Chapter Twenty

O n the third day, just before dawn, Margaret woke to a soft rapping on the door of her bedchamber. She could only guess at the hour, with no monastery for miles, no bells tolling prayers for the monks and across the hills too. Sitting up, she wondered why Effie tapped on her door so early without simply entering. The knocks sounded again, light and urgent. She rose, gathering a length of plaid woolen blanket around her, wearing a crumpled linen shift, her hair in one fat, messy sleeping braid. Opening the door, she gasped, startled to see Duncan silhouetted there.

"What is it?" she whispered opening the door as he slipped inside.

"A birlinn docked here not long ago," he murmured.

"Bruce's men?" She noticed he wore a long dark blue tunic over a linen shirt, a gentleman's gown, but he had dropped a brass-studded leather hauberk over the tunic, with a low-slung belt holding a sheathed dagger. "You are dressed for conflict, not guests."

"A boat arriving in the dark demands extra precaution, but now that I have seen them, they are indeed welcome. Dress, if you will, and come downstairs."

"I will be right there. Effie will need my help in the kitchen."

"You make excellent oatcakes and such, but you do not belong in the kitchen."

She tilted her head. "You never said that you like what I make for the table."

"Have I not? I do."

"You have hardly spoken to me for days, but you came here to wake me, so this must be important. We will need to feed them and find more beds."

"Important but not urgent. And thank you for helping Effie with the extra work. But I do not expect a daughter of a noble house to cook and such."

"In the convent, we all worked by turns in the kitchens, the gardens, the laundry, and all over. I did all a servant would do, and did not mind. And I do not mind helping here. My mother taught my sisters and me to have no airs even if we had the best in life. It does not serve anyone."

"You deserve the best. I would give that to you."

His soft-spoken answer thrilled all through her. "Would you?"

"Indeed so. Dress now and come down."

"Duncan, if you would let me be useful, then let me take up my bow and ride with you when you finally go to fetch Lady Lilias. Which will be soon, aye?" She nearly pleaded that as impatience and fear and worry rushed in again.

"We will fix our plans today, as we may have enough men for the task. I hope arrows are not needed. I want you safe here."

"Please, Duncan Dhu."

He sighed, reached out a hand, and cupped her cheek. Craving that touch, she leaned toward him, but he dropped his hand away and stepped back.

"Dress and come downstairs. You may know some of these guests," he added with a smile both teasing and sad. Leaving, he closed the door behind him.

For a moment, she nearly called him back to her, feeling keenly how much she missed him. But he was needed to return to the visitors, and she needed to hurry. Why had he said she knew them? Puzzled, she gathered her clothing and found a comb.

Soon, she entered the great hall, blinking at the bright flames leaping in the fire basket while darkness still shadowed the windows. Golden firelight fell on the faces of those who stood about, men in cloaks and chainmail, one woman in black, most holding cups, talking. One by one, they turned as Margaret entered. Smiles grew.

She set a hand to her heart, and tears rose. Henry—and Liam!" she said, crossing the room as she saw her brother and brother-in-law. "Agatha too!"

Arms out, she was soon enveloped in embraces.

Duncan smiled, feeling a hint of Margaret's warmth and joy as he watched her hug her brother, embrace Liam Seton, and turn with affection to the slender nun who had traveled with the group. Dame Agatha Seton—Sir Liam's sister—came with them to provide female company for Margaret and Lady Lilias, who he felt sure would be here soon. He would not entertain any lesser thought regarding the child.

Folding his arms, waiting, he wished he had acted sooner on Margaret's repeated insistence. He had wanted to believe her, but a justiciar needed firm evidence and could not rely on impulse and intuition. Yet Margaret Keith had taught him to give more rein to feelings he had learned to temper or lock away. Rely less on caution and doubt. Take more chances. And reveal the love he held inside before it was too late.

He was pleased she was happy in this moment, and content to give her the time now to enjoy it. Another wish came to him then; what if he had never walked away from her, what if her kin had accepted him into their caring fold? He wanted to give that a chance now. He hoped she would let that happen.

The morning had brought another reunion, he thought, glancing at the tall knight standing to one side. To his surprise, his brother Iain Campbell had disembarked with the rest. Three years had passed since he had seen his sibling, older by just a year. Iain had joined a group of Scottish rebels centered in the great forests of Ettrick and Selkirk, and had all but disappeared. Just moments ago, he had explained to Duncan that he ran with Sir James Lindsay now, an outlawed laird whose name was known to nearly every sheriff and justiciar in Scotland. Through James he had met Sir Liam Seton, and now Iain, too, had been recruited to help Bruce with certain tasks—including, this time, rescuing Lilias Bruce.

