Chapter Twenty-Six

I n the darkness, Duncan rose from his bed, moving carefully lest he wake her where she slept, comfortable and warm beside him. As he dressed, he heard steady rain, but not the rumble of thunder, and no vein of lightning showed in the grim sky; the quality of the gray darkness told him dawn was near.

Sitting on the bed to pull on his boots, he heard Margaret stir, then sit up in the shadows within the curtained bed. Her hair had a bronze sheen in the low glow of the brazier, and swept down in tousled waves over her bare and beautiful body above the rumpled blankets.

"Are you leaving?" Her voice was soft and thick with sleep.

"Aye. Rest," he murmured. He leaned to kiss the top of her head.

"I cannot rest. I should not be in here." She slid her legs over the side of the bed, stretched for her shift and gown discarded on the floor and tugged them on. Sitting beside him, she braided her hair into one thick, messy plait. He stood, taking up his belt to fasten it around his hips.

"Are you going out on patrol? Wait for me," she said.

"I will not take you with me, dearling."

She sighed. "Do not go out alone. It is not safe. I feel it."

He stilled, hands on the buckle. "Do you, now? I will take Lennox or Constantine if I can stir them from their beds."

"Good. I must go back to my bedchamber. I hope Agatha is sleeping. I would not want to explain where I have been."

"Some may wonder where we were last night. We missed supper. Thankfully no one came looking for us." He raised her chin with a finger and kissed her lips lightly. "We are betrothed, love, with all the privileges that brings. In Scotland, it is significant."

She tilted her head. "Do you mean that betrothed couples who lay together are considered married in Scotland—if they have—done the act?"

"Aye." He smiled. "If there is intention to marry, under Scots law it becomes a marriage with the act, as you say. The law recognizes such marriages. Most couples will fix it further with a ceremony, whether a private handfasting or the blessing of a priest before witnesses."

"So we are wed now?"

"In the eyes of the law, we are married." He drew her toward him, cupped his hands on her shoulders. "It rests on the intent of the groom and bride. This groom is set on it. Does the bride agree? It needs the consent of both parties."

"She agrees," she murmured, as he kissed her. "Will we have a wedding, then?"

"A wedding, handfasting, private pledge, whatever you desire, love. Wife. My wee faery queen," he whispered, brushing tendrils of hair from her brow. Then he kissed her, lingering and deep, until she was breathless and leaned into the circle of his arms. "Say what you want, and it is done."

"I want you to come back to me quickly and safely, with Lilias. Then will I decide what sort of wedding I want, if we both agree."

"We will. And I will bring her back—if I have to ride to Loch Roskie with all my men to do it. One more patrol, then I will muster them. For now, take up your shoes and I will escort you down—the turning stair can be dark as pitch."

"Hurry back with Lilias. Oh!" she said suddenly. "I began to tell you last night—and just thought of it again. You might not think it important."

"I am listening."

"When I looked through the hole in the stone, I saw something else. I just wonder if it might help, if you believe me."

"You convinced me when you described seeing me in that stone. Tell me the rest."

"I saw Lilias. At least, I think it was Lilias. A girl was running in mist or in rain. I saw a waterfall and a cave on a hill. It came and went very fast, the images. She was watching a falcon in the sky."

"Was it a dream? It sounds symbolic."

"It was not a dream. I was awake when I saw it through the hole in the stone. Are there caves near the waterfall we visited? Could it be that place? I cannot say if it was the same one. And because I had been there with you, perhaps it was just in my mind."

"But we should consider it," he said. "If she managed to get away—well. There are caves there, but Scotland is full of caves and waterfalls, in truth." He shook his head. "I will give it some thought."

"Thank you." She sighed. "I am not very experienced with this, I suppose. My sister sometimes has visions that come to her suddenly. She has learned to understand them better. But I do not yet."

"It will come with time, love. We should go." He opened the door.

Margaret picked up her shoes. "And thank you for looking for her this morning."

"Every day until she is found. I swear it." He pulled her close and kissed her.

Entering the great hall, Duncan walked past a dozen or more men sleeping on pallets as he crossed the room to the library that Lennox and Constantine were using for a temporary sleeping chamber. Easing the door open, he nearly tripped over Malcolm Lennox, stretched out on a mat partially blocking the door. Beyond him, Constantine snored, and Andrew Murray slept on a pallet in the corner. Duncan gave Lennox a kick in the shin.

The man sat up abruptly. "What the devil?"

"Pray the devil has naught to do with us this day," Duncan growled. "Get your boots on and come with me. We are riding out to find a wee lass."

