Page 20 of The Guardian’s Bride (Highland Secrets #3)

T he great hall was bathed in morning sunlight and chaos as Aedan entered the room. An array of boxes and piled garments and sundry items were spread over a large table, where his sister and aunt stood with two maidservants folding garments and packing smaller items. The women barely glanced up as he came near.

At the other end of the room, Rowena stood beside Colban, who was enthroned in a high-backed wooden chair, his arm in a cloth sling, the two dogs lounging protectively at his feet. Colban smiled and waved at his father.

He waved too, then paused near Marjorie and Jennet. “Are you bringing all these things to the Rock?”

“There are five of us,” Lady Jennet said. “We will take Jane and Sheila to help us there. We do not want to burden Sir Brian’s household.”

“He will appreciate that. But all this?” He gestured toward books, bags holding skeins of colorful yarn, folded fabrics, and a box of carved animals and game pieces.

“Colban needs things to do, and so do we,” his sister explained.

“Brian has a small library in the castle that you can use. He also keeps some sheep on the Rock if you run out of wool,” he drawled.

“Shear them for me, and I will dye and spin the wool,” his sister replied.

He grinned. “I hope you can sail to Tyningham to see Lady Ellen if she does not come out to see you.”

“We could go to market on the mainland with her,” Lady Jennet said.

“Just be safe. It is all I ask. How is the lad now? He seemed in pain earlier this morning. Lady Rowena was just looking in on him when I went to meet with Michael and the garrison.” He had spent an hour or more with the men discussing the need for more watchmen on the battlement and more patrols around the region.

“Colban seems better,” Marjorie said. “Lady Rowena examined his arm and wrapped it securely. She insists he rest today since we travel tomorrow.”

“Good advice.” He crossed the long room and Rowena looked up, her eyes sparkling as she hid a smile. He suppressed a smile too, aware that his sister and aunt watched. No need to give them ideas; he knew they wanted him to marry again, for they had never been shy about bringing up the topic.

He huffed softly, imagining their delight if they only knew his thoughts.

“Da!” Colban said, as the dogs at his feet stood to greet Aedan while he bent to pet them. He murmured quietly to Rowena, who murmured in return, glancing at him and quickly away. What had occurred between them last evening had faded like a dream in the sunlight, but at that moment, he vividly recalled it. Her rosy cheeks said she felt the same.

“Da, look!” Colban proudly supported his arm, propped on pillows. “Lady Rowena wrapped my arm in wax! I am a candle!” He held his arm high, hand waving like a flame. Rowena gently lowered it to the pillow again.

“He is your son,” she said, laughing.

“We have enough candles, lad,” Aedan said. “But let me see. Is it truly wax?” He took Colban’s small hand.

“Lady Jennet melted down some beeswax candles this morning so we could wrap his arm,” Rowena said. “Tallow is less dear than beeswax, but does not smell as good.”

“Only the best for you, lad,” Aedan said. “Your arm has a good casing there.”

“It will help protect his arm while the bone heals,” Rowena said. “I dipped some linen strips in wine to keep his skin clean, then wrapped warm sheets of wax over that. Once the beeswax cooled, it became stiff enough to protect him for a while.”

“Thank you,” Aedan said, setting Colban’s forearm carefully on the pillow.

“I will write a note for Sir Walter Forbes at Bass Rock,” she went on. “He can remove the bandages in a fortnight or so, and apply a fresh wrapping of linen and wax for another two or three weeks, and again after that if he thinks it is needed. If they are still on the Rock then,” she added.

“They may be. We cannot know.”

“With your permission, as his father,” she said, “I want to give Colban some watered wine, warmed and spiced, mixed with willow and a few herbs to help with pain. That will help him sleep.”

“Whatever you think is needed.”

She nodded and turned to speak quietly to Colban, who listened eagerly, watching her with bright, adoring eyes.

So Colban was another, Aedan thought, who was falling in love with his beautiful caretaker. For an instant, love swamped him too, simple and warm and expansive, for the boy and the woman both. He touched Colban’s head, caressing the silky, tousled hair. He hated to leave him again and did not want to send him away, but his family would be safer in the lair on Bass Rock. Just for a little while, he told himself.

Rowena glanced past him. “Sir Michael just came in looking for you, I think.”

“Michael!” He walked toward him. “What is it?”

“Riders, sir. Patrick Wemyss just arrived with several men.”

“Ah, good! I was hoping to see him while I was here.” Aedan left the room with his cousin and hurried down a short flight of stone steps to the oaken door of the keep to go outside and down wooden steps to the yard.