Smiling at the thought, Duncan clapped his brother on the shoulder. Iain grunted. Even taller and darker than Duncan, his natural demeanor had not changed. It had always been that of a silent, somber fellow. Only a few knew he hid a good heart and a surprisingly intuitive soul. More than his brothers, Iain had inherited their mother's gift of the Sight. As a lad, he had been the only one to see strange visions through the hole in a stone.

"Once all that is done," Iain said, gesturing toward the laughing Keiths and Setons, "what is next, brother?"

"We will gather together and discuss what to do. Con and Lennox and I have a plan to share. We must act quickly now that we know who may have the Bruce girl. Iain," he said, "what do you think?"

He grunted, looked about the hall. "I think the place looks almost as good as it did when we were lads. Well done."

"What else?" Duncan sent him a wry look.

"I believe," he said in low, rumbling tones, "we will find the child. But something is… You must be wary, Duncan. There is true danger in this. But I am at your back." He clapped Duncan's shoulder hard. Margaret turned.

"So you found the Keith lass, did you?" Iain huffed. "Took you long enough."

"Arrowshot! We had not heard that," Henry said later, as Margaret and Duncan shared what they knew with Henry and Liam. "We saw Menteith at Dunbarton Castle. He was lame with an injury, but did not explain it."

"You saw him?" Margaret asked. She leaned forward, eager to hear more, hoping they had also heard some hint of Lilias. Seeing Duncan's frown, she felt sure he was hoping the same.

"We went there to ask if he, as sheriff, knew aught of an escort expected at the Firth of Clyde that did not arrive," Liam Seton said. "He told us his men stopped an attack on an escort and took a girl to her MacDougall kin. As for the foot, I took it for gout and did not ask."

"He was shot?" Henry asked.

"Injured in the heel like Achilles of old," Duncan said. "He cannot walk or ride easily for a while. He left Dunbarton to go to his castle at Loch Roskie, a morning's ride east of here. We can thank your sister for delaying whatever plans he may have made while we puzzle out where Bruce's daughter may be."

Henry lifted a brow. "Meg delayed him?"

"I entered an archery contest. But my shot went awry. Sir John walked near just as I released the arrow." She touched the pendant at her throat.

Henry glanced at the arrow-shaped pendant; her brother knew its origin, but said nothing. "Well," he went on, "it is lucky for us that his plans changed, if he has the girl."

"He also told us his men took a girl to her MacDougall kin," Constantine said.

"We did not mention Bruce's daughter," Henry said. "He was willing to meet with me as I am deputy sheriff of Selkirk, nor did he question that Seton Dalrinnie and his sister, the prioress, were with me. Iain Campbell," he added, "stayed outside with the rest of our escort."

"Best he did not know that I was lately with rebels in Ettrick Forest," Iain said.

"When I mentioned that my sister and a fostered Murray lad were also with the missing escort," Henry said, "he went pale. It made me suspicious, I swear."

"Though he denied knowing anything, he traveled to Loch Roskie quickly afterwards, even in pain," Liam said. "He must have gone as soon as we left."

"Something made him nervous," Duncan said.

"After that, we hired a birlinn to take us up the loch, since Menteith mentioned you, sir." Henry looked at Duncan. "He told us Campbell of Brechlinn was justiciar in the north and had custody of a criminal who needed punishing. I admit I was astonished to learn you were back in Scotland."

"I am," Duncan said quietly.

"I confess, I thought you were gone, but Iain said his brother was the justiciar at Brechlinn. He explained that there was a rumor for years that you had died."

Duncan nodded. "It seems that word spread past my family. I am sorry."

"I am glad it was a false rumor," Henry said.

With a sigh of relief, Margaret glanced from her brother to Duncan. She had been uncertain how Henry might react to seeing Duncan, but her brother was a gracious sort, quick to understand. Duncan caught her glance and pressed his lips together. She saw the relief there, saw his shoulders shift in a long exhale.

"Sir John is intent on pursuing charges for this archer and said you had him in custody," Liam said. "He wants to know more. Bruce's orders directed us to Brechlinn too, on the strength of Lennox's message about the missing escort."

"Finding my sister and Andrew safe here was a great relief. I hope you will make the rest clear soon," Henry said, glancing at Margaret. She nodded her promise. "For now, it seems we have this important task in common, on orders from Bruce."

Margaret sat forward, listening intently. Her brother's calm reassured her, but she could not read him entirely. He would harbor his own opinion and not readily share it. Blond and blue-eyed, tall and strong as an oak, Henry had learned during years of knight service to show careful courtesy and school his thoughts behind a neutral mask.

