Page 11 of The Guardian's Bride
“Gemstones and crystals, gold and silver too, can have healing powers, Sire.”
Scowling, Edward gestured to Brother Hugo to fish the ring out of the wine cup. “We ask again. You have an extraordinary stone inherited from the Rhymer. Where is it?” The question was sharp and direct.
“Sire, Sir Thomas Learmont left a few things that have meaning only to our family. He meant them for his kin, just as any grandparent might do.”
Brother Hugo handed the ring back to Edward. As the king shoved it on his bony finger, the monk spoke quietly; Rowena heard some of it.
“Sire,” Hugo said, “there is always a danger of poisoning with folk remedies that may have darker powers. In France, they seek out witches who claim to be healers and burn them for heresy and trafficking with demons.”
“We rarely do that here,” Edward muttered. The monk sent Rowena a sidelong glance and withdrew to the shadows, while the king frowned at her. “But you are advised to be careful, lady, and to answer truthfully.”
“Sire.” She bowed her head, startled by the clear warning. Poison! She saw that Brother Hugo did not understand certain traditional remedies—or care to.
A knock at the door prompted a young page to open it and admit a dark-haired knight in chainmail and a blue surcoat.
“Sir Malise Comyn, Your Grace,” the boy said.
Dear God.Rowena sent a glance to Henry and Gilchrist. Her brother quirked a brow and Seton tightened his lips. As the knight entered, Rowena stepped back, hoping not to be noticed.
Walking with an obvious limp, Sir Malise saw her and paused with a tight smile. “My lady,” he murmured, dark eyes glinting.
“Go, lady,” the king said. “Fetch those concoctions now and bring them back if you expect permission to leave here.”
“Sire,” she said, and hurried from the room.
Returning to Edward’schambers in the priory carrying a wooden tray holding glass vials and small jars, Rowena saw that Sir Malise Comyn was still talking with the king. Hoping not to be noticed, she set out the vessels containing the doses she had prepared earlier, arranging them on a table covered in a patterned rug. As she worked, she glanced at Henry and Gilchrist, standing silently by, both frowning as they listened while Malise spoke to King Edward. She tried to listen too.
With good reason, the Keiths and Setons were none too fond of Sir Malise. Years ago, he had attacked Gilchrist’s sister, and more recently, had pursued Rowena’s sister Tamsin on Edward’s orders. Yet months ago, after a serious injury, Malise had spent two months in Holyoak’s infirmary. There Rowena, Gideon, and the monks had nursed him back to health. She wassurprised to see that Malise had already returned to Edward’s service. He seemed hearty enough now, she thought, glancing toward him.
And she had no doubt now that he had mentioned the healing stone to Edward.
He stood before Edward, his movements somewhat awkward in chainmail and the long-skirted tunic, his back injury resulting in a limp and some weakness. She had hoped such a serious injury and the need for help would have made him less arrogant and ambitious. But she now suspected otherwise.
“Sire, about the report Your Grace requested,” Malise was saying. “I have the information requested about the Scotsman on the list of rebels to investigate.”
“Good. Ah, Lady Rowena is back again.” Edward looked toward her. “He has been singing your praises, lady.”
She gulped, turning with a forced smile, again wishing she had not risked any use of the guardian stone, even though Malise had been in dire condition. Somehow he had discerned what it was. As Henry mentioned, he might be aware of the inventory in the Rhymer’s last will, and could have surmised the remarkable legacy that the Rhymer left to his family—a legacy that Edward might want to obtain.
“Greetings, Lady Rowena. How good to see you again.” Malise inclined his head. “True, I did tell our king that I am only walking today because of your magic.”
“M—magic?” She blinked, horrified after hearing Hugo mention what could become of witches and healers.
“Not magickal arts, of course,” he went on. “Just an exaggeration born of my admiration for you. And I believe that whatever you learned from your esteemed kinsman, the Rhymer, helped my recovery. So I urged His Grace to send for you if other medicines and treatments proved unsatisfactory. To my great honor, he did.”
“That was not to honor you, Comyn,” Edward snapped. “But Lady Rowena has provided some relief. If it was due to a remedy learned from her kinsman, certainly we want to know more.”
Rowena bowed her head and stepped back. “Your Grace, I brought the herbal remedies that seemed helpful. I do not wish to interrupt the meeting with Sir Malise.”
“Stay,” Edward barked. “There is still a matter to discuss. Sir Malise, wait there. Lady Rowena, your treatments have helped, yet you do not ask for payment. Surely, you want some reward.”
That surprised her. “Sire, I require nothing. Perhaps a donation to Lanercost Priory.” She had heard complaints among the servants and a few monks about the burdens placed on the priory due to the size of the king’s household.
“They have the privilege of our presence,” he dismissed. “What do you want? Even loyal Scots can be rewarded. Ask for silk for gowns. A jewel. Those can be arranged.”
“Sire, I require naught. I am glad to help those who are ill.”Even you,she thought, lowering her eyes. “I only want to return to Kincraig.”
“Huh. But you are a young widow, living in your brother’s castle, visiting monasteries to help the sick. Commendable. Saintly. But a noblewoman should not travel about on her own.”
