Page 18 of The Guardian’s Bride (Highland Secrets #3)

“H e tripped on the dog, I think,” Rowena said. “He will be fine, aye, Colban?”

“Aye,” he said, lip quivering.

“Rowena caught him and kept him from falling all the way down. There was water on the steps, and the dog slipped a little,” Marjorie said. “Earlier the servants filled a bath in your chamber, Aedan, and must have missed mopping up.”

“I see. Such things cannot be helped, but thank heavens the boy will be fine. And you, Lady Rowena? Did you fall as well?”

“I am fine,” she said, flexing her ankle, which had begun to ache.

“My arm hurts, but Lady Rowena says she can fix it.”

“She can indeed,” his father said, “and we are grateful she is here to help you.”

“Are you an herb-wife?” Marjorie asked. “One of the cunning folk?”

“I am,” Rowena said.

“She is the very healer who tended me at Holyoak,” Aedan said. “She is the reason I am here today.”

“Truly! We are so fortunate and so grateful to you,” Marjorie breathed.

Lady Jennet came up the stairs just then, with Sir Michael behind her, hurrying through the open door. “What is going on?” the lady asked.

“All is well,” Rowena said, and while the others talked, she prepared a quick poultice with a few herbs in cold water, and rinsed the boy’s arm. With the linen strips and a wooden spoon Marjorie brought at her request, she splinted and wrapped his arm.

“What more will you need, dear? We are so grateful to you,” Lady Jennet said, having just heard of Rowena’s ability.

“If we could have some willow and chamomile steeped in hot water, perhaps with mint or lavender, that will help calm him and help the ache a little.” Nodding, Lady Jennet went downstairs to get the things.

“Does it seem broken?” Aedan asked quietly.

“Perhaps. We may as well consider it so, and give it some stability and coddle it so it will heal, whether broken or sprained.”

“What a lucky lad to have a lady medécin as a guest here,” Aedan told Colban.

“A what?” he asked.

“That is like a physician,” Marjorie said.

“But I am not that,” Rowena said. “I work with herbs and stones and such.”

“She knows a great deal and you are in very good hands,” Aedan said.

“I want to leave his arm splinted for the night,” she said. “Tomorrow I will make a wax sleeve for him before you leave with Sir Brian.”

“Wax sleeve?” Marjorie asked. “What will you need?”

“Linen dipped in limewash and some warm wax that I can shape around his arm. That should protect it nicely.” As she moved around, she could feel a deep ache and tenderness forming in her ankle and foot, which she had twisted when she’d grabbed the boy and held onto the rope to keep from tumbling farther down. But she could tend to that herself later, and would not call attention to it here.

Soon, with his arm wrapped and the excitement subsiding, Colban began to yawn. Aedan carried him into the little round room with the narrow bed and set him down, then stood back as Marjorie and Rowena helped ready him for bed in a simple shirt. Marjorie helped him wash his face and such, then left the chamomile and willow drink beside his bed.

“I want to hear about pirates,” Colban said.

Rowena, tucking an extra pillow under his arm, laughed softly and agreed. She sat carefully on the bed beside him.

“Once there was a longship that carried your father and Sir Brian and me, too,” she said. “And a huge pirate ship came out of the fog! We were so surprised and your father and Sir Brian were very brave, fighting off the pirates who wanted our gold.”

“What did you do?” Colban asked, eyes wide.

“Tell him what you did, my lady,” Aedan said, quirking a smile.

“I—felt kind of sick, and I—” She paused, wondering what to say next. She looked up and saw Aedan, Marjorie, and Lady Jennet still standing by the door. He folded his arms over his chest and cocked a brow, waiting.

“And I—spewed my dinner all over them! And then they went back to their ship!”

Colban burst out laughing. Aedan guffawed, and his sister and aunt laughed too.

“Did you? Did she, Da?”

“She certainly did,” he drawled. “And they jumped into the sea and were never seen again.”

Marjorie was still laughing, and Lady Jennet wiped her eyes.

“Aedan,” Marjorie said. “We love Lady Rowena.”

