Page 22 of The Guardian’s Bride (Highland Secrets #3)

I n the dark of the staircase, he opened a door she had not noticed before, hidden in a corner. This led down a steep winding stair. She followed, grateful for the light of the lantern. When Aedan opened a door at the bottom of the steps, she stepped with him into a tunnel of earth and rock so narrow, she could touch both sides at once, where tree roots curved out of the rough earthen walls.

“Does this go under the hill to the beach?”

“And out to one of the caves. MacDuffs built this tunnel long ago.”

They came to an arched opening in the rock and when Aedan bent to pass through, Rowena did too, stepping into a cavern lit only by the faint glow of the candle in the lantern. She saw a rough-textured dome of a large cave like the inside of an inverted bowl. From somewhere she heard the distant rush of the sea, and closer, a burble of water.

The dome swept down to an uneven floor with two exits, natural arches in the rock, at opposite ends of the space, one leading toward the beach. At the center of the cave, several rocks formed a circle around a small pool where water bubbled.

“A natural spring?” She looked at Aedan, delighted.

He held the lantern high. “It comes up from below. They call this Saint Margaret’s Well—a healing spring, supposedly blessed by the sainted queen over two hundred years ago. The water is very pure and is believed to have curative powers. People come from all over Fife to drink the water and take some away in jugs and buckets. I thought you would want to see it.”

Thrilled, she sank to her knees, dipped her hand in the shallow pool, and poured the water back. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

“This, and something else. Stay by the pool while I make sure the way is clear. Dip your foot and have a drink of the water.”

“Do you drink the water?”

“Oh aye, we have always done that. My aunt stores this water to dilute the wine, but today there was none left in the cupboard.”

“And you had the headache,” she noted.

He shrugged, assent or doubt, and went over to a niche in the wall, reaching in and returning with a small bottle of green glass, plugged with wax. “We keep containers here for folks who want to take some of the water.” He winked, then left through the outermost exit.

Sitting beside the pool, Rowena removed her boot, stocking, and the bandages around her ankle, then dipped her foot into the cool water, swished it about, then dried it with the hem of her gown. Cupping some of the water in her palm, she drank, finding it chilled and clear.

Rewrapping the bandage and lacing her boot, she filled the little green bottle with water, plugged it, and fit it into her belt purse. Then she removed the Rhymer’s crystal from its silk wrapping to dip it in the water and set it on a rock ledge below the surface to let it absorb whatever power the pool might hold. The stone sparkled as if it was filled with stars.

Aedan came back, calling softly to her, and she scooped up the stone and followed him along a short passageway in the rock to a wide outer exit.

Outside on the shingled beach, moonlight reflected in the dark waves of the firth. As a breeze fluttered through her hair, she realized she had left her veil in Aedan’s bed chamber.

But she knew then she no longer needed it as she once did. She felt new somehow, hopeful. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and felt eager, suddenly, about the changes shifting through her life so quickly now.

Aedan took her hand and indicated the stretch of the beach. “Can you walk far enough to visit the other caves? I need to look at some things.”

She flexed her ankle. “My foot truly feels better. Lead on, sir.”

Moving across the beach, he ushered her inside a wide cave entrance where she heard birds rustling and cooing. As Aedan swept the lantern light around, she saw neat rows of niches cut into the stone walls, and inside the small crevices, birds bobbing and fluttering.

“A dovecote,” he explained. “The birds are here much of the year.”

“Do the MacDuffs use these caves often?”

“Aye, as have all the locals. The caves have served us for generations, so we take care of them. Come this way.” He led her farther down the beach.

The next cave was another vast domed space swept clean by wind and water. “We call this the court cave. Generations of MacDuff chiefs and earls have held meetings and councils here. Long ago, Fife was a kingdom, though now it is an earldom within Scotland. My nephew will hold that rank of earl all his life, even if he stays in England.”

“So you are guardian of these caves and the beach too.”

“So it seems.” He walked ahead into a space as large as any grand hall.

