Page 21 of The Guardian’s Bride (Highland Secrets #3)

R owena sat beside Colban in the darkness of his tower room, a twin to her own above it. She touched the child’s curly hair as he slept peacefully. Hearing a tap on the door, she looked up as Aedan peeked in and put a finger to her lips. “All is well. I will stay here for a while.”

He nodded. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I will be in my chamber working on some documents. Fetch me if he needs anything, or if you need something.” As he closed the door, she saw him rub his brow as if something troubled him. Perhaps it was the headache again; he had sipped the strong wine at supper, which had a peculiar effect on him. While he never complained, she had seen it.

After a while, leaving Colban asleep with one of the dogs to guard him, she headed down the winding stone stair, going carefully to spare her ankle. It had improved with ointment and snug bandaging, but she did not fancy twisting it again. She passed a small library and the solar that contained Marjorie’s loom and baskets of yarns, cloth, and stitchery, then took a corridor through a door to the separate building that confined the kitchen, always wise in case of fire.

She hoped to find some herbs that were helpful for headache, wanting to make a hot infusion to bring to Aedan before he tried to sleep. The large kitchen was dim and all but deserted. One woman in a dark gown and pale kerchief stirred the contents of a kettle over one of the hobs in the great arched fireplace. As Rowena’s footsteps sounded on the slate floor, the woman turned.

“Lady Rowena!” Lady Jennet said.

“My lady! I did not expect to see anyone here.”

The older woman smiled. “I was talking to Cook about the needs at the castle since we will be away for some weeks. The garrison is larger now, and so must be accommodated. Tomorrow in Dunfermline, I will arrange for supplies to be delivered each week. I am sure you know how it is to run a household.”

“I do, though I live in our family castle, my brother’s property now. My sisters and I have managed the household together since our mother’s death, and then Papa’s.”

Jennet stirred the kettle. “I knew Robert Keith of Kincraig. A good man.”

Rowena tipped her head. “You did? Oh,” she realized. “The betrothal?”

“The one that never was, aye. You are close with your siblings?”

“We are. But my sisters have married and will be living elsewhere, so Kincraig will be managed by our brother Henry, who is not yet married. But I can help him.”

“Do you think you would marry again, and move away as your sisters have done?” Her tone sounded careful, Rowena thought.

“If I ever married again, I would want to divide time between Kincraig, which I love dearly, and wherever my husband’s property might be.” She was careful too.

“Ah. Aedan said you were recently on Bass Rock?” Jennet changed the subject.

“I was. It is isolated but beautiful in its way. Have you been there before?”

“Not since Aedan was a lad. Can I help you find something here in the kitchens?”

Rowena nodded. “I was hoping to make a warm posset, and need a few herbs for headache. Do you have more mint and willow, chamomile, and perhaps yarrow or feverfew?”

“We have those.” The lady tilted her head. “Do you have a headache?”

“I thought Sir Aedan might benefit from it.”

“Ah, so you noticed at supper.”

“I did. I hope it would be welcome if I prepare something for him.”

“Very welcome, I am sure, though he would not ask. Over here.” She led Rowena through the cavernous room, whitewashed with a vaulted ceiling, to open a large wooden cupboard. Inside were multiple nooks with tiny painted labels, the niches filled with packets and small jars containing dried herbs, ginger, pepper, and other herbs, spices, and more. Rowena inhaled the blended scents.

“This is a lovely collection!”

“We try to keep many herbs and such to hand.” Lady Jennet removed a few packets. “Here is peppermint, willow, yarrow. And some dried all-heal if you want some.” She piled the packets into Rowena’s hands. “Use what you like and we will put the rest back in the herb cupboard. We have some oils too, mint, lavender, and others that might help.”

“Thank you. I would like to boil some water.” Rowena turned.

“There is water already heated on the smaller hob. I prepared elderberry syrup recently if that would help. And we have raw honey, drawn from the hives last month.”

