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Talisman
“There’s no reason to go into Ravenglass if the galley’s gone,” Roland declared. “Adrien’s probably found a less conspicuous place to dock.”
“Mayhap below Aigremont,” Godric suggested.
Hoping that was the case, Roland retrieved the remnant of his grandmother’s plaid from inside his gambeson and closed his eyes.
“Ye’ve a bonnie tartan there, laddie,” Godric remarked. “But ye’re nay a Scot.”
Roland filled his lungs as he fingered the wool. Adelina had caught up to them and he was reluctant to explain the sentimental souvenir. “It was my late grandmother’s,” he explained. “Each of my brothers carries a fragment as a talisman. It probably sounds mad, but the plaid reassures me Adrien has come to no harm.”
“Nay mad at all,” Godric replied, patting his jerkin. “My pipe belonged to my father and his father before him. I ne’er go anywhere without it.”
“I’m wearing my mother’s cloak,” Adelina said wistfully. “It’s the only thing I have of her.”
“And I’ll wager it has brought you strength,” Roland replied.
“It has,” she agreed, her brown eyes brightening.
“You have something else,” Terric interjected. “The dowry.”
“I suppose,” she agreed. “It’s not the same as a personal memory.”
Roland held out the plaid and decided to take a chance. “My Scottish grandmother and my grandfather Alexandre thought all was lost when Geoffrey of Anjou’s troops besieged Montbryce and set fire to the apple orchards. Today, the trees produce more fruit than ever. You’ve both lost a lot, but you have to look to the future and make new memories for your own children.”
He took it as a good omen when Adelina accepted the plaid, held it to her face and murmured, “Still soft.”
“Scottish wool,” Godric sighed with a wink. “Almost as good as mine.”
Roland chuckled along with the rest, though he’d no idea what Godric had said. Soft his plaid may be, but the sight of Adelina caressing her face with his talisman had turned his manhood to iron.
* * *
It wasn’t simply the soft texture of the wool that brought Adelina comfort. The warmth of Roland’s body lingered. His musky masculine scent filled her nostrils. When Mandeville suddenly tossed his head back and forth, she was loath to part with the scrap of fabric, but the soldier needed attention.
“Keep it,” Roland insisted when she offered to give it back. “You can return it once we are safe behind Montbryce’s walls.”
It was a generous gesture, one that seemed to suggest he understood the comfort she took in the fact the plaid was precious to him.
Tucking the remnant into a secret pocket sewn inside the cloak, she hunkered down to touch her hand to Mandeville’s forehead.
“How is he?” Terric asked.
“Too hot,” she replied. “But the salve has helped stem the flow of blood from his wounds. The sooner we can get him to shelter, the better.”
“Aye,” Godric enthused. “Nowt like sheep grease to cure whatever ails a body. We should reach Aigremont in an hour.”
Adelina got to her feet, glad to see Roland accept Terric’s offer of help to carry the litter. He seemed to have recovered from whatever upset him earlier.
It didn’t come as a surprise that men could be moody and unpredictable. Terric was an honorable and thoughtful man, but sometimes…
Amused by the thought that men were lucky to have women to temper their upsets, she cocooned herself more deeply inside her mother’s cloak, fortified by the added protection of the scrap of wool that lay against her heart.
* * *
“You were right, Godric,” Roland exclaimed when the galley came into view bobbing in the waves within sight of a modest-sized manor house situated about a half mile from the sands.
Terric’s assistance with the litter had lightened the load considerably, but Roland was of a mind to smear Godric’s grease on his sore hands once they were safely inside Baron Ravenglass’ home.
