Page 59 of The Forest Bride
“How far can she see, do you think?”
“Likely she could see a hare running along that mountainside over there. If she wanted, she could catch it before it goes to ground. She is very fast, our girl.” The words slipped out before he knew it.
She smiled bright as a sunbeam at that. “Aurelia is very fast, too. She went sailing past and vanished.”
“Peregrines are said to be the fastest of the falcons. In all the world, there is nothing faster than a peregrine but lightning.” He smiled, proud of his birds, glad to be out here in the open where they could be free. “This is a good place for them. Isolated,” he said, indicating the hills, the sky.
“You love your birds. And this place.”
“I do.”
“And you love your castle, your kin, and your friends.”
“Aye.” He glanced at her, arching a brow. What was she was about with this?
“And you love the work you do.”
“Most of it.”
“Why do you do that work? Is it that you support the English king and his laws? Is it obligation or love for the law?”
“Does it matter?”
“It must to you.”
“What about to you?”
“I am thinking you are a man of integrity, and so—I am beginning to understand why you have not acted to rescue the king’s daughter.”
“So I need not explain caution to one so impatient?” He smiled a little.
“I am trying, Duncan Dhu. But it is not easy. Look! Is that Aurelia?”
He saw the peregrine, very high now, hover and tip its wings back, then streamline in a fast dive, a flash of gold and gray that all but disappeared. “She went into a stoop. Must have seen a temptation beyond the hill. The lads are going there now. Shall we go see? How is your stomach for such things?”
“I will be fine.” As she fell into step beside him, he spared a glance for Greta, who still watched sharp and serene on her high rock.
Beyond a swell in the moor, Duncan saw the peregrine mantling over her kill, plucking quickly. He put up a hand, and Margaret, Bran, and Lennox paused.
“Once she starts to feed, she will not take kindly if we try to remove it,” Duncan said. “We will wait while she feasts.”
After a moment, Bran walked up a hill, shaded his eyes, then turned to come back. “Knights,” he said, pointing. “Riding this way from the glen to the east.”
“Curious,” Duncan said. “We had best learn their business. I do not want them to spot my lass.”
“Me?” Margaret said.
“Greta,” he said, and saw her brow twitch. “You too, daughter of Keiths, shooter of sheriffs.”
Her cheeks went crimson. Lennox burst out laughing. “Seeing this lady,” the earl said, “no one would mistake her for the archer lad. What became of him, by the way?”
“Shooter of sheriffs?” Bran asked, looking bewildered.
“Lady Margaret disguised herself,” Duncan told Bran, “after a kerfuffle with Menteith at the archery butts.”
“She shot that bastard? Good,” Bran said.
“I did not mean to,” Margaret said. “If those are Menteith’s men, they may ask about it,” Duncan said, just as the riders appeared at the crest of the hill. “They are coming this way.”