“Is that furniture?” Rowena saw a stack of chairs, tables, and sundry things propped at the back of the cavern.

“Those belong to families of traveling folk. They roam Fife and Perthshire and often winter here. And they help to protect something special.” Now he guided her along another narrow passageway to an interior cave where lantern light revealed designs cut into the rock. Pausing, she recognized birds, animals, fish, weapons, wheels, rods, and other objects, all with similar decorative curling shapes.

“Beautiful!” she breathed.

“And ancient.” He traced his hand over the chiseled lines. “Here is a crown or a headpiece, this one is a horse. Over there are birds, and a chariot and harness.”

“And a longship!” She studied a linear design of a long vessel with oars.

“These were likely carved by people who lived in the caves long before the Scotti settled here from Ireland. The Romans called the first people they discovered in Scotland the ‘Picti’ because they painted pictures on their bodies before going into battle. Perhaps those people carved these, but only they knew their meaning.”

“You are a warrior and a scholar, Aedan MacDuff.” She slipped a hand inside his elbow as they left the carvings and walked out to the beach again.

“There is one more cave I need to visit if you can walk farther.”

“Anywhere you like. My ankle feels good at the moment.”

“The well did its work. I hope your wee stone soaked up some of its magic too.”

“I think it did.” As they strolled along the gritty beach in moonlight, Rowena saw Aedan hold out his plaid to shield the lantern’s light. “Will the flame blow out?”

“The light could be seen from boats that might be out in the firth at night. I thought I spotted a vessel earlier, but clouds are covering the moon so I am not sure of that. Here is the cave. It is on a bit of a slope, so do be careful.” He went up the incline, reaching back to help her enter the cave.

“More carvings?” she asked. “Another pool?” She wondered why he wanted to look at carvings and a healing spring before dawn, when all seemed secure here.

“Something else important.” Carrying the lantern, he went to the back of the cave, then stepped into a vertical crack in the dark rock wall to all but disappear. She followed the light as it moved ahead over glossy dark stone.

“Come through,” he called, as she edged along a passageway so narrow that she had to turn sideways, surprised that Aedan, with his broad shoulders, fit through. Stepping around a curve, she entered a tall narrow space. Aedan set the lantern on a ledge, where it created glowing fingers of light.

He reached into a hidden crevice to draw out a long shape muffled in plaid and tied with leather thongs, and set it on the floor with a heavy thunk. Kneeling, he unwrapped the cloth to reveal a wooden box strapped with iron bands and three locks.

So this was why he came here, she realized. Not to see a pool or ancient carvings or primordial caves. The caves were significant and he was proud of them, but this box was something else entirely. Something profound. Chills ran down her spine.

Then she remembered being at Holyoak with Aedan while he tossed in a fevered state and pulled her close to whisper something desperately.

I must keep it safe. You must find it. Stones. Magic. She had thought it was the fever in him. More of it came back to her, and she turned.

“Stones,” she said. “The castle, the dove. The stone, the magic. All here.”

Aedan paused briefly but did not look up. Taking a small key from his sporran, he inserted it into the latches with nimble twists. He sat back on his heels and looked up.

“So you remember.”

“I recall part of it, but I did not understand it.”

“Now you will.” He opened the lid, peeled away more fabric, and leaned back.

Peering over his shoulder, Rowena saw gleaming gold and silver and a long blade of shining steel. “What is this?” she asked, breathless.

He stroked a hand over the items nestled in wool and silk, a gesture of reverence. “The regalia of Scotland.”

“But—how is this here?” Sinking to her knees beside him, she gazed at the objects nestled in plaid and silk: a golden circlet with fleurs-de-lis in beaten gold attached to the band; a silver rod with a polished sphere and decorative finial; and a magnificent sword that took up the length of the narrow box.

Aedan lifted the hilt from its fabric bed. The blade was brutal and beautiful, sharp and shining, with a grip wrapped in tooled leather, and a straight cross-guard. And the pommel—

She gasped. “The stone!”

