Chapter Fifteen

S omething had happened at the water's edge, when Margaret had peered through the hole in the stone. Duncan had seen her go pale, as if it was no jest, as if she saw a sight through that plain wee stone that made her uneasy.

He had an uneasy feeling himself this day; perhaps it was merely that edge he felt when the birds were out flying free, that small chance they could be seen even in this remote place no matter how careful he was. But he smiled at Margaret, masking his thoughts as they joined Bran and Lennox again. He dismounted and helped Margaret to the ground.

Shading her eyes, she watched the falcon and peregrine in flight. The wind blew back her skirts and cloak and whisked her bright hair. For a moment, he could only gaze at her.

"Greta caught two larks and a ptarmigan," Bran said. "Aurelia took down a couple of larks. I gave them one and put the rest in the pouch. Effie will make a good pie of them."

"So they have hunted and fed and are just enjoying the air," Lennox said. "You two were gone a while, hey. We thought you might have fallen in."

"Is it a good pool for swimming?" Margaret asked.

"A fine place for a plunge on a warm day," Lennox said.

"The current can be rough," Duncan said. "It is easy to get pulled under."

She looked up at the clouds. "Where did the birds go?"

"Aurelia went that way like a golden arrow. The gyr found a high perch over there." Lennox pointed toward a high crop of rocks on a hillside. "She will take off again if she sees something she wants. Or if she sees you, Duncan."

Walking away, Duncan strolled toward the hill where Greta's stony perch looked like a throne. Tall pines feathered along slopes where jagged rocks clustered and water poured down in rivulets. A primeval place. As often as he came this way, he still marveled at its wild beauty.

Hearing a kak-kak-kak , he saw Greta lift her wings and settle, able to see for miles from her chosen seat. He turned as Margaret joined him.

"She seems content up there," she remarked.

"Aye, looking over all her kingdom like a queen. If I raise my arm and glove, she will come to me, so I will not disturb her. Let her sit."

"How far can she see, do you think?"

"Likely she could see a hare running along that mountainside over there. If she wanted, she could catch it before it goes to ground. She is very fast, our girl." The words slipped out before he knew it.

She smiled bright as a sunbeam at that. "Aurelia is very fast, too. She went sailing past and vanished."

"Peregrines are said to be the fastest of the falcons. In all the world, there is nothing faster than a peregrine but lightning." He smiled, proud of his birds, glad to be out here in the open where they could be free. "This is a good place for them. Isolated," he said, indicating the hills, the sky.

"You love your birds. And this place."

"I do."

"And you love your castle, your kin, and your friends."

"Aye." He glanced at her, arching a brow. What was she was about with this?

"And you love the work you do."

"Most of it."

"Why do you do that work? Is it that you support the English king and his laws? Is it obligation or love for the law?"

"Does it matter?"

"It must to you."

"What about to you?"

"I am thinking you are a man of integrity, and so—I am beginning to understand why you have not acted to rescue the king's daughter."

"So I need not explain caution to one so impatient?" He smiled a little.

"I am trying, Duncan Dhu. But it is not easy. Look! Is that Aurelia?"

He saw the peregrine, very high now, hover and tip its wings back, then streamline in a fast dive, a flash of gold and gray that all but disappeared. "She went into a stoop. Must have seen a temptation beyond the hill. The lads are going there now. Shall we go see? How is your stomach for such things?"

"I will be fine." As she fell into step beside him, he spared a glance for Greta, who still watched sharp and serene on her high rock.

Beyond a swell in the moor, Duncan saw the peregrine mantling over her kill, plucking quickly. He put up a hand, and Margaret, Bran, and Lennox paused.

"Once she starts to feed, she will not take kindly if we try to remove it," Duncan said. "We will wait while she feasts."

After a moment, Bran walked up a hill, shaded his eyes, then turned to come back. "Knights," he said, pointing. "Riding this way from the glen to the east."

"Curious," Duncan said. "We had best learn their business. I do not want them to spot my lass."

"Me?" Margaret said.

"Greta," he said, and saw her brow twitch. "You too, daughter of Keiths, shooter of sheriffs."

Her cheeks went crimson. Lennox burst out laughing. "Seeing this lady," the earl said, "no one would mistake her for the archer lad. What became of him, by the way?"

"Shooter of sheriffs?" Bran asked, looking bewildered.

"Lady Margaret disguised herself," Duncan told Bran, "after a kerfuffle with Menteith at the archery butts."

"She shot that bastard? Good," Bran said.

"I did not mean to," Margaret said. "If those are Menteith's men, they may ask about it," Duncan said, just as the riders appeared at the crest of the hill. "They are coming this way."

With a glance for the rocky cliff where Greta had been resting, Duncan saw with relief that the bird had left her perch. He prayed she would remain out of sight for a while.