“That would be excellent.” She laid the things on the scrubbed oak table, took the little pottery bowl that Lady Jennet handed her, and measured out some herbs while Aedan’s aunt fetched the syrup and honey. Quickly, Rowena added small portions of herbs to the water heating in an iron kettle and began to stir the simmering mixture. She closed her eyes, inhaling the warm, sweet, tart scent of the rising steam.

“This will help Aedan,” Lady Jennet said. “It is kind of you to think of it.”

Rowena stirred the concoction. “It is something I can do for him. I owe him so much. He took me out of Yester, did you know? If I had stayed, I dread to think what might have happened.”

“He told us,” Jennet said. “Aedan feels he owes you for healing him when he was sorely injured. We all appreciate that so much. And the infusion will help tonight. He has an aversion to dark wine. Even as a lad, when we gave him watered wine, as one does to help small children become accustomed to it—it never agreed with him. His father was like that, as I recall.”

“You knew Aedan’s father? Were you married to his Uncle Duff then?”

“Aye, just married. But Aedan’s father was killed while a young man, when his children were small. Colban, he was called. The names stick in this clan—Duncan, Colban, Aedan, Duff, all repeated through.”

Rowena stirred the posset. “Aedan said he and his brother lived with the bishop.”

“They did, while Marjorie was with her mother, just an infant. After a few years, Marjorie came to Castle Black to live with us—my husband is chief of the MacDuffs by tradition, being close kin to the earl. When they were boys, Aedan and his brother were wards of the bishop, then came here to Castle Black. Later Aedan fostered with the Lauders, as part of the tradition of training up a lad to become a knight.”

“He told me a little of that. He took on a great deal of responsibility after his brother died.”

“And he handles it well. Interim guardian, overseeing Fife, and acting as clan chief with my husband captured.” She sighed. “I maintain hope that Duff will be released.”

“Hope is all you need, sometimes, for all to be well,” Rowena said. “Aedan is happy here. You have made a good home for him and his son.”

“He has much on his mind and his shoulders, but he puts on a good face. You see through that,” Jennet added. “He is pleased that you do, I think.”

“I am glad.” Rowena smiled. “Is there a goblet or a jug I can use to bring this to him? I will knock on his door and leave it without disturbing him.”

“Take a pottery jug. He will have a cup in his room, if he can find it.”

Rowena laughed. “You know him too.”

“My dear, I know him better than he likes sometimes.”

Balancing the jug with its steaming contents as she slowly climbed the steps to favor her foot, Rowena came to the level of her chamber. Though she was aware that Aedan’s room was on the next level, she was not sure which door was his. Remembering the private stair, she went through her chamber to the doorway hidden behind a length of plaid. Moving up the steps carefully, she saw his door partly open.

She knocked softly, pushed it open, stepped into a darkened room, and heard snoring. The double chamber was much like hers and Colban’s as well, a large room and a smaller chamber. Here the larger space contained a bed with upright posters and draped curtains, with a table, chairs, and cupboard nearby. The smaller space held a simple bed. This was not the master’s chamber in the castle, she realized; Lady Jennet would have that.

“Aedan?” She saw him lying in the curtained bed, snoring softly. He had removed his tunic and lay in trews and shirt with a blanket pulled lightly over him.

Not wanting to wake him, she set the jug on the table beside the bed, gasping when a little of the hot liquid spilled. But he did not stir, eyes closed, snores rumbling. She knew sleep was the best remedy, though the herbal potion would help as well.

She remembered her first sight of him at Yester: a large man emitting loud snores under a bulky plaid. At Holyoak, she had encountered the brawny warrior, earthy and handsome, taut with muscle, weakened by injury and fever. She had treated and soothed him and felt reluctant to leave him. A subtle bond had begun there to flourish now, as compassion and attraction deepened to feelings she could no longer ignore.

Perhaps a buried memory of their near-betrothal stayed with her, for she had thought of him often after Holyoak. When she overheard King Edward and Sir Malise scheming to destroy him, she felt a fierce urge to warn him—then fate had sent her to Yester. Now she was losing her heart to him, and glad of it.

