Page 1 of The Guardian's Bride
Prologue
Scotland, Lanarkshire
Spring, 1297
With a glancetoward Kincraig Castle, all gray stone against a blue sky, stark and massive on its promontory, Lady Rowena Keith turned and ran into the forest, certain no one would miss her for a little while. Her father was meeting with a council of knights and barons that included her great-grandfather and her older brother; and her sisters were with their tutor, a local priest. Rowena hurried to see her own tutor, Dame Una Keith, her aunt, whose cottage was just inside of the forest on Kincraig land. For several years, Rowena had studied herbal medicine with her, and now, just past her seventeenth birthday, she was Una’s apprentice.
Yet her dream of dedicating herself to healing work might be short-lived. Her father was about to fix her betrothal to a fine young knight, although he was Sir Robert Keith’s second choice for his oldest daughter. She scarcely remembered the betrothal that had been canceled when she was quite small. Once married, she would leave Kincraig and life would change unforeseeably.
But she loved the healing arts and meant to devote herself to them no matter where life took her. For now, she would learn all she could while she had the chance.
Along the way, she gathered plants useful in healing, plucking up ferns, berries, leaves, and stems, fallen nuts, andmore. Stooping to pick clusters of violets, green ferns, and wild garlic that grew beside a small rushing burn, she added those too, eager to learn anything Una could teach her about healing properties and ways to prepare plants by drying, simmering, crushing, making salves and potions and more. Violets could help lung ailments; ferns were useful for treating burns, coughs, and painful joints. And garlic, like nettle and yarrow, was excellent for wounds and ailments.
Glimpsing the cottage in a grove of trees, she paused to gather a few pretty stones from the clear water of the burn, adding those to her basket. Una had begun to teach her about charm stones in healing too, how to cleanse them in sun, smoke, and running water, how various crystals could help illness, how chants could enhance that power.
“Rowena!”
She turned to see Una at the door. A handsome woman, strong and fierce, raven-haired like Rowena, with white strands mixed in now, Una Keith was reclusive, unmarried, and content with the healing work. Her cottage was filled with fragrant herbs and plants, crammed with pots, bottles, and books. Rowena waved.
“We have a guest!” Una called.
An elderly man stepped out then. Surprised, delighted to see her great-grandfather—she had thought he was in the morning meeting at Kincraig—Rowena ran. Sir Thomas Learmont, called Thomas the Rhymer, waved. Tall, thin, shoulders bent, long beard silvery, he leaned on a walking stick and came toward her while Una ducked back into the house.
“Grandda!” She took his arm to help him sit on a broad fallen log at the edge of Una’s grove. “I thought you were with Papa and his guests.”
“I left early, wanting to see my niece Una today. They will still be arguing the fate of Scotland when I return.”
Elderly yet lively, Thomas had come to Kincraig to visit his Keith kinfolk and to meet with Sir Robert and others to discuss the heated conflict between Scotland and England. King Edward was determined to bring Scotland under his rule by hammering his way through the land; concern was growing among the Scottish nobility.
The troubles had not yet touched the peaceful glen that cradled Kincraig Castle. Today, the sun was bright, the spring breeze fresh and cool, and Rowena was glad to have some time with her remarkable great-grandfather, a musician and soothsayer faery-blessed with prophecy, so they said.
“Now, lass,” he said, “Una says thou art a fine student who learns quickly and will soon be a healing woman to rival her.” He had an archaic way of speaking, perhaps his age or even his years spent in the faery realm. Though he spoke little of those years, he claimed it was true.
“I love the healing work, though I may never have Una’s knowledge,” she said.
“Thou art a healer, even when marriage and family come to thee someday. Sir Robert is arranging betrothals for thee and thy sisters as well.”
She nodded. “Papa waited until I was old enough to marry this time.”
“Ah, it comes back to me now. The first time, that lad’s guardian did not agree with the match. But be of good cheer. Thou will find thy match, and then find it again, a bride and herb-wife too.”
She frowned, confused. Though the Rhymer’s prophecies were sought and treasured, and even King Edward wanted his future foretold, sometimes Thomas spoke in ways she did not quite understand.
“Find my match, and find it again? What do you mean, sir?”
“All will come clear someday. Tell me about healing. What is most essential?”
She tilted her head, considering, for he did not need a recitation of plants and their uses. “One needs knowledge and skill, the ability to identify plants and such, and know how to use them. That is only part of it,” she said. “A healer also needs compassion, patience, and kindness. Even a smile can encourage healing, Una says.”
His blue eyes twinkled. “True. Now, what is stronger than any remedy?”
She hesitated. “I am learning about plants and stones, and I know there is much I do not know. I am not sure what is strongest among those remedies.”
“Not among the elements. This,” he said, lifting a long finger up to the heavens. “Time is a great healer. But naught is stronger than Death when that time comes.”
“I see.” She felt the truth of it sink into her being.
“A healer uses wisdom, knowledge, skill, and kindness. There is magic in healing too, for we cannot always understand how it comes about.”
