Page 56 of The Forest Bride
“Greta my love, none but you,” Lennox replied, giving Margaret a wink as he urged his garron forward to join Bran again. Margaret smiled.
“Lennox makes you laugh,” she observed. “He is a cheerful fellow.”
“Another in his situation might be angry and resentful. Yet he can smile even so. He is a rare man and a rare friend.”
He smiled too, his eyes twinkling, but soon the humor faded as he looked about, wary and alert. As serious as he could be, he was easygoing with his friends—and she had felt some of that with him the other night in her bedchamber.
She felt as if a taut and curious chain connected them, invisible but in place for years. It had always been there, even when she had believed he was gone, for he had stayed in her thoughts, her prayers, her dreams, an unforgettable soul. And as she grew from child to woman, he had grown in her imagination.
Glancing at him again, she saw the same handsome, virile man who had appeared in her dreams, with his crooked smile, a sleepy droop in his eyelids when he was thoughtful, a spark of wit in deep blue eyes. What she had imagined was true in the man. That was a marvel to her. How could that be?
He pointed ahead. “Do you hear that?”
She did—the rushing sound of water everywhere, so that she could not tell where it originated. The air was filled with texture, power, and moisture.
“A waterfall!”
“Just through those trees, but we must leave the ponies for a bit. Bran! Malcolm!” he called as they turned. “I want to show Lady Margaret the falls. Take the birds and go ahead to the moor by the river if you will. We will meet you soon.”
Quickly they transferred the birds, Greta to Bran, Aurelia to Lennox, both wearing heavy falconer’s gloves. They had birdstoo, carried on a fifth horse in a wicker cage. The birds cheeped, restless, wings fluttering.
“They are anxious to fly,” Bran said.
“Let them go if you like. We will be along shortly,” Duncan said as the two men left, their garrons proceeding steadily over a rocky incline.
“We can leave the garrons here and walk toward the falls,” Duncan told Margaret, dismounting to help her from her seat. She walked with him along an earthen path that cut through a woodland of oak and birch that merged with a rocky gorge. The river cut through, fast and frothy, dipping and cascading. Ahead, Margaret saw a long white trail of water.
“Come look,” Duncan said, offering his hand when the way grew steep. He helped her balance on the slick stones of the rugged gorge above the fast, narrow river.
The falls roared now, white and spectacular, surrounded by trees, the water thundering into a wide pool filled with eddies and whirlpools, growing calmer near its banks.
“It’s beautiful!” she said, raising her voice as he leaned to hear her.
“The Falls of Falloch. Part of the river that flows south to join Loch Lomond just above Brechlin.” He too raised his voice. “The birds like it here,” he went on. “Sometimes we release them near the falls. They fly over the hills, all around, and come back. They know we will be here waiting for them.”
He took her hand again to guide her closer to the falls. She felt the spray on her face and hair, her gown blowing back against her legs. The immense thunder and beauty of the waterfall seemed to dominate all around it.
“It feels so cleansing,” she said. “In the air. In the spirit.”
“It does. Come this way.” He led her down the rocky slope to the edge of the pool, where the sound faded a bit and the water was calmer.
“There is a legend about this place,” he said. “They say the faery ilk have always inhabited this place, and that their magic infuses the water and the stones and trees all around here.”
“What a lovely thought,” Margaret said.
“If you look around the pool, you might find small stones with holes in them. Faery magic formed the holes, so they say. If you look through the holes, you might see the future.”
“Seeing-stones.” She stared up at him in surprise. Her great-grandfather had such stones and had gifted a special one to her—the very brooch Menteith had offered as a prize and Duncan had refused. She wanted that brooch back, though its importance paled in comparison to rescuing Lilias and finding Andrew.
“Seeing-stones, aye. I find it hard to believe in such things. I have also heard that a stone with a hole in it has been beaten with water for ages longer than we can know. The relentless flow makes more sense than faery stones.”
“I believe in them.”
“I am not surprised. There are whole crops of them here. Look around.” He washed the toe of his boot back and forth, then stooped to dip his hand into the water and brought up two or three in the palm of his hand. “Just here.”
“What lovely faery stones!” She took one of them. “My great-grandfather had some of them. He said they were magical things.”
“Thomas the Rhymer ought to know.” He sounded amused. “We played by the falls as lads and would try to tell the future with such stones. We played at being Thomas the Rhymer, truth be told.” He grinned.
