Chapter One

Scotland, Stirlingshire

April, 1307

"I t is not far now, I hope, Lady Margaret," the young girl said, riding beside Margaret as their small escort traveled north on a road leading into the Highlands. They had ridden for hours since leaving Kincraig Castle that morning.

"Not far now, dear," she told the girl. "Sir Hugh says we will reach the Firth of Clyde soon to meet the boat your father is sending for you."

"Ireland is lovely, I hear. Will we reach there tonight?"

Margaret smiled. "Lady Lilias, you are in a hurry! It was arranged for us to sail to a Hebridean isle to spend a few days there until another boat arrives takes us over to Ireland. Your father is not free to meet us, though."

"I know Papa will not be there, but one of my uncles lives in Ireland. We will see him soon. I do like to hurry," Lilias added, giggling. "I talk too fast and move fast too, but Papa says those are traits of a someone with a quick wit. I promised him to try harder to be patient. But I am anxious to see my uncle and cousins in Ireland. My half-brother Rob Bruce is there too," she went on. "Will you stay with us for a while before returning home? Everyone at Kincraig has been so kind to me while I have been there. I appreciate it. I know my father does too."

"I feel as if you are like one of my sisters now, and not just Bruce's daughter sheltered at Kincraig. We have been happy to help you and help King Robert, too. Scotland needs him now."

"I am glad you are with me on this journey," Lilias said. "I am a bit nervous, I confess, with so many troubles now. Papa fears some harm may come to me, but I am just his daughter outside of marriage. Not very important. But he is concerned about me and my half-siblings now that his queen and his daughter Marjorie, and a few of my aunts and cousins were captured by English and are so cruelly treated in England."

"It truly is distressing. He wants to ensure your safety because he loves you very much," Margaret said. "And we are safe in the company of Sir Hugh, Sir Quentin, the men from Kincraig, and those sent by Bruce." She glanced around at the escort party of eight men; she would not tell Lilias that no more men could be spared to accompany them due to the war effort. She smiled. "And soon we will sail away on an adventure."

"You like adventure, Meg," Lilias said. "You are so strong and brave. I wish I were more like you and your sisters."

She laughed. "You are all that and more, I think. You have not had the chance to find out. When I was your age, I was dreamy and impulsive. But I learned quickly that life is not always good to dreamers. I had to learn to be bolder."

"Then I will learn too. Can we continue to practice archery in Ireland? I have enjoyed lessons with you so much."

"I am sure we can find time for it there." Margaret reached back to pat the yew bow strapped across her saddle, then smoothed a hand over the leather quiver hooked over the pommel. Having a weapon to hand made her feel a little more secure. Truth be told, she was not entirely certain of their safety that day.

Before they left Kincraig, she had overheard her brother, Sir Henry Keith, discussing the journey with their brother-in-law, Sir William Seton. Both had seemed concerned, wanting more men for the escort and regretting that they were not free to go along, having assignments elsewhere. Henry was a deputy sheriff in Selkirk, and Liam, Tamsin's husband, had a task to take care of for Robert Bruce. She sensed their concern, for the English were a perpetual threat in Scotland—and Lady Lilias was precious goods.

"I would prefer to travel with you," Henry had told Margaret. "But I must obey King Edward in gesture if not in spirit."

"I will see to her wellbeing," Margaret said.

"You are so protective of her—and you have a good hand with a bow, come to that." He said it lightly, but Margaret took his praise to heart.

With Henry often away, and their sister Tamsin married and living at Dalrinnie Castle, and their sister Rowena away too, lending a hand in local infirmaries, Margaret had taken on the role of chatelaine at Kincraig. She had learned to take charge of the castle household, and the castle's garrison filled with Scots knights loyal to the Keiths as well as Bruce.

She hoped that young Lilias did not fully know the threats that might affect her. As the oldest daughter of Bruce's so-called bastard children—whom he loved equally—Elisabeth Bruce deserved protection. As her friend and foster sister of a sort, Margaret felt a sincere responsibility toward her.

Ten years ago at Lilias's age, Margaret had been happy, whimsical, and trusting, dreaming of her future—until her heart was broken by an annulled betrothal. Tragedy and illness had followed. Yet trouble had forged a strength in her that she might not have acquired otherwise.

She had abandoned dreams of a happy marriage, accepting that she might never marry. Her father had made other attempts to find her a match, but he had died sooner than anyone expected. Instead of marrying, she became resolute, stubborn, and more determined than ever to watch over her home and family. That included Lilias Bruce.

Lady Elisabeth de Bruce was just thirteen, but her father might soon look for an advantageous marriage for her. He had been secretly crowned King of Scots a year ago, and even with much on his mind, the safety of his family was paramount to him.

Feeling a surge of affection, Margaret glanced at the girl. Lilias was lovely, with dark, wavy hair, a fine-boned face with her father's high-set cheeks, and blue eyes so dark, they turned twilight purple at times. One day she would be a beauty. Today, she was perhaps the most valuable lass in Scotland, and did not even know it.

Her mother, the daughter of a Scottish lord, had died when Lilias was born, having dallied with young Robert Bruce before they could marry. His sister, Lady Christina Bruce, had raised the child with her own brood; yet months ago, Lady Christina had been captured with Bruce's queen and the other women. King Edward had refused to negotiate, confining a few of the women to iron cages and shutting the rest in convents. Determined to rescue them, Bruce was also taking measures to protect Lilias and his other illegitimate offspring. He knew Edward would hunt for anyone close to him.

