjorie, his younger sister, widowed ten years, and her child lost too young. Yet she had an unmatched grace and lively spirit, and like Rowena, had carried on, despite tragedy, to find her work in life; Marjorie was a skilled weaver. He knew all too well the toll that losing a spouse took on the heart and spirit. Alisoun had been gone five full years, leaving him lonely. But his son was the treasure of his life, and he treasured Marjorie and Aunt Jennet for their steadfast, caring natures.

Seated beside him, Lady Jennet set her hand over his, affection crinkling her blue eyes. “Finally home. I am so relieved. We worry about you so when you are gone.”

“Here, but not for long. That is what I wanted to talk to you and Marjorie about.”

“Not yet. We just want to enjoy having you with us. Supper first, then a game with the lad, and later we will talk.”

“Aye,” he agreed. His uncle’s wife, Jennet Ogilvie, an older cousin to Erik and Andrew, was still a beauty as she aged, with elegant bones, pale hair peeking from under a white kerchief, and ice-blue eyes that had warmth even when she acted stern. She was not a widow in fact but in spirit, for her husband, his uncle Duff MacDuff, actual clan chief, had been an English captive for several years.

Jennet brooked no fools and was the pragmatic, efficient heart of the little family they had formed at Castle Black after Alisoun’s passing, when Aedan had an infant son and owed his knight duties to Edward. Jennet and her husband took Aedan, Colban, and widowed Marjorie in at Castle Black, and together they parented the little boy. Colban’s aunt and great-aunt had become a mothering presence for his son, and he was grateful.

“Da, watch me! Watch!” Colban said, and Aedan looked up to see him stand on the bench and walk, foot in front of foot, arms out for balance.

“Very good—” Aedan began.

“Colban, we sit during supper,” Marjorie said.

“Sit now , Colban MacDuff, and stop that horseplay,” Jennet said.

He sat, but shifted to a crouch, curled his fingers, and growled. “I am a gargoyle!”

“Gargoyles are rain gutters,” Aedan pointed out.

“Do not say that, he will spit water next,” Marjorie said as Aedan chuckled.

“He reminds me of you at that age,” Jennet said. “Always acting the wee jester.”

Rowena, sitting across from him and beside Colban, laughed suddenly, sweetly.

“Ah, you know our Aedan, my lady,” Jennet said.

“A little,” she replied.

“A little is enough and sometimes too much,” Marjorie said, a twinkle in her eye.

“Erik Ogilvie called him a baobach ,” Rowena said. The women burst out laughing.

To cover a smile, Aedan picked up the goblet of green Venetian glass that held watered wine, for his kinswomen knew his habit. Sipping, he savored the light taste and watched Colban with quiet delight, growling gargoyle, wee lad giving Marjorie a hug, hungry little boy spooning up stew. The last time he had been here, Colban was just beginning to learn letters and numbers from a local priest who taught some boys and girls in the parish. Already he seemed older.

Marjorie spoke with Rowena, admiring the dark blue gown borrowed from Lady Ellen, sliding the fabric between her fingers. Aedan leaned forward.

“Marjorie is a weaver,” he told Rowena. “Her plaids are very fine indeed.” He patted the tartan draped over his shoulder and tunic.

“I would love to see your work,” Rowena told her.

“There are lengths of it hung on the walls here, and I will be glad to show you what is on the loom. Aedan, that old plaid is filthy and torn—and damp too. I will give you a new one.”

“This has been to hell and back, and today I fell in the sea and used it for a towel, so it has not quite dried. I hoped you could repair the weave.”

“Or turn it into a horse blanket!”

He laughed, then looked at Colban. “Lad, I wonder if you could play a game while I chat with your aunts about something.”

“We could play a table game if you have one,” Rowena offered.

Colban had a hand under the table as he slipped bits of food to one or two dogs. “Do you know Ard-Rì? We have a silver board with polished stones, black and white.”

“High King? I know it. Will you capture my king, or shall I capture yours?”

“I will get to the king’s square first! All your knights and soldiers will fall. But I will help you pick them up again,” he offered.

“Thank you. Show me your board while your da and your aunts have a chat. Come,” she said, standing, holding out a hand.

Aedan stood when she did, and watched them, entranced. She had a natural manner with the boy, kind and respectful. Colban had taken to her easily, and the dogs followed her too.

“Aedan. Aedan!” Jennet repeated. “What is this matter we must discuss?”