"Good," Lennox grunted. "Con—wake up." Constantine sat up.

"Just Lennox and I need go out," Duncan told them. "Con, gather a patrol and meet us in Glen Falloch. We will need at least a dozen in case we must ride to Roskie."

Constantine ruffled his sandy mop of hair, then called to Andrew to wake him up.

Lennox yanked on his boots in the dark and stood. "Where are we searching?"

"We are looking for a cave," Duncan said.

"Huh. There are plenty of those."

"Lady Margaret dreamed the lass was in a cave by a waterfall."

"Did she! Well, then, best start at the Falls of Falloch. Lead the way."

Years ago, he and his brothers used to run all through here, Duncan remembered as he and Lennox entered the rocky gorge where the river cut through and the falls flowed. They had played knights and lords, sheriffs and brigands, elves and ogres among these caves and hills. Memories flooded him as he went: there, the pointed rocks they had called giant's teeth; over there, cascades of water spilling into a stream; further on, a rowan tree burst forth from a rock with unmatched persistence; all around, dense woodland enveloped the gorge and made it seem like a magical realm.

There it was, the old rowan, just blooming in spring. Near that, he knew, crevices and small caves pierced the massive jumble of rocks that formed the sides of the gorge. Ahead, he heard the roar of the falls, though he could not yet see its white tail and deep pool. Shouldering the bow and quiver he had brought with him, he moved on.

With narrowed eyes, he scanned about for any niche or shadow that might be a cave. Walking along a rocky ridge, he saw Lennox exploring in another direction. Malcolm did not know the area well, but he knew Lilias. If the girl was here somewhere, she might venture out if she saw a man she knew and trusted.

And if she was in a cave near the waterfall, Margaret and her seeing-stone had a power that could not be denied.

The morning was cloudy, damp, breezy, but the rain seemed past, the sky pale and clearing. Thinking of the falcons, he remembered that Bran had mentioned taking the bishop and others out to fly the birds this morning, and had promised to head west with them, though that was no guarantee, for the birds would do what they liked. A flock of ducks arrowed overhead; their confident, noisy flight told him no birds of prey hovered nearby yet, ready to pounce.

He looked for riders too, aware that danger could come from the east glen and Loch Roskie, should De Soulis or Menteith ride out with men. If they came through the long glen toward the falls again, they might well head for Brechlinn. Were they searching for a gyrfalcon, did they want Margaret Keith, did they have Lilias Bruce? He meant to find out. But now that he thought about where he was, and what he was doing, perhaps they too had been looking for the girl.

The waterfall and gorge, the river and surrounding glen belonged to Brechlinn and the Campbells. Now the land was largely uninhabited; most of the crofters and shepherds had been driven out by the same English troops that had tried to ruin Brechlinn Castle. Folk had gone to Crianlarich and Stirling, and even west to the Isles. Duncan hoped to see them all returning home one day.

As he climbed a steep incline, he saw an outcrop of rock that rose up like a rugged crown. He remembered conquering its height as a boy. Near it, he saw Lennox coming toward him. The man raised a hand.

"Riders coming through the east glen," Lennox said. "I saw them from a height. They are far off, but if it is Menteith with them, we could have trouble."

"Keep watch. If they come closer, we will get the horses and meet them." They had left the horses in a pinewood while they went into the gorge. If Lilias was here, he prayed he could find her before any riders approached.

Every instinct he had told him she was here somewhere. He felt it with an odd sense of certainty, and had to admit that to himself. Perhaps, though he had never entertained the notion before, he had inherited something from his mother.

Margaret's visions through the stone made him wonder about such things.

"I see no sign of a cave, let alone a lass," Lennox said.

"Wrong or right, it is worth the search."

"Aye so. I will keep watch from that peak if you want to continue looking."

While Lennox headed for the outcrop, Duncan moved toward another rugged formation that he and his brothers had called their stronghold; the jagged inclines looked like a natural fortress had erupted from the earth. He tracked through a narrow pass between slopes of solid, ancient rock, hauling himself upward by gripping points of stone as he went.

Everywhere here, rocks were coated in moss and wildflowers grew in profusion, thick mats of tiny pink and yellow flowers mingled with green leaves and vines filled the cracks between the rocks and cushioned his steps as he made his way upward.

Here and there he saw crevices and shadows, none deep enough for a cave. Above, Lennox stood silhouetted against the pale-gray sky. From up there, Duncan knew his friend could see the river's course, the waterfall and glen above, and the narrow neck of the long glen to the east.

