Chapter Nineteen

"W ho are they?" Margaret asked.

Duncan Campbell watched from the parapet where they stood, his arm pressed to her shoulder, his height an advantage as he leaned to look down the loch. "I have an idea who it may be now that they are closer."

Lifting on her toes, she leaned into the crenel space between the stone merlons. Far down the loch, she could see a birlinn, sails breezing out as it moved over dark glassy water that reflected a twilight sky sparkling with stars. By the time the boat reached the head of the loch, evening would be full on.

"How do you know they are coming here?" she asked.

"We are the only castle at this end of the loch. I can see helmets, armor."

"Could it be the soldiers you are expecting?"

"Perhaps, though there are not enough on board for that. I see just a few men and soldiers."

"Not Menteith," she guessed. "And he is in too much discomfort to travel."

"Unlikely to be him. Besides, he is at Loch Roskie now, east over the moor. I have not seen banners or colors yet, but I think I know who this might be. We will wait and see."

"It just makes me more concerned about Lady Lilias."

"It is unlikely this has aught to do with her, lass." He sighed. "I should tell you. I am expecting a few, ah, guests."

She looked up at him. "That does not make them sound like friends."

"Friendly, but I do not know them. Have you heard of the reports about some mischievous priests lately?"

Surprised, she nodded, remembering something her brother and others had mentioned at Kincraig. "The ones the English call naughty and irresponsible? They were arrested and punished. I heard something of it."

"I have been assisting them here and there. As a favor for Bruce."

"Oh! Oh, I see," she replied as it became clearer. "Remote Brechlinn, and you want no attention here. So it is something you must hide?"

"Or someone, until he can be moved. I need to trust you with this, aye?"

"Of course."

He set a hand on her shoulder, just an instant, a warm, sure grip that sent a delicious shiver through her. "We will soon know who it is. Bran MacArthur!" he called over his shoulder. Bran, standing on another section of the parapet watching the water turned. "Send four men to the quayside. I will join them soon. Then see what is in the larder to feed visitors."

"Sir!" Bran hastened down the steps.

"I can help." Margaret gathered her skirts. "I will go to the larder."

"You need not do that," he said.

She set a hand on her hip and faced him. "Duncan Campbell, you do not have enough help here. Either I check to see how you will feed your visitors, or I take up my bow and quiver and go down to the quay with the men. Otherwise I am useless here, another bowl, another bed."

His tipped brow showed her he noted the last word. He had a habit, she had seen, of angling one black brow high beneath a sweep of dark glossy hair, to convey doubt, disdain, amusement, or something else, adding a twist of his lips, a glint in his eyes. But just as quickly he would become inscrutable again.

"Food and a bed will always be here for you." Something sincere and tender warmed his eyes. She stared up at him, and wondered—almost afraid to think it—if her dreams could come true after so long.

In that moment, she only wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him again. Bunching her skirts in one hand, she turned. "I—thank you. I will find the larder."

Down the steps, through the yard, she wandered into the kitchens. A quick question to a boy scrubbing pots sent her down wooden steps to the coolness of an earth-and-stone enclosure filled with shelves, where barrels and sacks held food. Barley, oats, onions, carrots, turnips, apples, a barrel of dried, seasoned meat—a small barrel of dried fish made her step back—though she knew others might like its pungency—and small casks of ale and uisge beatha sat on another shelf. She found three wheels of cheese in rough cloth sacks, and small jars of a few spices. While the shelves and containers held a modest variety of foods, quantities were low.

At the convent, despite being a less-than-ideal candidate, she had learned to cook and help in the kitchens. She had already learned something about directing a large household at Kincraig under her mother's tutelage, and later, with her sisters as they kept the castle for their widowed father. When her sisters were away, she had acted as chatelaine, supervising the household. She felt at home in the small Brechlinn kitchen.

Anyone could see that the larder would not produce a feast. But she had a mean hand for oatcakes, and the nuns at the convent had taught Margaret and young novices to prepare basic and satisfying meals with the simplest ingredients. This she could do. She needed to be useful to Duncan and those at Brechlinn. She rolled up her sleeves.