He stepped away from the table as two maidservants entered the room. “They will want to clear the table. We can talk over there on the window bench. Ah, those are fine new cushions.”

“I covered the old pillows with scraps of plaid,” Marjorie said. “I could make cushion covers out of your old plaidie too.”

“A horse blanket suits a knight’s plaid better than a seat cushion.”

“Either way, baobach, you would sit on it,” she replied.

“But why leave tomorrow?” Marjorie asked after he explained the threat from Edward and Sir Malise, adding that Sir Brian would take them to Bass Rock for safety.

“Day after tomorrow,” he clarified, “we will go to Dunfermline to meet Brian Lauder.” He glanced toward Rowena and Colban, who sat on the opposite end of the long room focused on moving black and white polished stones over a silver board.

As if sensing his glance, she looked up at smiled. Just then, Colban slid one of his white stones into place and crowed.

“Aedan,” Jennet prompted. “You were saying?”

He cleared his throat. “Just for a few weeks until the matter is settled. Sir Brian and Lady Ellen are good friends and you are welcome on the Rock or at Tyningham.”

Jennet set her needlework aside and folded her hands calmly. “The Bass is a prison now, they say, and remote. Think of your son. He should not live in such a place.”

“I am thinking of my son,” he said. “I fostered with the Lauders, remember?”

“Aye. But to leave here—my loom is not easily moved,” Marjorie said, “and I have plaids that are promised.”

“Those may have to wait. Bass Rock is safer for all of you just now.”

Jennet huffed. “How could this castle be unsafe, guarded and secure as it is? Even when the English burned Wemyss Castle, between here and Dunfermline, they did not ride here. They will leave us be. We have had troubles enough.”

“Edward has always threatened the MacDuffs, Aunt, you know that. He keeps our nephew in England as his ward, truly a hostage. And he has caged Isabella in a heinous manner, while your husband, our chief, sits in a dungeon,” he said fiercely.

“And they captured you, but you escaped. Now they want Colban!” Marjorie said.

“So it seems. The Bass Rock is the one place you can be secure.”

“Sir Patrick will come by tomorrow,” Marjorie said. “He often brings news, and may have heard word of Edward’s plans in Fife.”

“Patrick Wemyss?” he asked.

“Aye. The other Patrick, old Abernethy, is still exiled. But we hear his son Peter is back,” Jennet said. “I hope he will not stir up that old feud.”

“He would not dare. Patrick Wemyss is a sheriff in Fife. He is a good man and can be trusted.”

“And well he should be,” Marjorie said firmly. “The Wemysses and MacDuffs have long been allies. The English burned Sir Patrick’s castle three years back, if you recall. Edward made some recompense by awarding Sir Patrick the sheriffdom. But he has no funds to rebuild, so he sometimes stays here, and is always welcome.”

Something in her voice, and her quick blush, caught his attention. “Always welcome?”

“Does it bother you?”

He lifted a hand to beg peace. “Not me. I like Patrick Wemyss, always have. It is good to know he has been watching over our castle in my absence.”

“Are we truly under threat here?” Jennet asked.

“It is possible, so we need measures to prevent it. Apparently, Edward gave orders regarding my kin and this castle, and entrusted them to Sir Malise Comyn.”

“I do not know him,” Jennet said.

“I have heard that name,” Marjorie said. “Sir Patrick said Malise Comyn was nearly killed by nuns.” Beside her, Lady Jennet gasped.

“Something like that,” Aedan said. “Suffice to say he may try to take Colban and wreak havoc here. So you must go elsewhere for a while.”

“Aedan is right,” Jennet said. “But we would be gone for only a bit, aye?”

“As soon as it is safe, you can come back. The lad looks tired,” he said, glancing across the room. “Lady Rowena needs rest too after this day. Where will you put her?”

“She can have the guest chamber,” Jennet said. “And your bedchamber is always ready for you. You both look weary.”

“It has been a busy week of days.” He stood. “Colban, how goes the game?”

“Lady Rowena’s king is surrounded! I am winning!” Colban lifted his arms high.

“Be careful. Your opponent is a clever lady,” Aedan warned. “Why, this very day she defeated a band of naughty pirates. Perhaps she will tell you about it at bedtime.”

“Pirates! I want to hear about the pirates!”

“Then go off to bed so she can tell you about her unique strategy.” He leaned out of the way as Rowena threw a little black playing piece at him. He caught the stone deftly and set it on the table at her elbow, his arm brushing hers.

