Guardian Angel
It was tempting to lean on Marguerite, but Adelina decided to enter the solar with her head held high. If Roland had succumbed to his injury, there’d be time enough to weep. It was possible Roland’s parents would blame her for his death. He’d sacrificed his life to save her. And they surely wouldn’t be pleased Adrien had stayed in England.
“Courage,” Marguerite whispered before leaving Adelina’s side to join Becket who stood beside his parents.
Roland had told her Comte Barr and Lady Hollis were still very much in love, so to see them locked in an embrace before the hearty fire crackling in the grate didn’t come as a surprise. They both looked pale, but it wasn’t grief marring their faces. There might even be a trace of a smile on Becket’s face. Her hopes rose.
She was further taken aback when the comtesse strode toward her, arms outstretched in a gesture of welcome. She dropped into a full curtsey, but Lady Hollis took her hands. “Please rise, Lady Adelina. You have come far and endured much.”
She rose with the comtesse’s help and found herself in the woman’s embrace. Every polite greeting she’d ever been taught fled from her memory. “Roland?” was all she could squeeze from her dry throat.
She tensed when the comte approached, Roland’s bloodied plaid in his hands.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked sternly, though his voice held no hint of censure.
“It’s a fragment of your mother’s plaid,” she replied. “Roland carries it as a talisman.”
“And was it your idea to press it to the wound?”
She worried he was angry the keepsake was probably irreparably stained. “Yes, I thought perhaps his grandmother’s spirit…”
She stopped abruptly when the comte held out the woven square.
“This, my dear Adelina, is what may have saved his life. The wool adhered to the wound and helped to seal it.”
The comtesse took hold of her trembling hands and looked into her eyes. “My Scottish mother-by-marriage was strong and courageous, and I’ve no doubt she watches over her grandsons, but your love for my son is what saved him.”
Adelina accepted the plaid from the comte and touched it to her cheek as relief washed over her. It appeared Roland lived and his parents were going to accept her.
Becket took her hand and bestowed a courtly kiss, but her spirits plummeted again when his smile turned to a frown and he asked, “Now, where is Adrien?”
* * *
Roland drifted in and out of sleep, grateful for the dwale that had taken the edge off the pain. But he’d resisted taking too much of the drug, intent on staying awake for when Adelina came. He had to be assured she was well, then he’d worry about his own recovery.
She wasn’t alone when she entered his chamber, but he knew her scent and the touch of her lips on his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “This isn’t how I wanted to welcome you to Montbryce.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” she replied, meshing her fingers with his. “Marguerite has seen to my every need, and your parents have made me welcome. They’re none too pleased about Adrien’s decision, but I think they understand. They don’t censure us for it.”
“I seem to recall Papa saying something about my grandmother’s plaid,” he said.
“Adelina pressed it to your wound. That scrap of wool may have saved your life,” his mother said.
Roland lifted Adelina’s hand to his lips. “My guardian angel,” he whispered.
“Now, you must rest,” she replied.
“In due course,” he agreed. “Firstly, is Papa here too?”
“I am,” his father replied, stepping out of the shadows.
“You and Maman need to know that Adelina and I are betrothed. She is my wife and must be treated accordingly.”
“You needn’t be concerned,” his mother replied. “You have chosen well. Once you’re recovered, we can organize a wedding ceremony.”
Her promise eased Roland’s mind. “I’ll be up and about before you know it.”
* * *