Reaching out, she touched his dark curls, warm and puppy-soft, clustered over his brow. In sleep, his face had a lean, elegant strength, softened by the tender curve of his lips, the long eyelashes under arched brows, the velvety scruff of his shaven face.

Had she truly noticed the tough, nimble beauty of his hands and long fingers? She grazed her fingers over his hand, lifted away—but he grabbed her fingers.

“What,” he mumbled, eyes opening. “Rowena! Is it Colban?” He began to sit up.

“Colban is fine. Lie back.” She gently pushed his shoulder. “I did not mean to wake you. I just brought you something to drink.”

He sat, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, running long fingers through his hair, then over his face. His bare torso was golden and powerful in candlelight. “I am glad you woke me,” he said. “I did not mean to sleep for long. There is something I must do. What is that?” He gestured toward the jug on the table.

“A warm posset. I thought you might have a headache.”

“You saw that? Aye, you did.” He answered his own question, then ruffled his hair and gave her a half-wink. “What is in it?”

She explained the contents. “With honey and Lady Jennet’s elderberry syrup.”

“Some would call that a child’s drink,” he muttered.

“If a man drinks it, then it is a man’s drink.”

He lifted the jug and sipped directly from it. “Not bad. A bit flowery.”

“It has lavender in it. But even if you smelled like rose soap and wore flowers and ribbons in your hair, you would still be a most virile and manly rogue.”

“I trust that is a compliment,” he drawled, and sipped again. “This should fix any weakness in me.” He drank and set the jug down.

“I see no weakness in you. Well, sometimes your jests can be thin.”

“Now that hurts.” He beckoned. “Come here.”

As she stepped forward, he widened his knees to bring her close, so that she stood a breath away. She began to stroke his temples gently, then combed her fingers through his tousled curls, flexing and pressing to ease the headache away. Aedan closed his eyes, silent, hands resting on her hipbones, thumbs circling.

“Feels good,” he murmured. His gaze met hers, keen and lingering, an intangible touch that thrilled through her as much as his hands on her.

She leaned toward him and nudged her nose to his in invitation. His hands tightened, fingers stretching over her lower back to snug her closer, and answered tenderly, the caress of his lips so luscious that the sensation sank to her knees so that she leaned against the mattress. His lips tasted, drank of hers, and she opened to him as he leaned back, propped on an elbow, bringing her with him. She went willingly, lifted in his big hands to rest partly on his bare chest, her hands on his smooth shoulders. Gliding her fingers over his chest, feeling the soft cushion of hair and the thumping heart beneath, she pressed against him, his natural response rigid beneath her hip even with layers of cloth between them.

With a low groan, he rolled to his side with her, kissing as they went, hands roaming, hers sliding over his rib cage, smooth and warm and thick with muscle, his pulse pounding beneath her touch. She leaned into the depth of the feather-stuffed mattress covered in plaid, the wool a slight tickle against her cheek. As Aedan moved a hand to cover her bodice, she shifted toward him with a little moan to give him access to her body, to her heart.

She sighed against his coaxing lips, the slip of his tongue, and her body pulsed against his nude torso as she glided her hand along his back. The cloth of her gown and shift hampered her—she tugged at the knotted ribbons along the side openings to loosen the cage of laces. His hand found hers on the ribbons and tugged too. Then his fingers slipped inside, over the linen shift beneath, fingertips finding her breast, teasing the nipple so gently that she sucked in her breath and moaned again.

“Lass,” he said, his lips separating from hers as he whispered. “We—”

“Hush you,” she whispered, and her hand slid down his back to pull at the waist of his trews. “Just hush. I think we both want this.”

“You know I do, but if you—”

“I do, now hush,” she said, roused and sure as she surged over him. She felt the certainty of what she wanted within as if she had always known she would find him. The childhood wish, the healing wish, the steadiness he brought her, the calm she gave him in return—suddenly seemed to merge, and she knew this was deeply good.

Now he kissed her again and his hand cupped her breast under fabric, warmth and passion spinning wild through her as his thumb rolled her nipple, and she arched back with a little cry.