More than several men waited in the yard. As the Fife sheriff dismounted and turned, wearing chainmail and a dark tunic draped with a plaid in red and black, he waved and crossed toward Aedan. A chainmail hood covered most of his gray hair, framing his long face with its neatly clipped silvery beard and pale blue eyes crinkled and keen. As Aedan went to meet him, he counted the men on horseback. Twenty at least, he saw, feeling sudden hope that they were here to assist.

“Sir Patrick,” he said, extending a hand. “Welcome. Good to see you.”

“And you,” Patrick Wemyss said, “especially good, considering what we heard lately. Yester Tower, was it?” He shook his head disparagingly.

“Aye, just a storage tower. Not the best for my reputation as a dangerous rogue.”

“Better than a pit in Edinburgh or Berwick.”

“My thought as well, so I walked out.”

“They are looking for you. I had word of it. And as sheriff in lower Fife, I am instructed by the English crown to arrest you if I see you.”

“Ah.” Aedan glanced at the phalanx of mounted men. “And have you seen me?”

“I believe not. The Aedan MacDuff I remember has a great bushy beard,” Patrick said, as Aedan snorted in laughter. “I saw Brian Lauder in Dunfermline. He told me of your dilemma and said you might need extra men and swords here. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” Aedan echoed.

“I understand King Edward sent Sir Malise Comyn to lay claim to this place.”

“So it seems. I hear he intends to round up my wee son as well.”

“Jesu!” Patrick shook his head.

“It will never happen,” Aedan said firmly. “The boy and my kinswomen will go with Sir Brian to the Bass Rock.”

“Good.” Patrick nodded, his eyes tracking to the keep. “They are still here?”

“Aye. Come up to the hall and visit. Your men can go up to the garrison quarters, and the grooms can lead the horses to the stables. We have plenty of room. This castle was built a hundred years ago to house a large garrison, but we are not many now.”

“These men will be under your charge for the nonce, so direct them however you need. Most of them are Fife men and all are glad to help MacDuff.”

“I appreciate that. Sir Michael will be in charge. I will be leaving for Lanarkshire, as another matter needs my attention. Will you stay the night?”

“If I may. Then I can escort your group tomorrow to meet Lauder. I expect you will want to visit the abbot in Dunfermline as well. He has a guest you will want to see. I came here to bring you that news as well.”

“What news—what guest?” Aedan cocked a brow.

“Bishop Lamberton arrived at the abbot’s house days ago. I knew you would want that news.”

“Excellent. Dear God, I worried for him.” He felt as if a weight had come off his shoulders at the news that William Lamberton, Bishop of Saint Andrews and Fife, was safe. Captured months ago by the English, he was an outspoken rebel who widely shared his views regardless of the risks, and had even taken up a sword in defense of Bruce and Scotland. Furious, King Edward had outlawed the bishop and demanded his arrest, and so Lamberton had been sought, found, and shut in an English dungeon.

Yet to Aedan, William Lamberton was far more than a rebellious Scottish bishop. He had taken Aedan and his brother, the young Earl of Fife, as his wards after their father was killed, and had become teacher, mentor, and a fatherly influence.

“So Edward released him. I had not heard.”

“I did not know either until he arrived at the abbot’s house in secret. He will stay there until his next move is clear. Word has been sent to Bruce, and Lamberton wants to see you.”

“I will go there as soon as I can. Good that Edward backed down,” he mused. “But he knew he could not imprison a bishop for long without offending the Pope, who is none too pleased with the English or the Scots as it is.”

“Aye, Bruce is still excommunicated for his actions last year. Edward should be excommunicated too, if you ask me. But Edward is facing his mortality now, as he is very ill, they say. He is not one to change his mind, but he had to release Lamberton and Wishart, the other bishop he had in custody, or hear from the Pope. Not even the King of England can ignore the authority of the Church.”

“How does this bode for the Scotswomen in his keeping? My niece and others.”

“I asked Lamberton if he knew more about their situation. He heard that only the two bishops, not the women, would be released.”

Aedan blew out a frustrated breath. “I am not surprised.”

“Nor was I.” Patrick walked beside him as they crossed the yard toward the keep. “Is Lady Marjorie in the hall?”

“She and Lady Jennet are there, packing for their journey.” Aedan smiled. “Colban too. He broke his arm yesterday, and will be pleased to show you his bandages.”

“ Och, poor lad. I will make a fuss over it.”

