Page 17 of The Guardian's Bride
So here he was, and he was determined to find a way out before they could transport him to Edinburgh, a plan he had overheard. There, he would be locked in a place he could not easily escape.
But he knew Yester Castle by its dark reputation, and since it was not a large fortress, he had figured out an escape route. Taken by English a few years back, Yester was situated on a broad hill above a loopy bend in the Hope Water not far from a village. The chamber where he lay and the girl sat sniffling was an underground storage room rather than a dungeon. The exterior barred window at ground level let in light and air and showed a grassy meadow where he sometimes saw boots marching past. The window in the cell door showed an underground corridor lit by torchlight, where guards often sat vigil playing dice or sharing ale.
Yester was a partial ruin after the English attack, and an old chapel, partly rubble now, perched in view across a meadow. Edward of England had put his bullying stamp all over Scotland. But assessing the ruins had given Aedan some ideas.
Nearly a month here had also given him time to grow stronger by pacing the cell, pushing against the walls, using his weight to build back his strength. Apparently, the English used this compact stone tower to park supplies, house a small group of soldiers, and keep temporary prisoners. Watching through the door or the window, he had seen guards and prisoners come and go and had overheard some of the orders.
But he had not seen a woman held here before. Just now, the two of them were the only prisoners.
She sniffled again, followed by a sorry little hiccup. Aedan opened a bleary eye. The jug of ale they had brought him earlier had been strong and bitter and he had been damned thirsty.But he had a head for strong drink like a little girl so had been sleeping off the resulting headache. Awake now, he felt clear enough to resume devising his plan to get free of this stone box.
But he could not leave a lass alone here. They’d called her a whore, but he had his doubts. His instincts about people were good when he was not working off the fog of a bad ale.
Footsteps, then the creak and snick of the latch as the door swung open. The girl looked up; he glimpsed a sweet, kind face. When a guard stepped into the cell, Aedan closed his eyes to feign sleep.
Straw rustled underfoot. “You! Whore! You are to be moved soon. Berwick, those are the orders. You will not be treated well there, I promise. Best enjoy your time here.”
“Why am I here? You have no cause to keep me.” Her voice was honey, Aedan thought. Warm, dark honey. Not the sticky purr of a whore, but the calm allure of a queen or the peaceful certainty of a saint. “I was betrayed. Nor should a woman be locked in with a criminal.”
Aedan pouted, hearing that. But to be sure, the woman did not know him.
“Betrayed? That lug over there would say the same. But he won’t pester you. He’s sleeping off his cups.”
“I must send a message to King Edward.”
“The king you tried to poison? Hah! You might see him if they cart you from Berwick to Carlisle. You will be taken to Berwick on a charge of treason and an attempt to murder the king. Then they may cart you down to Carlisle for your trial and execution.”
“Execution?” Her voice faltered. “But I did not harm Edward. He summoned me.”
“All I know is the king took ill after you were there. They say you poisoned him.”
“I never did,” she whispered.
Aedan heard confusion and despair in her voice. She was no whore—but she must have brought something to the king, perhaps food or a curative. Word was King Edward was desperate for doctors, alchemists, astrologers, seers, and the like to help with his illness. Some would be quacks pressing remedies in hopes of reward. Whatever this woman had done, it had gone wrong.
He heard the shush of fabric as she stood. “If the king is that ill, I must see him. I need an escort to Lanercost. Who is in charge here?”
Steps crushed straw as the guard came closer. “You will have an escort to Berwick. That is all I know. First, I have something you need now. Come here—”
Aedan heard a grunt, a soft gasp and a muffled slap, an angry growl—
Enough.Throwing off the plaid, he surged to his feet.
The Highlander rosefrom the shadows like a shaggy brown bull. With one hand, he pushed Rowena firmly aside and with the other grabbed the guard by his surcoat, picked him up, and hurled him against the wall. She heard the guard’s metal helmet strike the stone wall like a bell, and the man slid down to dump on the floor, legs apart, head tilted back.
Stomping past her, the Scotsman bent and knocked the guard hard in the jaw. “That is for your manners,” he growled. “You harmed, lady?”
Staring, Rowena collected her wits and knelt by the guard. “Is he hurt?”
“Does it matter? Did he harm you?”
“He did not. And you are a brute. But thank you,” she added. Taking the unconscious guard’s chin in one hand, she felt his jaw and lifted each eyelid to peer at his pupils. Then she stood, brushing straw from her skirt, and turned.
Hands fisted on his hips, booted feet spread, shoulders broad, the Highlander looked fearsome, a giant. A volume of brown hair and a riot of a beard obscured his face like a hedge. But his eyes were surprisingly gentle, his frown contrite.
“How is he?”
“He will live.” She passed him to go to the door.
