Page 48 of The Forest Bride
“I did not mind,” she breathed. It had felt like something left undone between them, something that needed to happen. A resolution of sorts.
He stood, a tall dark shadow in a long tunic, a long-haired, broad-shouldered, dark archangel gazing at down at her, all beauty and banked power. He reached down and lifted her chin.
“Margaret Keith,” he murmured. “Still the dreamer. I am glad. Go back to sleep. I will see you later.”
He turned and walked out, closing the door behind him. Margaret heard the drop of the drawbar. Lying back on the still-warm blankets, she blinked back tears.
She had made a fool of herself. Her dreams were a fancy after all. He did not share them—his life was very different from hers, and a decade was a lot of time to leap.
Then she would be content with the good fortune of finding him again, knowing he was well. And she would go on with her life, determined, keeping her spine straight, showing strength and doing what she liked. His decision years ago had caused her to toughen her spirit, even if he did not know.
Chapter Twelve
Lilias
Aknock atthe door made Lilias jump. She sat on the bed stitching an embroidery piece on a wooden frame, having asked Dame Brigit to bring her some needlework to occupy her during the long hours. She had been here several days, she thought. Dame Brigit came each day at morning and again late afternoon.
No one knocked at midday. She heard the bar lift, the latch creak, and Brigit poked her head inside.
“Lady Elisabeth, the sheriff wants to see you in the hall. Come with me.”
Lilias stood, puzzled. In all this time, Sir John Menteith had not asked to see her. Perhaps her father had come to fetch her! She followed the woman down stone steps to a corridor, then up to a door opened by a guard dressed in the red and gold of Edward of England. Seeing that, Lilias frowned.
Finally the housekeeper led her into a large hall with a high ceiling and a bright fire in a central iron basket. A trestle table and benches were arranged in the middle of the room. At the other end, a man sat in a chair near a glowing brazier. Pillows were crammed around him, and his foot was propped on a stool with another cushion. He beckoned her forward but did not rise.
“Lady Elisabeth,” he said as she approached. “I am Sir John. Take a seat.”
She did. He gestured for Brigit to leave, and the woman crossed the room to sit under a window with a basket of sewing work. Beyond the tall windows, Lilias saw green hills and a small loch. She wished she was out there, running from this place toward her father and her friends.
Lilias regarded him. Sir John was perhaps her father’s age, brown-haired with a plain, round face and a close-trimmed beard. He wore a fur-trimmed robe over a tunic, and his foot on the stool was wrapped in cloth bandages.
“You are Sheriff of Dunbartonshire?” she asked.
“And Earl of Lennox, aye.”
She tilted her head. “I know the Earl of Lennox. He is a tall man with black hair and a big beard. You are not he.”
“That man is no longer earl of these lands.”
“Oh now! Is he dead?”
“Outlawed. A traitor. Dispossessed of his lands.”
“Are you one of King Edward’s men? I thought you were Scottish.”
“I am. I was appointed by King Edward to command this region.”
“Am I a prisoner of the English?”
“You are safe here. Not a prisoner.”
“Then you can let me go.”
“Hah! Where would you go?”
“I would send word to my kin to fetch me.”
“Your father is too busy to fetch you. That is why I must keep you safe, until he can send someone for you.” He moved, winced. She looked again at his bandaged foot.
