Chapter Nine

H ector sat outside the girl's door, dozing against the wall. He opened an eye as Duncan approached.

"Sir! Effie MacArthur is down the kitchens making a late supper. I will tell you Effie does not like that bar on the door. But I told her we follow Brechlinn's orders, not hers. But she said to leave the tub so as not to disturb the guest."

"Aye. Go have your supper, and send someone up with food for the—guest."

As the old man headed down the steps. Duncan knocked. Hearing no response, he lifted crossbar and latch and entered.

The room was dark but for candlelight. Hearing splashes as he stepped inside, he saw the wooden tub with its draped cloth liner, water puddling on the floor. Visible in the gleam of water was the girl's head, bare shoulders, and hands scooping water in sparkling streams over russet hair.

"Euphemia, did you—oh!" Margaret glanced at him, eyes widening.

Suddenly he felt like an awkward young knight again. "I—uh—"

"Sir Duncan," she said crisply. The tub was deep but not wide, so she sat knees high, head and shoulders visible. Over the elegant sweep of her collarbones, a silver chain glinted between the lush curves of her breasts.

At that glimpse, his body surged and he sucked in a breath. "I thought we could speak. I could come back."

"This is your home." She waved a hand and rested an arm along the top edge of the tub covered by the cloth liner. Rivulets ran down to pool on the floor. Her arms were lean and limber; he recalled her strength and skill in pulling a bow.

"My home." His gruff voice betrayed a churn of discomfort.

"I thought you might shut me in a dungeon, so I am thankful to be here, even if you barricade the door." She dipped her hand in the water, releasing a glitter of water droplets. She was enchanting and distracting. He needed to focus.

"The dungeon is not available at present."

"Too full already with those who have displeased the laird of Brechlinn?"

"Too flooded with spring rains." The ancient structure, seated on the edge of the loch, did not fare well in heavy rain. Last year, an English raiding party set fire to it, undoing what work he had accomplished.

She gave him a sour look and sank lower, knees high, head tipped back. She had a graceful profile, a swan-like throat. He swallowed, stood silent.

"I thought you were Effie come to help me."

"She is making supper."

"Are there no kitchen servants?"

"We are just a few here. Effie MacArthur helps when she can."

"So there is no one to deter the laird from entering a lady's quarters?"

"Most of them think you are a lad." He watched her shoulders ripple as she lifted slim arms to sluice more water over her head.

"You and Effie know about me. Anyone else?"

"Lennox guessed on the boat."

"A smart man. Lovely man." She slid a glance at him. "Considerate. He would not burst into a lady's bath. I think he did not want me kept captive."

"He has a soft heart."

"And does the laird of Brechlinn."

"Is this a dungeon? It is not." He went to the table that held a basket and folded linens beside a chair holding a gown of dark blue. He picked up some things to carry toward her. She glanced over her shoulder, covered the tops of her breasts.

"What are you doing?" She sank lower.

"Being considerate. Just leaving a towel and clothing for you." He dropped the things to the floor. She stretched an arm out and down, fingers flexing.

"I cannot reach. Hand me a linen please. Then will you leave?"

When he lifted the toweling, she snatched it so fast the cloth trailed in the bathwater. She tucked the wet, translucent fabric over the high curves of her breasts. Another quick, inadvertent glimpse made his blood run hotter.

"Here." He handed her another cloth.

"Thank you. Go, please. Send Effie here when she is done in the kitchen."

"Euphemia MacArthur is not a servant. She is a friend."

"Then I apologize. I thought her a housekeeper or suchlike." She raked fingers through her hair, water trickling over her shoulders. "I need to get out now."

"I will wait. Tell me when you are ready." He turned to face the door, taking a sidestep so she could see his back.

He heard splashing as she stood, heard a foot meet the floor softly, then another, and finally, cloth rustling.

"There," she said after a few moments.

He turned. The blue dress draped in generous folds on her tall and slender frame, dragging on the floor, its neckline slipping off one shoulder. The silver chain gleamed on her damp neck, its pendant hidden beneath the bodice. Her hair, dark and wet, trailed in ripples to her waist. Duncan breathed against another surge; the woman affected him despite all. He had never been able to distance himself from the memory of her, and now she was two strides away, grown and womanly.

