Page 27 of The Forest Bride
“Con Murray!” Duncan called softly, shaking the bushes. “Over here!”
“What are you doing?” Margaret hissed.
Constantine turned, then climbed toward them as a second man appeared.
“Malcolm! This way,” Murray said. Soon two pairs of booted feet stood near the bushes. Held in Duncan’s arms, Margaret Keith tried to flee.
“Hold!” He had to let go so he could stand, and as he grabbed for her again, she took to her feet and started to bolt. He shot out a hand, caught her arm, and tugged her with him out of the bushes.
“And here is the archer lad,” Lennox said.
“Come with us,” Constantine beckoned as Margaret Keith ducked her head, black cap secure. Duncan stayed quiet, letting explanations wait.
“Shall we take him to Dunbarton Castle?” Constantine asked.
“Sir John will not treat the lad kindly if you go there,” Lennox warned.
“True. I will take him up the loch to Brechlinn.” Duncan pulled on Margaret’s arm as she tried to yank free. When she winced in pain, he stopped.
Lennox went past them to retrieve the two bows and two quivers discarded beside the bushes and joined them as they turned to find their way through the forest.
“Go ahead, Con,” Duncan said. “Find Menteith’s men and tell them I have the archer in my custody. I will deal with him. Menteith does not need to trouble himself. Lennox,” he said, “I know you have other business here, but if you have time to head north, come with us.”
“Do you need a guard for your snarling pup? I can do that.”
“Where are we going?” the pup asked, tugging against Duncan’s grip.
“To find a boat.” Duncan yanked her black cap lower. “Keep quiet.”
Chapter Six
Tucked in thecurved bow of the long birlinn, Margaret lifted her face to a chilly breeze. High above, the wind billowed the square sail. Awkwardly, her hands tied together, she pulled a plaid blanket around her. Malcolm Lennox had tossed it toward her when they had boarded the birlinn. It smelled of sheep and fish.
“To hide your bonds, lad,” he had said.
Nearby, Sir Duncan Campbell stood silent, looking out over the water.
She flexed her right knee to ease the ache that plagued her. She had been injured in the attack on the escort party, and the mad race through the forest had not helped. Wincing, she was glad of the blanket that warmed her and hid her bound hands and feet.
Earlier, Duncan Campbell had tied ropes around her to keep her in place. Only he and Lennox knew she was a prisoner. Even Campbell’s clerk, a lanky young man with fair hair and a fetching smile, did not know. No one else aboard the boat paid any mind to a lad in dull clothes and a black cap; she was just the sulking adolescent accompanying the justiciar on the great loch. The sail would take three or four hours from what she had overheard.
Traveling on the birlinn were a few farmers, sheep as well, several animals clustered near the upright mast, bleating and shuffling about. The helmsman and his two strapping sons sailed the craft, worked the ropes, and took up oars if the wind stilled.
The water was calm and as blue as glass as the boat skimmed along. The clinker-built birlinn sat low, equipped with twelve oars with four in use.
Margaret watched the water sluice past and looked out at the pebbled shoreline and the hills and woodland beyond as the boat passed one small island after another. Brechlinn Castle was their destination. She heard it belonged to Sir Duncan, a remote fortress at the northern head of the loch. He intended to tuck her away there for her own protection while he sorted out the matter, or so he claimed.
He had said little about her identity or his. That needed sorting too, she thought.
But most immediate was the matter of Lilias Bruce. She had not yet had a chance to explain what had happened. During the journey, Duncan Campbell kept his distance, talking to Lennox or the helmsman. He seemed to be avoiding her, though he sent Lennox over to her.
“Sir Duncan wants to know if you are comfortable.”
“I am not,” she said, seated on a bale of hay between barrels. “Why does he care?”
“For some reason he does, which is good for you. Do you want ale?”
“No more.” Earlier she had sipped ale and had a crust of bread. But she could not piss over the boat’s side as she noticed some men doing, so she was loath to drink more. “Where are my bow and arrows?”
