Page 1 of The Forest Bride
Prologue
Merry Margaret
As midsummer flower
Gentle as falcon
Or hawk of thetower
—John Skelton,Garland of Laurel, 16thc.
Scotland, The Highlands
April 1297
“Afey creature.Scarce more than a child.” Standing at the window of his mother’s solar, Duncan Campbell gazed down at a slip of a girl who waited in the bailey yard of Innis Connell Castle, his father’s island stronghold in Loch Awe. The visitors, Sir Robert Keith and his daughter Margaret, had arrived by boat to discuss the betrothal affixed between Duncan and the girl ten years earlier.
He drew a sharp breath, recalling the tense discussion about the matter with his father, Sir Colin Campbell, chief of that clan. Seeing his son’s insistence on dissolving the agreement, his father had reluctantly promised to broach it with Robert Keith.
Though Duncan had not seen his would-be bride for years, he saw now she was neither child nor yet a woman. In her moss-green gown and plaid cloak, with hair like bright copper spilling in loose curls over her shoulders, she was a faery-like creature.
“She is lovely.” Lady Janet Sinclair came to stand beside her son.
“True, but good saints, Mother. The lass is only Isabel’s age.”
“Thirteen. Your sister is fourteen and will marry later this year.”
“Too young. Even I am not ready to marry, at just twenty and newly knighted. I told Father we should void the betrothal, since I must leave to fulfill my knight service. The lass should not have to wait even more years for this marriage to be made.”
“This alliance has considerable advantages. You know that.”
“Aye, but I gave my pledge to King Edward and must report in the south. I do not know when I might return. Or if.”
“You will return. I know it, I.” She smiled. Whenever his mother used that phrase, Duncan knew it came from more than logic. His mother had the Sight that ran in her family; he respected it, if he did not quite understand it.
“I hope so. As for marriage, I have no fortune or castle, and as a younger son with five brothers and a sister, my portion one day will be modest.”
“Caelin Mòr Campbell of Lochawe will not let a son of his be a landless knight. You will have Brechlinn Castle upon your marriage—or later, when he is gone.”
“I appreciate it. I do.” Somehow he could not look away from the girl, that innocent wee beauty—and he the demon about to destroy her hopes. “Brechlinn is all but a ruin. It will take coin and work to improve it.” In truth, he loathed the idea of riding for the English king, and would rather put time and muscle into that dear old castle. “Someday I will return to the Highlands and marry. But not now.”
Someday.The sticking point. The betrothal had been made long before he or the Keith girl understood it. Both families were pleased by the alliance, but King Edward’s expectations tookprecedence over those plans. Indeed, the king’s intentions in Scotland could alter the future for everyone. Nothing felt secure.
In the yard, his father emerged from the keep to welcome the guests. Colin Campbell had a thundering presence, tall and beefy in a plaid cloak over a long tunic of ochre wool; Sir Robert Keith of Kincraig was lean and dark in a blue surcoat. As they grasped hands and spoke, young Margaret turned in a dreamy circle, arms out, cloak swirling. She was coltish, sweet, her hair a sunset glow as she turned.
He recalled the tiny spitfire he’d first met when she was but three and he ten years old. She had been a wee thing with red-gold curls who clapped with delight when the betrothal pledge was read, then followed him about the hall. To his great embarrassment at age ten, she had climbed into his lap and cooed the proper Gaelic form of his name spoken in the ceremony—Donnchadh Dubh, Black Duncan, for his nearly black hair. Finally the nurse came to fetch the child.
“This one is fiery,” she said as picked her up to carry her away.
“My Donnchadh! My Donnchadh Dubh!” Margaret had shrieked.Dona-kha-dhu, her plea heartbreaking, his discomfort keen.
“Duncan Dhu,” his mother said then, dipping into his thoughts as she so often did, “let the wedding proceed while the marriage waits. That lass will be good for you, and you for her.”
He sighed. “I know you and Father are disappointed, but I feel it is the honorable thing to dissolve it and not ask her or her kin to wait longer.”
She patted his shoulder, though he towered over her. “Your father is pleased you stood up to him. Few dare argue with Caelin Mòr. He will talk to Kincraig.”
Duncan nodded. He had trembled to present his opinion. Cailean Mòr—Big Colin—was great in size, heart, courage,reputation, and stubbornness. But the man loved family above all, and so he had listened.
