Page 22 of The Guardian's Bride

“If I cannot get to Lanercost,” she said, as if she knew his thoughts, “I must get home to my family and friends.”

“Stay away from Edward if you value your life. When it is full dark, we will head out. A few miles from here is a river, where we can hire a boat.”

“A boat?” She scrunched her nose: a bonny little nose over a bonny mouth, full and lush, and those gray thundercloud eyes, deep and long-lashed, captivated him. He glanced away. Whoever she was, he must focus on getting them out of this place.

“A boat is often the fastest way around Scotland, as you no doubt know,” he replied. “We will need to move fast. I am sorting out how and by which route.”

“I suppose we should travel together for a bit. May I know your name?” Her eyes were keen on his. “You said it is no name to say aloud, but we can be quiet here.”

“My name alone could hang me.” He met her gaze.

“Is it so? I am Rowena,” she offered. “Lady Rowena Keith.”

“Keith.” He frowned at the elusive memory. “Kin to the Marischal of Scotland?”

“He is my great-uncle. My father was another Robert Keith, lord of Kincraig.”

The realization hit him like a rinse of ice water.

Lady, we were nearly betrothed once.

“Henry Keith’s sister?” He leaned toward her.

“Do you know my brother?”

“A bit. Rowena is an unusual name.” His thoughts tumbled. He was not ready to tell her what he suddenly recalled.

“My mother had a copy ofHistoria Regum Britanniae. Geoffrey of Monmouth. She saw the name there.”

“I have read some Arthurian tales. As I recall, Rowena seduced Vortigern.”

“I hope that was not her inspiration! Mama had a brother called Rowan. He died young, so my name served his memory. Will you give me your christened name?”

“Aedan.Aodh,” he added. “Ancient god of sun and fire. The old Celts.”

“The name suits you. Sir Aedan. I—we—” She shook her head, denying some inner thought. “Did you invent that tale of goblins and a wizard?”

“Real enough at Yester. We will be fine.” He winked should she frighten easily.

“I am not afraid of wizards. Some called my great-grandfather a wizard, but he was a kind and clever man—a soothsayer, but not a wizard with a familiar.”

“Your great-grandfather?” He tipped a brow.

“Thomas the Rhymer,” she added.

Not surprised now that he knew who she was, he nodded. “I met him once when I was young. A fascinating gentleman.” Her great-grandfather had been part of the betrothal discussion years ago. The old man had impressed him. Though Aedan had been more interested in knighthood than marriage then, he had bonded to the idea of the Keith girl and the promise. “They do say the Rhymer spent time with the faery ilk.”

“There were stories, but he rarely spoke of it himself. He did say that when he was a young man, he met the queen of the faeries in Elfland, as he called it. He wrote a ballad about it that he sang for us. We loved his tales, though I sometimes wondered if they were true. I had a practical turn of mind even as a child.”

“And now? Do you believe in such?”

“He gave each of us some things that he said were faery-blessed. Later I came to believe that there is some merit to it.” She sounded cautious. “I studied folk medicine and such.”

“I am blessed to be in such marvelous company.” He smiled.

“He was marvelous, not me.” She tilted her head. “May I see your arm?”

Puzzled by that, he extended his right arm. She tapped his left. When he lifted it, she pushed up his tunic sleeve to reveal part of the long scar that ran there.