Page 3 of The Forest Bride
“What is it?”
She pointed. “Lady Margaret is back there. We must fetch Papa’s falconer. She is up in a tree with a bird.”
He stared, incredulous. “A tree?”
“One of the tall pines there. She sent us to get help—she found a wounded bird. Could you help her—oh, perhaps not,” she said, aware of his change of heart.
“I will help. Take the gos, Isabel.” Duncan handed the bird over, its wings fluttering in the transfer to her glove. Then he crossed the meadow in long strides.
Near a cluster of tall pines, he saw a slight figure in a green dress seated on the grass. Duncan had the odd thought that she looked like a woodland sprite, delicate as the new green on the trees. Despite what he promised his mother, he wanted to help.
“Lady Margaret?”
She shaded her eyes with a slim hand as he stopped with his back to the sun. In that moment, he was lost for words.
Seeing her earlier, remembering a truculent toddler, he had not expected beauty in the girl. But she was stunning, a faery princess just on the verge of womanhood, with creamy skin, rosy cheeks, and eyes of hazel green under dark brows; her hair, a rich and ruddy bronze, wafted over her shoulders in long loose curls.
She stood with awkward, leggy grace, willow-thin, tall for a young woman. Wobbling a bit as she favored one foot, she smiled. “You are Duncan Campbell!”
He took a step back. Though he was a man now, a knight, the incandescence of such uncommon beauty tossed him back to bumbling, uncertain adolescence. “Uh, I—”
“I am Margaret Keith.” Her soft, husky voice was enchanting.
“Lady Margaret. My sister said you went up a tree.”
“I was, but fell out just now. I am fine. Bruised my ankle, see.” She drew up the embroidered hem of her gown to turn her foot in its narrow boot.
Dumbfounded, he looked at the pines. “You went up there?”
“Aye. So, you will soon be my husband?” Her smile was impish and bright, with pretty teeth and tiny side dimples. Duncan faltered. This gorgeous creature should be cherished, protected, not cast aside. He felt a new wash of guilt.
“About our, uh, betrothal—” He did not know how to say it.
“I remember our promise outside a church, and now we will plan a wedding. Are you nineteen now? I am thirteen.”
“Twenty. A knight. You are very young.”
“Fourteen this summer. Thank you for waiting for me to grow, Duncan Dhu.”
That she remembered the name touched him. His heart sank. His hands went clammy. “Er, my sister said you had trouble.”
“Look there. Do you see the bird?” She pointed toward the pines.
He saw a flash of white and silver: a falcon perched halfway up the tallest pine. Now he felt on solid ground. He knew birds better than he knew girls.
“A falcon! Not one of ours.”
“It was in the tree. I am afraid I shot it by accident. I feel terrible.”
“I doubt you could shoot a falcon.” He noticed the bow made of good ash, lying in the grass beside a quiver of arrows. It would take strength to pull it. She looked too fragile for that. “They arethe fastest creatures in all the world, so fast you would barely see her before she was gone. You did not shoot her.”
“I hope not. But I was practicing—and then I saw her not moving.” Tears welled in her green eyes.
He was ill-prepared for tears. “If she is injured, I might be able to catch her.” He walked toward the trees.
“How do you know it is a she?” The girl followed him.
“All falcons are ‘she’ until we know otherwise. And that one is big enough to be female now that I see her better. They are larger than the tiercels, the males, you see.”
