Page 89 of The Guardian's Bride
“We cannot just walk her out and let the boy go—wait,” Malise said. “Hugo, do you have it? Use it.”
“Use what?” Rowena strained against Malise’s grip as he took hold of her jaw, his fingers biting into her cheeks, his arm locking her arms to her sides.
“Who knows you are here? MacDuff?” he asked low.
She could not lead him to Aedan. “The abbot. The bishop. And Wemyss—the sheriff of Fife,” she managed, despite the hand clamped over her jaw.
“Damn,” Malise muttered. “Hugo, now would be excellent,” he hissed.
The monk approached as Malise pried open her mouth with his gloved thumb. Hugo set something cold to her lips. Glass or ceramic—then liquid drizzled into her mouth—the thick, sweetburn of heavy wine—mead, she realized—with an oddly bitter undertaste. The potion seeped under her tongue. She struggled, and for a moment felt as if she could hardly draw a breath. Wooziness began to creep its cold through her.
Dizzy, gasping, she knew then. Mead, as a carrier for the strong, bitter tincture called the Great Rest, a powerful sleeping potion of dried, crushed poppies originally brought back by crusading knights. Mixed with cloves and other herbs, the substance was common in wealthy infirmaries. Brother Hugo, an infirmarian in Edward’s court, would have access to it.
Chasing under the tongue, the liquid would rapidly penetrate the body. Though dizziness swamped her, she saw Hugo move as if through fog. He went to Colban.
“Not the boy,” she said hoarsely, “he is too small for a dose of—”
Colban thrashed and shrieked, then suddenly ducked down, so that Abernethy lost hold of him. The boy slipped between the knight’s legs and raced to the door, still partly open after Hugo rushed inside. He slipped through the gap and was gone.
“After him!” Malise yelled, holding Rowena, whose limbs began to fail. As her knees buckled, she felt Malise grab her under her arms. “Peter! Fool, go get him!”
“What am I to do with him?”
Malise growled in disgust, and Abernethy ran outside.
“What a disaster! Hugo, help me get her out of here.” Malise picked her up in his arms; she was losing strength to fight. Her senses were slipping, but she could still hear what was said.
“The side door,” Hugo said. “I saw a cart out there. We will wrap her up in her cloak like a parcel from the market.”
“Damn and damn,” Malise said.
“You are damned,” Rowena slurred. “Aedan MacDuff will—”
“If he comes for you, he will walk into a trap. I will see to it.”
“We could just leave her here with the boy, and run,” Hugo said.
“You are as much a dimwit as Abernethy!”
As he carried her toward the side door, Rowena felt strangely floaty. As they passed the altar, she noticed the chapel behind it where the queen’s beautiful tomb shone in the afternoon sun.
“Lady, help us,” she mumbled, and sank into darkness.
“Rowena!” Aedan called,standing in the entrance of the church. He strode down the nave, steps echoing, and paused to turn slowly around. The west door opened and he turned in relief. “Rowena—”
“Colban!” Marjorie entered the church. “Are you here?”
“Where is Rowena?” Aedan walked toward her, seeing Lady Jennet and Patrick coming in after her. “I thought she would be here. And you are looking for Colban?”
“He should be here,” his sister said. “He ran ahead of us a while ago, and said he wanted to find Rowena, who we thought would be in the church.”
A cold chill went through him, but he dismissed it. “Neither of them is here. They must be in the market square. You must have missed them.”
“They are not in the market, I assure you,” Patrick Wemyss said.
“I let him go on his own, thinking he would be safe.” Marjorie seemed on the verge of tears. “But where is he?”
“We will look everywhere, my dear,” Patrick said. “We will find him.”
