Page 41 of The Forest Bride
She had to rely on her determination and her impulsiveness to solve this dilemma. Yet she was stuck waiting for the justiciar—her dear Duncan Dhu, precious in memory though she did not know the man well at all—to decide what he would do.
Gazing out at the battlement, she saw two guards looking out over the loch. Far off, a dog barked and went silent; she heard the steady shush of the water but little else. The guards moved out of sight, and she would have turned away, but looked down.
A cart sat at the base of the tower keep, filled with hay, bales piled beside it. The sight gave her a sudden, tempting, mad thought.Escape.
Months ago, her sister Tamsin had escaped a castle tower using a makeshift rope of bedlinens in a desperate bid to avoid a marriage imposed by King Edward. Tamsin had climbed down only to encounter a knight waiting outside the castle walls for his own purposes. He helped her make a fortuitous escape, and that adventure had led to a life Tamsin had never anticipated.
Could Tamsin’s mad scheme solve Margaret’s situation too? But Tamsin’s tower had been on an outer wall, so that she escaped into a forest with the knight’s help. Here, even if Margaret could climb out and land in the cart, she would have to get through the bailey and out the gate. With luck, she could find a small postern gate at the back and escape unseen in the darkness.
She looked around. Tamsin had tied together an abundance of linens and things. This bedchamber held only a few blankets and linens; knotted together, they might not be long enough. Still, even halfway down, she could fall safely into the hay.
She had to try. Duncan was a deliberate soul, which suited him and his work. She was his fiery opposite, and could not sit here longer without acting.
Flexing her shoulder, she decided it would support her; she could nurse it and her knee to full strength later. For now, all she wanted was to get away to search for Andrew and Lilias. Rushing around the room, she collected what she could find and began working fervently to tie the corners of blankets and linens together in fat knots, glad of her nimble strength from bow practice. Once the lengths were knotted together, she stretched the rope out. Too short.
She removed Euphemia’s too-large blue dress and tied the arms to a blanket corner. That left her shivering in a thin shift, but the tunic and trews she had worn as a lad were folded on the bench. Quickly she scrambled into those and pulled on her boots. Too impatient to search for the black cap, she tossed her single braid back.
Tying one end of the makeshift rope around a leg of the bed, the heaviest item in the room, she carried the rope’s length to window. Then she dragged the bench to the window and climbed up, resting a hip on the stone sill. The wind on her face was cool and damp. She looked down. A mistake. The drop was long.
Reeling back, she leaned a shoulder against the window frame, facing darkness and the snapping chill, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Then she dragged the awkward fabric rope closer and spilled it over the sill.
The weight of it shifted the bed forward, wooden legs scraping over the floor, dreadfully loud. She stopped, heart pounding, and glanced at the battlements. No sign of the guards. She leaned out again as a swift breeze cut past.
She rose on her toes to assess how to get out the window. As children, she and her siblings had climbed on a rope over a deep stream and pool by Kincraig. That was how Tamsin learnedto climb down a rope. So there was no reason she could not do this too. Taking a breath, she leaned out, drawing a breath to conquer dizziness and the fear that this was an idiotic thing to attempt. She hoisted up on her arms, hands pressed on the windowsill, and with a little leap, set one hip on the sill. Bracing her hands, she began to wriggle about, realizing she needed to turn so that she could climb down the rope while facing the outer wall.
A door slammed. “God’s bones!”
Surging out of the darkness, two strong hands grabbed her under the arms to yank her back into the room. Startled, she twisted to see Duncan’s scowl as he pulled her hard against him and held her fast.
“What the devil are you doing?” he growled. Then he lifted her, though she kicked and writhed, carried her, and all but tossed her on the bed.
She wriggled enough to throw him off balance so that he tumbled with her. Frame and mattress lurched under the combined force of their fall and the bed shifted, the rope’s weight pulling it toward the sill. Jumping to his feet, Duncan grabbed the rope and turned. He jabbed a finger at her in the moonlight.
“Stay there. Do not dare move!”
She sat up, breathing hard, as he snaked the rope into the room so fast and in such agitation that its end whipped backward and into her lap. Then he slammed the shutters, rattling the glass in the upper arch, and turned to glare again.
“God’s very bones, you gave me a hell of a fright! What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I should leave.” She returned his glare.
“You could have been killed.” He pulled the cloth rope off her and threw it on the floor, then lifted a boot to push the bed back against the wall. Margaret bounced as it hit.
“I did not know you had such a temper,” she said.
“I did not, until I saw this. What the devil am I to do with you?”
“Let me go or help me.”
“I will not help you jump out a window.”
“Then open the door,” she said.
He shoved his hair back—thick, dark and glossy, it had fallen in his eyes. Why did she notice the way moonlight glinted over those black waves? Why did it look so soft and appealing? She scowled to dispel the thought.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“Only where you grabbed my ribs.” She tucked her hands under her arms.
