Page 29 of The Guardian's Bride
She glanced at the discarded helmet and surcoat. “Shall we fetch those later?”
“They might be found.” He snatched them up, then gave her a quizzical look. “Here. You take them.” He held them out.
“You want me to carry them?”
“In a way. Let me think.” He wrapped the surcoat around the helmet and held the bundle out again. “Aye. Wear these under your gown.”
“You are mad!”
“What better disguise than a woman with child when they seek a slender lady?”
“Wear it yourself and have a plump belly from too much beer.”
“Aw, and who would defend you if needed? Not a fellow overblown with beer. Take it. Please,” he added.
She took the bundle and turned away, wondering quite how to do this. Lifting her gray over-gown and the front hem of her reversed blue gown, she crammed the heavy wrapped object against her torso over her linen shift. Standing with shift, stockings, and boots exposed, she struggled to hold it close while tying the red surcoat around her. She looked over her shoulder. “Could you help tie this? But do not look.”
Then she felt his hands at her lower back, felt him tug at the surcoat, taking some of the bulk and weight of the helmet. “How am I supposed to do this without looking?”
“Look, then, and fasten it snug if you can.”
He pulled the cloth tight, then reached around to tuck the ends of the surcoat around her to make a sling for the helmet. As he worked, his arms came around her and she leaned back against his chest. His hands felt warm and deft at her waist and over her abdomen, tucking and snugging. A heated thrill poured through her, and she caught her breath. “Oh!”
“There.” He stood back, hands on her shoulders, then away. “Is it too tight?”
“It is good.” Dropping the gown and over-gown, smoothing the layers over her false belly, she felt a hot blush fill her cheeks. She turned, patting her rounded torso, arching a bit with the weight of it. “How is this?”
He blinked. “The very Madonna. I will treat her with reverence.”
“You could just stop hauling her about.” She smiled, pleased by the look of awe as he gazed at her.
“As you wish, my lady.” His eyes twinkled.
She felt a wash of gratitude that Aedan MacDuff was proving such a steady companion. Her pragmatic nature needed to know what to expect, needed to feel on solid ground. MacDuff was quick and decisive where she was careful and deliberate, and yet she found this impulsive playacting rather enjoyable.
“I am a Highland farmer, traveling home with his bonny wee wife who isenceinte.”
“Does the Highland farmer speak French?” she asked with a laugh, then picked up her blue cloak and flipped it so the dark plaid lining showed outermost.
“Ready, my lady? Gentle Grizel?”
She walked in a careful circle, testing the uncomfortable burden of helmet and surcoat, supporting it with her hands. “I fear this thing will fall out.”
“Thing! Your child, madam. He looks secure. And convincing.”
Rowena could not help but chuckle. “You are a lunatic!”
He grinned. “Needs must, lass. To the inn.”
Rowena paused, knowing she must tell him what she knew before they went further. What Edward had declared felt like a greater burden than the steel helm.
“Grizel?” He gave her a playful smile and extended an arm toward the inn.
She sighed. She was intrigued by his amiable nature, mixed with stubbornness and strength. Beneath that easygoing surface lay deep courage and an iron will beyond the norm. He was a warrior, fierce, loyal, determined, a man who cared deeply about home and family—yet he had a jester side too.
That ability to laugh in the face of adversity gave him more power somehow. He made her smile, even laugh when she could be too serious. He had a way of staying buoyant, even though he had endured great troubles. Humor, she realized, was his rare strength. She felt increasingly drawn to him, like a lodestone seeking its match as well as its opposite.
She was loath to pile more trouble on his shoulders, but it was time. “Aedan MacDuff, I must tell you something.”
