Page 62 of The Forest Bride
“Newest?” Duncan scowled. The smug tone made him want to yank the man off his horse.
“Sir William de Soulis was once my betrothed.” Margaret lifted her chin.
“Ah,” Duncan breathed. “That fellow.” He paused to cool the fire erupting in him as he realized De Soulis must be the one who had refused her and kept her dowry lands.
“The lady is a beauty, a true prize, with a remarkable legacy in her family,” De Soulis said. “And I hope she will consent to speak with me for a moment.” He dismounted, sliding down to the ground in an agile drop. “My lady?”
She exhaled sharply, then sighed. Picking up the hems of gown and cloak, she walked up the incline to meet De Soulis as he moved toward her and offered his hand.
Duncan glanced toward Bran and Lennox, seeing Bran set his hand on his dagger while Lennox crossed his arms, scowling. Setting a foot higher on the incline, Duncan prepared to stride forward if she needed him as De Soulis led her away.
“Dear Margaret,” he heard the man say, “you are looking well. I did not expect to see you again. I bless my luck this day,” he went on. The wind picked up his voice, carrying it down the hill, snatching words away. Duncan heard more than he liked.
“Nor I you, sir,” she said.
“I always held you in affection.”
“Your actions did not show that.”
Where was her temper? Duncan frowned. If he had betrayed her as De Soulis did, keeping her dowry lands, she would have railed at him next she saw him. Yet she sounded reasonable. Calm. Did she prefer this man? Something in his center spun, ached at the thought.
De Soulis was a handsome young knight, a favorite in Edward’s circle, so Duncan had heard. The family had a powerful influence in the south. The man had charm, but it was not trustworthy charm. He felt sure of it. Again he wanted to tear the fellow away from her, and fisted his hand against it.
“My lady, you are even more beautiful than I remember. I often think on what happened and pray you understand. The refusal was my father’s decision, not my own. I want you to know that.” Taking her arm, he walked with her, stepping off the broad rock to the slope.
That gave him an excuse to keep hold of the lady, Duncan thought sourly. He took another step forward, watching intently, ready to move if she gave the slightest hint she wanted help.
“Not my doing, as I said. I pray you think the best of me—”
Duncan missed her answer, and could not hear what De Soulis said next as they strolled across the curve of the hill. Margaret nodded, then shook her head. Duncan stood wary and poised to move. As she listened, she lifted her beautiful face to a cool breeze. He saw her expression soften, become more compassionate. What was she thinking?
He realized then his explanation of his actions the other night was not enough of an apology for the unhappiness he must have caused. His pride held him back from fully admitting his poor judgment as a young man.
He wanted her to believe in him again. To trust him again. But now, all he could do was stand and watch as she succumbed to De Soulis’s charm and assurances.
Chapter Sixteen
“My lady, canyou ever forgive me?”
Hearing the syrupy tone, Margaret forced a smile. The reason she had deigned to listen to De Soulis at all was the brooch he wore—a large circlet of worked silver with a beautiful blue stone, a translucent slice with a hole at its center crusted with tiny crystals. Thomas the Rhymer’s brooch. Hisclach na fìrin, his truth stone.
Her brooch, pinned to this man’s cloak.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Duncan take another step forward, and was grateful that he was so watchful, in case she needed quick interference. Turning, she walked with De Soulis to the rock platform where the man’s horse stood.
“I am sorry,” William de Soulis said. “I want your good faith again. I thought we were a worthy match—you and I, our families. Our interests.”
“Interests?” She looked up.
“You are kin to the remarkable True Thomas. No doubt you learned something from him, perhaps even inherited his talents. I am deeply interested in such powers.”
“I know nothing of such things. You know little of me, sir.”
“I know you are a lady of caring and good family who can run a household and supervise the daily routine and needs of a busy castle—my father’s property of Hermitage Castle will come to me one day. A fine fortress, though I mean to build it into a magnificent castle. I want you to be my helpmeet in that.”
She stopped and looked up at him. “William,” she said, “if you felt this way, why did you do what your father wanted and cancel the agreement?”
“He forced my hand. It suited his ambition, not mine. He suspected the Keiths were not as loyal to Edward as they should be. We cannot risk association with such. But I have seen my error, and have decided I will not marry unless I can be your husband.” He lifted her hand to kiss a knuckle. She wanted to pull away. “One of the proud daughters of Keith of Kincraig, kin to the Marischal, kin to Thomas the Rhymer. Her hair of flame stole my heart and owns it still.”
