Page 39 of The Forest Bride
But he would not chance that Margaret Keith might convince good-hearted Euphemia to let her leave the room—and Brechlinn Castle.
Chapter Ten
Restored by abit of bacon, a bannock, and a swallow of ale, Duncan headed up the stairs to free Euphemia. Opening the door, he heard laughter and saw Margaret seated while Effie stood combing and braiding the rich length of her hair. Seeing Duncan, Effie finished her task, took up the tray, and went to the door.
“Lady Margaret,” she said as she left. The girl smiled, but when Duncan gave her a nod, she looked away with a tilted chin.
He followed Effie outside, barred the door, and took the tray as they descended the steps. Once past the central stone pillar and out of earshot, Effie paused on the downward step and turned to face him.
“So, Lady Margaret Keith. She was your betrothed, the one you—”
“That was years ago. Did she mention it?”
“Not to me. She only said she needed the protection of guising as a lad. Some women must resort to that. Men can be fools,” she added. “She also said you brought her here against her will. I did not press her because she is tired and in pain. But I want the truth from you. Did you bring her here by force? Though I cannot see it of you.”
“I did not, Effie. She wounded a man, so she is in my custody for now. That is all.”
“Is it? The air was thick enough to slice through between you two. You lock her in like a criminal. Bran thinks you brought alad up from the end of the loch to help here. Lennox avoided my question, so he knows something. What is it?” Hand on hip, she blocked his way.
“She entered an archery contest and shot Sir John Menteith,” he said as Euphemia gasped. “She claims it was an accident. But I cannot leave her in Menteith’s jurisdiction until I know what happened. I do not trust the man. So I brought her up the loch. Even so, he could come looking for her here. He thinks she is a lad.”
“If it was an accident, then she is innocent, and you cannot hold her.”
“It needs sorting out before I can release her.”
“And the rest of it? The betrothal.” Her ice-blue gaze was honest.
“All in the past.” He sighed, considering her, his good friend since childhood years. She was like a sister to him, Bran like a brother. Effie had married, was a mother, was a widow. He would do anything for Euphemia and Bran and their kin.
But some matters he would keep to himself.
“The betrothal was dissolved years ago, before I rode for Edward, before I was captured and all that followed. It is done.”
“Is it? She remembers. So do you. I felt it between you just now. That was more than a childhood betrothal.”
“She was thirteen, I was twenty. Both young, foolish. Much has happened since. It is forgotten.”
“And yet is not. You are changed even since I saw you last. Your eyes are more blue, more alight. You are keen on something. What has tapped your wicked old soul?” She poked his chest, smiled.
“I am just glad to be home, my dear, with my friends and falcons.”
“Huh! Content in this pile of rubble with a handful of misfit knights, and falcons you cannot admit to owning? Oh aye.Something has changed.” With a knowing smile, she took the tray and went down the steps, leaving him standing in shadows.
She was right. He knew it, though he was not sure what it meant.
Later, he walkedthrough the shadowy great hall, past its low-burning hearth, and opened the narrow door that led into a snug, low-ceilinged room. Brechlinn’s modest library held a small table, two chairs, and a hefty set of wooden shelves to which nearly fifty leather-bound volumes were chained. Part of his father’s library, now his, with books added as he found time and silver.
Malcolm, Earl of Lennox, was sprawled in a leather chair, one leg extended as he studied the painted pages of the heavy volume cradled in his big hands. A brass chain draped from the book’s spine to the nearby shelf. He looked up.
“I found a volume of the Anglo-Saxon chronicles. Fascinating account.” He tapped a page. “Look here—it speaks of the outlawing of an earl believed to be a traitor to the king, long ago. He admitted to betrayal ‘before all the men gathered there,’ so it says, and he was expelled. Then he returned with ships from Norway. Interesting.”
“Ah, that. ‘And yet it is too tedious to tell how it all came about,’” he quoted. “Not a good precedent for your situation. You are no traitor, Malcolm.”
“But cruelly expelled from my lands. I have no Norwegian ships, though. I might borrow a few from Ireland if Bruce backs my bid to reclaim The Lennox from Menteith.”
“He would back you if he could spare the ships and men. Speaking of Ireland,” Duncan said, taking a chair, “we may have trouble.”
“The wee bit lass upstairs?”