Reaching a fork in the natural pathway between the rocks, he paused to assess his next direction. He nimbly skirted a patch of prickly yellow gorse, his boot pushing and shaking the bracken as he went past. A bird flew overhead, and he stilled, watching. Just a wild hawk, hunting as it pleased. He moved on.

Something caught the corner of his sight—the gorse still shifted after his passing. About to step forward, he stopped, seeing a slight movement, a pale shadow.

For a moment he thought two eyes watched him through curtain of tangled dark hair, but as soon as he looked, they disappeared. Just a trick of shadow and light where a cluster of white flowers and dark leaves hovered. Behind that tangle was a low arched crevice. It was worth a look. He went backward a few steps and hunched down.

Something moved back there, he was sure. Not keen on prickly gorse, he took up a bit of broken shale and pushed the thorny bush aside, revealing an overhang of rock above a deep opening. He heard scurrying inside.

He hunkered down and waited. The air tensed, as if he was not the only one stilled and frozen there, barely breathing. It was not a hare or a fox, but something sentient—every instinct told him so.

"Lady Lilias?" he murmured.

Nothing. The wild hawk swooped past, far overhead. Kee-kee-kee...

"Lilias," he said softly, "I am Duncan Campbell. Your father knows me. Malcolm Lennox is here too. We have been searching for you for days."

After a long moment, the eyes appeared again. Dark blue, ringed in thick black lashes. A tangled mat of dark hair. A turned-up nose, pale cheeks scratched and streaked with dirt and tracks of tears.

"I do not know you, sir. Send Lennox to me," she said in a hoarse whisper.

A king's daughter indeed. "Malcolm, down here!" he called. Then he held out his hand. "Come out, lass. You are safe now."

The morning brought a clearing of rain with light glowing through pale, cloudy skies as Margaret dressed, pausing to look anxiously out the window, hoping to see Duncan return. Agatha had left the room to go to morning prayers with the bishop. When Margaret had returned to the room, Agatha had been sound asleep, so she made a bed of blankets on the floor and slept a little before rising just after dawn.

But if she stayed here longer, she might not hear news of Duncan. Changing out of the blue gown she wore, she went to put on a gray woolen gown that Effie had found in a storage chest. The simple gown had snug sleeves and an embroidered hem, and she dropped a short sleeveless tunic of forest green over it. She quickly braided her hair in two thick plaits and let them drape over the front, the tails reaching the leather belt slung on her hips. Then she tied a creamy silk ribbon around her brow.

A maiden's ribbon, for she had no veil or wimple yet. But she had become a bride in a passionate sense, and soon would be wife to the only man she had ever wanted. She sighed, smiled, feeling loved, trusted, treasured, and trusting. It felt like more than enough.

And today she hoped for the best news to come when Duncan returned with Lilias. Then she could truly plan for the future.

Yet worry tapped at her as she took up her green cloak against the morning chill and headed down to the bailey. The fear grew as she crossed the yard to see her brother, Agatha, and several others gathered there, including Sir Liam, Constantine, the bishop, Andrew, Bran, and a cluster of knights. She hurried over to Henry.

"Has something happened?" she asked.

Henry smiled. "All is well. Bran is about to take the bishop and a few others out with the birds for hawking and hunting. Sir Constantine is putting together a patrol. Would you like to go hawking this morning?"

"Not today. I was worried, seeing everyone here—I thought something had happened to Duncan."

Henry lifted a brow. "Duncan? Constantine said he and Lennox went out early."

"No need for concern, my lady," Constantine said. "When the patrol is organized, we will go out and meet them.

"I will go with the hawking party, to make sure they have an extra guard," Liam Seton said. "We cannot be too cautious," he added.

"I would like to take a morning ride, but I will not go far," Margaret said. If she could ride toward the waterfall, she might find Duncan and Lennox on their way back.

"You will need an escort," Henry cautioned.

"I can go with her," Andrew spoke up.

"I will take them out. I know the area," Iain Campbell offered. His glance toward Margaret was calm but keen, reminding her of his brother. She sensed that he was concerned about Duncan too.

"Aye then," Bran said. "I will have the grooms saddle additional horses for the hawking party, the patrol, and those taking fresh air." He gave her a sidelong glance, curious and wondering. Feeling tension in the air, Margaret wondered if some of Duncan's friends harbored a concern they did not voice.

While the horses and hawks were being readied, Effie came toward them. "If you would like to break your fast before you leave, there is food set out in the hall."