“He would enjoy that.” Aedan clapped Sir Patrick on the shoulder.

The door opened as they approached the wooden stairs leading to the keep’s high-set entrance, and Marjorie stepped out.

Sir Patrick paused, and Aedan followed his gaze as he looked up the steps. The sun brightened, slipping out from behind a cloud, and suddenly Aedan saw his sister as if in a new light. She was lovely, though he rarely noticed it. Now, her cheeks were flushed, her smile shy and rosy, her large eyes dark blue. A smattering of freckles over her nose gave her a sweet, youthful innocence, though she was near thirty. The thick red-gold braid that peeked out beneath her widow’s kerchief shone like rose gold.

“Sir Patrick!” She folded her hands as she looked down the height of the stairs.

“Lady Marjorie,” he replied. “So good to see you again.”

“Aye so. Will you stay and visit, and share our midday meal?”

“If you like, I will.”

They stared at each other, went still, both smiling. Aedan looked from one to the other. Marjorie was a widow, but she glowed like a girl. Patrick was her senior by fifteen years or more, long widowed, with grown daughters and small grandchildren.

Always protective of his sister, Aedan looked from one to the other. Just a moment in time, yet he saw the gaze that lingered between them, saw the smiles they tried to hide.

She is in love, he realized. Surely this had happened while he was away. They had known Patrick Wemyss for most of their lives, but Aedan had not seen a connection between his sister and their neighboring laird until now—or was he simply unobservant? Glancing at Patrick, he saw a change in the man he had known for years—a calmness, a new warmth in his eyes that sparkled when he looked at Marjorie MacDuff.

Just then, Lady Jennet appeared in the doorway behind Marjorie. Catching Aedan’s eye, her slight, meaningful nod said she knew and was pleased.

All in an instant, longer to say than see, yet he knew it as clearly as if they had announced it. The air around them seemed filled with sunbeams.

His widowed sister, devoted to caring for his son, dedicated to her weaving art, had fallen in love with a steadfast and worthy gentleman who returned the feeling. Marjorie deserved happiness, peace, and contentment, and had finally found it—or perhaps it had found her.

Watching them, Aedan felt a tug within. After lonely years as a widower following a quiet, even tepid marriage, he was ready for something more, something lasting and strong—ready for himself and for his son too. He wanted to claim that with Rowena, if she wanted that as well.

In that swift moment, he felt a powerful urge to be the one in Rowena’s life who made her feel loved, treasured, and safe. He wanted to protect her, provide for her, encourage her in her work. He wanted to join his life to hers if she would have him.

That was the source of the tug he felt in his chest and abdomen—the insistence of truth, the love burgeoning in his life, as if his soul knew already and he was waking to it.

Drawing a breath, he clapped Patrick on the shoulder. “Come up to the hall, my friend. Colban will be delighted to see you. And there is someone I want you to meet.”

Supper was a quiet hour of good food and conversation as Aedan, Patrick, and Michael discussed the cause of Scotland and Bruce, while his sister, aunt, and Rowena talked of herbal remedies, weaving, and household difficulties, while now and then directing Colban’s developing table manners. He had been permitted to have supper with the adults, since his father was there on a rare visit. Amused and pleased by his son’s charming spirit, Aedan also found that the slightest gesture or frown from him put the lad on his best behavior quickly. Colban might be a natural jester, but he was smart and eager to learn.

Talking with Patrick and Michael, Aedan told them what he knew about English plans and Bruce’s whereabouts, though some information could not be shared without Bruce’s approval. His thoughts went to his mission regarding the regalia entrusted to him last year. He needed to be sure it was still safe where he had hidden it, and then decide what to do with it. That could wait until the castle was asleep.

Throughout the meal, Aedan noticed the glances exchanged between his sister and the Fife sheriff—polite murmured comments, voices warm with laughter or gentle praise, looks that seemed casual but held meaning. He saw subtle blushes, eyes quickly lowered, and smiles pressed away.

Rowena saw too, once giving Aedan a wide-eyed stare, silently eloquent. He held her gaze, and her answering nod was clear. She saw the love the pair thought they kept to themselves. Yet it was no secret to those near them.

He wondered if his growing feelings for Rowena were that clear to others. Brian Lauder suspected it; Erik Ogilvie assumed they were married. Covering a private smile, he sipped from his goblet of watered wine. The mixture was more potent than he liked, so he reached for a jug of water beside his bowl—the stew of lamb and vegetables had been especially good that night—to pour a slosh of water into the wine and drank again.