"Odd," Bran said. "Few riders come this way. The drover's track is a rough run through the mountains. These rogues look headed toward the river. Ah, see their shields? Yellow with black and white checks."

Lennox groaned. "Menteith."

"He rarely comes to Brechlinn or sends his men this way. And he is laid up with a bad foot," Duncan said. "Well, let us see what they want." He set out for the hill, casting a glance around for the gyrfalcon as he went.

Margaret caught up with him. "What about the falcons?"

"These men would not care about a peregrine. But a white gyr will raise questions. Luckily, she has flown off for now."

"If she reappears, I shall marvel to see a white bird. And so will you."

He nodded. His mind whirled with concerns, not just the gyrfalcon, but the new task for Bruce—the arrival of another renegade priest—and now this question of the king's missing daughter. Not least of all, he was concerned about the lass beside him, her welfare. Her place in his life.

"Watch your step. The hillside is rocky." He took her elbow on the incline.

"Rocky enough that the men will not come down the hill on those horses," she said, looking toward the riders paused at the top of the hill.

"They are on chargers, which says they did not intend to come this far. Something brought them here, but what?" He hoped they had not seen the gyrfalcon on one of her long sweeps across the sky.

"Hey! Sir!" one of the knights called, and began to descend on horseback.

Duncan lifted a hand, glad that Bran and Lennox kept a little distance with Margaret, staying close enough to guard. "Sir, what is your business?"

The man, in chainmail and a red surcoat, his horse wearing a short red caparison that covered the head and the barrel of the body to the knee, rode carefully down the hillside to a jutting platform of rock and turf. The other knights stayed on the ridge of the hill. Duncan noted that two wore Menteith's badge and one wore the red and gold surcoat of an English soldier.

A mixed group, Duncan thought, sent out by Menteith with something in mind.

"Duncan Campbell of Brechlinn! Is it you, sir?"

Duncan climbed closer, standing just below the rocky platform. For a moment, he wished he had worn chain mail, but was grateful for the simple protection of a leather hauberk over his tunic. He and his companions had not anticipated seeing others that day, and so neither he nor Bran or Lennox carried more than daggers.

"I am Campbell of Brechlinn," he answered.

"Justiciar in the north?"

"I have that title. And you?"

"Sir William de Soulis, knight of Liddesdale."

"I know the name, though we have not met." He knew the man's kinsmen and knew Sir William was heir to the lord of Liddesdale, who held his position in Scotland under King Edward. Though Scots by birth and right, the father and sons were loyal to the English. "I see that your men belong to Menteith and Edward. These are my lands. This glen is part of Brechlinn."

"We are just passing through on our way to Crianlarich."

This De Soulis was perhaps in his twenties, long legged and broad shouldered in chainmail and a red-and-white surcoat. His short dark beard elegantly defined strong features, and his eyes were deep brown under black brows. Duncan recognized the red-striped crest from his years in King Edward's service. The De Soulis family was prosperous and influential in the Scottish Borders and sided firmly with Edward, reaping advantages. Another De Soulis, Walter was his name, had been killed recently by rebels, so Duncan had heard.

"You are far from Liddesdale and the Borders, sir," he said.

"Currently I am installed at Roskie Castle, where Sir John Menteith resides at present."

"Ah." Duncan came closer. "How is his foot?"

"Recovering. He mentioned you were present when he was shot. He is better but still making a moan of it."

"I wish him a quick recovery."

"Fortunate to find you here, Campbell. Sir John asked me to stop at Brechlinn Castle on my way back from Crianlarich, but here you are. Very convenient."

"Apparently. What is the message?"

"He wants to know your progress with the boy arrested for shooting him at the archery butts. You are holding him at Brechlinn, I am told."

"I questioned the lad and decided to let him go. It was clearly an accident," he said, having no intention to bring Margaret to account for Menteith. "But I have questions for Menteith on another matter. I can call on him at Loch Roskie."

"I will tell him. But why would a justiciar handle such a simple incident as this so-called accident? I suspect Menteith will disagree with your finding."

"The deputy sheriff of Stirling was called away at the time. Tell me, why are you up here rather than in the Borders, Sir William?"

"Edward's lieutenant in Scotland assigned me to Menteith. I am being groomed for a sheriffdom. Menteith does well keeping order in the region."

"At times," Duncan allowed. "So it is an apprenticeship?"

"I would not call it that." De Soulis bristled. "Just observing and assisting. Currently we are searching for rebels. Constant work, for they are often about, elusive as the devil. Menteith is searching for some priests who escaped. You might have heard of them. He sent me out in his stead."

"I have seen no rebels hereabouts."

"As I said, they hide, sir." The knight gave a flat smile. "We have difficulty with them south of here. The Ettrick Forest especially. Rebels are everywhere, hiding and then striking out like cowards. Edward is adamant that we find every one of them."

