Page 17 of The Forest Bride
“Indeed. Best watch your back at Brechlinn, sir. Watch your sheep.”
“I would, if I had any.”
“Did he just imply a threat?” Constantine murmured.
“Could be. But he had best stay away from Brechlinn.”
“Your property is remote enough to protect what you are doing for Bruce there,” his friend said low. “But you may need more guards on the walls. Send word if so.”
“I should increase the watch at Brechlinn, but Scots soldiers are thin on the ground these days. Bring a few men if you can spare them.”
“I may do that soon. Bruce relies on you. I am pleased to quietly help.”
“Very quietly. Here is Patrick. What else must we do here? I am starving.”
“Meg, you heardwhat Menteith told them,” Andrew said. “He rides north today, and he seems in a hurry. If he moves Lilias, we may never find her.”
“I thought the same. And if they send a ransom request to her father, it may be too late.” Margaret paced the forest floor beyond the village. In the shelter of beeches and oaks, sunlight tinting the new leaves green, she and Andrew had found a pocket in the forest close to the village and the woodland court, yet dense enough to hide them. “If only we could delay Menteith from leaving.”
“Impossible. We have been here for near a week, and now that we have finally found him, he is leaving today.” He shoved a hand through his hair.
“I have an idea. But before we return to the village fair, I need to change.”
“Change? Why?”
She ducked behind the wide trunk of the beech with its low branches and grabbed the bundled cloak with the things Andrew had acquired at the inn. Pulling off her green gown and hiding it under a tree, she stepped into woolen trews, drew them up and crammed her linen shift inside, trying to thicken her curving waistline as she pulled the waist cord. Next she tugged on a tunic of drab brown, then black stockings, shoving her feet into her boots, glad she had worn those to travel from Kincraig.
Emerging from the tree cover, she spread her arms. “What do you think?”
“You look like a lad with ribbons and long braids.”
“Oh!” She wrapped her braids, plaited with cream ribbons, around her head and stuffed her hair under a generous black woolen cap that came with the gifted clothing. “We will go to the village as two lads.”
“You need to sheathe a dagger in your belt to look more manly. But I do not think you can manage it even then,” he added.
Sending him a wry look, Margaret took up her belt of plain leather, detached the embroidered purse buttoned there, and slung the belt low over her hips. Next she took up her green cloak and flipped it; the lining had a plaid pattern of green with blue and black. She fastened it around her throat as best she could with the pewter cloak pin the innkeeper’s wife had included.
“Give me the bow and the quiver, if you please, and keep the dagger for yourself.”
“What is your plan?” He handed her the bow and adjusted the quiver strap over her back. Then he took up the dagger, wrapped it in cloth, and stuck it in his belt. “What shall we do in the village? Listen and spy?”
“We can find Menteith judging contests.”
“But we have neither pigs nor pies.”
“If there is an archery contest, I could enter. Then I could try to have a word with him.”
“And ask nicely if he stole Lilias?” He scoffed.
“Well, maybe not nicely.” She patted the bow.
“You are a madwoman. Do not act rashly! I am just a lad and would not dare confront him without a sheriff there.”
“We shall see.” She led the way out of the forest.
“I thought you might accuse him at the court.”
“It was not the right time. He has some trouble, though. They are watching him. That could go well for us.”