Perhaps the dilution came too late, for a pesky headache was beginning. He rubbed his temple, but seeing Rowena’s glance, reached for an oatcake instead, not keen to bring attention to his aversion to wine. Scraping the thick, crisp cake through a pot of soft butter, he nibbled. Perhaps a bit more food would diminish the ache, he thought, as he turned to Patrick.

“Have you had reports of English ships in the firth lately?” he asked.

“Now and then,” Patrick replied. “They sail through on their way to Stirling Castle. Brian Lauder said you encountered Malise Comyn on a galley heading that way.”

“Aye, and may we see the last of him,” Aedan replied.

“With luck,” Patrick said. “I heard recently that Peter Abernethy was seen riding for Stirling with several men.”

Michael Balfour nodded. “We heard the same.”

“If Sir Malise and Abernethy meet at Stirling, that is a poor pair. May they keep well away from Fife,” Patrick said.

“They are cousins,” Aedan said. “And Scottish lords who support Edward over Bruce are no friends of ours.”

“Aye,” Patrick agreed. “Hard to forget the murder of your brother at their hands, though it be fifteen years and more.”

“Two were caught and punished, but they were not alone,” Aedan said.

At the other end of the table, Lady Jennet said it was time for Colban to go to bed, but the boy protested, eager to remain with the adults.

“To bed, you lad,” Aedan said. “Lucky you are to be sitting with us so late, but you need your rest. That arm bone needs rest too.”

“Your da is right, sleep will help heal you,” Rowena said. “I can take the lad upstairs. I want to look at his bandaging again.” Colban agreed to that, and she stood and ushered him out of the room, promising to tell him a story if he liked.

“What stories do you know?” Colban asked as they walked away.

“My great-grandfather told wonderful stories. The Queen of Elfland was his good friend,” she added. Aedan smiled to hear her laughter ring out as Colban ran to the stairs, eager for a story. “Hold up, or you will fall again!”

Lady Jennet looked at Aedan. “Queen of the faery ilk?”

“Her great-grandfather was Thomas the Rhymer,” he explained.

“True Thomas! I want to hear her stories too,” Jennet said as the others echoed agreement.

“I must go over to the garrison quarters to talk to my men,” Patrick said, and Michael stood to go with him. Aedan wished them good evening, taking another sip of the watered wine when Marjorie and Jennet asked him to stay.

“Aedan,” Marjorie said. “I am glad you brought Lady Rowena. I quite like her.”

“I do as well,” Lady Jennet said. Both watched him intently, leaning forward.

“She is a fine lady.” To hide his expression, he took another sip.

“You will have the headache if you finish that,” Lady Jennet warned. “It was quite strong, I thought. Sir Patrick brought it from the abbot. A gift to our household.”

“I already have the headache from the stares you two are giving me. What is it?” He both dreaded and welcomed what might come of that question.

“That lass,” Lady Jennet said. “Is she the one you were promised to when you were young?”

“Almost promised,” he corrected, and took a small sip. He could not bring himself to look at their determined faces.

“You should have married her,” Marjorie said. “Is it so, Aunt?”

“It is,” their aunt agreed.

“What is this?” Aedan said. “Matchmaking? She has been here but a day.”

“Marry that lass,” Marjorie said bluntly. “She is—”

“You do not waste time, sister.”

“—the one for you,” she spoke over him. “She is lovely, kind, skilled, intelligent, and she has the backbone to put up with you.”

“Why, thank you,” he drawled, suppressing a smile. The two looked so serious.

“She is the bride your mother approved,” Lady Jennet said. “And you are the bridegroom her father chose for her.”

“We did not meet then. We were children,” he argued, but he agreed with them. “And my mother was not much interested in whom I married, but whom she would marry. She chose an earl and left Fife for Perthshire and a castle thrice this size.”

“Tell him,” Marjorie said to their aunt.

“Tell him what?” he asked.

“Very well. I chose her for you,” Jennet said. “Your mother simply agreed. I thought it best if you believed your mother decided on your behalf.”

“You mean, believe that she cared?” He pulled in a breath, exhaled. His head truly ached. “I appreciate that, but I have learned since that she was never the mother to me that you have been, Aunt, and to Marjorie and our brother too, God rest him.”

“Then listen to me and ask for that young woman’s hand,” Jennet said.

“You need her,” Marjorie said. “Colban needs her. You could be happy again.”

“I am happy, doing good work to support our new king.”

“Chased, tossed in prison? Injured in battle? Running, hiding?” Marjorie asked.