“I will be back,” he said as he went to the door. “I need to find the seneschal in the garrison.”

“Your cousin will either be at supper or on the battlements at this time of day,” Jennet said. “I am surprised he did not come over to greet you, but the lad takes his work very seriously.”

“Good. We need Michael Balfour’s vigilance, especially now.”

Crossing the yard with long strides, glad of the sea wind blowing through his hair, refreshing the old plaid that Marjorie disparaged, he took the outer steps leading to the battlement to where two guards strolled.

“Hey lads!” he boomed, waving. “Halloo!”

“MacDuff!” one called as both turned. “Welcome home.”

“Good to see you. Where is Sir Michael?”

“At his supper!” one called back.

He went to the corner tower and took a few narrow steps inside the breadth of the stout curtain wall, a warren of rooms that could easily house fifty men, though only twenty made up Castle Black’s small garrison. He passed sleeping quarters and meeting rooms, and took another door into a separate building jutting into the bailey to enter the garrison dining hall.

The dim vaulted room held several tables where knights and guards ate supper or played at dice and bones. Each one lifted a hand or said a greeting. Then he spied the young man he sought coming toward him.

“Aedan!” Michael Balfour said, holding out a hand. “I heard you had returned, but I did not want to disturb time with family.” He grasped Aedan’s hand.

“Michael, you are a cousin, lad, and always welcome with us.”

“Thank you.” The knight, ten years younger than Aedan, was black-haired and brown-eyed, with a short dark beard that did not hide the dimples that enhanced a charm that would have done him well in a royal court in more peaceful days. But Michael wanted to serve Scotland and Bruce, and despite his age, he was a capable leader. Though they had not seen each other often as boys, when Aedan heard of Michael’s prowess, he invited him to Castle Black. Soon he was so impressed with his cousin’s skill and wisdom that he had asked him to serve as seneschal to direct the garrison and ensure the safety of the castle and its residents.

They climbed to a parapet and stood in a corner overlooking the sea that surged to the beach a hundred feet below the castle. Aedan explained Edward’s threat, warning that an attack could occur if Malise Comyn arrived.

“My son and my kinswomen will go with Brian Lauder to the Bass Rock tomorrow. Then I mean to escort a friend to Kincraig in Lanarkshire, but I will be back.”

“We will need more men if Comyn intends to follow the king’s orders. Patrick Wemyss has offered to assign men here. We should do that.”

“Aye then. My sister mentioned Sir Patrick, and I had the sense—is there something there?”

Michael smiled. “They are smitten with each other, if you ask me. As sheriff and neighbor, he keeps watch over us here and shares news when he has it. But he has not mentioned this business with Edward and Comyn. However, he did tell us that you were taken not long ago and had managed to escape. We had feared you might have disappeared into a dungeon for years.”

“I might have, but I did not like their plan, so I left. I met a young woman who was also held, and brought her with me.”

“Is she the one you will escort to Lanarkshire?”

Aedan nodded. “I owe her a favor. So,” he went on, “I am grateful to Sir Patrick for his help in my absence.”

“Aye. Colban is fond of him too. I should tell you, sometimes I allow the lad to knock about with wooden waster swords. He is a quick learner. Lady Marjorie and Lady Jennet are not in favor, but agree you would want him to play at swords as he grows.”

“It has to be part of his education. I appreciate it. Sooner or later, many of us will need to knock about with swords.” Aedan sighed.

Following the boy and his aunt up the stone spiral stairs, Rowena felt the pull of fatigue as she climbed. The voyage across the firth, then sickness, a pirate attack, and an encounter with Malise—all had taken a toll. Rest would do her good, and she felt sure she would sleep well. She felt immediately welcome and at home here.

Marjorie led them up the levels, Colban following with a bouncing step, and Bean, the little brindled gray terrier, running up with them, stretching to make it up the stairs. Rowena proceeded carefully on the wedge-shaped steps that wheeled around a massive stone pillar soaring four levels to the parapet. Aedan had remained in the hall with his cousin and seneschal, Sir Michael Balfour, a quiet, rather beautiful young knight. Lady Jennet sat with them, doing needlework by candlelight, taking part in their conversation.

