Page 95 of The Guardian's Bride
They rested in forestland within sight of the castle gates, choosing a spot where they would not be seen. Then, exhausted, they rolled up in plaids and dozed for a little while, taking turns to keep watch. The hired horses, quiet and robust with strong hearts and much patience, slept too.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“This way,” aking’s guard said the next morning as he led Rowena, Sir Malise, and Sir Peter toward the royal tents. Larger and more finely appointed than the dozens of other tents scattered over the meadow, the royal tents were marked with flags showing Edward’s lions rampant. He was there, then. Rowena’s stomach flipped a bit.
Walking through the camp, she noticed a large roped-off area where several knights and soldiers practiced with swords and pikes, while others groomed and exercised horses. On poles around this area flew various banners—among them, the dragon banner, a cylindrical red cloth dragon that filled with wind when carried aloft.
Edward’s knights raised the dragon banner before them only when the king sent them out to declare no mercy. Chivalry ceased to exist under that banner. She shivered at the gruesome reminder that this was a war camp focused on conquering Scotland. She walked on, her cloak billowing in the wind. On impulse while dressing, she had turned it to show its plaid lining: her own banner declaring her a Scotswoman.
Lifting her head proudly, she walked beside Comyn. He had not bound her wrists when he fetched her from the washer-woman’s tent—a relief for her stiff hands, irritated skin, and peace of mind. She did not care to go the length of the camp with her hands tied; her presence already attracted attention. As shepassed, men turned, paused. A noblewoman here was unusual, Bessie had said. Or did they know what she did not?
Dread rolled through her as she wondered what awaited her in the king’s tent.
Approaching the largest tent, Malise rudely poked her waist to hurry her along, then took her elbow in a sham of courtesy. She tried to pull away, but he held tight.
The guard pulled back the curtained doorway. “Your Grace. Sir Malise Comyn and Sir Peter Abernethy with—a lady.” Malise did not give her name. The guard motioned for them to wait outside while he disappeared into the shadowed interior.
“Abernethy,” Malise snapped, “go see if Brother Hugo is with the king. I have not seen him today.” Abernethy ducked inside.
“Malise,” Rowena said. He looked at her in surprise when she spoke. A question was tearing at her; she had to ask. “Is Aedan MacDuff following? Where is he?”
“I sent men out this morning to look for them. I expect you will see him soon.”
“You used me to lure him here.”
“I am hopeful my trap will work,” he said. “Edward will be pleased that I snared MacDuff so easily. Hunting both of you was tedious. Had I known you were on Lauder’s longship in the firth that day, I could have boarded it and saved this inconvenience.”
“I wish you had done so. MacDuff would have thrown you into the sea.”
He laughed. “Before you see the king, I should tell you something first.”
Fear spiked through her. “What is it?”
His dark-eyed gaze slid about the area and returned to bore into her. “Edward did not send me to find you because of the charge of poisoning. Not quite.”
“Then why am I here?” She tried to jerk her arm away, but he held fast.
“He sent me to find you because he is ill and knows he is dying.”
“What!” She glared up at him. “But I would have returned if I had known. I told the king I would come back if he sent for me. But you twisted it—to this!”
He shrugged. “Somewhat. You were accused, you escaped. He was not told all.”
“You abducted me, you were willing to hurt a child—does he know that? Are the charges false?”
“The charges are real and you will answer to them.” He glanced around. “I had to get you here quickly, but I guessed you would not travel with me.”
“That is true. But now that we are here, I will help Edward if I can.” She looked away. Helping this king, despite what he had done to the Scots, to her first husband, to Aedan and his family, pulled at her. But years ago she had promised herself, and Aunt Una, and Grandda Thomas, to help others. It was part of her, and hard to deny. But she would not use the Rhymer’s crystal. She would not.
“His health is fragile. Do not excite him by pleading your innocence. He may have forgotten what he was told of that. But if he is reminded and becomes angered over it, a temper fit could kill him.”
“Ah. Now I see,” she said. “If Edward dies, you would not be rewarded. You dragged me here so you could earn praise and reward for your service. And you used me to lure Aedan MacDuff, another prize for you. What else do you want?” The sudden realization drove through her like ice. “You want the crystal.”
“The Rhymer’s charm stone. The one you used for me. I hear you wear it.”
Stunned, she stared. “What—”
“The washer-woman told me you wear a valuable crystal jewel. Did you think she was your friend—or mine?” With a finger, he hooked the silver chain around her neck and slid it upward. She clutched it in place and locked her gaze with his.