"Lady Margaret." How well I remember you , he wanted to say. How beautiful you have become. He kept his gaze steady on hers.

"Sir Duncan." She lifted her chin, her neck long and graceful, her attitude clear in the tight lips, flared nostrils, hooded glance. Defiant, indignant.

Duncan pondered what to say, where to begin. Should he apologize? Tell her he had always cared for her? He stood silent. Then she touched her shoulder with a little wincing frown. "How is the shoulder? The knee?"

"Both will heal. What do you want of me, Duncan Campbell? Brechlinn, they call you now? Laird of Brechlinn and Justiciar of the North? And you been here all this time, and never let us know you were whole and well? No apologies?"

"Apologies?" He frowned; she read him too easily. "Why the disguise, Margaret Keith? I thought you a lad at the archery butts." He did not mention that his first glimpse of the red-haired lass in the crowd had left him stunned, and somehow relieved.

"I thought you were dead. Clearly not."

So that rumor had reached the Keiths. "I was a prisoner for years. I escaped with others—a long story. And I heard you entered a convent. You do not look like a nun to me. We can discuss all that later."

"To what point? It is done between us."

"At the moment, we have a more pressing matter between us. Why did you shoot Sir John Menteith?"

"An accident. I told you that. Though it could turn out to be a blessing."

"Not for him."

She huffed. He could not take his gaze from her. He wanted to drink in her vibrant presence here, let himself feel simple joy in that. He wanted to take in her wild beauty—she had matured into a desirable woman. And he wanted to understand what stirred now in his heart, the feelings he had locked up with regret and rumor. But his innate reserve, the ordeal of the last years, and the need to protect his secrets had given him the habit of wariness.

"You spoke of a missing girl. Tell me more," he said.

Thoughts flickered through her green eyes. He sensed she was torn somehow. "I shot Menteith by accident. Truly. But if it delays him, all the better. You see, I believe he has Bruce's daughter."

"Bruce's daughter." He waited.

"Aye. You cannot keep me here," she said urgently. "I must find her."

"Is it your responsibility?"

"Aye!!"

That puzzled him utterly. "I have lawful cause to keep you until I am satisfied with the answers. But this warren only gets deeper."

"Since I am innocent of malice. You can let me go. I must find Lady Lilias!"

"Lilias?"

"Lady Elisabeth. Bruce's bastard child. She is so important. You cannot know."

"I can," he said slowly. "You, a slip of a lass, saving a king's daughter? What proof do you have that Menteith had aught to do with this—missing daughter?"

"Menteith was involved. I know it, I."

The phrase startled him. His mother had said that when her sense of Sight made her certain of something. By nature, he trusted that phrase. But he could not trust Margaret Keith until he knew how this all fit together.

"Such a wild claim needs proof."

She raised her hands in frustration. "You are an authority of the law. You can help. I have no one else to turn to, no time to fetch help from my kin. If you refuse, I must see to finding her myself!"

"If there was evidence, I would help. But you must stay here for now."

"I will not. There is no time to wait." She folded her arms.

"Best we keep you here in case you try something else foolish."

"Duncan Campbell." She lowered her brows. By God, she had a fierce beauty. "Promise me you will help if I can prove this."

"I will." His heart thumped. She stood close enough now that he leaned back a bit, too aware of the tug between them, that strand pulling, unseen but keenly felt.

"I will do whatever I must," she conceded. "I should have gone to Menteith earlier and demanded to know what he did with Lady Lilias Bruce."

"If you had done that, you might be looking at a noose just now. Be glad I took you away. Tell me why I should believe you. Sir John said his men came upon brigands attacking a party along the road. They rescued a girl, a laird's daughter. They escorted her to meet her kin. He made no mention of Bruce."

"You should believe me," she said, "because I was part of her escort."

A prickle went down his spine. Constantine had said Keith men were found dead at the site of the attack. This was beginning to make uncanny sense. But he would be cautious until he knew more.

"You got away," he said.

"So did a friend. He saw the men's badges—black and white checks on yellow. Menteith of Dunbarton, though they were the ones acting like brigands!"

"Where was your escort headed?"