He grinned, then turned to her. “Thank you, Lady Rowena. Let me sit with him now until he goes to sleep. Marjorie sleeps in the larger room so she will be nearby all night. You need rest.”

“I will show you to your room, dear,” Lady Jennet said.

She nodded and stood, favoring her ankle, hoping no one saw her slight limp. At the door, she turned, glancing back.

Aedan bent over his son, speaking softly. Her heart nearly burst with love to see that. She turned away, not wanting anyone to notice what shone in her eyes.

Her room was very like Colban’s, placed just above his on a level in the round corner tower. The larger chamber held a big bed, and the small circular room had another modest bed tucked beside a chair and table. The smaller bed looked so inviting, with pillows and a handsome red plaid blanket, that she settled there after washing up. She was pleased to find a basin with a jug of clear water, and glad to find a tiny private latrine room as well. Those small spaces would be stacked on the tower’s outermost wall, utilizing a chute that would extend down the cliff to the sea.

She examined her foot, the ankle bruised and sore, and applied some ointment that Lady Jennet had brought earlier for Colban. Then she undressed to her linen shift and lay down, blowing out the candle, and was soon asleep in the snug space.

And she dreamed that Thomas the Rhymer came to her, walking through a forest ripe with fog . Thou art where thee must be, he said, doing what thee must do.

But Grandda, I do not know what to do. Tell me.

The crystal has its home, the sea comes in, the doves cry out, the faery stones are safe. Thou has found thy guardian.

But Grandda—

She woke to a noise, unsure for a moment where she was. Sitting up, she heard a slight, persistent sound. She stood, hopping a bit on her stiff foot, took the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders to step out into the darkened room, illuminated only by bluish moonlight streaming through a narrow outer window.

The noise came again. She opened the door and looked out on the stairs. No one was there. Shuffling back through the room, she heard it again, a scratching, then a series of whimpers and more scratching.

It had to be one of dogs, but the stairwell was empty. The only doors in the room led to the latrine chute and her small sleeping chamber.

The sound seemed to be coming from the wall. Puzzled, she followed it in the darkness to find a plaid panel hanging there, with something like a door handle behind it. Pushing the plaid aside, she found a hidden door.

The scratching sounded again. She tugged on the iron ring and cracked the door open a bit. Suddenly a terrier squeezed through the gap and leaped up to greet her. “Bean!” she said. “What are you doing in there?”

Thinking it must be a closet of some kind, she peered into the darkness to see a short flight of steps that turned a corner. A moment later, she heard footsteps and saw a blare of golden light, then big bare feet coming down the steps. Holding a candle, Aedan descended toward her. She stood back while Bean jumped about with absolute joy, licking Rowena’s hands as she bent to pet her and rub her ears.

“Come here, you pesky—here, you!” Aedan stepped through the doorway, reaching down for the dog and grabbed her up. Her little body squirmed with delight in his arms as she licked his face all over and then hung over his arm to cock her head and look at Rowena.

Straightening in the gap of the doorway, holding the dog, he saw Rowena too.

Startled for an instant, she was not sure this was Aedan.

Tall, broad, in a long tunic and bare feet, stood a powerfully handsome man with dark, damp hair, beautiful long-lidded hazel eyes, and a familiar smile. Yet something was different. He set the candle, held in one hand, on a nearby table.

“It is me,” he said, rubbing his bare chin.

“Oh! You shaved!”

“I did.” Hazel eyes crinkling, he gave her a wide smile, his teeth excellent, lips full, swollen a bit with the cut from earlier that day. A pink blush spread into his clean, smooth cheeks. His skin was fine, the sort that colored easily, marred only by the scar that ran from cheekbone to ear. “And I am sorry the dog woke you just now. She got away from me. She must have sensed you were here.”

“You shaved,” she repeated, still stunned, oddly trying to recognize him.

He rubbed his jaw. “You look surprised. Not good?”

“It is good. I just—had not seen your face before.” She reached out to touch his jaw, softly bristled, then touched the scar she had stitched months ago, and grazed over the new bruise he’d acquired from a pirate.

