Page 16 of The Guardian's Bride
“Edward suggested that we marry. If you were my wife, I would have more influence in this situation. Alas, you are promised, though that can be broken. And you can give Edward what he wants and earn a pardon, and favor for both of us.”
Cold realization spiked through her. She could not trust Malise, though she had once hoped that helping him recoverfrom injury would soften his hardened heart. “Is this because King Edward thinks I have something that belonged to the Rhymer?”
She was glad that Sir Peter was courteous enough to not only show reluctance to arrest a noble lady, but to refrain from searching her, or he would have found the crystal. She could only pray that Malise would show some courtesy too and leave her be.
“Lady Rowena, I am here because I care about you. If you are betrothed, I wish you luck. But that fellow will change his mind after this, if you survive this ordeal.”
“Malise, please help. You said you owed me something.”
“I will try. But I have my orders too. Edward insists that I find that fellow in Fife and then go to Kincraig for whatever gewgaws you possess. A lot of rushing around for not much reward. You could make this easier.”
A chill doused her spirit. She was wrong to hope for mercy. “Malise—I would not marry you after what you have done to people I love. I hoped once your catastrophe had changed you, but I fear I was wrong. Help me or do not—but I cannot give you what you want. I am sorry,” she added hastily, for her soft heart interfered in the moment.
“As you wish. I will do what I can, nonetheless.” Yet the flash of anger in his dark eyes confirmed he was no friend, no matter what he said.
He stepped back as the guards came to lift her into the cart. As it rolled away, Malise Comyn stood watching thoughtfully.
They took her to a place called Yester Tower toward the east coast, a region of Scotland under English control. Weak with fear and fatigue, she found the strength to kick and struggle. But they dragged her into the stone fortress and down steps to a dark lower level, where they pushed her into a dark cell, slammed the door, and walked away.
Then she realized she was not alone.
Chapter Six
In the dankunderground cell, Rowena sat wondering how things had gone wrong so quickly. She glanced again toward the chamber’s other occupant. Not eight steps away, a Highlander snored, his bulky form wrapped in a dirty plaid blanket. The guards had called him a filthy Scot when they pushed her in here, and certainly he wore the wrapped woolen plaid common to northern Scotsmen. Messy dark hair and a beard peeked out of the plaid draped over his head, though his face was hidden, and his snores were loud and sloppy.
Beyond the oak door strapped in iron, she could hear English guards muttering and chuckling. A small, barred window set in the door let a shaft of torchlight into the small chamber. Those guards had dragged her in here and dumped her on the floor. Thinking back on the events that put her in this position, she pushed back the tendrils of hair that had escaped her veil and wrapped her arms around her raised knees, her blue gown spreading over the dirty straw.
She gleaned that Yester was east of Soutra near a river, which meant a few days’ travel separated her from home and safety. A few days from now, Gilchrist and his cousin Finley would return to Soutra to find her gone. They would not sit idle, but would search for her. She need only wait.
But that meant waiting here for days, a woman alone in a filthy cell with a snoring stranger, and leering guards outside the door. As the snores continued, she tried to ignore the bundle ofplaid in the shadows. The man had scarcely moved beyond those long, full snores. Good. She needed no trouble from him, having enough of a dilemma.
She had been betrayed.The whore who poisoned King Edward,the guards had said. But the accusation and arrest made no sense. She had seen King Edward at his request, had done all she could, had left him in improved health. What had changed? Had he truly ordered her arrest? Remembering Brother Hugo’s sly looks at Soutra and at Lanercost too, she recalled that he had been suspicious of her methods and had mentioned the punishment of witches. She shuddered.
Hugo must have some hand in this, but why? How was the king now? She had prepared nothing harmful.
Ducking her head in her folded arms, she felt fear rise like bile in her throat. She breathed deep, clenched her fists. She would summon the steel backbone that she had developed over these last years—she had grown from the innocent, idealistic girl who had lost her young knight and the life she wanted, grown through widowhood and traveling, a woman alone, a female among males. She was accustomed to challenge. Here was another. She could wait this out.
Poisoned King Edward,had she? Well done, lass.
Aedan MacDuff lay still, recalling the guards’ comments when they brought the girl to his cell. Wrapped in the plaid, his eyes closed, he listened to the soft sounds across from him in the stone chamber. When the guards brought the lass here he woke, but stayed silent, knowing it was the best course. She had shuffled around a bit, sat with a whoosh of skirts, and quieted.
Hearing sniffling now, he found it hard to listen to a lass cry and do nothing.
He had also heard the guards mention that she would be held here temporarily until they were ready to move her to Berwick.Lord knows what might happen to her there, especially if King Edward had taken ill again. The king was none too healthy, Aedan knew; some said he was dying.
But if the girl had tried to poison Edward, that was trouble indeed—serious charges, a trial, perhaps hanging. Even burning, if she was accused of witchcraft, as they might do in France. Attempting to kill a king was tantamount to treason.
He gave a loud snort and rolled slightly to peer at his cellmate, his eyes obscured by a thick fall of hair. An arched and barred exterior window streamed afternoon light into the stone cell, mingled with torchlight through the slot in the door. Golden light flowed around her. He saw a slender young woman in dark blue, knees tucked, head down, shoulders shaking.
She wore a fine blue gown, a sleeveless gray over-gown, and a pale kerchief that covered dark hair that hung in a long braid down her back. A married woman? If so, where had her man been when she’d fallen into this kerfuffle? He also noticed she was neatly shaped with slender curves and graceful limbs.
But she could have a face like a sheep. Still, the sweet sight of her body fed his eyes and his sorry soul.
She sniffled again. The sound bothered him. Snoring again for good measure, he waited. She did not move. Her tousled, plaited hair was woven with yellow ribbons. A woman of privilege, veiled like a wife—what was she doing here?
No puzzle why he was here, though. A month had passed since they had hauled him to this place. Built like a bull, he had given as good as he got. But still, here he was, needing a bath, hating the food, tossing crumbs to the mice. And trying to appreciate the unexpected chance to rest, heal, think.
Someone had arranged this, and he would dearly like to know who, and why. Edward was not fool enough to punish a guardian of Scotland, and with luck, the English were not aware that he did work for Robert Bruce when he could. Instead, hiscrime was the treason of aiding in Bruce’s crowning—and simply being born a MacDuff.
