Page 105 of The Forest Bride
“So you do know!” he crowed, unfastening the hook. “Look through it, then. But I want your promise first.” He held it out, snatching it away as she reached for it. “Promise to betroth. Promise to marry.” He dangled the pin.
“I promise.”I promise to marry Duncan, she thought, to make it the truth.
“Say you are mine always,” he hissed, waggling the pin. Its translucent crystal stone glittered blue as the sky. Blue as Duncan’s eyes.
“Always,” she said, thinking of the one she loved. “Give it here.”
He relinquished it. “Go on. Show me what this gewgaw does. But do not think to run.” He reached down and grabbed one of her long braids, winding it around his hand like a leash. Trapped, she winced, unable to step away.
Her head was forcible tilted. “Let go!”
“Tell me what you see there.” He tugged on the braid.
“I cannot do that now. It takes calm to see through a stone.”
“I am calm. Look there!”
She held the stone up to her left eye, hand trembling. She saw a shaky landscape of trees, rocks, the river. Then she realized she could invent something to please him, then keep the brooch and run.
“I see—knights.” She looked at trees and rocks. “I see—a proud man in armor. You. A man of power.”
“Go on.”
“A man who—”
But in that instant, the trees and rocks vanished—so did the white horse and the man cruelly pulling on her braid.
She saw De Soulis through the opening in the stone. He was older, gray-haired, in black tunic and boots. Wrists in ropes, head bowed. He faced a man—Bruce? She had seen Bruce, remembered the high cheekbones he shared with his daughter; he had a bold chin, a thin mouth, keen dark eyes. Here he wore a thin gold fillet on his brow. He was king. A woman was there too, a dark-haired beauty, pale and slim in the black gown and white veil of a widow or a nun. Lilias.
Traitor, Bruce said. She heard the words in her mind.Forgiven.
“Do not betray your king.” She spoke, surprising herself. “Support him. Be loyal. Do not betray your king.”
“I support Edward,” he said, but his face went white. “What is it?”
“I see you with Bruce. His daughter, grown. You will have a chance for forgiveness. Take it.”
“Give me that,” he said, reaching down to snatch at the brooch, but she tucked it quickly into her snug gray sleeve. “You lie!”
“I saw it.” She felt stunned by how easily the images came to her. The blue truth stone was powerful. She did not doubt anything that she had seen.
“Foolish woman,” he snarled. “Give me that. I will have to do this myself. I cannot trust you.”
“It is the truth.”
“Sir William!” a voice bellowed. Hearing pounding hooves, Margaret turned, her head restrained as De Soulis tugging on her hair.
He let go of the braid to reach toward her. “Give it here!”
“William!” The voice roared.
De Soulis turned. Margaret stepped away—then stopped, staring. A party of knights rode toward them out of the long glen. Three men, with the leader broad-chested and scowling in chain mail and a brash yellow surcoat. Menteith, recovered enough to ride.
She backed away, poised to run. De Soulis shifted his horse to block her.
“Stay, you! Damn it, I told him I would take care of this matter,” he muttered.
“Take care of what?” she asked.