“I thought you might recognize it,” he murmured.

Set in the pommel above hilt and cross-guard was a round, polished sphere of nearly transparent crystal, held in place by silver bands etched with designs.

She touched the cool crystal with a finger. “It looks like the Rhymer’s stone!”

Aedan nodded. “When I saw your charm stone, the resemblance struck me. We need to see them together.”

She stood and plucked the crystal from her purse, holding it out to him. In the flickering light, the charm stone reflected golden sparks from the lantern light.

He got to his feet, lifting the sword from the box to hold it near the charm stone. The pommel crystal flashed golden incandescence from the lantern as well, the light shimmering within.

“Even the silver bands are similar, as if done by the same smith,” Aedan said.

“They are like twin souls, these crystals,” she said.

“ Krystallos. Quartz,” he said. “The Greeks called such stones krystallos and thought they were chunks of ice turned to clear stone. The Saxons and Scots called them querertz. I read that in a treatise on natural scientia, ” he explained with a little smile.

“Grandda told me the same! He would have liked you, I think. He also said his charm stone came from the faery realm, which explained its healing magic. Now I wonder—he said something about faery stones, though I did not understand at the time. Perhaps both stones came from the Otherworld. They are so much alike.”

“Could be.” He balanced the point of the sword on the floor, grasping the hilt, looking like a king himself, tall and magnificent and powerful.

“Where did this sword come from?” she asked.

“It was kept in Castle Black, but its origins are uncertain. You see, the Scottish regalia was stolen by the English and carted off to London,” he explained, “so when Bruce needed to be crowned quickly, new regalia was needed. A goldsmith crafted the crown in a hurry, ordered by the Bishop of Scone, who had hidden some things from the English—this scepter, some banners. But a crown and sword were essential for the kingmaking ceremony. When I brought my niece to Scone, I brought the sword too.”

“Why was it at Castle Black?” As she spoke, she dropped her stone into her purse.

He tilted the sword, looking down the gleaming length of the fuller that lessened the weight of the steel and channeled blood in warfare.

“It is said in our clan that this ancient sword was used by King Macbeth of long ago. He was kin to the MacDuffs, you see. After his death in a clash with Malcolm Canmore, who killed him to grab the crown—he was husband to the sainted Margaret,” he added, “a MacDuff brought the sword here. But we do not know where Macbeth got it.”

“And you brought it to Bruce. It seems so fitting.”

“Scone is the place for the regalia, but that is not safe now. Bruce entrusted these things to me. I could not leave them in the castle hall, and could not reveal to anyone that I had them. So I brought them down here.”

“Aedan,” she said, as the truth struck her, “you are truly the guardian of Scotland. A member of the guardian council, aye, but more than that, you guard the symbols of sovereignty here, hidden in this humble place.”

His fingers flexed on the hilt. “You and I know it is here. Bruce knows, but he does not know exactly where it is. I will tell him when next I have the chance.”

“But you needed to see that it was safe. That is one reason you rushed here.”

“When I heard Edward intended to forfeit Castle Black, I knew it was possible. I worried this might be found if his men explored the caves. And that would—” He shook his head.

“Be disastrous,” she supplied.

He nodded, and raised the sword, hoisting its point to the ceiling. The crystal in the pommel twinkled like a star, giving the blade a luster of power.

“They cannot have this,” he said. “This is the sword of a rightful king of Scots. It did not need to gather dust in our hall any longer. The time had come for it to be of use again.” He lowered the blade. “Macbeth was a strong and good king, revered for bringing peace and plenty to the Scots, did you know? Poets composed verses about him. I read one of those when I was at Saint Andrews. But Rowena, there is more to this than we know, with these twin stones.”

“Surely it will come clear someday. It has to.”

“Did Thomas mention another stone that might be significant for Scotland?”

“He said—there was another, but I thought he meant another guardian, which confused me then. It never occurred to me that he might mean two separate stones.”

