Page 58 of The Forest Bride
“I agree.” He led her off the slick shale platform and back to the path where they had left the garrons.
“If I keep the stones we found,” she said, “do you think the faery ilk would mind?”
“True Thomas’s great-granddaughter? How could they object? And I am laird of Brechlinn lands, which include the falls and the pool. The stones are yours, my lady.”
“Perhaps the faery ilk will bring us good luck. If they exist. Either way, we could use some luck.” His smile was so tender, so quick, that she wanted to pocket it.
She looked back at the roaring, rushing falls and the mist of water in the air. “There is a veil in places like this, they say. A veil to the faery realm through the water and mist. That is why the faery stones grant visions. Grandda said a hole in a stone is like a magical doorway to another realm where the future exists, and visions show us clear what will come.”
“Interesting. So you believe such things exist?”
“I truly do.”
“My mother had the Sight,” he said. “She knew things that sometimes proved true. We listened, though we also humored her. I wish I had known about that magical doorway when I was a lad,” he went on. “I would have amazed my brothers.”
Taking it for a jest—his practical, earthly nature would not be easily convinced—she laughed. The lovely moment, warm as the clasp of a hand, had passed.
When they reached the ponies, he helped her into the saddle, his hands firm at her waist, his gaze catching hers and holding it. The silence in the instant was like a lure, and she leaned toward him. But he set her on her mount and turned to his.
She was learning, in these new days with Duncan Dhu Campbell, how he had changed from the young man she remembered and dreamed about. He was a seasoned knight, a warrior, a man of the law now. He had experienced harshness that could turn a man’s heart to bitterness and secrets. He did have a secretive side, but she sensed no bitterness, no anger. Just the quiet determination of a man with a sober, thoughtful nature. Yet she sensed lightness in him too, genuine amusement, affection for his friends, his dogs, his birds, his rundown castle. And affection—or at least patience—for her.
Yet something troubled him. She wanted to ask but did not feel she should probe.
Once again the idealization, the love, she had held for him since she was young came flooding back. She could not reveal those feelings, for she could not discern how he felt about her. He might think her foolish. Certainly, he thought her an impulsive and impractical soul, insisting he act to find Lilias when he insisted on caution.
Perhaps he was wise in that, she thought. While her need for quick response caused her frustration, she had to admit that he knew Menteith and understood the law and the risks far better than she did.
They rode up the slope toward the moors that swept up into hills like a vast green hammock. The river sluiced and rolled through the sloping middle ground. There, Bran and Lennox stood by their ponies, gloves empty as they watched the sky.
Chapter Fifteen
Something had happenedat the water’s edge, when Margaret had peered through the hole in the stone. Duncan had seen her go pale, as if it was no jest, as if she saw a sight through that plain wee stone that made her uneasy.
He had an uneasy feeling himself this day; perhaps it was merely that edge he felt when the birds were out flying free, that small chance they could be seen even in this remote place no matter how careful he was. But he smiled at Margaret, masking his thoughts as they joined Bran and Lennox again. He dismounted and helped Margaret to the ground.
Shading her eyes, she watched the falcon and peregrine in flight. The wind blew back her skirts and cloak and whisked her bright hair. For a moment, he could only gaze at her.
“Greta caught two larks and a ptarmigan,” Bran said. “Aurelia took down a couple of larks. I gave them one and put the rest in the pouch. Effie will make a good pie of them.”
“So they have hunted and fed and are just enjoying the air,” Lennox said. “You two were gone a while, hey. We thought you might have fallen in.”
“Is it a good pool for swimming?” Margaret asked.
“A fine place for a plunge on a warm day,” Lennox said.
“The current can be rough,” Duncan said. “It is easy to get pulled under.”
She looked up at the clouds. “Where did the birds go?”
“Aurelia went that way like a golden arrow. The gyr found a high perch over there.” Lennox pointed toward a high crop of rocks on a hillside. “She will take off again if she sees something she wants. Or if she sees you, Duncan.”
Walking away, Duncan strolled toward the hill where Greta’s stony perch looked like a throne. Tall pines feathered along slopes where jagged rocks clustered and water poured down in rivulets. A primeval place. As often as he came this way, he still marveled at its wild beauty.
Hearing akak-kak-kak, he saw Greta lift her wings and settle, able to see for miles from her chosen seat. He turned as Margaret joined him.
“She seems content up there,” she remarked.
“Aye, looking over all her kingdom like a queen. If I raise my arm and glove, she will come to me, so I will not disturb her. Let her sit.”
