Page 46 of The Guardian's Bride
“I will hold you to it. Oh—” She set a hand to her stomach as the boat rose and slapped down on a swelling wave. Aedanmerely shifted his weight with the motion, for sailing did not bother him. But he felt awful to see her suffer with it.
“Steady,” he said. “I will not let you fall in.”
“I will hold you to that too,” she managed, hand to her mouth.
He stood still to support her, and began to hum low in his throat. That became a melody that he sang softly so only she could hear. It was one his aunt, of the purest voice, sometimes sang when she took him and his sister down to the beach below the castle to watch the sea. Now he sang a refrain and a verse or two in Gaelic.
Hì ri bhò hò ru bhì
Hì ri bhò hò rinn o ho
Ò hì shiùbhlainn leat
“What is that?” Rowena asked. “It is lovely, but I do not understand the words.”
“Something my aunt sang when I was a boy. About a man who drowns at sea, and his lover cries and keens for him.”
“Oh dear.” She put a hand to her mouth. “You have a beautiful voice. Would you sing a bit more—in English?”
He went on, adding a verse.
O hey, I would go with you
If sand be your pillow
If seaweed be your bed
If fish be your candles bright
If seals be your watchmen
O hey, I would go with you—
She listened, leaning against him. “I love it, though going into the water is not something I want to think about just now,” she said when he finished.
“The song is just to say that if it all goes wrong, I would be here for you.”
“Or down there,” she said, pointing to the waves.
“Or down there. Look, the Rock is close.”
The longship entered the shadow of the rock and the oarsmen slowed their pace. Rowena came to her feet and took Aedan’s offered hand. She wanted off this boat, that was clear. But tomorrow the journey would be hours over the water and possibly rougher than this short trip. He felt guilty about that, especially when she looked up at him with a trusting smile.
Chapter Thirteen
Sunlight heated thesummit of the great rock and the wind pushed at her, though she planted her feet firm, gown filling, veil and braids blowing back. She set a hand to her head and turned away from the wind. Seabirds—gannets, she saw, white with black-tipped wings—skimmed overhead and sank out of sight beyond the rock to seek their nests or glide over the water.
Rowena smiled, shading her eyes with a hand. Seen from the height of the massive rock, the sea was beautiful, endless. She enjoyed views of the ocean, the bays and firths, the lochs and rivers she had seen in childhood and later. Traveling on water was another matter, her reaction something she could not easily remedy.
But sailing was the only way off this rock island, and soon she and MacDuff would go over the waves to Fife. This morning she had climbed to the meadowy area high on the rock hoping to find some curative among the growth there. The rock supported stretches of grassy turf, wildflowers, mosses, herbs, and plants. Much of the broad rock surface was glazed in bird droppings too, but she avoided those as she gathered a straggling bouquet that included mallow with pinkish-purple flowers, a few long stems of sea beet, some lovage, parsley, soft mosses, and wild lichens.
Hearing a shout above the constant rush of the sea, she turned to see Aedan walking up the steep slope from the castle. He waved and she did too.
Already she felt comfortable with him, trusting him quickly though she normally kept a reserve around strangers. But as he had pointed out, they were hardly strangers, with a brief and unique acquaintance. Once she had done her utmost to save him; later, he had been there when she most needed help. It seemed almost miraculous.
Desperation and danger had furthered trust and familiarity, and she realized that when she was finally home, she would miss him greatly. She smiled as he came closer.
“Sir Aedan! Have you come out to enjoy the sun and fresh air?”