“Two stones,” he said, “and two guardians. He meant both. But why?”

He lowered to one knee, as a knight would kneel before a king in loyalty and respect, and laid the sword in its place, wrapping it together with the other pieces. For a moment he bowed his head. Then he shut the box, locked the latches, wrapped the wood in the dark-patterned plaids and thongs, and stood. Hoisting the box up, an action that needed raw strength, he slid it back into the deep horizontal niche in the rock, where shadows absorbed it.

Rowena stood silent, spellbound by the moment and the meaning, awestruck by this man who carried such immense responsibility with earthy humility and grace. This man that she loved and respected beyond any she had ever known. Her heart surged.

“Aedan MacDuff,” she said, “there is no man more suited to this responsibility.”

“Ah,” he said, wiping his hands, “just luck that I knew of this cave. But it is damp at times, not a proper reliquary for the sword of Macbeth and the rightful King of Scots, and the regalia as it exists now. I did what I could.”

“You did well. I am grateful that you trusted me with this.”

“I trust you,” he clarified. “I love you and I honor you.”

“I love and honor you,” she whispered. “Trust and truth go with that.”

“They do. But I am sorry to have drawn you into my wee wicked scheme.” He glanced at the dark niche. “Someone else needed to know about this, should I fall off a boat or suchlike before I see Bruce again.”

She laughed softly. “You trusted me at Holyoak too, not knowing me.”

He cocked his head, smiled. “A beautiful lass with kind eyes and a pretty stone that looked oddly familiar—you were heaven-sent. You were my only hope when I thought I might die. Later I knew I must find you, for I had told you a grave secret. And I had fallen in love with you a little. I am glad to share this secret with you.” He kissed her. “Shall we go? The dawn will break soon and we have a busy day ahead. After a busy night, hey.”

“Very busy,” she agreed, kissing him, then being pulled into his arms.

“This cave is not the place for what I suddenly have in mind,” he murmured. “But we should go up to the castle before the others awake.”

She preceded him, turning sideways to pass through the deep, high crack in the rock that led out to the cavern. Together they headed up the incline toward the wide cave entrance. He reached out to lend her a hand but stopped.

“Get down,” he said. Dropping to his hands and knees, he crawled to the entrance and peered out. After a moment he drew back.

“God’s very bones,” he muttered.

She dropped beside him. “What is it?”

“Look toward the water. But stay low. We must not be seen.”

She peered out and saw what he had spotted. “A boat!”

“A galley. With Edward’s damned sail.”

Out on the water, the galley was visible against the dusting of pale pink color along the horizon. She could make out the ship’s silhouette, the billowed sail with gold lions on red, the dipping oars, and the shapes of men moving along the deck.

She gasped. “Malise?”

“Must be.” He looked out again, and she inched closer to him, shoulder to shoulder. “He may be patrolling through here looking for any sign that we might be at Castle Black. Coming back from Stirling, he might have noticed Brian’s longship at the quay at North Queensferry.”

“Perhaps he will sail back across the firth and away. He cannot dock here.”

“But they could send a small boat to shore if one is stored on the galley.” With a muttered curse, he sat back. “We need to get to the castle, but we could be seen on the beach. Is your ankle strong enough for you to run?”

“Thanks to Saint Margaret’s healing waters, I think so.”

“Ready?” He opened the lantern to blow out the candle. Then they moved cautiously out of the cave, keeping to the shadows as they crossed the beach beneath the overhang of the cliff, hurrying into the cave below the castle. There, Rowena peered out to see dawn glowing on the horizon.

“The galley is still out there,” Aedan said. “But they are turning. With luck, they will cross the firth and go as far as Berwick and England. I do not relish meeting Malise Comyn again on land or water. Come on—keep close to me.”

“Always,” she said, as he reached for her hand.

Following Aedan up the secret stair, Rowena stopped near her chamber’s hidden door. “I should go,” she whispered.