“So much cloth,” he murmured, his lips tracing down her throat, fingers tugging at the edge of the dark blue bodice to kiss along her collarbone. A whirlwind of heat, of need and sensation, drove her to press against him. As he pulled at the cloth, frustration outdid need—she sat up and yanked the gown up and over her head to toss it aside.

“Lass, when you decide something, it is a glorious thing to behold.”

She laughed and lay back, feeling free, savoring cool air over her nearly bared body under the shift, feeling more entirely herself than she ever had before in the cavern of the curtained bed, in the warm circle of his arms as he lay back with her. He kissed her again, deep and slow, then traced his mouth down her throat again and down, his fingers easily drawing aside the loose neck of her shift. As his lips found her breast, she gasped, letting her body plead for what she wanted so very much now, with him.

Thoughts whirled above her body’s urging like swifts in flight, never landing, far away—she knew herself, knew her tendency to think and reason, but she would not allow it to douse the heat within her or cool this precious fire.

She pulled him to her, urging him to roll with her, moving her hips against his. He groaned deep, the sound lost against her lips. As he slid a hand under the shift, along her leg, thumb tracing the inside of her thigh, fingers reaching over the curve of her slender hip, she ached for his fingers tips to seek that clefted part of her none had touched or known since the month of her wedding, long ago, lost in time. Knowing what would come, she paused, brow to his shoulder, gasping a little, wanting this so much now, yet needing to breathe in a moment of clarity.

He kissed her temple, his bristly cheek grit and velvet. “What is it, love?” he murmured, his voice soft thunder, resonant and beloved. “Enough?”

“A moment—” She lifted her face, kissed him. “Not yet enough, my love,” she whispered, then tugged at his trews, which came out of the way quickly. He pressed against her, hot and hard and tender. Decision, as he had said, felt glorious.

Then his hands and his will and his lips found her fully, touch and love and freedom all blending as she arched against him, feeling a lush whirlpool take her over, spin thoughts away from her as breath and body took over. And then he shifted and she opened to him, widening her legs, arching and tilting as her body allowed him to slip within, merging, feeling overtaking thought—for that was what she needed most, wanted most. Feeling a blend of soul and craving and grace, too, she rose with him, coaxed him deeper into her, certain in her very core that they belonged together, surging with him now as if they had never been apart, ever, in their lives.

“Rowena,” Aedan said later, against the silky press of her hair along his cheek.

The candle had nearly gutted out, the steam had left the jug, the chill of evening settled in the air. He woke tucked with Rowena under the plaid, snug and satisfied, feeling such satiation in body, heart, and soul that it felt profound there in the dark.

The low-burning candle told him they had slept for a few hours. Glancing down, he saw Rowena’s dark eyelashes flutter and open. “Mmm?” she asked. “Morning?”

“Still dark. But if you are awake, I want to show you something.”

She circled her hips against him. “What?”

“Before you came up here and sweetly distracted me—”

“I only came up here to bring you a posset,” she replied in a sleepy voice. “Then we both got distracted.”

“Ah, true. But I need to tend to something before we leave for Dunfermline.” Tossing the blanket aside, he sat up.

“What is it?”

“Come with me and you will see.” He left the bed and reached for the shirt he had discarded earlier, climbed back into his trews, and pulled on a long tunic and low-slung belt. Rowena slid off the bed and tugged her gown over her head, while Aedan draped a plaid over his shoulder, then turned to help her tie the side lacings of her gown. She sat to fasten her boots, kicked off in a hurry when the candle still burned high.

“How is your ankle? Can you walk down to the beach?”

“I can.” She flexed her foot. “The bandage and boot lacing help.”

“We need to be quiet and quick. I do not want to wake anyone here.”

“You do not want to answer questions,” she guessed.

“Aye.” He took up a metal lantern of pierced metal with a sturdy wooden side handle, inserted a new candle taper lit from the spent candle, and turned.

“But your questions, love, I will answer. It is past time I showed you what is kept here. This way.” He indicated the door to the hidden stair.