His skin under her fingers, after the scraping of the blade, was warm and surprisingly soft. His chin surprised her too, with a gentle cleft like a recurve bow, determined and yet whimsical. She touched a finger to his swollen lip.

He pulled in a breath. So did she, and dropped her hand away.

“My lady aunt ordered a bath set up in my chambers, and she intended to order one here for you too, but Colban fell and we came running.” He slicked his damp hair back, dark curls catching his fingers. “After Colban went to sleep, I went back to my room and bathed and shaved. It was time.”

“The shave will help. They are searching for a big man with a bushy beard.”

“True. Also, I thought you might like it.” His gaze caught hers.

“I do.” A blush filled her cheeks. “Has Colban seen you without a beard?”

“Last year I shaved once to show him, and let him watch the process so he would not be confused or startled.”

“What did he say?”

He twisted his mouth awry. “He said, ‘Da, your chin looks like a bum!’”

Rowena laughed, cupping a hand over her mouth. Aedan set a finger to his lips.

“Hush or you will wake the household.” He grinned.

“It does rather look like that.” She brushed her thumb over his chin again.

“Out of the mouths of babes.” He scowled playfully. “And here I thought I was handsome and virile, like Sir Lancelot of old.”

“You are very handsome,” she said. And virile, a thought that sent soft lightning through her. Suddenly shy, she petted Bean’s head, scrunching the dog’s ears. “I heard a noise and wondered if someone had come to fetch me for Colban.”

“He is asleep, and so is Marjorie. All is well.”

“I was going to go up in a little while, but I do not want to disturb them.”

“Let them rest.” In his arms, Bean stretched for more head rubs, and squirmed enough that he set her down, then gave her a little push through the doorway. “Up you go.” He shut the door quickly. “She will squeeze right back through here if I leave it open.”

“Where does it lead?”

“To my chamber. These two rooms are connected.” He watched her for a moment. She felt a tug, hard and sure and nearly physical, between them. Her heart beat so loudly she thought he might hear it. “I should go,” he said. “You need to sleep.”

“So do you.” The pull to be near him felt insistent.

He grasped the iron latch, turned. “Thank you. I am glad you were here for the lad. If you had not caught him, he could have been injured more seriously.”

“The arm will bother him for a bit, but will heal.”

“Such things happen. When I was young, I often fell, tripped, climbed, jumped, broke, or bruised myself. Aunt Jennet threatened to pack me in wool and shut me in a box until I was older. I believed her, and worried whenever she got the yarns out.”

She laughed. “Colban is very like you. He even has a dimple in his chin, I see that now. He is a happy child. And so happy you are home.”

“I am not home enough. But Marjorie and Aunt Jennet are good for him. He likes you too.” His voice softened and his eyes sparkled. “Go rest.”

“I will look in on your lad early in the morning.”

“Aye.” He pulled on the latch. “Good night.”

“Good night.” She did not want him to leave.

Aedan opened the door, then closed it so fast she thought the dog had bolted toward it. He turned, reached out, and pulled her into his arms.

The kiss was sudden, tender, deep—not the impulsive kiss shared on the longship, but a kiss of passion and certainty. She melted like butter at the first touch of his lips, at his hands on her waist.

He drew back in a natural question, and she answered by circling her arms around his neck, pressing to him. His hand cradled the back of her head, her hair spilling loose down her back as she leaned into his sure embrace. The wonder of that swift, surprising kiss and the sense that it declared something honest and real between them thrilled through her, crown to toe.

She had wanted this, scarcely realizing it, but her body knew before her mind or heart just how much she wanted this with him. A soft moan escaped her, pleasure and desire, and his next kiss covered it. Cupping her face in his hands, he pulled away, touching his brow to hers.

“Och, lass, we cannot—”

“We can.” The words surprised her, out before her usual reason could take over.

“God in heaven,” he murmured, and pulled her hard against him to kiss her again, the firm response of his body stirring her body too, so that heat shivered through her. He leaned back, his height such that her toes all but came off the floor.