"Here is Andrew!" Lilias said. Margaret looked up. The son of the late hero Sir Andrew Murray was another young person Bruce valued. "Perhaps he has news."

Margaret smiled as Andrew Murray drew up his horse beside them. Thirteen also, he was tall and lanky, still sweet-faced as a girl, with wide brown eyes and a tangle of golden curls. Andrew had come to Kincraig at age nine, sent by his widowed mother to foster under Sir Robert Keith. Sir Andrew Murray had perished of battle wounds when his son was small. A close friend and advisor of Sir William Wallace, Murray was revered in memory. And his son felt like another sibling to Margaret.

"Riders ahead," Andrew reported. "Sir Hugh Stewart sent men to see if they are the ones we are to meet."

"Soon we will sail!" Lilias beamed bright enough to banish any dark cloud. Margaret felt a nagging sense of worry lift for a moment.

"I expect King Robert will send a fine ship for us," Andrew said. "They do say the king has a fleet of eighteen birlinns of forty oars each. What a sight that would be!"

"He will not make a show of fetching his daughter," Margaret said. "Likely he will send a smaller ship, old and plain, and we will hope for fog to veil our escape."

"We have sun and blue skies and we are off for Ireland. I can hardly wait!" Lilias smiled again. "Look at that beautiful hawk! That is surely a good omen for our journey."

Margaret looked up to see a hawk, wings spread wide, feathers fingered at the end, tilting and sailing overhead. She thought of Duncan Campbell then—a habit she could not seem to break. Every hawk and falcon reminded her of Duncan and the beautiful white gyrfalcon they had rescued together.

But Duncan Campbell was gone, deceased in captivity, so her father had said. The gyrfalcon would be gone by now too, either returned to King Edward or lived out its years. Still, every bird of prey in flight looping overhead reminded her of Duncan Dhu and dreams that would never come to be.

Now she felt once again a twinge of that broken heart. But her life had changed. She had changed, becoming strong and independent. But if she let the memories slip in, she felt the old hurt like a blow. She had forgiven him long ago, especially knowing that he dwelled in heaven with the saints, where she could think of him kindly.

At first she had been angry, then sad; soon after, she and her mother had fallen so ill that her father had taken them to Lincluden Priory to recover. There, word had come of Duncan Campbell's death. Mourning him in those bittersweet days, her love for him had grown. Sir Duncan Dhu Campbell transformed into the ideal love she would never have, the man she would never marry, the knight who could never be equaled.

And so over ten years she had refused, adamantly at times, four offers of marriage. At twenty-four, she was not wed and might never be. She had accepted that future. None could compare in her mind—in her heart—to Duncan Campbell.

Her father had not agreed. Had he lived, he would not have given up looking for the best match for her. Henry, busy after he inherited, meant to continue the search, but so far, he had had no time for it. Margaret told herself she was content, she was strong, and her siblings needed her.

"What does a hawk signify?" Andrew asked.

"It reminds us to be determined and purposeful," Margaret said. "Or it can be a sign that we are protected and watched over, as if we have an angel on high."

"I like that," Lilias said. "White falcons look like angels. Have you ever seen one?"

Startled, Margaret said nothing. The hawk vanished into the trees.

"Something is happening up there. Look." Andrew pointed toward the head of the escort. Suddenly Margaret heard shouts, and saw Sir Hugh and other knights take off at a gallop toward a group of men riding out of the trees that lined the road.

"Is that our escort to the firth?" Lilias asked.

"I do not think so." Margaret felt a cold chill of fear. "Lilias. Andrew. Get behind me." She reached for her bow. Even riding sidesaddle, she could try to shoot if she could keep her balance. Heart thumping, she prayed she would not have to try.

"Dear God," Andrew said. "Who are they?"

Riders were barreling toward them now, swords out. They were not Keith men, and certainly not Bruce's men, Margaret was sure. They carried shields and wore badges on their arms and surcoats that she did not recognize. The seven or eight descending on them wore chain mail and surcoats and were heavily armed.

"Quick!" she cried. "Get off the road into the trees!" Turning her horse, she led the way down a grassy slope toward a fringe of oaks and beech trees. But the horsemen pursued them, hooves pounding. Before she reached the trees, Margaret heard Andrew cry out and Lilias scream. Snatching an arrow from her quiver, wrapping the reins around one arm, she turned, lifted the bow as best she could, nocking an arrow, and shot. The bolt hit the ground. She nocked another, aiming as her horse cantered, with Lilias and Andrew riding alongside. She shot again. Hearing a cry, she thought she hit an attacker.

A glance in the distance showed a skirmish underway. The men of their escort struggled to hold off the attackers, while two Kincraig men and one of Bruce's men rode after Margaret and the younger ones to try to protect them.

But it was too late. She heard Lilias scream again as a man grabbed her; saw Kincraig men knocked from their horses; heard Andrew shout in protest. She groped for another arrow but she lost her grip on the bow when an ambushing knight rode up, grabbed her in a beefy arm, and dragged her over his saddle.

When he knocked her hard across the head, she slumped.