Chapter Twenty-Two

M argaret stood hastily, smoothing her skirts, and dropped the stone back into the bowl. Opening the door, she saw Effie and Agatha waiting there.

"My lady!" Effie was holding two folded woolen blankets. "We are short of beds and rooms just now, so I was hoping you might be willing to share your chamber with Dame Agatha."

"Of course! Come in." She stepped back.

"Thank you, Margaret," Agatha murmured. "Effie, let me take those." She reached out for the blankets.

"My lady, and Dame Prioress, thank you. I must get back to the kitchen with meals to prepare and such."

"I can come help you soon," Margaret said.

"Och, you have kin and friends here. Enjoy your time with them." She smiled and stepped away. Closing the door, Margaret turned to Agatha with a smile.

"The bed is small but comfortable enough and will hold two of us, or I can sleep on the floor if you like. I was just napping a bit when you came, and—reading a book of prayers." The dream and the visions in the stone had left her feeling still a bit dazed.

"This? What a lovely wee book." Agatha picked up the book on the table.

"Please sit. It is so nice to have you here." Margaret poured watered ale into two cups and handed one to her friend. Even in the simple nun's habit of dark gray wool and a white veil, Agatha Seton was lovely. The white woolen veil wrapped over her head and under the chin, topped by a black veil that draped over her back. Under the veils, Margaret knew Agatha's dark, curly hair would be cropped short. The stark black and white framed her delicate face and large hazel eyes lashed in black beneath black, expressive brows. Her skin was cream and rose, touched with a dimple on one side of her mouth.

Years ago, Margaret had ceased to notice the puckered scar that carved through the left eyebrow and down to tuck in one corner of her smile and dent her chin a little. It was a mark of courage and strength that added depth to her beauty and gentle character.

"I am so relieved to find you well and safe—and with Duncan Campbell!" Agatha said. "I insisted on traveling with Liam when he visited Lincluden and told me your escort had gone missing and that he and Henry were off to find out what happened. And to be honest, I needed a reason to leave the abbey for a while and get back out into the world. Sometimes it can be helpful."

Margaret tipped her head. "Are you still troubled by the incident months ago?" She remembered her sister Tamsin describing the nun's encounter with a former suitor.

Agatha shook her head. "Not that. But something is on my mind. I am thinking of leaving the order."

"Have you made a decision?" Margaret's heart leapt at the word; she had come to a decision of her own just that day.

"Nearly. The angels have provided me a little help, for Bishop Murray is here, and I asked him if he would talk with me later. I would like his advice. Perhaps his blessing."

"The bishop is here just when you need counsel—sometimes heaven works diligently on our behalf. Not always," she laughed. "There are always trials and troubles to face."

"And face them we have, my friend, both of us. Look at you here, how many years later, with Duncan Campbell, the one who broke your heart in a thousand pieces. And you thought him dead, and made the poor man all but Saint George himself. No one could say anything against him, and no other man would compare."

"No one could. Finding him alive after all—has given me much to think about."

"Very much alive, apparently." The sparkle in Agatha's eyes did not belong to a prioress. "I have seen the way you look at him, and how he returns it."

"What do you mean?"

"He looks differently at you than at others. Softer. Warmer. Have you not noticed? And how did you meet again after all this time?"

"Oh," Margaret sighed, and recounted the circumstances. "He hid with me in the forest while others were searching. That was when I recognized him, and he knew me by then too."

"Meg!" Agatha leaned forward. "Just when you needed a justiciar, your Duncan was the one who appeared. Angels direct our lives—I am sure of it. Tell me the rest."

Margaret hurried through the story. "So here we are. Agatha, I still care for him."

"As Duncan Campbell, or some impossibly virtuous warrior saint?"

"As himself. And he seems to—I think he returns the interest."

"Of course the man is attracted to you. Even I can see that. The way he watches you—it is loving. Simply that, Meg."

"He—I wondered. I hoped. But now William de Soulis is back, and awaits an answer from me. Listen." She told Agatha some of what had happened.

"De Soulis! Tell me you would never accept him. He only thinks of his own benefit, whatever it may be."

"But this time I want something from him. He may know where Lilias is. I have to find out. And he has the Rhymer's cloak pin. I must have it back."

"Be careful. That one will only bring you trouble."

"Aye," Henry Keith said, as they waited on the ridge of the hill. "My father hoped you would marry Margaret after all."

Stunned, unsure what to say, Duncan gathered the reins and urged his horse ahead, Henry riding alongside. "Why did he consider it after all that time?" he finally asked. "He was set on Margaret marrying, but he made other choices."

"Which only brought her unhappiness with each new betrothal. After you were gone, she refused to marry anyone. But Father knew she needed a strong husband, someone who could protect her—and understand how spirited she can be without trying to rule her. He wanted her to be happy. But none of the matches came about."