As she worked, she recalled the secret task Duncan had revealed, and knew why Sir Duncan Campbell, justiciar in the north and son of an earl, chose to live in modest circumstances with few men and few supplies. He did not want to bring attention to his castle—not just to protect the secret of the falcons he kept there, but also the work he did supporting those involved in defending the cause of Scotland. She smiled to herself as she peered into baskets of dried apples and cloth sacks of grain and nuts and more. Pride deepened by affection—aye, by love—filled her, knowing he trusted her with his carefully guarded secrets.

At the sound of footsteps, she turned to see Bran's tall bulk in the doorway. "My lady. You need not help."

"I am happy to do it. I think your sister and her son went home earlier."

"I sent a rider to fetch them back. What do you need?"

"Lift that sack of oats, if you will, and that small keg of butter and carry them to the worktable. And bring some salt, please. I can make oatcakes if you can light the griddle. Do we have bacon? Aye, good! I see apples saved from fall, and if there is honey and perhaps dried berries and walnuts, we shall have something good prepared."

"Thank you," Bran said. "I can burn the bacon with the best of them, but my oatcakes are like horseshoes."

She laughed, recognizing the truth. "By the time Effie arrives, the oatcakes will be coming off the griddle."

A soldier came to the door. "Bran, sir, Lennox wants you. They see who is on the way now. Sir Constantine Murray, sir, and others. Clergy and soldiers."

"Best make as many cakes as you can, my lady," Bran said.

Effie arrived just as Margaret stacked a second batch of hot oatcakes on a platter and covered it with a cloth, then turned to mix melted butter into a bowl of ground oats, adding salt, a little water.

"Let me knead it," Effie said, taking the bowl. "What smells so good?"

"Chopped apples simmering in the kettle with honey, dried berries, butter. I found a little bit of precious cinnamon, and added some uisge beatha. It will stir up to a nice thickness. Also rashers of bacon over there on those griddles. Keeping the hounds out of the kitchen has been the real chore," Margaret laughed.

"I did not know you could cook or do such work, my lady," Effie said. "You offered, but I turned you down, thinking oh, she is just being kind."

"I learned a good deal of cooking and such in the convent," Margaret said.

"Convent! Were you educated there?"

"I was educated by nuns earlier, but later I spent more than three years in a convent recuperating from a serious illness. My mother was with me some of that time, but she did not survive the illness," she added low. "I stayed on for a while after that."

"Did you think to become a religious? I cannot see it, to be honest."

"I thought about it, but it was not for me. I was there—after what happened with Duncan. I was not sure what I wanted then."

"I understand, I do. Look there, I brought fresh cream and butter. I could make a soup, but with all this, it is not needed tonight. You did well. I had roasted the ptarmigan and other birds from the hawking day, and I can make a stew of those tomorrow. Oh, Duncan asked me to send you up to the hall. He mentioned it when I arrived, but I all but forgot."

"Now?"

"Aye, go on. I can see to the rest of this. They are in the great hall."

Wiping her hands on a cloth, Margaret ran for the steps, wondering why Duncan would ask for her. Sir Constantine was a sheriff's deputy, but why would he come to Brechlinn now? A thought struck her like a blow. Had the Stirlingshire sheriff sent Sir Constantine with charges for her—for the young archer in Duncan's custody? Could he do that even if the justiciar had decided not to pursue charges?

Worried, she went up the steps, down a corridor, and along another to near the hall. Pausing, she pushed open the door. Her breath came fast, a twist of uncertainty.

The great hall was large and dim, though flickering flames in the central fire basket added light. The warm glow reflected on walls hung with shields and swords, touched tall shuttered windows and ceiling rafters, brightened the rushes on the planked floor. A scarred trestle table held ceramic jugs, cups of Venetian glass glittering with dark wine, and a scattering of parchment pages. A tiny mouse scurried by with a bit of cheese. Skirting it, she went forward.

Duncan stood with others by the table. He glanced up and beckoned her to his side even as he spoke with others. Beside him was Sir Constantine—she remembered the tall man with honey-colored hair who had been with Duncan at the ayre court. He smiled to acknowledge her. Yet the last time he had seen her, she had been dressed as a lad. Knowing he was a good friend of Duncan and Lennox, she wondered if they had already told him who that lad truly was, and that she was still at Brechlinn.