Smug fellow, Duncan thought. Yet his mind raced. A search for rebel Scottish priests might lead to Brechlinn, where Duncan assisted those very men, hiding and then channeling them toward safety in the west. He felt a chill down his spine.

"If you think to find them in Crianlarich, there is little rebellious activity there. If you are headed that way, you are well off the road in this glen."

"We rode this way because I saw an interesting sight. A falcon trailing jesses. Where there are trained birds, there will be falconers, I thought, so curiosity brought me here with my men."

"We came out for a diversion. The lady wished to fly the peregrine. We were just heading back. I will not hold you up."

"I thought I saw a golden falcon. A peregrine for the lady. And what do you fly, sir?" De Soulis looked toward the lady, his glance keen. Margaret stood lower on the slope with Bran and Lennox. She had drawn the hood of her cloak high and had retreated behind Bran's bulk. Lennox also pulled up his hood and turned away, not wanting to be recognized near Lennox lands.

"Another hawk," Duncan replied.

"Here at the lady's whim, are you?" De Soulis peered again toward Margaret. "She looks familiar. Could it be—am I so fortunate? Is it Lady Margaret of Kincraig? My dear lady! Do come forward where I can see you."

Duncan took a step to block De Soulis's view. "How is she your concern?"

"I know Sir William," Margaret said, coming up the hillside. Duncan turned, then lifted a brow in question.

"Do you wish to speak with him?" he asked quietly.

"I should." She paused beside him and pushed back her hood. Uncovered, her braided hair was brilliant in the sunlight.

"Sir William, greetings," she said.

"Lady Margaret! It is you. What are you doing so far north of Kincraig?"

"I am with friends." Her sidelong glance at Duncan held a flicker of hesitation and a hint of a plea.

Puzzled, Duncan felt a protective surge go through him like lightning. "Lady Margaret," he told De Soulis, "is visiting Brechlinn. We—are betrothed."

De Soulis startled visibly, his horse sidestepping on the platform rock. "Betrothed? My lady, tell me that is not so!"

She stood silent. Then she nodded. "It is true."

"I wish you the best," De Soulis said. "Though I am heartbroken to hear it."

"Heartbroken? Truly?" She looked incredulous.

"Very disappointed. My lady, does your newest intended know about us?"

"Newest?" Duncan scowled. The smug tone made him want to yank the man off his horse.

"Sir William de Soulis was once my betrothed." Margaret lifted her chin.

"Ah," Duncan breathed. "That fellow." He paused to cool the fire erupting in him as he realized De Soulis must be the one who had refused her and kept her dowry lands.

"The lady is a beauty, a true prize, with a remarkable legacy in her family," De Soulis said. "And I hope she will consent to speak with me for a moment." He dismounted, sliding down to the ground in an agile drop. "My lady?"

She exhaled sharply, then sighed. Picking up the hems of gown and cloak, she walked up the incline to meet De Soulis as he moved toward her and offered his hand.

Duncan glanced toward Bran and Lennox, seeing Bran set his hand on his dagger while Lennox crossed his arms, scowling. Setting a foot higher on the incline, Duncan prepared to stride forward if she needed him as De Soulis led her away.

"Dear Margaret," he heard the man say, "you are looking well. I did not expect to see you again. I bless my luck this day," he went on. The wind picked up his voice, carrying it down the hill, snatching words away. Duncan heard more than he liked.

"Nor I you, sir," she said.

"I always held you in affection."

"Your actions did not show that."

Where was her temper? Duncan frowned. If he had betrayed her as De Soulis did, keeping her dowry lands, she would have railed at him next she saw him. Yet she sounded reasonable. Calm. Did she prefer this man? Something in his center spun, ached at the thought.

De Soulis was a handsome young knight, a favorite in Edward's circle, so Duncan had heard. The family had a powerful influence in the south. The man had charm, but it was not trustworthy charm. He felt sure of it. Again he wanted to tear the fellow away from her, and fisted his hand against it.

"My lady, you are even more beautiful than I remember. I often think on what happened and pray you understand. The refusal was my father's decision, not my own. I want you to know that." Taking her arm, he walked with her, stepping off the broad rock to the slope.

That gave him an excuse to keep hold of the lady, Duncan thought sourly. He took another step forward, watching intently, ready to move if she gave the slightest hint she wanted help.

"Not my doing, as I said. I pray you think the best of me—"

Duncan missed her answer, and could not hear what De Soulis said next as they strolled across the curve of the hill. Margaret nodded, then shook her head. Duncan stood wary and poised to move. As she listened, she lifted her beautiful face to a cool breeze. He saw her expression soften, become more compassionate. What was she thinking?

He realized then his explanation of his actions the other night was not enough of an apology for the unhappiness he must have caused. His pride held him back from fully admitting his poor judgment as a young man.

He wanted her to believe in him again. To trust him again. But now, all he could do was stand and watch as she succumbed to De Soulis's charm and assurances.