Page 85 of The Guardian's Bride
“There is. What mysterious cures do you have in mind?” He grazed his fingers over her cheek, slid his hand along her jaw.His touch went through her like soft lightning, and she lifted her head as his fingers shaped her jaw, then he leaned to kiss her cheek, sliding to cover her lips with his. She looped her arms around his neck and curved toward him as he pulled her tightly to him.
“Kissing in a church! I must have missed a wedding,” came a male voice.
Rowena broke away to look past Aedan, who turned. A man stood in the shadow of a pillar, wearing a black tunic and shoulder cape with a large silver cross hanging down on a thick chain—not a cleric, she realized, but a bishop. He was a short man with a belly like a barrel, iron-gray hair shaved at the crown, and a whimsical grin. He rather looked like an elf, Rowena thought. She loved his laugh as he came forward.
“Reverend Sir!” Aedan said. “Lady Rowena, this is William Lamberton, Bishop of Saint Andrews and Fife.”
“Excellency,” she murmured, taking his offered hand, bowing her head a little.
“So this is Lady Rowena, Sir Robert’s daughter!” Lamberton took her hands in both of his. “Aedan told me about you.” His dark eyes twinkled as he looked at Aedan. “So, this is the healer you spoke of just now in the house? The one you nearly married?”
“She is, sir.”
“Something has changed here, I think. Or did my eyes fool me just now?”
“Your eagle eyes never miss a thing, Reverend Sir. I wish you had made more noise when you entered,” Aedan laughed.
“You would not have heard. And before the tomb of sainted Queen Margaret! Though she had eight children and was no stranger to love and passion with her warrior-king,” he added with a chuckle.
Aedan laughed too, a warm echo. Blushing, Rowena looked from one to the other, sensing the affection there. She could see that the bishop who had raised Aedan and mentored him to become a scholar and a fine man had also taught him the example of cheerfulness. She could not help but smile at both.
The bishop scratched his balding head. “I owe you both an apology. I was wrong.”
“Wrong?” Rowena asked, puzzled.
“You should have married each other. I stood in the way, but I was mistaken. I see that you, my lady, are just the one for this brawny lad.”
“How do you know that, sir?” Aedan asked.
“Look at those eyes, shining like stars.” He gave Rowena a jolly smile, his cheeks pink. “Love! I see love and joy there. This is just what I needed today. I spent months in an English tower wondering if I would ever see Scotland again. I have just returned and the best thing I have seen, other than Scottish soil and sky, is you two.”
She was beginning to adore this man. The bishop was outspoken about his views on Scottish independence and had not hesitated to wield a sword to lead his followers, resulting in his arrest. She saw that feisty spirit in him.
“So,” Lamberton went on, “when is the wedding? Shall we do it now?”
“Now?” Rowena blinked in surprise.
“I have not done a proper wedding for years. Bishops, you know,” he said to Rowena. “But I would perform this one.”
“We only just decided,” she said. “We would want family with us.”
“She is a planner, this one, and will put your sorry soul in order, lad,” he told Aedan, who chuckled. “We can fix the betrothal today and post the banns if you like.”
“Lady Rowena?” Raising his brows, Aedan looked at her.
“I am agreed,” she said, her glance lingering on his.
“Good! I will have the abbot’s clerk write up the banns and post them on the west portal. Remember, you two,” the bishop gave them a knowing glance, “by Scots law, if an unwed couple knows each other with consent, their marriage is already fixed in the eyes of God and therefore the law.”
Rowena blushed fiercely; the bishop seemed to miss nothing.
“With the banns posted, we can arrange a wedding whenever the lady wants,” Aedan said, avoiding a direct answer to that remark.
“Now to other matters,” Lamberton said. “Aedan, we are ready to meet. I heard news in London that I want you to take to the Guardians when you can.”
“Aye, sir. Lady, will you go down to the market while I am gone?”
“I will stay here a little longer. It is so peaceful. And I owe Saint Margaret my thanks and prayers,” she said, thinking of the little bottle of healing water in her embroidered purse. “If you are not back soon, you can find me with the others.”
