Page 87 of The Guardian's Bride

Chapter Twenty-Three

The boy stoodin a beam of golden light from a high window and called her name again. “Lady Rowena!”

The men heard too. A knight—Abernethy—ran out of the side nook and snatched the boy up as Malise and the monk followed. Colban yelled, arms and legs flailing, his shrill cry smothered by a gloved hand.

“Let him go!” Rowena called, running down the central aisle, skirts flying. Her only driving thought was to stop them, grab the boy away—

Whirling, Malise reached out, but she skirted around him to confront the knight holding Colban. Incensed, she pulled at the man’s arm while he struggled with the writhing boy. Abernethy pushed her away even as Colban managed to kick him so hard that the man grimaced.

“Let him go!” she shouted, pummeling his arm. But Malise grabbed her back toward him, trapping her, though she struggled.

“Lady Rowena! How good to see you,” Malise said into her ear. “Be still.”

“Let the boy go!”

“I thought he was a town brat—but he knows you. Who is he?” His voice had an ugly edge. “Who are you, boy?”

“Do not touch him!” She twisted in his grip.

“I am Colban MacDuff,” the boy piped up, “son of Aedan, son of Colban, son of Duncan, son of—”

“Colban MacDuff!” Malise held Rowena in a hard grip, his arm across the front of her shoulders. “We have been looking for you and your father.”

“My father is a warrior and he will come after you if you hurt Lady Rowena!”

“I am eager to see him. Where is he?” His arm was an iron band around her, but Rowena kicked backward. He grunted, barely avoiding the blow.

“Rowena—mmph!” Colban shrieked as Abernethy clapped a hand over his mouth.

She reached out, hindered by Malise, while Colban watched her with large, frightened eyes. He flailed his uninjured arm, which Abernethy grabbed back.

“He has a broken arm, can you not see that?” she demanded.

Abernethy, a muscular man whose chainmail hood framed a square face, dark beard, and rather large brown eyes, eased his hold, frowning as he looked at Colban.

“Go easy on the brat, but keep him quiet,” Malise snapped. “I need to decide what in God’s name to do now. I was not expecting this,” he muttered.

Abernethy set Colban on his feet but kept a grip on the boy’s bunched tunic. Colban kicked and twisted, distracting the fellow, who sidestepped and held on. Rowena twisted against Malise’s grip, but felt her ankle wrench. She cried out.

“Quiet,” Malise growled. “I have to think.”

“You wanted us, now you have us,” she hissed. “But this is a holy place and it would be a great sin to harm us.”

“As great a sin as Bruce committed, killing my cousin in a church in Dumfries?”

“That was for the good of Scotland—you have no such worthy reason. Let us go. We are too much trouble.”

“Trouble indeed,” Malise agreed. “God’s bones!”

“Where?” Colban looked around. “Are God’s bones over there?” He pointed to a tomb and effigy in a side chapel.

“Shut up,” Malise said.

“Take them to the ship,” said Hugo. “The king wants both of them.”

“He wants the boy taken to Northumbria, and the woman brought to him,” Malise said. “We cannot go in both directions at once. We will take her.”

“What do we do with the boy?” Abernethy asked.