Page 15 of The Guardian's Bride
“I am a Guardian of Scotland, a clan chief—best think before you arrest me.” Feeling the snakebite of a sword point, he leaned and felt a third point press his back.
“Orders, MacDuff. Yield!”
They took him by the arms, kicking his feet from under him, his weaker leg folding. Then the side of a blade knocked against his temple and he slumped to the earthen road.
Rowena stood inthe long ward room at Soutra Aisle, the Augustinian hospital in East Lothian where she had met Brother Hugo days earlier. Seated beside an old woman, she held her hand and thought about the stone hidden in her purse; she wished she had a sturdy chain to keep it even closer and out of sight of others. Even through the cloth, she felt the stone grow warm and vibrant, felt the woman’s breathing ease. The stone was helping in its way, though she sensed that soon death would do its inevitable work here.
Days before, Sir Gilchrist and his cousin, Sir Finley Macnab, now seneschal at Kincraig, had left her at Soutra. She had assured them she would be fine in the company of monks and a few nuns who helped here. The men promised to return in a week if she did not send word sooner.
After spending lovely weeks at home in Kincraig with her family and friends, she had no desire to go anywhere. But when a messenger arrived from Brother Hugo with word that she was expected at Soutra, she knew she had no choice but to go.
As for Edward’s demand to have whatever the Rhymer had given the Keiths, she informed her family, yet no royal order had arrived. In Selkirk, Henry wrote that he had no word of it either. Rowena hoped King Edward had forgotten—he was more ill than most knew, she was sure—or he dismissed it as unimportant, which would not surprise her. The matter of Scotland would take precedence: the king in the heather, as many called Bruce now, was rapidly gaining support.
However, she was very surprised when several of the king’s men arrived at Soutra and asked to see her.
“Is the king ill? Has he sent for me, as he said he might?” she asked Brother Hugo, who came to fetch her. She could not imagine why four knights would come to the abbey hospital with a message for her. “Is there something wrong at Kincraig?”
“My lady,” said the knight who introduced himself as Sir Peter Abernethy, “we have orders to take you from Soutra.”
“From Sir Henry or Sir Gilchrist??” Puzzled, she felt a growing alarm.
“We are to arrest you, my lady.” He seemed ill at ease.
“On what charge?” Her heart pounded, her hands shook. Had Edward finally acted on his threat against the Keiths regarding the Rhymer’s legacy?
“For attempting to poison the king,” Sir Peter said. “He still lives. We are here on royal orders.”
Stunned, she looked at Hugo, who stood to one side. “Brother?”
“Lady Rowena, I am shocked. Abernethy, what is the meaning of this?”
“The lady has been accused of poisoning the king. Here is the order.” Sir Peter produced a folded parchment with a dangling royal seal and handed it to the monk. But he did not show her, as if she did not matter. Brother Hugo read it and handed it back.
“Hugo, please, can you do something?” she asked. “Surely, you know I would never do harm to Edward or anyone.”
“Of course,” he murmured. “They must take you. It is their duty. I tried to warn you and the king about some of your practices. But I will do what I can.” A strange look crossed his face as he turned away. It was satisfaction.
Sir Peter, with a murmured apology, helped her mount a waiting horse, side-saddled for a woman, then tied her wrists with rope attached to the harness.
“Please. I did not do this. Please—send word to my family.”
“Brother Hugo will do that,” Sir Peter said. But she knew that would not happen.
Led away, she rode with them over hills and meadows to a river, fear like lead in her stomach. They put her on a barge, her hands still tied, guards around her. Panic turned to illness, for water travel often made her uneasy. When the barge docked, she did not know where she was, but saw a familiar face among those on the bank.
Sir Malise Comyn. She did not know whether to hope or fear even more.
He came forward. “Lady Rowena!” He took her aside, gesturing for the guards to wait. “I rode hard to be here when I heard about this.”
“Sir Malise, what is happening? They say I tried to poison Edward—two of the guards said I was a whore and a witch. Abernethy did not even reprimand them. I do not know what to do.” Tears sprung in her eyes. “I did no harm. Surely you know these charges are false!”
“My dear,” he murmured, “I am stunned by this order. But the king issued it himself. So I rode north to help if I could.”
She had to chance trusting him, having no one else here. “You know this is wrong. Tell them you know me.”
“I owe you a debt. But if I cannot arrange your release, you must consider the king’s wishes for you.”
“Wishes?” She blinked. Did he mean the Rhymer’s legacy—or the mention of marrying Malise? Either was abhorrent. “What do you mean?”