"So," Henry continued, "Menteith wants me to bring word of what the justiciar intends for this archer assailant. What are you going to tell him?"

"That I saw no reason to detain him. It was an accident," Duncan said.

Henry shook his head.

"I had to get close to Menteith," Margaret insisted. "Andrew and I suspected he had something to do with the attack on our escort. But it all went wrong, and I was caught. Sir Duncan brought me here to avoid Menteith."

"Sir John was a bit upset," Duncan explained with a shrug.

"No doubt. Thank you for keeping her safe," Henry said.

"So now," Duncan said, "we must determine how to get Lilias away from Menteith. With luck, he has her with him at Roskie Castle. Henry, if you and Liam can go there with news about this…archer lad, you can get inside and find out more."

"We could get inside, but he will be displeased with the news the lad is no longer, uh, in the area. We would be thrown out and none the wiser about Lady Lilias."

"Wait." Margaret sat up, heart pounding. "I can get inside."

"You cannot think to reveal you were his assailant," Henry said.

"Not that. I will go there to see De Soulis. He is also at Roskie Castle."

"De Soulis!" Henry exclaimed.

"We saw him recently. I have a message for him, my reply to a question he posed to me. He will want to see me. I can get inside."

"You need not do this, my lady," Duncan said sternly. She could not look at him for fear of faltering. She had a strong urge—this was a way she could move this forward, perhaps find Lilias.

"What does De Soulis want from you? He needed to approach me first." Henry turned to the others. "My sister was betrothed to him two years ago, but he broke it off. She should have nothing to do with him now. Does he want your permission to keep the land he took from us?"

"He did not mention that. He wants to renew the betrothal," she said.

"What!" Henry scowled. "He wants something else, but what?"

"That is what I am wondering," Duncan growled, catching Henry's glance.

"He told me he made a mistake, and wants another chance." She felt her cheeks fill with heat. "I promised to give him my answer. So I would be admitted to Castle Roskie, and perhaps, I could see Lilias. De Soulis might even tell me."

"Only if your answer pleases him," Duncan said. "It is far too risky."

"I agree. You cannot consider this, Meg," her brother said.

"I will go. It could change everything if I can find her. And he has something that he promised to return. The blue stone brooch," she told Henry. "Thomas's brooch."

"How did he get that?" He looked astonished.

"Menteith had it and gave it to him. I was wearing it when the escort was taken down, and it was torn away. That is strong proof that Menteith is behind this."

Duncan leaned toward her. "Margaret, you cannot do this."

"And you cannot convince me otherwise. Make your plans. My plan is to see Sir William and uncover Lilias's whereabouts as fast as possible."

Walking through the bailey at a quick pace, Duncan looked left and right for Margaret. She had left the hall while he had remained with the others to discuss the situation further. Now he wanted desperately to find her, and talk her out of this folly. She was not in the tower, and he was hoping to find her in the bailey.

Hearing his name, he stopped and turned to see Dame Agatha coming toward him. "Sir Duncan! Have you seen Lady Margaret?"

"I was looking for her myself," he said.

"I was hoping for the chance to visit with her. We are old friends, you see." She smiled, and he noticed the scar on one side of her face that pulled at her smile.

"Perhaps you can find her in her bedchamber," he suggested, smiling too, though he had run up those steps already to find an empty room.

She nodded, glancing around. Liam Seton's sister was young to be a prioress, and Duncan could not help but notice her beauty; she was lovely and clearly intelligent, and he wondered why she had chosen the veil. The Setons would have found an advantageous marriage for such a daughter.

Yet the deep scar that ran along one side of her perfect face, eyebrow to chin, told a silent tale of trouble and tragedy. Perhaps that had led to her choice. Perhaps some had rejected her despite her beautiful face and character. The thought made him want to make her feel even more welcome at Brechlinn.

"Thank you, Dame Agatha," he said. "Did you know Bishop Murray is staying with us as well? I am sure he would want to meet the prioress of Lincluden. I will make sure he knows you are here."

"Bishop Murray of Moray? I am delighted to know that. I will look for Lady Margaret in the tower, as you suggest." With another smile, she hurried away.

He turned in the bailey, wondering where Margaret might have gone. Her intention to see De Soulis alarmed him—perhaps she had no idea of the danger that might bring her. He wanted to talk to her, convince her that she need never see De Soulis again.

Ahead, he saw the archery butts, but the area was deserted. Seeing a familiar quiver and bow leaning against a straw bale, he had a thought and turned for gate, hailing a guard.

"Alan MacFarlane," he called. "Have you seen Lady Margaret?"

