Page 3 of The Guardian's Bride
His heart filled with affection and admiration. Only nineteen, Isabella had shown courage and determination in stealing her husband’s horses to ride hellbent for Scone with her uncle. Despite hours over rough roads, she never complained, aware of her duty as a MacDuff and as the absent earl’s sister: she carried the ancient blood-right of crowning Scottish kings. Sharing that blood, Aedan felt a fierce duty as a protective uncle and a warrior ready to defend his king.
Isabella, a delicate blonde, lifted the crown of hammered gold high; the circlet with three plain trefoils symbolized trinity, sovereignty, and heaven’s guidance. She set it on the head of Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, a silent declaration that he was true King of Scots. Her simple action made it so.
Encircled by lords, knights, earls, and bishops, Robert Bruce sat on a plain stone bench rather than the revered Stone of Destiny upon which Scottish kings had been crowned for generations; the English king had confiscated the ancient stone along with the Scottish regalia and chests of documents, all carted down to London in a show of tyranny.
In one hand, Bruce gripped a sword topped with a gleaming stone. Aedan had brought the old blade that day to replace another stolen by English soldiers. Behind the new king, the rescued banner of Scotland, red lion and lilies on yellow cloth, flapped in a brisk wind.
The bishop set a slim golden circlet on the head of Lady Elizabeth de Burgh, Robert’s young wife and now queen consort. She leaned toward her husband.
“Sir, we are like a king and queen of the May,” she murmured.
Close enough to hear, Aedan understood her wry remark. Robert Bruce was now King of Scots—not Scotland, not the land, but of the people. Gradually word would spread to the Scots that finally they had a warrior-king to fight for them against King Edward, who continued to ravage the land, pushing for surrender.
Scotland was in the soup, Aedan thought, with loyalties divided among Scotsmen, but Aedan knew his heart. He respected the bold courage and recklessness of their new leader, even though days ago, Bruce had slain his rival claimant to the throne, Sir John Comyn, in a church. That impulsive action had thrown the gauntlet full in the face of King Edward.
Beside Aedan, Sir Brian Lauder, his foster brother and close longtime friend, spoke low. “Well done for Scotland. But there may be terrible consequences. I only hope we are prepared to meet them.”
“We will do what we must,” Aedan murmured. He knew this day would ignite King Edward’s wrath.
“Whatever Bruce needs,” Brian replied. “Although you carry much on your shoulders already, with your nephew the earl, and your uncle both hostage in England. Fife is depending on you now.”
“Ach,I am a big lad. I can carry more.” As the ceremony concluded, Aedan cheered with the rest as the bishop presented the new king and queen.
But he felt dread mingle with triumph. He had sacrificed much, setting aside his needs for the sake of Fife and Scotland, and he did not regret taking on those responsibilities. Had King Edward never set a greedy eye on Scotland, Aedan might still be just a laird, knight, and husband, guarding only his family and his estate. His wife might yet be alive, his wee son a brother to siblings by now.
He had set aside dreams, storing grief and wishes on a shelf in his heart, and put a lock on that heart. He summoned smiles he did not always feel, and made himself move on. He was a guardian in many ways now, and a lonely man. So be it.
“With luck,” Brian said, “this day will turn the tide for Scotland.”
“With luck.” Aedan felt as if they all hurtled forward on the tails of one man’s courage. May that passion fire the spirit they needed, he thought.
Later, as others greeted the new monarch and he stood by, he saw Lady Isabella coming toward him. “Uncle!” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, love,” he said lightly, and meant it deeply.
After supper, whileguests found beds in tents or on pallets on the ground, Aedan stood by a blazing fire, pensive, hoping Isabella would agree to return to Castle Black with him forsafety. He doubted her Comyn husband, with his English ties, would welcome her now.
Hearing his name, he turned. “Sire!” He bowed his head as Robert Bruce approached.
Strong, muscular, large-boned, Bruce had the intense gaze and truculent look of a man who would never give up. With a plaid cloak tossed over his shoulders against the chill, he wore no crown on his thick dark hair. A warrior and leader to his bones, he was not pretentious about it.
“Aedan! Thank you for bringing Isabella. I could not be a true king without her hand on the crown. The Scots need to know this was done properly by tradition.”
“My niece was determined to be here. I could not let her risk her neck riding in the dark and the rain.” Aedan gave a wry smile.
“I am indebted to you for it, and for bringing the sword as well.”
“It was at Castle Black, part of our clan legacy. They say it once belonged to King Macbeth of ancient days, if not to kings before him. I thought you should have it.”
Bruce nodded. “I am glad to have the old sword and the new crown too. The bishop is anxious that the new regalia be stored elsewhere since the English stole the originals and could do it again. But I cannot take them with me. I am a renegade king, and so I need a trustworthy man to watch over these things.”
“Sire?”
“I want you to take the regalia and put it somewhere safe.”
“I am humbled, but—”
“I trust only a few. In the morning, take the regalia with you. Find a place for it.”