"West to meet a boat, then out to the Isles and Ireland. They attacked us, I tell you. Where did they take the girl? What did Menteith say?"

That matched Lennox's account. "MacDougalls." He nearly spit out the name.

She stepped closer, eyes intent, cheeks flushed. "If they did take her there, we can rescue her. You are the justiciar. I appeal to you."

"You want me to ride to stir the MacDougalls further? They do not support Bruce and the Scots cause as it is." Now he threw a hand up in exasperation. "We need abundant proof to accuse them or Menteith of any action against Bruce or his own."

"We have enough." Her eyes were bright with conviction. "I was there. The prize you won—there is your proof."

"Prize?"

"The brooch that Menteith had and gave to you. It is mine. I lost it that day."

"Interesting." He scowled, looking away, thinking. He had not even claimed the thing but left it with Menteith. "Are you sure?"

"Oh!" She blew out a breath. "Let Menteith sit by the fireside with his injured foot. There is a useful delay while we take Lilias back. And the men—the other men in the escort. They can all be rescued. Then you, sir, will thank me for that wayward shot."

"I will not. And no one will hie off to accuse anyone, especially Menteith, a sheriff and an earl, without good cause."

"What more do you need? I saw them. My friend saw them and their badges. Later he had my brooch. I know in my heart he is part of it. Do not waste time looking for more proof. Help me, please!"

"Where is she? See? Even with proof, we cannot make a move yet. Your friend, is he the lad with you in the village?"

"Andrew. He fostered at Kincraig."

"Andrew Murray? The witness who spoke to the innkeeper?" When she nodded, he went on. "The hero's son?"

She frowned a little. "Aye."

"I knew his father. I know his kin."

"All the more reason to join me in finding Lilias and Andrew too. I do not know where he went once you took me. Both are my responsibility, you see."

"How so? This is a considerable burden for a lass alone."

"If I you believe me, Duncan Campbell, then I am not alone."

He wanted to believe her. He ached to say so. But his training, his obligation, and the risk in accusing Menteith, who was in Edward's pocket, had to be considered.

She took his silence for refusal. "If you must ponder for so long, I will find someone else. Lennox is here. I can ask him." She took a step toward the door.

He reached out and took her arm, knowing the door was unlatched. "Neither Lennox nor I will accuse Menteith of taking a king's daughter without strong proof."

She pulled her arm and winced. He let go. "You are a justiciar. Please—"

"As a justiciar, I am obliged to ensure the law is followed."

"Oh! You!" She stamped her bare foot, the dress nearly slipping off her shoulder. "Then let me go and I will do this myself and you can ensure all the law you want later."

His mouth twitched in a flicker of amusement, seeing a flash of the young Margaret he had come to love. And had hurt. He scowled. "It is late. You need to rest. We will both think more clearly in the morning. These accusations have more consequence than you know."

"I do know. But I hoped you were—the man I imagined you to be."

"You thought me dead, so that is curious."

"I meant I thought you would take quick action to help a king's daughter."

"At the risk of poking a heinous enemy, I will be deliberate. But if I have reason, you will see swift justice. I promise you that."

Her gaze was intent, jewel-like. "You broke a promise once."

"Long ago. Not again." Outside the door, he heard footsteps. A knock followed, and he turned to open the door to Euphemia holding a tray. He stood back as she entered. She sent him a concerned look.

"All is well?" she asked.

"Well enough. I was just leaving."

"Thank you, Euphemia." Margaret's smile was wan. "I am hungry. That smells good." So she could be gracious after all, this wild thing, Duncan thought.

"Just bacon with pease pudding and bannocks. Best I could do, as my brother has let the larder go empty again. I must come here more often, Brechlinn, if you will leave Bran in charge," she added. "He and the other men would wait 'til Doomsday before they would prepare a decent meal. Will you stay, sir?"

"I will eat downstairs. Lady Margaret, we will talk later." He opened the door.

"Lady?" Euphemia raised her brows.

He nodded, then shut the door, and after a moment, dropped the bar in place, resolved to return soon to let Euphemia out. His friend would expect an explanation, and he owed her that.

But he would not chance that Margaret Keith might convince good-hearted Euphemia to let her leave the room—and Brechlinn Castle.