"She told me some of it. I feel—responsible for her troubles," Duncan admitted.

"You could never have known that you would be captured and held for years. As for the other suitors, two died, and De Soulis rejected her in the worst way. A pity, all this, for she would bring real advantage to a marriage, and be a blessing and a delight for the right man."

Duncan cleared his throat, seeing Henry's keen glance. "De Soulis wants some advantage for himself with his apparent desire to court her again."

"Aye, but what? The fellow left her in a silk gown and flowery headgear on the church steps. For all her refusal, she wanted to please my father in the end, so she agreed. I would have gladly killed Sir William that day. Later he returned part of the dowry, but kept a land grant for his trouble, he claimed. Father would have pressed for the return, but by then he was growing ill."

"But he decided to send word to me?" Duncan still felt puzzled.

"I think so. We all believed you were dead, but it seems he heard a rumor about your return. He must have intended to find out more before revealing it to us. I knew nothing until I discovered the pages he had locked away."

"I was sure my father had repaid the dowry, so I thought it was over and done. And I heard that Margaret had stayed in the convent."

"Sir Colin offered to repay it, but Father refused it. That I knew. He said the situation was tragic enough with your death and Margaret's desire to remain in the convent. He did not want to profit from the pain of two families."

"He was a good man. I wish I had known him better." Duncan watched the empty valley below. "My father died while I was away those years."

"I heard. Sad circumstances for both sides of your broken betrothal."

"If the dowry funds were never repaid, and if the documents were not processed through the Church—" He looked at Henry.

"Then the betrothal still stands. Exactly."

He shook his head a little, as if the truth of it would settle in his brain. "Legally it would still be in effect. But Robert Keith had negotiated other betrothals."

"Only because he believed you were deceased. When he heard otherwise, he sent a message to you at Innis Connell."

"I never received it. When was this?"

"Two years ago, a little less. He died months after."

"I see. My brother Neill is earl now, but he would have been with Bruce then. He is married to Bruce's sister, Lady Mary. One of the captured royal women," he added.

"I am sorry. Edward is capable of unspeakable cruelty."

"So it seems. We have had little news about the condition of the women and Bruce has had no success resolving it. It will take time." Duncan paused. "Henry, I am sorry I never saw the message from your father."

"What would you have done if you had the message?"

He sat thoughtful in the saddle, watching the quiet glen; whoever had ridden there earlier had not returned. He thought of missed chances over ten years—but now he had hope again. "I would have been intrigued—and would have wondered if the lady would entertain the idea."

"She might well now. If you want my permission as her guardian, you have it."

Duncan huffed a little laugh of disbelief, hope, uncertainty. "It is a lot to take in."

"It is. But my father saw the truth at the end, I think."

"The truth?"

"Why do you think she refused every suitor?"

"Perhaps she was unwilling to be hurt again."

"She loved you, no matter what. My father finally saw that. She was so besotted with the idea of you, sir," Henry said, "that she refused to marry. As devoted as she was to Father, she railed at him for wanting to marry her off. But he knew she would only thrive with a man as strong-willed and stubborn as she is. A very patient man."

"I can see the need for that," Duncan drawled.

"He wanted a rare man for a rare lass. She has a wild side."

"I know." He half laughed. "I understand she was dismissed from the convent, but she never said why."

Henry chuckled. "She tried prophesying for the nuns."

"What?"

"It was my great-grandfather's doing. He gave her some stones he said were enchanted, told her she could see the future with them. She kept trying to do that. I can tell you it did not go well with the nuns. The old prioress asked her to leave."

"Her cloak pin," Duncan said. "The blue stone. She told me about it."

"Ah, you know, then. Will that make you think twice about the lass?"

"Not at all. She may do as she likes, and think as she likes. If she has something of Thomas's gift—all the better, I say."

Henry grinned. "You will do well with all of my sisters, sir. And as Meg's guardian until she marries, I would never stand in the way of her happiness. My father was right. You are the match for her."

Duncan's heart pounded, his thoughts whirled. "It would be my life's privilege."

"Then I leave the rest to you."

"I put forth the idea recently, to be honest. She is—considering it."

"My father would be very pleased. We all would. Look, it is getting toward twilight," Henry went on.

Duncan looked up. While they had sat watching over the glen, the sky had gone from soft gray to leaden cloud cover. "And there is more rain to come."

Henry took up the reins. "If those were Menteith's men that the patrol saw earlier, it does not look like they will return. Not in this weather. We could go back."

Duncan nodded. "I will send another patrol out to be sure."

He turned his horse and headed down the western side of the hill for Brechlinn, where the woman who now owned his heart waited. And the answer she might have for him could spin his very life around.