Page 39 of The Guardian's Bride
“Aedan MacDuff, come into this bed. We both need to sleep.”
Tap. Tap. Drip.With an exasperated mutter, he rose and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress sank under him as he stretched out with his broad back to her.
He was brawny but no ox, she thought, tugging the shared blanket over him. Taller than most, solidly muscled, he lay with his feet hanging off the end of the bed and the mattress sloping under him. The angle tilted her toward his back.
“See, you did not crash through the floor,” she said.
“I dare not move.”
She giggled. “You said you could sleep anywhere.”
“I was mistaken.” He sounded chagrined. “I like hearing you laugh.”
His simple, sweet words brought tears to her eyes. “Sleep, Hamish.”
“And you, Grizel, bluebell.”
Savoring his warmth and closeness, she felt so grateful. “Thank you.”
“For what?” He sounded drowsy.
“For being there when I needed you.”
“Magpie,” he murmured. “Hush it.”
“Magpies are bad luck and bluebells are poisonous.”
“I will take my chances. Hush.”
He woke, startledin the darkness and sudden quiet. The rain had stopped. About to doze, he heard other sounds—low voices, the clomp of boots, a door creaking. Then horse hooves in the yard. The guards were leaving.Good.
At his back, Rowena slept peacefully. He lay still, not wanting to disturb her rest or risk tipping the narrow straw mattress off its rope frame. Listening to her even breathing, he tried pondering his way back to sleep.
Fatigue sat heavy on his shoulders, but he was keenly aware of the girl, her warm body pressed to his back, her rose-scented hair just at his shoulder. Earlier that evening, when he had opened the door as she was dressing after her wash, the candlelight behind her had revealed lithe curves through her shift.
God save him, he was too alert to every aspect of her, had even kissed her hand before he could stop the impulse, though he owed her his utmost courtesy and protection.
More awake than he wanted, he wondered about her lost husband, her kin, her great-grandfather too. He marveled that his wounds, so serious, had healed more quickly in her care than any he had received in the past.
Rowena turned in her sleep with a small murmur that rocked through him with sudden heat. He drew a breath, tried to sleep. But she gasped and pressed against him as if frightened by a dream. Afraid to roll back on her, he shifted and raised his arm, and she came easily, naturally, into that circle to rest her head on his chest.
When she whimpered again, he patted her shoulder. She moved her head, her hair a silky, rose-scented cushion under his bearded cheek. He inhaled.
She sighed and slept, curled against him. His body surged; he angled away. For months, he had felt a strong urge to find thisgirl. Now she was cuddled close, trusting him. He would honor that trust; more, he wanted to understand the pull he felt.
He had been a widower long enough to yearn for love, companionship, a wife and family again, but he staved off any hope, any plan, until he felt free to dream of such things. But as she snuggled beside him, he realized that, beyond his obligation to her, he was quickly growing fond of her. He kissed the top of her head as impulsively as he had kissed her hand.
Still awake, he thought of how they had met and how curiously fate and circumstances had reunited them. An elusive memory half-surfaced and he pursued it. From the moment he had recognized her at Yester, memories had tapped at him and began to return. He recalled Rowena at Holyoak, kind-hearted, capable, lovely, circling a star over him. Now he knew that star had been her crystal charm stone.
Fevered then, wondering if he might die, he had not feared death; he believed that a good soul with good intentions, despite mistakes, would find salvation. What frightened him was the uncertain fate of his son, his kin, his secrets if he died. His small son was his paramount concern, though he could rely on his sister and others to care for him.
But what would become of the Scottish regalia that Bruce had entrusted to him? With war and travel, covert work and injuries too, he had told Bruce it was hidden in Fife, but had not given him exact details—Bruce trusted him and did not ask where it was hidden. Worse, if Edward sent Malise to Castle Black to take it, English soldiers might poke around far too close to where he had hidden Scotland’s precious symbols of kingship. He had to consider moving them, and soon.
His eyes flew open in the dark. He had told someone else where it was.
At Holyoak, he had pulled Rowena close and told her something about the regalia of Scotland and the treasure of Fife.And he recalled now that he had seen a stone very like her healing crystal elsewhere. Its twin was part of the hidden regalia.
That was no coincidence. But what could it possibly mean?