But then he set her on her bare feet. “I did not mean to disturb your rest.”

“You are not disturbing it,” she whispered. “Suddenly I am not tired.”

“Ah, and what shall we do about that, hey?” He brushed her hair back, tipped her chin up, kissed her.

“You could stay for a bit,” she said in a rush.

“Could I?” It was not a request—it was pondering. “I am not sure.”

“I just—do not want you to go yet.” She felt a new urge to act on her feelings before the moment was lost to doubt, to reason. She was learning something from him, feeling her protective caution beginning to shake loose, like leaves from a tree.

“Rowena,” he said, taking her hand. She turned, hoping he would sit with her—but a sharp pain stung through her ankle and she winced, unable to put weight on it.

“What is it?” He took her elbow.

“Just—naught.”

“When you have said that before, it was something. You are in pain. What is it?”

“My ankle,” she admitted. “When I moved just now, it gave out a little. I twisted it on the steps when I grabbed Colban. Clumsy of me.”

“Not clumsy. Those steps can be treacherous, and Marjorie said there was a water spill. Can you walk?”

“It will be fine.” She took another step, felt a shot of pain, halted.

“Let me see.” He dropped to his haunches.

She drew up the long hem of her linen shift and stuck out her bare foot and ankle. In the flickering candlelight, she saw the darkening bruise on her outer ankle and part of her foot.

“No walking about the hills for you, lass.”

“It will heal. I put some ointment on it and will bandage it.”

He took her foot in the palm of his big, warm hand, and she rested her hand on his shoulder for balance. “I could bandage and splint it for you.” He grinned up at her.

“Truly, it will be fine soon.”

He set her foot down and stood. “Sometimes it is good to ask for help. Who heals the healer, hey?”

She blinked at his honesty. She was accustomed to treating others, solving their issues, but rarely asked for help herself. Yet Aedan had been there for her at Yester, on the water, and elsewhere, just when she had been most vulnerable. His help had felt natural, easy to accept.

“I will rest it and see how it does,” she said, and took a careful step. Another knife of pain stabbed through her foot. Wincing, she hopped.

“Come up,” he growled, and swept her into his arms. She set her arms around his neck as he tilted his head, looking at her quizzically, wondering. Then he kissed her again, holding her in his arms as he stood. These were not the tender kisses ventured before, nor the shy kisses of years ago with her youthful husband, a sweet memory packed away in her heart, memories she had all but released.

These were powerful, startling kisses, welcome as a hearth on a cold night, kisses brimming with heat as his lips moved with hers, slaking and giving. Soon she was breathless, feeling their two hearts pounding together as one kiss became another and still another, luscious and deepening with every breath. He turned with her in his arms, and she knew that at the slightest hint from her, he would set her down, step away, end the freedom of this moment.

She did not want that. She wanted strong, honest, deep kisses, wanted his love to surround her. She wanted to shake off the caution she had worn like a caul, and let passion rise in her impulsively. The craving cascaded through her. The pain disappeared, forgotten in the circle of his arms.

Cupping his new-shaven jaw, she tilted her head to open to the slipping tease of his tongue, felt her body ache, surge for more.

He sucked in a breath, pulled back. “Lass, you are all I could ever—but I cannot.”

“But—”

“I mean I cannot hold you like this for long. My knee—that wicked scar.”

“Oh! Set me down, do. In there.” She indicated the sleeping chamber.

“Aye, my love.” He nuzzled his nose to hers. “Though what we may be tempted to do in there may not be the best course yet.”

My love. She heard that and little else, just savoring the sense of being enveloped in his bold spirit, his strength. Something was shifting within her, changing. She cared for him so much, more than anyone she had ever—loved, she thought. The feeling was more than being held secure. It was an urge to reach out and surround him too. She had been the cautious and practical one among her sisters since childhood, reinforced by the tragedy of her first marriage, and made stronger by her work as a healer. But now she needed, wanted, to break free, not let caution hem her in again.