“Come up here for something,” he said, gesturing toward his room. “Aw, not that, love, unless you want to,” he said, lifting a brow.

“That would need time—I can only stay a moment. The others will wake soon.”

In his bed chamber, he crossed to the smaller room. Curious, Rowena peered into a simple room containing a table, chair, and standing cupboard. He opened that.

“Since I am sharing all my secrets, the treasure of the MacDuffs is here.”

“You jest! It is a small cupboard.”

“It is a small treasure,” he replied, and rummaged inside. She heard some rustling and the snap of the latch of a small casket, the sort that might hold coins or jewels. Returning, he ushered her into the larger room and held out one hand. A long, sturdy silver chain lay coiled and glinting in his palm.

“For your crystal. It was my grandmother’s chain. Your purse was nearly lost in the sea, but with this, you can keep it on you always.”

“What a pretty thing,” she said as he poured it into her hand. “I will wear it inside my bodice.” Taking the stone from her purse, she slid the chain through the small bail in the silver setting.

Turning, she lifted her thick braid aside as he clasped the chain around her neck. She cupped the pendant in her hand, its cool surface gathering the warmth that always made the stone feel familiar and dear.

“The day Grandda gave me the crystal, he said I was its guardian. And he said there was another—either stone or guardian. He often spoke in riddles.”

“He gave me a bit of a riddle too. I felt honored that he even spoke to me, a lad. He said one day I would be a knight and a guardian, but I did not understand the rest of it.” He smiled briefly. “He told me to look for the woman with the crystal stone, but it made no sense. I forgot about it until I saw your charm stone.”

“Then he knew about the twin stones and knew we would be the guardians. Oh, and he said I should look for a man with a crown. I thought he meant a king.”

“There is another man with a crown. Me.” He wiggled his fingers. “I have a crown tucked away, and we have the two crystals.”

“For some reason, fate brought us together. Thomas must have known. But why? Though he did hint that the stone could save Scotland.”

“That seems unlikely.” He sighed.

“I must go.” Rowena glanced toward the window, where dawn was breaking bright. “What if Thomas knew you and I would meet and perhaps—” She stopped.

“Marry?” His simple word echoed her thought, and her heart thumped.

“That was the plan years ago, and fate reunited us.”

“Fate seems insistent with us. And Thomas knew about our betrothal.”

“But he did not know the rest. It all sounds—almost magical.” She felt her cheeks heat pink at the thought, the possibility, of marrying Aedan.

“Lady Rowena,” he said, “for all your caution, you are a bit of a dreamer.” A little smile twitched at his lips.

“My great-grandfather taught us to accept magic—it was so natural to him. The charm stone has a kind of magic. And my sisters have the Sight, I know that. I may be a practical soul, but I have seen strange things that are very real.”

“Something else seems almost magical to me,” he said, “yet it is very real. Fate is telling us something, Rowena. So I have another gift for you.”

He opened his other hand. In his palm was a small golden ring. He must have fetched it with the chain, she realized. She caught her breath. “What is this?”

“Looks like a ring.”

“I mean—it is lovely. But what—is this?” She lifted her gaze to his.

“A token of betrothal. Of marriage.” He sounded awkward, this brawny and confident man. Her heart went out to him.

“It is beautiful.” The ring was elegant in its simplicity—a plain golden band with a phrase etched in tiny letters around the outside, its only decoration.

“I would marry you here, now, or anywhere you like. Will you—accept the ring?”

“I will,” she said in a rush. “Oh, I will. It is beautiful. What does it say?”

He turned it in the light. “Io sui de druerie,” he read. “In French, it means ‘I am a love gift.’” Pink stained his cheeks beneath new beard growth. “In a way, this has been a long time coming.”

“It has. I feel as if I have known you forever.”

“Aye,” he agreed. She held out her right hand, knowing the Church had decreed that promise rings belonged on that hand and could be moved to the left with marriage.

