Page 84 of The Guardian's Bride
“It is a ruse no longer. Malise can be troublesome, but the sooner we reach Dunfermline and head to Kincraig, the better. I want that fellow as far away from you as possible. The bottom of the firth might do, but that galley is too seaworthy.”
“I want to reach Kincraig before Edward sends men there to collect Thomas’s things from us—I want to urge them not to comply. If Malise arrives—”
“As soon as we depart Dunfermline, we will go there. I promise.”
“Aedan, how long before we are no longer hunted by the English, looking over our shoulders for Malise or someone else?”
“Hard to say, lass. Edward’s death could undo it, but he seems indestructible Though if you had just let him—”
“Do not even think it!”
“Aye well. I intend to see all this untangled. I swear it.” He lifted her hand with the promise ring and kissed it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aedan would takeno chances as their caravan rumbled toward Dunfermline.
A caravan indeed, made up of guards, horses, a curtained van carrying the women and the boy, and an open cart filled with bags and belongings. Aedan rode beside Sir Patrick, and several guards surrounded the van and cart. The journey took most of the afternoon, but the women were content, his son enjoyed the adventure—and Rowena was glad to ride rather than sail. In Dunfermline, he knew the guards would take the van and cart to the quay to meet Brian Lauder at the longship and load the things aboard. The women wanted a little time in the town and would take Colban while he and Sir Patrick met with the abbot and the bishop.
As they rode, he was ever watchful of the view of the firth to his left and the hills to his right. Soon the town with its abbey and market cross were visible in the distance, and he began to relax a little.
He would not rest easy until his kinswomen and his small son were well on their way to Bass Rock with Sir Brian—and he and Rowena were riding to Kincraig Castle at last. What might come after that, he could not say.
Finally, they followed a drovers’ track beside a wide stream with dense forestland on the other side, and reached the town’s main thoroughfare. They headed up a hill toward the abbey,stopping on the lawn stretching between the church and the abbot’s house.
In a way, he felt at home here too, and breathed in relief as he dismounted and walked toward the van. Rowena peeked out of the curtain—and in that instant, she was all he saw, until Colban peered out beside her, and the sun seemed to come out in his day, though the sky was as gray as Rowena Keith’s eyes.
Massive stone pillarsand high rounded stone arches, carved and painted with geometric patterns, soared to a wooden vaulted ceiling. Rowena craned her head to look up at a broad stone pillar incised with chevrons. As she touched the stone, her skin took on the colors shining down from the stained glass in the clerestory above. Smiling, she turned slowly, taking in the peace.
Having the ancient church to herself for a little while was an unexpected joy. Aedan and Sir Patrick had gone into the abbot’s house, while the guards took the cart the three miles to the quay at Queensferry. Lady Jennet, Marjorie, and Colban had gone to the market square to visit some of the shops, but Rowena had decided to wait for Aedan, who said he would meet her inside the church.
Her steps echoed on the slate floor as she moved down the nave toward its east end. The tranquility was palpable and restorative. For centuries, this place had absorbed prayers, plainsong, and hymn beyond measure, and she felt its healing peace now.
As she walked, an old Irish hymn came to her as if it reverberated from the very pillars. She began to hum, trailing a hand over the enormous pillars as she passed.
“Be Thou my vision, oh Lord of my heart,”she sang softly. Then she saw the extension in the chapel wall where the tombs of Queen Margaret and King Malcolm Canmore sat. On amarble plinth, Margaret’s tomb was shaped like a huge reliquary covered in bright paint and golden trim.
Afternoon light poured like rainbows through stained-glass windows, and as she walked, the song came to her again. She sang quietly, her voice soft in the silent church.
“Be thou my best thought in the day and the night,” she sang in a near whisper, “waking and sleeping, be my light—”
“Be thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight,” sang a deep voice behind her. “Be thou my armor, my true might.”
She whirled. Aedan was there, his face touched with amber light from the high windows. His voice was mellow and rich and beautiful.
“Oh!” she gasped, hand to her heart. “Oh, you do have a beautiful voice.”
“I sang plainsong as a lad. It made my aunt proud. The abbot wanted me in the monastery just to keep his monks in tune. Not for me, but I did like the singing.”
“Plainchant is a heavenly sound.”
“Good for any soul, hey.” He brushed back a waft of her hair, spiraling loose of its braid. She had given up the kerchief, and the freedom felt good.
When she was with him, she just wanted to smile. Even when things went awry, what existed between them now felt new and good and strong. She felt she was learning something from his cheerful strength to add to her more serious nature.
He leaned to kiss her brow. “I came here to tell you that I will meet with the abbot and Patrick and Bishop Lamberton for a bit. If you want to go to the market fair, I can take you down the hill to find Marjorie and Aunt Jennet and Colban.”
“Is there an apothecary shop in town? I need to replenish some herbs and such.”
