Chapter Fourteen

T hey headed north out of Brechlinn and followed the course of a narrow river through a green glen where curving foothills stretched toward far mountains. Margaret looked about, savoring the sunlight, the wind, the freedom. The Highland air was fresh and wild, the clouds high overhead, and she felt content. What she had missed these days, she realized, was simply being outside—the air, the hills, the forest that always fed her spirit and gave her a sense that all was well, at least for the moment.

Bran had saddled four garron ponies, the short, heavy-set, shaggy Highland breed that was so surefooted on slopes and rocky ground. Secure on the garron's wide back, Margaret hooked her knee around the pommel of the sidesaddle Bran had thoughtfully provided, though she could have ridden a man's saddle if needed.

Duncan, Bran, and Lennox, all big men, looked a bit awkward on the ponies, she thought, their boots brushing grasses and bracken at times. Normally knights rode huge chargers or even larger destriers. But as Highlanders, they were perfectly at ease on the garrons. She knew they could not easily take larger horses through some parts of the Highlands, and she was grateful for her mount's gentle, intrepid character.

Duncan rode beside her while Bran and Lennox rode ahead, accompanied by the two large dogs, Mungo and Freya, that moved about freely, running off and coming back as they pleased.

"Your hounds are enormous," she said.

"Wolfhounds, aye. They need big spaces, indoors and out. They are happy here."

"And the birds, they are fine with the dogs?"

"They tolerate each other."

On her thick leather glove, she carried Aurelia, the peregrine falcon, compact and powerful, dark-feathered with a creamy breast. Her large dark eyes were striking, ringed in gold, hence her name; her fierce expression and flickering eyes seemed to see all. She was not hooded, as Duncan said she was well-behaved and would not pull at her jesses or launch away on her own. Duncan carried Greta hooded in red leather.

"How far will we go with the horses?" she asked. "You said we would walk with the birds in open spaces."

"We will. I want to take you north through Glen Falloch to the waterfall, not far ahead. Further north is the village of Crianlarich, and west of here, a quick route to the western Highlands and the Isles. East lie hills and moorland, with Stirling less than a day's ride. Either way is a good outing for hawks and falcons."

"Duncan should have told you," said Malcolm Lennox, slowing his garron, "that along the eastern side of the great loch below Brechlinn are my lands. I am lending the Lennox to Sir John for now, until it pleases me not to."

Duncan laughed. "A loan, is it?"

"I stomach it better that way until I have it back."

"Indeed, you must have it back soon forthwith," Margaret said.

"Duncan Dhu, I am a bit in love with your lady." The earl smiled at her.

"And Greta thanks you," Duncan retorted.

"Greta my love, none but you," Lennox replied, giving Margaret a wink as he urged his garron forward to join Bran again. Margaret smiled.

"Lennox makes you laugh," she observed. "He is a cheerful fellow."

"Another in his situation might be angry and resentful. Yet he can smile even so. He is a rare man and a rare friend."

He smiled too, his eyes twinkling, but soon the humor faded as he looked about, wary and alert. As serious as he could be, he was easygoing with his friends—and she had felt some of that with him the other night in her bedchamber.

She felt as if a taut and curious chain connected them, invisible but in place for years. It had always been there, even when she had believed he was gone, for he had stayed in her thoughts, her prayers, her dreams, an unforgettable soul. And as she grew from child to woman, he had grown in her imagination.

Glancing at him again, she saw the same handsome, virile man who had appeared in her dreams, with his crooked smile, a sleepy droop in his eyelids when he was thoughtful, a spark of wit in deep blue eyes. What she had imagined was true in the man. That was a marvel to her. How could that be?

He pointed ahead. "Do you hear that?"

She did—the rushing sound of water everywhere, so that she could not tell where it originated. The air was filled with texture, power, and moisture.

"A waterfall!"

"Just through those trees, but we must leave the ponies for a bit. Bran! Malcolm!" he called as they turned. "I want to show Lady Margaret the falls. Take the birds and go ahead to the moor by the river if you will. We will meet you soon."

Quickly they transferred the birds, Greta to Bran, Aurelia to Lennox, both wearing heavy falconer's gloves. They had birds too, carried on a fifth horse in a wicker cage. The birds cheeped, restless, wings fluttering.