Beside Murray stood Lennox. She did not recognize the others—four knights in chainmail who murmured together, looking at elaborate maps opened up on the table. Perhaps these were men who served Constantine and the sheriffdom. Then she noticed two clergymen standing with Malcolm Lennox. One was a monk in drab brown with a shaved tonsure, who handed papers to the other cleric.

He was an older man with a silvery tonsure, wearing a dark robe cinched with a rope belt that was studded with gleaming stones above tassels. A dark capelet draped over his shoulders and a silver cross on a long chain distinguished him from the simple monk in order and status. A bishop, she thought.

She was especially surprised to be summoned to this company. A bishop visiting Brechlinn was a true puzzle. Could he be one of the irresponsible priests? That thought astonished her.

A few others stood in the shadows away from the table. Someone slipped between the soldiers to reach toward the table and grab a goblet of wine. Duncan reached out to neatly remove the cup from that hand with an amused look. Then Margaret noticed the lanky boy whose blond curls gleamed in the amber firelight. She gasped. He looked up.

"Meg!" Andrew Murray called, and ran toward her.

Duncan cradled a goblet of wine in his hands and watched the others, glad for a chance to sit back, listen, observe. Maps and documents had been set away, and now the platters and bowls of food were nearly empty after all had enjoyed thick bacon, buttery oatcakes, cheeses, and a tasty dish of spiced apples. Learning that Lady Margaret had done much of the cooking, he smiled, proud, pleased, not surprised at all that she had such abilities. He glanced toward her again.

Across the table, she sat with Andrew Murray, heads together as they murmured. They had been glad and relieved to find one another, and Margaret had been astonished to learn that Sir Constantine Murray was Andrew's uncle.

Duncan leaned toward Con Murray now. "How did you come across your nephew after we left?"

"He had been in the forest all along, where he and the archer—your Lady Margaret—had made a small camp. We combed the forest looking for the lad. He was clever and elusive, but at last we found him in a downpour, hungry and tired. He refused to talk about his archer friend, but I had heard from Lennox by then, so I told him that I knew who she was and suspected who he was. He knew I was his uncle then, though he does not remember me. I have not seen the lad since he was small. He strongly resembles his father—he has his eyes and his mop of hair."

"He is surely glad to be among kin now." Duncan turned to the bishop seated to his other side. David Murray, Bishop of Moray, was Constantine's uncle, and so great-uncle to young Andrew.

"Fortuitous," the bishop agreed. "I rode to meet Constantine once I had a message from Bruce to seek sanctuary at Brechlinn Castle. When Constantine told me about Bruce's missing daughter, it was a blessing to find young Andrew safe. Now seeing that Lady Margaret Keith is safe with you as well, I will sleep better than I have lately."

"All is well for now," Duncan said. "But we must decide how best to bring Bruce's daughter here too."

Constantine nodded. "Andrew is determined to avenge Lilias. I shall have to hold him back. And he is very protective of Lady Margaret as well. The pair of them have been through an ordeal together." He nodded toward Margaret and Andrew, still quietly talking. "My reverend uncle agreed it was best to bring Andrew here too."

Duncan nodded. He wanted Brechlinn Castle to provide safety for all of them. Yet the problem of the missing Bruce girl bothered him more deeply each day. Like Margaret, he was anxious to act.

And there was the matter of the ill-behaved clergyman as well. The Bishop of Moray had been outspoken in addressing crowds of Scots to convince them to stand against the English and lend their loyalty, their weaponry, and their fighting strength as needed toward Bruce and Scotland.

"Reverend Father," he said to the bishop, "we will make a plan to move you to safety."

"All I need, Sir Duncan, is to stay clear of the English. They would have my head for speaking out against their king."

"Aye, we heard that a certain outspoken bishop went about addressing gatherings of Scots, at first talking about the King of Heaven and then the King of Scots, and how that earthly king needs full support to save our homeland. Bold and admirable, Reverend Father. That took courage."

"A heart full of righteous anger, sir. Perhaps a touch of madness too." The bishop smiled. "And bless Robert Bruce for giving me protection, a place to hide, and the promise of transport to the west. The English king is calling for my capture and execution." He touched his collar.

"We will take care of you," Duncan said.

"I prayed for resolution, and here you are. Heaven sent." The bishop smiled. "But you must see to the more important matter of Bruce's missing child."