The older lady was calm, composed, elegant, strict but kind, Rowena thought with admiration. She could see why Aedan and his sister adored their aunt, who had a firm hand over the household. Marjorie had a delightful freshness despite long years as a widow, which she had revealed to Rowena while they chatted at supper. Rowena also admired her ability to match her brother’s wit, and Marjorie was skilled and creative too. Her handsome plaids decorated the hall and were worn by many; they were in demand at local market fairs too, she had learned.

She loved being at Castle Black, and had not expected that. No wonder Aedan had wanted to hurry home to rescue his family from any hint of danger.

As for his little son, Rowena had already fallen in love with Colban, with his honey-colored hair and blue eyes, perhaps inherited from his mother; he had his father’s features, his curls, his laugh, and sense of mischief.

“I want to show Lady Rowena her bedchamber, can I?” Colban asked Marjorie, and looked at Rowena. “It is just above my room, up these steps.”

She smiled, holding fast to the rope slung around the stone pillar as she followed the others. The tenacious little dog, rough-coated and ready, scampered repeatedly up and down, then up again in excitement. One moment Colban was chattering to Marjorie, who climbed ahead. The next moment the terrier yelped, slipped down a step, and rolled into Colban, tripping him.

With a cry, the boy tumbled into Rowena, who caught him as he fell awkwardly across the wedge steps, taking her down to her knees with him. Holding the boy in one arm, her hand clinging to the rope to keep from tipping backward, she fell hard, smacking her knee and twisting her foot on the hard-edged stone. But she hardly noticed, intent on catching him.

“There,” she said, breathless. “There we are.”

“Oh! Colban—my lady—” Marjorie ran down, bending to help them stand again. Bean had fallen a step or two below and clambered back up, shaking her coat, panting, and licking Colban’s hand.

Brushing her fingers over him, looking for injury, Rowena noticed then that his hand was limp. He whimpered. “My arm—”

“He’s hurt,” Marjorie said.

“We will get him to his room and find out for sure. Can you walk, lad?”

He nodded tearfully, holding his arm as they went up a few steps to the level platform. Marjorie opened a door and ushered them into a room that held a draped, postered bed with a green plaid coverlet. Marjorie lifted Colban to the bed, and Rowena moved close as the little dog ran in after them, jumping about. Marjorie set Bean aside and calmly told her to sit.

“May I see?” Rowena asked Colban, who nodded. Gingerly she took his hand in hers, noting the bruise forming on his forearm as she carefully pushed his sleeve up.

“This—is—my room,” he said tearfully. “Aunt Marjorie sleeps in this bed. My bed is in there—” He pointed with his free hand toward a second door that opened on a small circular room inside the round corner tower. It held a narrow bed.

“What a cozy sleeping chamber,” she said, as she examined his arm. “Where does it hurt?” She asked questions and he pointed here and there, but when she asked him to turn his wrist, he could not, wincing. She looked at Marjorie.

“Can we cut his sleeve? He may have broken something.”

“B-broken?” Colban said, as Marjorie turned away and came back with small shears to open the sleeve along the seam.

“I will fix the sleeve for you later,” Marjorie promised. “Show us your arm, dear.”

He did, snuffling, lip trembling. “It hurts. But knights do not cry.”

“They certainly do,” Rowena said, as she probed along the forearm. “I will not tell and neither will your aunt, so cry if you like. Can you turn your arm that way? Ah, that hurts? Stop, then.”

She turned to Marjorie. “I think there is a fracture, but it could be a bad sprain. I can splint it and wrap it and give him some healing herbs. Would that be fine with you?”

Marjorie blinked at her, wide-eyed. “You know how to treat it?”

“I do. But his father should hear what happened first. I will need some linen wrapping and a few things.” She detailed some of the herbs to make a poultice. Marjorie nodded, promising to fetch those and fetch Aedan as well, then flew from the room.

Rowena spoke calmly to Colban, and soon he laughed tearfully about the dog running on the steps, and how sad silly little Bean would feel if she knew he was hurt.

“We do not need to tell her,” Rowena said, putting a finger to her lips.

Aedan pounded up the steps and rushed into the room, Marjorie behind him. “What happened?”

In his eyes, Rowena saw what she had not seen before in this strong man—fear and love twined together. She saw how deeply he loved his son. He is my world , he had told her once. Then she saw him master it, straighten his shoulders.

“Hey, lad. A wee tumble? It happens to us all. How is Bean, did you save her? I know you did. Brave lad.” He ruffled Colban’s honey-colored curls.

If Rowena had never thought of loving Aedan before that moment, it came to her swift and sure and deep then, watching him laugh with his son.