"They are anxious to fly," Bran said.

"Let them go if you like. We will be along shortly," Duncan said as the two men left, their garrons proceeding steadily over a rocky incline.

"We can leave the garrons here and walk toward the falls," Duncan told Margaret, dismounting to help her from her seat. She walked with him along an earthen path that cut through a woodland of oak and birch that merged with a rocky gorge. The river cut through, fast and frothy, dipping and cascading. Ahead, Margaret saw a long white trail of water.

"Come look," Duncan said, offering his hand when the way grew steep. He helped her balance on the slick stones of the rugged gorge above the fast, narrow river.

The falls roared now, white and spectacular, surrounded by trees, the water thundering into a wide pool filled with eddies and whirlpools, growing calmer near its banks.

"It's beautiful!" she said, raising her voice as he leaned to hear her.

"The Falls of Falloch. Part of the river that flows south to join Loch Lomond just above Brechlin." He too raised his voice. "The birds like it here," he went on. "Sometimes we release them near the falls. They fly over the hills, all around, and come back. They know we will be here waiting for them."

He took her hand again to guide her closer to the falls. She felt the spray on her face and hair, her gown blowing back against her legs. The immense thunder and beauty of the waterfall seemed to dominate all around it.

"It feels so cleansing," she said. "In the air. In the spirit."

"It does. Come this way." He led her down the rocky slope to the edge of the pool, where the sound faded a bit and the water was calmer.

"There is a legend about this place," he said. "They say the faery ilk have always inhabited this place, and that their magic infuses the water and the stones and trees all around here."

"What a lovely thought," Margaret said.

"If you look around the pool, you might find small stones with holes in them. Faery magic formed the holes, so they say. If you look through the holes, you might see the future."

"Seeing-stones." She stared up at him in surprise. Her great-grandfather had such stones and had gifted a special one to her—the very brooch Menteith had offered as a prize and Duncan had refused. She wanted that brooch back, though its importance paled in comparison to rescuing Lilias and finding Andrew.

"Seeing-stones, aye. I find it hard to believe in such things. I have also heard that a stone with a hole in it has been beaten with water for ages longer than we can know. The relentless flow makes more sense than faery stones."

"I believe in them."

"I am not surprised. There are whole crops of them here. Look around." He washed the toe of his boot back and forth, then stooped to dip his hand into the water and brought up two or three in the palm of his hand. "Just here."

"What lovely faery stones!" She took one of them. "My great-grandfather had some of them. He said they were magical things."

"Thomas the Rhymer ought to know." He sounded amused. "We played by the falls as lads and would try to tell the future with such stones. We played at being Thomas the Rhymer, truth be told." He grinned.

She laughed. "He called them seeing-stones and truth stones and he showed us how to use them. I did not have much success with it. Though now and then I saw something unusual." She did not say more, sensing his skepticism.

He brought one of the stones to his left eye. "I just see water and rocks."

"Wait a bit. You might see the future."

He chuckled. "Seeing the future would be useful. I hear King Edward has a passion for gathering prophets and seers and astrologers and such so he can know the future."

"He only wants to hear that he will succeed."

"True. Go on, take a look. You have been taught by the master of such things."

She raised one of the small stones to her eye. "Grandda had some beautiful seeing-stones. He gave me one," she ventured.

"Did he?"

She drew a breath. "The brooch. The cloak pin that I lost."

"The one that was taken from you?" He stared at her, tilting his head.

"The one you did not take when Menteith offered it."

"You had just shot the man," he reminded her. "The brooch did not seem important at the time. I swear, lass, I would have given it to you had I known." He gave her a rueful smile. "Did the faery queen give it to your grandfather?"

"So he said. And he always told the truth. Always," she added firmly.

"True Thomas, aye. There are stories that he met the faery queen and went with her into that realm for a few years, then came back with a gift of prophecy and truth-telling."

"Seven years, they say, though he said it seemed like three or less. From the day he returned, he made predictions, and sometimes used seeing-stones to show him what was otherwise unknown." She sighed, thinking of the blue and silver brooch, Thomas's truth stone.