"About the escort that was attacked…" Constantine said, turning to Duncan. "Andrew is convinced the rogues were Menteith's men. He saw enough to know, I think."

"There is more proof. Lady Margaret and Andrew can help piece it together."

"We must act soon. Bruce knows of it and is greatly troubled. If Menteith does have his daughter, there will be hell to pay, unless we can get her back quickly."

"Lennox," Duncan said, motioning toward Malcolm a few seats away. "A few of us will meet in the library room. Lady Margaret, Andrew…" he added. "Come with us."

At last, a plan was forming on behalf of Lilias. Margaret felt a lift of hope as she stood in the doorway of the library as the men pulled chairs around the stout table there. Certain now that Duncan and the rest had the girl's welfare, and that of the missing knights, in mind, she gave a sigh of relief. The help she needed was at last here, and gathering strength.

"Will you sit, my lady?" Duncan still stood. "Your voice is important here. Andrew, bring the lady a chair."

When the lad drew out a leather chair, she sat. "I am here to answer your questions. Though I know what I would do."

"Go after Menteith with bows and swords," Duncan said.

"Wherever he is, Lady Lilias will be there. He must be taken down."

"It may come to that, but taking down a sheriff is a predicament," Constantine said. "Best we determine where the girl is and get her back without direct attack."

"We will do whatever is necessary," Duncan said.

Margaret looked around the table at those gathered—Duncan, Lennox, Constantine, the bishop, Bran. Two Brechlinn guards stood by as well, and Andrew sat apart by the window, where a cool breeze drifted through open shutters.

Bran went to a cupboard in the corner to pour ale from a jug into several wooden cups and hand them around. Margaret accepted a cup, as did Andrew, taking one eagerly, pleased to be included. Then Bran took the last seat at the table.

Margaret glanced around the room at shelves filled with leather-bound books secured by chains. The shelves held wooden boxes too; some open, filled with parchment rolls, flat sheets, pens, ink, wax, seals, more. Duncan conducted a good deal of his legal business here, she could see.

But as she glanced at him now, she saw his intense focus. The matter of Lilias was proven to him, and just as he had promised, he was moving swiftly to solve it.

"We can be sure that Menteith will have Bruce's daughter near him. He is likely still incapacitated from that arrowshot," Duncan said. "And I am grateful for that."

He did not look at her then, but if he had, he would have seen her little smile. He rose and went to one of the boxes, removed a rolled parchment, and spread it open on the table. It was a map, she saw, as he moved a candle nearer.

"Sir William de Soulis said Menteith was at Loch Roskie while he recuperates." He tapped the location.

"Why there? Dunbarton is a stout fortress," Bran said.

"Roskie is more remote," Constantine said. "He took that chance. But it is small and not as well guarded."

"If he were at Dunbarton," said Lennox, the former owner of that castle, "he would have quick access to the firth, the sea, and a river to move her quickly."

"So that means he is not in a hurry," Duncan said. "Let us hope it means the girl is safe for now. We can make a move."

"With more men," Constantine said. "A few came with us today, but not enough for this."

"More men are coming," Lennox said. "Bruce will send men here as soon as he can. We do not quite know when they will arrive, though. Even before word came of the attack on the escort, he intended to send more to Brechlinn, knowing they are needed."

Duncan nodded. "So you said earlier. With luck, we can expect them soon."

"He would come himself," Lennox said, "but he is gathering forces in the south. But he will be anxious about his lass and awaiting word from us."

"Just as well," Duncan said. "If Bruce headed here, that would attract more attention from the English than we want. While we can, we should arrange to move the bishop westward to ensure his safety."

"I can wait. Rescue the child first."

"If you are certain, Reverend Father," Duncan said. "We will wait a day or two more for others to join us. In the meantime, I will send patrols out toward Loch Roskie. Additional guards or unusual activity may tell us more."

"We should be careful about hunting parties as well," Lennox said.

"True. We cannot take the birds into the glen east of here," Duncan agreed. "They could fly toward Roskie. Bran, we need to fly them west for a while."

"Birds?" the bishop asked Duncan.

"We keep a mews here with a few special falcons, sir. If Menteith or his men see them, it will complicate matters. William de Soulis may have spotted them recently."

"De Soulis!" Constantine said. "Is he up here? His lands are south."

"He is here with Menteith, preparing for a sheriffdom, he said."