“Helping,” he said firmly. They had scant idea what he had done or was willing to do, and he meant it to stay that way for their peace of mind.

“She is the one for you,” Lady Jennet said. “I had a moment of the Sight about that betrothal years ago, I did. I saw you married to a black-haired beauty, saw her strong and true by your side, but had never seen the Keith child. Lamberton wanted you for the priesthood, which never happened, and you married another. That was good. Alisoun was a sweet girl and I loved her.”

“We all did,” he said.

“But years later, your path crossed with Rowena’s,” Jennet said. “That is fate.”

“Fate,” Marjorie repeated with a nod.

“I am being ambushed. Help,” he said faintly, glancing about.

“You are,” Marjorie affirmed.

“If I need a wife,” he said, sitting forward, tapping the table for emphasis, “then you, sister, need a husband. Do I rail on about that? I do not. I am a saint accosted by wild matchmakers.”

“A saint in need of a wife and a mother for your son,” Marjorie said. “And God willing, I will have a good husband someday soon.” Her smile was mischievous.

“As your brother, and the man’s friend, I approve.”

“Thank you. And I approve of your lady.”

“Not my lady,” he said.

“Yet.” Marjorie held out her hand. “Give me a coin, sir.”

“For what? Pirates took my coin purse,” he groused.

Lady Jennet opened a leather bag on her belt to extract a coin. “Give it to her.”

Amused, puzzled, he handed it to his sister. “Will you tell my fortune? A future with a beautiful wife who has enough steel in her bones to tolerate such as me?”

“That one has steel in her backbone, though she hides it,” Lady Jennet said.

“There,” Marjorie said, pocketing the coin. “You have paid a matchmaker to find you the perfect wife.”

He grinned. “No wonder I have a headache, with you two.”

“Watching you and Lady Rowena,” Lady Jennet said. “I see what is in your eyes when you look at her.”

“And what is that? Sunlight?”

“Hope. And a spark you have not had for years—very like love.”

He tapped a piece of oatcake on the table. “And in her eyes?”

“Love like sunlight.” Jennet smiled and glanced at Marjorie. “You too, my dear. I am old enough now to speak my mind. I want to see you both married before I die.”

“My lady, you always speak your mind,” Aedan said. “And you are not that old.”

“Ask Lady Rowena to marry you,” his aunt returned.

“What if she does not share your opinion?”

“Ask her, or ask her family,” Marjorie said in agreement with Lady Jennet. “Though she is a widow—she told me so when we chatted—so she can decide for herself without waiting on her kinsmen. Just as I can,” she added with a lifted chin.

“I have no objection to Patrick Wemyss, so decide as you like. But I believe Lady Rowena is content as a widow because she can devote herself to healing arts.”

“If you know that about her, then it is a good sign that you are getting to know one another.”

“We are.” He was careful not to look up, lest his feelings shine in his eyes.

“She is good for you, if you would see it. She knows your mind. And knows you make light of things even when you take them to heart.” Jennet twisted her mouth awry. “She sees through you, lad.”

“She does,” he admitted. “I rather like that.”

“I am sure you do. And you are good for her,” his aunt said.

He looked up. “How so?”

“She relies on you. She seems more assured when you are near. For all her calm as a healer, and for all her backbone, she hides an uncertainty within,” Lady Jennet said. “But she is steadier around you. Fear throws her off balance at times, but you can teach her how to stand straight, in a way.”

“Off balance,” he repeated, thinking of Rowena aboard ship. “True, sometimes.”

“I have my grandmother’s Sight. You know that.”

“I do, and I have tried to listen to that. Ladies, we can banter this about all we want, and I am grateful for your thoughts. But I am not in a position to marry.”

“You are. You just refuse to see it,” Jennet said.

“I am dedicated to serving my king. And that means taking risks.”

“Risk is not exclusive to men. Women take grave chances all the time. Consider childbirth.”

“I know,” he said curtly, having lost a wife to that.

“Your work for the king put you in that infirmary, and in Yester dungeon, where you met Lady Rowena. She took a risk to follow a man she did not truly know,” his aunt said. “She has a strong and worthy spirit. You would be a fool to let her go.”

“I have my reasons to play the fool. But some of what you say is true.”

“It is all true,” his sister said. “Marry her before she is out of your life.”

He nodded, thoughtful, silent. Then he smacked his hand on the table. “Very well, I will try. Good night, my dearies.” He stood, pleased to see them gape as he left the hall.