Page 73 of The Guardian's Bride
“—the one for you,” she spoke over him. “She is lovely, kind, skilled, intelligent, and she has the backbone to put up with you.”
“Why, thank you,” he drawled, suppressing a smile. The two looked so serious.
“She is the bride your mother approved,” Lady Jennet said. “And you are the bridegroom her father chose for her.”
“We did not meet then. We were children,” he argued, but he agreed with them. “And my mother was not much interested in whom I married, but whom she would marry. She chose an earl and left Fife for Perthshire and a castle thrice this size.”
“Tell him,” Marjorie said to their aunt.
“Tell him what?” he asked.
“Very well. I chose her for you,” Jennet said. “Your mother simply agreed. I thought it best if you believed your mother decided on your behalf.”
“You mean, believe that she cared?” He pulled in a breath, exhaled. His head truly ached. “I appreciate that, but I have learned since that she was never the mother to me that you have been, Aunt, and to Marjorie and our brother too, God rest him.”
“Then listen to me and ask for that young woman’s hand,” Jennet said.
“You need her,” Marjorie said. “Colban needs her. You could be happy again.”
“I am happy, doing good work to support our new king.”
“Chased, tossed in prison? Injured in battle? Running, hiding?” Marjorie asked.
“Helping,” he said firmly. They had scant idea what he had done or was willing to do, and he meant it to stay that way for their peace of mind.
“She is the one for you,” Lady Jennet said. “I had a moment of the Sight about that betrothal years ago, I did. I saw youmarried to a black-haired beauty, saw her strong and true by your side, but had never seen the Keith child. Lamberton wanted you for the priesthood, which never happened, and you married another. That was good. Alisoun was a sweet girl and I loved her.”
“We all did,” he said.
“But years later, your path crossed with Rowena’s,” Jennet said. “That is fate.”
“Fate,” Marjorie repeated with a nod.
“I am being ambushed. Help,” he said faintly, glancing about.
“You are,” Marjorie affirmed.
“If I need a wife,” he said, sitting forward, tapping the table for emphasis, “then you, sister, need a husband. Do I rail on about that? I do not. I am a saint accosted by wild matchmakers.”
“A saint in need of a wife and a mother for your son,” Marjorie said. “And God willing, I will have a good husband someday soon.” Her smile was mischievous.
“As your brother, and the man’s friend, I approve.”
“Thank you. And I approve of your lady.”
“Not my lady,” he said.
“Yet.” Marjorie held out her hand. “Give me a coin, sir.”
“For what? Pirates took my coin purse,” he groused.
Lady Jennet opened a leather bag on her belt to extract a coin. “Give it to her.”
Amused, puzzled, he handed it to his sister. “Will you tell my fortune? A future with a beautiful wife who has enough steel in her bones to tolerate such as me?”
“That one has steel in her backbone, though she hides it,” Lady Jennet said.
“There,” Marjorie said, pocketing the coin. “You have paid a matchmaker to find you the perfect wife.”