He slipped the ring on her finger, then kissed her knuckle, as he had done in a tavern one night, a sweet thrill she had not forgotten. When he tugged at her waist to pull her to him, the kiss was so tender that tears started in her eyes.

She stretched her hand out to look at the ring glinting in the dawn light. “Where did you find this? It is perfect.”

“Ah, no one ever knew this, but I had it made when I was fifteen.” He took her hand, rubbing his thumb over the golden circlet. “I thought our betrothal would be sealed, so I went to a goldsmith in Dunfermline to have a ring made. I had a gold coin and gave it to him to melt. You were just a child, but I asked for a ring to fit a woman. I thought you might wear it on a ribbon until you were older and we were wed. But then it was over, and I put it away. I did not even give it to my wife. To me, this has always been your ring.”

She caught her breath. “You are a romantic. You are so many things, Aedan MacDuff.” She gazed up at him. “A warrior, a guardian, a jester, a scholar. A dreamer and a romantic soul.”

“I might even earn sainthood if I carry on like that.”

She laughed, dashing away a tear. “And I love you. I love your strength and kindness. You make me proud. You make me laugh.”

“Only sometimes,” he qualified. “I am not sure when it began, but I know I love you with all my heart. My soul loves you, loves your soul. I want to marry you.”

“I want that too, I do. When I truly know something, I know it for certain. Besides, I think we made our decision last night.” She glanced at the bed, its rumpled blankets holding the memory of what they had discovered together hours ago.

“We did. This is the next step. I admit, since Colban was born and Alisoun passed, I never thought I would marry again. But then I found you again.”

“I was only married for a few weeks, though I had my work and dedicated myself to that. But at Holyoak, when I saw you, everything changed somehow. We have both been hurt, and we both loved before. But this—this feels different.”

“It does.” He touched her cheek. “We will talk later and say all that must be said. But know that we are good for one another and it is a miracle, in a way, to find one another like this. It is enough, Grizel, my bluebell.” He kissed her brow.

She laughed on a little sob. “You are a good man all on your own, and I am so glad I found you.” She rose on tiptoe to kiss his lips. “I want to stay, but they will search for us soon. What shall I tell them?” She held up her hand, the ring gleaming.

“Naught yet, but if they see that, say whatever you like.”

“Remember your sister and Sir Patrick. We all saw it when they thought they were hiding it.”

“Well, they may know about us already.” He grimaced. “I had quite the lecture from my sister and my aunt, who pressed me to marry you. Sir Brian spoke of it too. They say I would be a fool to let you go. And I am no fool.”

She remembered Lady Jennet in the kitchen—so warm and familiar, treating her as if she was part of the family. “Your friend Erik thought we were newly married.”

“He did, but he is a bit thick about such things.” He grinned.

“Did you decide to give me the ring because of what they said?”

He chuckled. “It was on my mind, love. But let them think it was their idea.”

“And Colban? Will he be pleased?”

“The lad adores you. I expect his hearty approval.”

“My family will be happy for us as well. My sisters have wanted me to marry again, thinking I was too focused on my work. And my brother always favored our betrothal, though he was a lad then. But others will take issue with this.”

He frowned. “Edward and Malise.”

“The king wanted me to agree to marry Malise. But Henry told them I was promised and quashed it.”

“It is a ruse no longer. Malise can be troublesome, but the sooner we reach Dunfermline and head to Kincraig, the better. I want that fellow as far away from you as possible. The bottom of the firth might do, but that galley is too seaworthy.”

“I want to reach Kincraig before Edward sends men there to collect Thomas’s things from us—I want to urge them not to comply. If Malise arrives—”

“As soon as we depart Dunfermline, we will go there. I promise.”

“Aedan, how long before we are no longer hunted by the English, looking over our shoulders for Malise or someone else?”

“Hard to say, lass. Edward’s death could undo it, but he seems indestructible Though if you had just let him—”

“Do not even think it!”

“Aye well. I intend to see all this untangled. I swear it.” He lifted her hand with the promise ring and kissed it.