Page 109 of The Forest Bride
“Hold there.” Duncan trained the bow on him. “Release her.”
“Keep her,” Menteith growled to De Soulis. “Campbell! If you want your lady back, give me the gyrfalcon—and the Bruce girl.”
“I will not make that bargain.” He held the bow taut. Margaret saw his forearm straining with the extended effort, saw a muscle jump in his cheek.
“Call the bird down. We will release this girl once you bring the younger girl to me. I can wait. The day is pleasant.”
“We can all wait.”
“But you have no glove. Here, take mine!” Menteith tore off one of his heavy leather gauntlets and threw it toward him. “It will do. Call down the bird and give her to me, and you can have this one back.” He reached out to take Margaret’s free arm, giving De Soulis such a vicious glare that the man let go.
She planted her heels, but Menteith’s solid bulk overpowered her weight. “Come here,” he said impatiently. “Campbell, give me that falcon and get that child back to me, or I swear I will toss your lady over the brink.”
“The falcon will do only what she wants. Give up Lady Margaret and I will reconsider the charges I place against you.”
Menteith laughed. “If you live so long! Fine. I will call that bird down myself and send her off to Edward with a note about how I discovered her. He will be pleased.” Clutching Margaret in his left hand, he raised his right in the remaining leather gauntlet, held it high, waited expectantly.
Duncan lowered the bow. Margaret saw him glance toward the bird. High above their heads, Greta sat unmoving. She had keyed in to the activity, Margaret was sure—but if there was no reward in it, the bird would not care what was going on below.
Menteith raised his hand higher, waved it. Margaret knew that if the falcon was intrigued and thought the man had food, she might go to him. Then Menteith would have the bird. She could not guess what Duncan might do, for the falcon was as dear as family to him. She had to do something to change the next moments.
“I shot you,” she blurted.
Menteith looked at her. “What?”
“Margaret—”
She could not look at Duncan. Beside her, De Soulis swore in disbelief. But the only way she could help Duncan now was to delay Menteith once again.
“I was the lad in the contest. In disguise. I shot you. No one else.”
He yanked her around to face him, keeping his gloved hand high to lure the bird. But he laughed. “You! A poor shot if you thought to be rid of me!” He looked at Duncan. “You should have given her to me as soon as you knew.”
“Her arrow bounced off the target. You were in the way. It was that simple,” Duncan said. “De Soulis! Stop!” he shouted as the man took a step. “Stay there!”
“Aye, an accident—” But Margaret stopped, remembering. With her free hand, she touched her bodice where the pendant lay hidden. The little elf-bolt had determined where the arrow would go that day. There had been a reason.
So many reasons. That shot was the pendant’s work. Some faery spell had acted to bring her together with Duncan again, and had brought Lilias to safety.
“You did not delay me nearly enough. I will get the Bruce girl back, and you will pay for assaulting a sheriff. Campbell, you will not get your lady back. She must face punishment. And I will have that damned bird as well.”
Without releasing Margaret, he raised his gauntleted hand higher.
“Menteith!” Duncan resumed an archer’s stance, raised the bow, nocked the arrow, his gaze fearsome. “Release her and stand back, or I take you down now, sheriff or none.”
Seeing the dark glint in his eyes, Margaret knew he could do it—would do it—and pay the price later. She felt his intention all through her.
Kak-kak-kak-kak.Overhead came a rapid, high-pitched sound and a flutter of wings as Greta floated downward from her high perch. Her widespread wings surged once, twice, as she flew toward the man who held his gloved hand up.
Then she rotated her torso to show her talons and knocked hard into Menteith’s head with a raucous screech. She rushed past and away so swiftly that Margaret felt stunned. Yet Duncan dropped the bow and ran, Iain ran, even De Soulis reached out—
But the force of the bird’s attack—surely it was that—sent Menteith stumbling, sliding on slick rocks underfoot. Still clutching Margaret’s arm, he teetered on the brink of the falls, then pitched backward, plunging into the water just past the terrifying edge where the torrent poured down with tremendous force.
And he pulled Margaret into the falls with him, into the wild white spray. The cold shock of the water seized her, propelled her, hurled her down the waterfall’s chute. Gasping, choking, she plunged into the whirlpool to be spun about and sucked under.
The next surge of the water threw her upward to the surface as she fought with all her strength to swim, to pull herself away from the falls with its churning, battering current. She went under again, felt the undercurrent push her sideways. Coming up again for air, she tried to control her path by pumping armsand legs, while her heavy, drenched skirts pulled her down again.
When she came up for breath again, she glimpsed the flat stones that edged the pool, saw the trees framing the sky, heard the roar of the waterfall to one side now. A strong current was sweeping her toward the edge of the pool as the water circled, and she tried to swim that way. But she was pulled down again—this time by grasping hands and a bulky weight as Menteith emerged beside her. Sputtering, he pushed on her shoulders.