Impatience swamped her then. Lilias was somewhere, and Andrew, and the brooch too—and yet she was here with Duncan Campbell. The power of that had a strong pull, but she must not let it overtake what was most important.

He looked at her, tipping his head. "What is it, lady? If I could give you the cloak pin now, I would. If I could bring Lady Lilias back to you, I would."

"Would you?"

He nodded. "We will find her. And Andrew. And your pin."

It was as if he had read her thoughts, clear as the water at their feet. She nodded too, flooded with relief. He was beginning to believe her. She crouched beside the pool and waggled her fingers in water that was translucent, refreshing, and cold. She reached down to sift through sand and pebbles, tipping forward a little.

"Careful. It is slippery," Duncan said.

Scooping her hand through the water, Margaret brought her hand up and opened her palm. A stone with a hole lay in it. Standing, whirling to show him, she slipped on wet shale and one foot plunked into the water.

He was there, pulling her toward him even as she felt the tug of the current that drove the water over the falls and around the pool. His arm came about her shoulders to steady her. She shook her foot, the boot wet.

"Did you find a faery stone?"

She showed him the pale little stone, crudely pitted, its hole a perfect circle. She held it up to her eye. "I see the pool, the waterfall, the trees. I see…Bran and Lennox wondering if we are ever coming back."

"That is the truth," he said wryly.

"I see—" She stopped. Someone moved in the distance along a hill. A dark-haired girl, just a slight form in a cloak. She lowered the stone.

Just water, the falls, the trees. Frowning, she put the stone to her eye again.

"Something interesting?"

She lowered the stone. "I thought I saw—but it was just water and trees. We should find the others so we can fly the birds."

"I agree." He led her off the slick shale platform and back to the path where they had left the garrons.

"If I keep the stones we found," she said, "do you think the faery ilk would mind?"

"True Thomas's great-granddaughter? How could they object? And I am laird of Brechlinn lands, which include the falls and the pool. The stones are yours, my lady."

"Perhaps the faery ilk will bring us good luck. If they exist. Either way, we could use some luck." His smile was so tender, so quick, that she wanted to pocket it.

She looked back at the roaring, rushing falls and the mist of water in the air. "There is a veil in places like this, they say. A veil to the faery realm through the water and mist. That is why the faery stones grant visions. Grandda said a hole in a stone is like a magical doorway to another realm where the future exists, and visions show us clear what will come."

"Interesting. So you believe such things exist?"

"I truly do."

"My mother had the Sight," he said. "She knew things that sometimes proved true. We listened, though we also humored her. I wish I had known about that magical doorway when I was a lad," he went on. "I would have amazed my brothers."

Taking it for a jest—his practical, earthly nature would not be easily convinced—she laughed. The lovely moment, warm as the clasp of a hand, had passed.

When they reached the ponies, he helped her into the saddle, his hands firm at her waist, his gaze catching hers and holding it. The silence in the instant was like a lure, and she leaned toward him. But he set her on her mount and turned to his.

She was learning, in these new days with Duncan Dhu Campbell, how he had changed from the young man she remembered and dreamed about. He was a seasoned knight, a warrior, a man of the law now. He had experienced harshness that could turn a man's heart to bitterness and secrets. He did have a secretive side, but she sensed no bitterness, no anger. Just the quiet determination of a man with a sober, thoughtful nature. Yet she sensed lightness in him too, genuine amusement, affection for his friends, his dogs, his birds, his rundown castle. And affection—or at least patience—for her.

Yet something troubled him. She wanted to ask but did not feel she should probe.

Once again the idealization, the love, she had held for him since she was young came flooding back. She could not reveal those feelings, for she could not discern how he felt about her. He might think her foolish. Certainly, he thought her an impulsive and impractical soul, insisting he act to find Lilias when he insisted on caution.

Perhaps he was wise in that, she thought. While her need for quick response caused her frustration, she had to admit that he knew Menteith and understood the law and the risks far better than she did.

They rode up the slope toward the moors that swept up into hills like a vast green hammock. The river sluiced and rolled through the sloping middle ground. There, Bran and Lennox stood by their ponies, gloves empty as they watched the sky.