Page 29 of The Forest Bride
“She is the first of three or four now. I would not be surprised if he has more. He loves his queen, but—” He shrugged. “Elisabeth is thirteen.”
Menteith had mentioned a girl who supposedly belonged to the MacDougalls. “Twelve is the age of consent for girls. That wee lass is a valuable marriage property.”
“And if she has been taken, or God forbid, harmed, it is dire indeed, especially with the other Bruce women captured by English,” Malcolm emphasized. “Duncan, I know your brother’s wife is one of the captured royal women. I am sorry.”
“Aye. Neill’s wife is Lady Mary Bruce. She is one of the women locked in iron cages and exposed on castle battlements.”
“No wonder Bruce is desperate to protect any Scotswomen close to him. He has set trusted men on the task—myself, Sir William Seton. You,” Malcolm added. “He wants your help in finding his daughter’s escort and ensuring she reaches the west. But I have no news of them. They have vanished.”
“The wee bit lass over there,” Duncan murmured, “spoke of a missing girl.”
“Did she. Is there proof?”
“In the court today, an incident came to our attention.” He detailed what he knew of the attack on the road, and Menteith’s claim that his men had rescued a girl. “If that was a lie and she is not a MacDougall, could she be Bruce’s girl?”
“If so, we have a problem,” Lennox said.
“We do indeed.” Duncan looked down the length of the birlinn, past ropes, crates, and woolly sheep, to the slight girl draped in an old plaid, asleep against a barrel.
“I am thinking your wee bit lass is another problem.”
“More than you know,” Duncan muttered.
*
If she stillbelieved in dreams, having lost that trust years ago, they would be born and flourish at Brechlinn. Margaret sat in a small boat while Lennox rowed them up the last part of theloch—the birlinn had docked to let them depart, turning south again. Now they headed for a castle that jutted up from a narrow peninsula. Fieldstone walls and a blocky keep rose from the green and rocky sward to form a powerful silhouette against a twilight sky streaked pink and gold. The castle was power and beauty and welcome, its reflection almost magical in the calm sheen of the water.
She caught back a sob of yearning that came out of nowhere. The pull she felt to the castle was strong, as if she were coming home. But this was not her home. It was her prison. And it was another barrier in her search for Lilias.
The urge to tell Duncan what troubled her most overwhelmed her. She half rose.
“Sit,” Campbell growled. “Do not think to leap into the water and swim.”
“I will add Brechlinn is a very good swimmer,” Malcolm Lennox said.
She sat, frustrated, on the verge of tears, unable to tell them what they most needed to know. She did not even know if it was safe to reveal what happened to Bruce’s daughter—what if Campbell was for Edward? Then Lilias would be in more danger. Though she thought Lennox would be receptive; Edward had given his lands to Menteith, after all.
She rubbed her aching knee. Her feet and hands were free now, for Campbell had untied her before guiding her to the small rowboat to cross the water toward Brechlinn.
For a moment, she savored the sweet clean breezes, the wild vista of water and trees and hills at the remote northern end of the loch. The castle seemed to be the only touch of civilization.
But she could not savor anything for long. Lilias’s unknown fate hung over her like a pall. And now Andrew was gone again too. Her eyes welled with tears. She dashed them away. Duncan Campbell gave her a sharp glance.
Lennox oared the small craft beside a wooden dock and secured the ropes to a post. Duncan brought her out, guiding her up to the castle that sat on a rocky thrust of land. They followed stone steps up to a doorway set inside a stone arch. Margaret heard dogs barking distantly as Campbell pounded on the door. After a bit, the door opened.
A huge man blocked the threshold, torchlight behind him. He wore a tunic and stockings without boots, a helmet crooked on his head as if hastily added. In his hand was a chunk of cheese. He tore his teeth into it, chewed, and considered them.
“Back so soon? Who is the bairn?”
“I am not a bairn,” Margaret muttered.
“Good to see you too, Bran,” Campbell said. “Fetch us some food up to the tower if you will.” He stepped inside with Margaret as Bran stepped back, Lennox following.
“Am I a servant? Hold, you there! Hold!” he shouted as three dogs came skidding around a corner. “Stay! Dinna scare the bairn!”
As the dogs pushed closer, Bran caught two huge hounds by their collars. They stilled, both brindled gray, one dark and one light, both standing near as tall as Margaret’s shoulder. The third, a small terrier, slipped between Bran’s legs.
Margaret squatted to greet the little dog, glad for a happy welcome. She let it sniff at her, then ruffled its head and coat. The two larger dogs stepped forward cautiously, sniffed, and let her pet their magnificent heads. Then they both turned to Campbell.