Constantine groaned. "If he is granted a sheriffdom, may it be far from Stirling."

"Thanks to Lady Margaret," Duncan said, "we now know Menteith had something to do with taking Bruce's daughter. We do not know quite why he would do such a thing. But he will be at Roskie for a while nursing that foot. So the girl is most likely there."

"Then we need to get inside Roskie," Lennox said. Duncan tapped a fist on the table. "We need to decide how. The patrols will help determine that."

"Sir Duncan, may I go?" Andrew asked. "I want to help."

"You can stay here, lad. Bran MacArther will fit you with a hauberk and helmet and put you on the wall walk. I trust you have a keen eye?"

"I do! I can do that, sir."

Listening, Margaret caught Duncan's eye and sent him a small smile of gratitude for including Andrew in the rescue effort.

Then Duncan leaned toward Bran and lowered his voice, but she heard him. She knew Andrew did not, seated by the window.

"At the first hint of conflict, take the lad off the wall and put him in a safe spot," Duncan murmured.

"What are you expecting, sir?"

"A passel of trouble," Duncan muttered, and turned away.

A day, moving on to two passed as Margaret found ways to help Effie, and sentries on the parapet watched for a birlinn with more men. She saw Andrew walking proudly up there too, carrying a weapon, blowing alerts on a ram's horn, even helping to tend the braziers kept at night. The time went faster than she expected, though each moment she thought about Lilias, and was grateful for the determination in Duncan and those who rode out on patrol and otherwise spent time planning. When the bishop led prayers in the great hall, she joined the group and sent hers outward for Lilias, the missing men, and protection for Duncan and those at Brechlinn.

She watched the loch too, checking from every window she passed. Bran took the bishop and a few others out to exercise the birds, heading west. Wanting to stay at Brechlinn should anything happen there, she stayed behind. When she heard Duncan tell the bishop more about Greta and the family of gyrfalcons, she knew that trust in Bishop Murray said a great deal.

"Edward does not deserve such fine falcons," the bishop replied. "Besides, in Scotland they are the privilege of earls as well as kings. I would not be surprised if one day Bruce will grant you an earldom for your services."

"I am honored that you think so, sir," Duncan said.

Helping Effie in the kitchen and elsewhere, Margaret prepared meals and attended tasks in the newly busy household. More guests meant that the few bedchambers in the tower were in use, needing dusting and fresh linens, and pallets were found for the soldiers, while Effie and Owen took a small room near the kitchen.

Owen was a big lad of eleven, with long brown hair and his mother's light-blue eyes. He had such a knowing way with the birds that Margaret wondered why he did not train with Duncan as a falconer. She mentioned so to Effie, who shrugged.

"Bran says so too, and Duncan would teach him when they are both here. But Owen wants to forge steel. It is a good craft and he will do well in his uncle's smithy."

Despite so much activity, Margaret fought impatience and concern over Lady Lilias, hoping the girl would be safe until the moment Duncan and the others found her. She distracted herself further while practicing archery with Andrew and visiting the mews with Andrew and Owen, where she watched Owen calmly handle the birds.

She saw too little of Duncan, catching a glimpse of him working with the clerk and Sir Constantine as she passed through the hall; a farewell wave when he saw her at the window as he rode out on patrol with the men to circle the glens and ensure safety; a remark or two exchanged at supper when she caught his attention for a moment. He seemed distracted and troubled.

Even with the quiet distance between them, her heart beat faster when he was near, her breath caught at his deep, resonant voice or his keen and steady gaze. Her dreams were filled with him again, as in the days before the broken betrothal, when hope brightened the future.

Each day, as the castle seemed to wait as if caught in time, she was aware that she missed him. Needed him, craved his nearness, wanted to feel the thrill of an unexpected touch, a kiss. More.

Her decision had been easily made, but William de Soulis would expect an answer from her soon. He might even come to Brechlinn to ask, though the patrol would keep him out. Her heart belonged to Duncan fully, though he seemed to have drifted away somehow. One night, she dreamed that he rowed a boat in a mist, while she called through the fog. In the dream, she feared he no longer loved her, and she did not know how to ask, or if the question was welcome.

She woke that rainy morning to hear horses in the bailey, and ran to see Duncan ride out with several knights, his cloak hood pulled up against the wet.