"Aye, sir. She was at the butts, but went out a while ago. Lost arrows over the gap, sir, as often happens."

"She went out without a guard?" That, too, was alarming.

"Alone, sir, but took Mungo with her. A grand guardian. If she does not return soon, I will look for her."

"I will go now. Open the gate—thank you," he said gruffly.

Moments later he was striding over turf and hillock around the span of the wall toward the forest. The sky was turning leaden gray and looked to rain. Rounding the wall past the stone-filled breach, he entered the woodland.

Soon he heard the dog's woof and saw Mungo trotting among the trees ahead. Then he saw skirts the color of a blue jay's wing sweeping between the birches. He headed that way, wanting to bring her back inside for her own safety. There was always a chance—perhaps she did not realize it—that De Soulis or even Menteith could come to Brechlinn. Margaret should never be alone outside the castle.

It also occurred to him that he could have a private moment with her out here, away from others, and talk some sense into her.

"Margaret!" he called. The air was damp, the rain hanging in the clouds, cool shadows making greens vibrant. The blue of her skirt was bright too, and the bronze and copper hue of her hair brilliant in the soft gray light.

She stepped into a gap between trees, just under arching branches, looking like a queen of faery. His heart lurched. He caught his breath.

"Are you looking for arrows? It will rain soon. Come inside." As he spoke, Mungo trotted up to him. He patted the great head almost absently, staring at Margaret.

"I lost two arrows. I found one. Go back. I will be there soon."

"They are just arrows. I will give you a dozen more. Come." He beckoned.

"Did you come out to save me from the rain, or to ask about Sir William?"

"Both." He scratched the dog's head.

"You could be useful and help me find the other bolt." She spun away, moving through a density of ferns that swallowed the hem of her gown.

He sighed, not interested in arrows. Truly, he wanted to know what she planned to tell De Soulis. And he wanted to prevent her from stepping into danger because of it.

As she edged through a cluster of birches, the hound loped after her, nosing here and there. Duncan whistled, but Mungo trotted to catch up with the girl.

"Ingrate," Duncan muttered as he came behind them. Searching ahead, Margaret pushed bushes and bracken aside, shook branches, looking puzzled.

"Surely your arrows did not fly this far into the forest," he said.

"They could have, because I tried the longbow. Bran gave it to me."

"You are not tall enough to pull that bow."

"Which is why my shots went so far off the mark." She surged ahead, rounding a double-trunked birch and wading onward through ferns and bluebells.

Duncan went too, searching now for long, iron-tipped bodkins. They were not arrows he wanted to lose, but his mind was preoccupied. The girl turned him about like a child's wooden top, throwing him off his usual steady course.

Before he had seen Margaret Keith again, his life consisted of legal grievances and hard decisions based on justice and laws. Yet all the while, he protected and aided Bruce's allies—currently a batch of priests who had offended Edward—which put Duncan in the position of working against the laws he upheld in order to support what he knew in his heart was right and just.

And then Margaret Keith stepped into his life, blithely shaking up all he held steadfast in the same way she rustled tree branches and ferns ahead of him. What she looked for was what they both needed, he thought.

Then he realized that the guilt he had held for so long was falling away like old leaves. Forgiveness and something else had replaced it—

Love. He had always loved her, had always known it. He had acted out of a sense of honor when he was young, an honor he did not fully understand then. Now he felt honor and more in a new way. And it was strong enough to throw him off balance if he did not grow with it.

For Margaret Keith's sake, he would grow, learn, throw open doors, and shake arrows out of trees—whatever it took, he would do it. He knew he never wanted to lose her again.

The dog woofed, and just ahead, the girl threw her arms out as she tripped over something in the undergrowth. She went down in a wave of blue skirts and copper tresses and a little soft cry. Duncan ran forward, catching her under the arms before she could hit her head on a fallen tree trunk. Helping her up, he kept an arm around her shoulders.

"Are you hurt?"

"I am fine. My foot caught on something. Aha!" She bent to root in the fronds and came up with a long arrow shaft. "This was tangled there."

He took it. "A strong shot sent it this far. Good for you. I can have a longbow made to suit your height and pull, hey?"

"I would like that." She smiled in delight.

"Come then. We will go back."

"Wait. Tell me what is on your mind, Duncan Dhu. I can feel it."

He blew out a breath. They stood in a hollow of leafy branches that muffled their voices and lent privacy. "What is on my mind—is why you would risk seeing De Soulis."

"I only mean to ask for my brooch—and find out what I can about Lilias."

"Margaret, think. This is just dangerous."

"But I can get inside there easily, so I should be the one to go."

