Page 9 of The Guardian's Bride

“I will.” She sighed. “I do not want to go to Edward, but if he is ill, I feel I must.”

“It is your way. And trust me, we must do what this king wants, or there will be hell to pay. He is more impatient and vindictive than ever and could stir havoc at the smallest slight. If he thinks you have something he wants, it could go poorly for you. Be careful. Do not tell him about the stone.”

“I promised Grandda that I would guard it, and so I will.”

“Aye then. Gilchrist and I will escort you south today. I have no doubt this MacDuff will recover, thanks to you.”

She touched the embroidered pouch, felt the round crystal there. Walking back through the yard with Henry, she remembered something Grandda had said.

One day, this wee stone could save Scotland. Thou art its guardian now. Keep it secret. Keep it safe. Use it wisely.

Hearing a softstep, sensing the light changing, the air sweeter and softer, Aedan opened his eyes. She stood beside him. He thought her a nun, with her gentle, skilled touch, her soft kind gray eyes, her kerchief and simple gray gown. Though his lipsfelt stretched and dry, and his stitched and poulticed cheek pained him, he smiled.

“Back again? I must be dying. Such attention.” It took all his strength to stay awake, move a few fingers, smile.

“You seem improved today. I am glad,” she whispered, touching his shoulder.

“Stay.” Had he said that already? His mind was in a fog.

“I must go. My brother is here. I am called to the king.”

“King. I must go to the king too.” Dimly aware that he must find Bruce, lend his support, he shifted to sit but could not.

“Easy, sir. I must go, but you will recover. The monks will help you. Rest now.”

“Stay,” he said, fingers lifting. “Are you a nun?”

“I am not.” She took his hand. “I cannot stay. Promise me you will heal and go home.”

“Home. Promise. See you again?”

“Who can say? Guard yourself, aye?”

“Guard,” he repeated. “Stone.”

“What?” She sounded almost frightened. Had he said something wrong? He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her soft, slim knuckles. It took his strength.

“Farewell, you,” she said dearly, sweetly.

“Sweetling. Kind lady. I owe you.”

She laughed softly and turned away, footsteps light to the door.

He closed his eyes, feeling an odd tug in his chest as she left. He wanted to see her again. Had to—the stone—he had seen its twin elsewhere, and it puzzled him greatly.

He slept.

Chapter Four

“Sire. You sentfor me?” Rowena bowed her head, dipped her knee as King Edward glanced up. He sat by a blazing hearth, robed in furs and thick woolen garments, and beckoned her forward with bony fingers.

“Come here.” He looked weary, his long face pale and drawn, gray hair straggling over rounded shoulders, long legs like sticks in baggy woolen stockings. But his blue eyes were sharp. “Did you bring more of that medicine we took from your hand?”

“I have some prepared, Sire. I will bring it here.” After nearly a month sequestered in Lanercost Priory waiting upon the king’s health and his whim, she looked forward to departing soon. If he wanted more of the potions she made, she feared he would keep her here.

Henry and Gilchrist stood nearby in the shadows, glancing at her in silence. As Edward’s pledged knights, both wore chainmail in the king’s presence, Henry in a wine-colored surcoat, Gilchrist in the red surcoat embroidered with golden lions that identified him as Edward’s man. She was glad they had remained at Lanercost with her; she knew they too hoped to depart for Scotland soon.

“Come closer,” Edward barked. She approached. “That concoction you brought the other day was helpful for the stomach.”