Impatient to ride out, but knowing the delay was necessary, Margaret went with the rest to the great hall, where Effie and the servants had provided a spread of dishes on a trestle table, including porridge, bacon, cheese, and more. In time they returned to the bailey, where Bran gave Margaret a sturdy pony with a sidesaddle, the same garron she had ridden before when she'd visited the falls with Duncan.

Finally they all filed through the gate, Bran leading the hawking party west and away, while Margaret, with Andrew and Sir Iain, went north toward the river.

"There is a pretty waterfall ahead if you would like to see it," Sir Iain said.

"Your brother took me there. I would love to see it again."

"No farther, though. Duncan would be displeased if you were out too long today."

"Let him take that up with me," she said, urging her pony ahead.

Iain did not protest; silence, she noticed, was his natural preference. They rode the few miles toward the waterfall quietly, and soon she heard the rumble of the falls as they approached the deep gorge that contained the falls, the pool, and part of the river.

Her concern deepened with every mile, every slope and stretch of moor and woodland. When they stopped to watch the thundering white downpour and the wide pool from afar, she turned to Iain.

"Can we leave the horses here and walk toward the falls?"

He grimaced, clearly thinking it was not a good idea, but finally agreed. "As you wish. We can leave the horses over that way."

As they entered the strip of woodland that edged along the river, she saw two horses quietly grazing, reined to trees. "Duncan and Lennox are here!" she said.

"So it seems," Iain said, frowning. Once they dismounted and tied their horses securely, Iain directed them toward a natural path slick with moisture. Margaret remembered going that way with Duncan to see the waterfall. She hurried ahead.

Andrew and Iain were slightly behind her as she followed an angled path toward the gorge. Rocks piled like high barriers in places, and trees filled the gaps with curtains of leafy branches. Soon the waterfall was closer, larger, louder as water rushed over the cliff, white and frothy and swirling, powered by the force of the drop.

"There is a pretty glen past here, as I recall," Margaret said. "Perhaps Duncan and Lennox went that way."

"Possibly," Iain said. "These are all Brechlinn lands, but few live here now. My brother wants to bring the glen folk back. He wants them to feel safe again."

"They do not feel safe here?"

"English," he said curtly. "I will go ahead of you here. The way can be slippery, so be careful. Andrew, see to the lady." He moved on with long, sure strides.

Margaret scanned the gorge and the moors beyond the trees. Where was Duncan? As they walked along, she held the hems of her gown and cloak out of puddles, looking all around her even as she stepped carefully.

"Look over there." Andrew pointed. "Is that Duncan?"

She gasped, seeing two men moving along the rocks beyond the falls. A smaller person was with them, skirts billowing. "Lilias!"

She hurried up the rocky incline, the river rushing to her left, the waterfall increasingly noisy ahead. Iain Campbell had seen the three figures ahead too. He half-ran along the ridge toward them.

"Meg," Andrew said then. "Look through the trees."

She did, glimpsing men on horseback moving across the moors that paralleled the river and gorge. Taking up her skirt hems, she climbed faster, accepting Andrew's help. The water rushed and burbled, the mossy stones were damp and slick, and she grabbed handholds on rocks as she went upward to attain a clearer view.

Riders were coming out of the narrow western neck of Glen Fada, the long glen to the east. Two—three, Margaret counted, seeing steely flashes in the gray light, and a knight in a red-and-white striped surcoat on a black charger.

"De Soulis," she said.

"Who?"

"He is working with Menteith. I have business with him," she added.

"He may have business with Sir Duncan first. Look, the riders are heading toward the river. I hope Sir Duncan sees them."

"Sir Iain will warn them." As she spoke, Iain Campbell glanced down and motioned for Margaret and the two of them to stay where they stood and not come forward. The air seemed filled with tension, the powerful rush and noise of the falls ahead adding to that. Margaret stood, back and shoulders straight, tense.

The leader was indeed De Soulis. She saw him stop and gesture to his men, one of whom dismounted and ran toward the gorge. The jagged barrier rose dark and formidable, and the man climbed halfway and came running back. De Soulis shouted. She could not hear his words.

Glancing toward where she had last seen Duncan and the rest, she saw no one there now. In the opposite direction, Sir William seemed agitated as he rode toward the tree-lined gorge.

She could stand it no longer. "Wait here!"

"Meg, stop!" Andrew reached but missed as she moved away.

"I must speak to him," she said. "If he sees me, he will be distracted, and the others can get away. Stay here," she insisted. "They might recognize you as one who got away from the ambush."

Skirts gathered, she took the rocks carefully along the gorge, then hurried across rumpled green turf toward the knights on the moor.