"There are other ways to find Lady Lilias. Other ways to get your brooch."

She lifted her chin. "Tell me a way better than this."

"My men and I will go to the gates and demand the girl back."

"What if she is not there? What if they shoot from the battlements? One arrow to the heart and you are slain." She poked him in the breastbone. "That worries me."

Slain indeed, by her sweet fierceness. "We have shields, bows, and fine archers."

"Give me a horse and a good bow. If they have the king's daughter, I want to be there when you bring her out."

"I will not put you at peril. We will do all we can and bring her back to you." He moved forward.

She gazed up at him. "Duncan, I cannot sit by. I need to find her."

"That responsibility you bear is tripping you up. I will do this. Refuse De Soulis from a distance. I will deliver your note."

"I want Lilias and I want my pin. He will not give either to you."

"Then I will tear it from his cloak." He dropped the arrow and placed a hand on the tree above her head, the other on a sturdy branch. She looked up at him, her head brushing his raised arm. Her copper-gilt hair sifted over his tunic like silk.

"Well," she said, "I would not mind if you tore the pin away. He deserves it."

"Ah, now we learn how you feel about the man."

"I hope you know how I feel about him. I never want to see him again. But I promised him my answer."

He leaned closer. "You do not owe him one."

She drew a breath, those magnificent moss-green eyes softening, lifting to meet his. "But I owe you one."

"When you have it."

She lifted her chin higher. Inches away now. He felt her breath soft on his face. "I suppose you have an advantage over the other knight."

"I am here. He is not." He leaned a little closer, lured in, willing.

"True." She glanced at his lips, licked hers lightly. His body surged.

"Would you—back off, Mungo," he said as the dog nosed between them.

"He wants to protect me," she said. "Mungo. Sit."

"He wants affection. Like most of us. Down." He pushed the dog away with one hand, replacing it just over her head. "The lady must decide, true. And the knight will wait. But there is a condition."

She tilted her head. "What is that? The price of a kiss?"

That surge again, hot and sure. "If that fee is offered, I would take it." Standing so close that he felt heat bloom between them, he drew a breath as hope and love and desire poured through him all at once. Bending a little, he touched his brow to hers.

She caught her breath and kept still.

"There is another price," he whispered. "The lady must promise the knight to never put herself at risk."

"I may be in harm's way now." Her gaze met his, her lips quirked in a near smile.

He hooked a finger under her chin. "You are always safe with me."

"I know," she whispered. "But I fear I have lost my heart."

"Then we will look for it somewhere in this forest, for I lost mine too."

She caught a little sob. He kissed her then, slow and sure, felt her sigh against his mouth, felt her sink a little as if she melted inside as he surely did. He had to shore up every reserve, every fiber within him, to pull back, for he burned for more.

A light rain was tapping on the leaves overhead, misting her hair, his shoulders. He let go and stepped back. "Take that reassurance as you consider your choices."

"Dear God, Duncan," she said, and reached out, grabbed his cloak, and pulled him toward her. She threw her arms around him and kissed him, soundly, surely. He pulled her against him, hands at her waist, and returned kisses until he felt her sink in his grasp. His own knees shook, his body flamed as he drew back, resting his forehead on hers.

"What is this now," he whispered.

"I am near to deciding," she breathed, and he pressed her in a full embrace, taking her in a deep kiss, lifting her full against him as his body responded, as hers answered. Then he set her on her feet again.

"Decide soon, or I am done for, lady," he said raggedly. "We should go. Where is that damned arrow?"

"Later," she blurted, breathing hard, pulling at his sleeve.

About to take hold of her again, he heard a deep sound, a long resonant echo from the direction of the castle. "We must go."

"What was that?" Holding his arm now, she peered through the trees.

"They are sounding an alarm. Mungo! Where did he—here, lad!" he beckoned, his voice oddly hoarse. The dog came toward him and Duncan ruffled the great gray head. Mungo licked Margaret's hand for more and she petted him too, her fingers over Duncan's. Trembling.

He took her arm. "Come. Something is going on."

Walking swiftly out of the woodland and around the castle wall, he saw men on chargers just outside the gate, recognizing Constantine, Lennox, Henry Keith. Bran was on foot, coming over the turf toward Duncan. "Sir!" He beckoned urgently.

"What is it?" Duncan ran, Margaret hurrying after, while the hound with great long strides reached Bran first.

"The patrol just returned. They saw soldiers in the glen to the east, riding toward the falls."

"That route could bring them here. Margaret, take the dog's collar if you will, and lead him inside." He turned. "Bran, I need a horse saddled—"

"Waiting by the gate, sir."