Page 76 of The Guardian's Bride
“He told us,” Jennet said. “Aedan feels he owes you for healing him when he was sorely injured. We all appreciate that so much. And the infusion will help tonight. He has an aversion to dark wine. Even as a lad, when we gave him watered wine, as one does to help small children become accustomed to it—it never agreed with him. His father was like that, as I recall.”
“You knew Aedan’s father? Were you married to his Uncle Duff then?”
“Aye, just married. But Aedan’s father was killed while a young man, when his children were small. Colban, he was called. The names stick in this clan—Duncan, Colban, Aedan, Duff, all repeated through.”
Rowena stirred the posset. “Aedan said he and his brother lived with the bishop.”
“They did, while Marjorie was with her mother, just an infant. After a few years, Marjorie came to Castle Black to live with us—my husband is chief of the MacDuffs by tradition, being close kin to the earl. When they were boys, Aedan and his brother were wards of the bishop, then came here to Castle Black. Later Aedan fostered with the Lauders, as part of the tradition of training up a lad to become a knight.”
“He told me a little of that. He took on a great deal of responsibility after his brother died.”
“And he handles it well. Interim guardian, overseeing Fife, and acting as clan chief with my husband captured.” She sighed. “I maintain hope that Duff will be released.”
“Hope is all you need, sometimes, for all to be well,” Rowena said. “Aedan is happy here. You have made a good home for him and his son.”
“He has much on his mind and his shoulders, but he puts on a good face. You see through that,” Jennet added. “He is pleased that you do, I think.”
“I am glad.” Rowena smiled. “Is there a goblet or a jug I can use to bring this to him? I will knock on his door and leave it without disturbing him.”
“Take a pottery jug. He will have a cup in his room, if he can find it.”
Rowena laughed. “You know him too.”
“My dear, I know him better than he likes sometimes.”
Balancing the jugwith its steaming contents as she slowly climbed the steps to favor her foot, Rowena came to the level of her chamber. Though she was aware that Aedan’s room was on the next level, she was not sure which door was his. Remembering the private stair, she went through her chamber to the doorway hidden behind a length of plaid. Moving up the steps carefully, she saw his door partly open.
She knocked softly, pushed it open, stepped into a darkened room, and heard snoring. The double chamber was much like hers and Colban’s as well, a large room and a smaller chamber. Here the larger space contained a bed with upright posters and draped curtains, with a table, chairs, and cupboard nearby. The smaller space held a simple bed. This was not the master’s chamber in the castle, she realized; Lady Jennet would have that.
“Aedan?” She saw him lying in the curtained bed, snoring softly. He had removed his tunic and lay in trews and shirt with a blanket pulled lightly over him.
Not wanting to wake him, she set the jug on the table beside the bed, gasping when a little of the hot liquid spilled. But he did not stir, eyes closed, snores rumbling. She knew sleep was the best remedy, though the herbal potion would help as well.
She remembered her first sight of him at Yester: a large man emitting loud snores under a bulky plaid. At Holyoak, she had encountered the brawny warrior, earthy and handsome, taut with muscle, weakened by injury and fever. She had treated and soothed him and felt reluctant to leave him. A subtle bond had begun there to flourish now, as compassion and attraction deepened to feelings she could no longer ignore.
Perhaps a buried memory of their near-betrothal stayed with her, for she had thought of him often after Holyoak. When she overheard King Edward and Sir Malise scheming to destroy him, she felt a fierce urge to warn him—then fate had sent her to Yester. Now she was losing her heart to him, and glad of it.
Reaching out, she touched his dark curls, warm and puppy-soft, clustered over his brow. In sleep, his face had a lean, elegant strength, softened by the tender curve of his lips, the long eyelashes under arched brows, the velvety scruff of his shaven face.
Had she truly noticed the tough, nimble beauty of his hands and long fingers? She grazed her fingers over his hand, lifted away—but he grabbed her fingers.
“What,” he mumbled, eyes opening. “Rowena! Is it Colban?” He began to sit up.
“Colban is fine. Lie back.” She gently pushed his shoulder. “I did not mean to wake you. I just brought you something to drink.”
He sat, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, running long fingers through his hair, then over his face. His bare torso was golden and powerful in candlelight. “I am glad you woke me,” he said. “I did not mean to sleep for long. There is something I must do. What is that?” He gestured toward the jug on the table.
“A warm posset. I thought you might have a headache.”
“You saw that? Aye, you did.” He answered his own question, then ruffled his hair and gave her a half-wink. “What is in it?”
She explained the contents. “With honey and Lady Jennet’s elderberry syrup.”
“Some would call that a child’s drink,” he muttered.
“If a man drinks it, then it is a man’s drink.”
He lifted the jug and sipped directly from it. “Not bad. A bit flowery.”
