Page 63 of The Forest Bride
She almost curled her lip at that. Nearby, Duncan moved forward, looking stormy and disgusted. “Sir William, this is a surprising turnabout,” she said sourly. She glanced at Duncan, let her eyes show a silent plea. She wanted to be done with De Soulis.
He understood. He set a foot on the rock and bounded up to stand beside her.
“Sir William, you are misguided, I fear,” Duncan said. “The lady is already promised to me. Perhaps you misunderstand her situation.”
“You! But look. I do not misunderstand her interest. The rosy cheeks, the sparkling eyes—”
“And the hair of flame that gives her a heinous temper?” Duncan cocked a brow.
“Sir Duncan and I were betrothed in childhood,” Margaret said. “The marriage was delayed.”
“That cannot be, since your father agreed on our betrothal.”
“I was away for a few years,” Duncan explained. Standing close to him, Margaret slipped her hand around his arm. He bent his elbow.
“Away, aye! Imprisoned! Now I recall. They said you died in Flanders fighting for the English. But you are alive and well, and back in the king’s grace as a justiciar. Cleverly done, sir.”
“I inherited my father’s position and was granted king’s approval. Let me clarify the lady’s status again. She is betrothed to me.”
“We are planning our wedding,” she added as Duncan pressed her hand close inside his elbow. Her fingers warmed there and felt good. She exhaled, feeling an infusion of strength and calm beside him.
“As we know too well, betrothals are easily broken.” De Soulis gave her a charming smile, a tilt of his handsome head. Then he sent Duncan a steely glance. “The lady knows my heart is still hers. What say you, my lady? Will you take the better offer?”
The man did not give up easily. She felt Duncan tense beside her.
“Sir,” Duncan growled.
“Sir William,” Margaret interrupted. “You made it clear you would not marry me, and never explained your reasoning. Yet now this sudden passion. Why?”
“I have been a tortured soul since that day. I planned to approach your brother to make amends. Finding you here is destiny.”
“If only we could know our destinies,” she retorted.
“Your great-grandfather had that ability. Perhaps you do as well.” He smiled. It was flat. Calculating somehow.
“I will think about your request. Good day, sir. Duncan Dhu”—she used his affectionate name deliberately—“can we go now?”
Duncan nodded, curt and silent, nostrils flaring.
Just then Margaret heard a faintka-ka-kaaaain the distance. She prayed that the gyrfalcon would not suddenly sailoverhead. She avoided looking up, not keen to direct the knight’s attention toward the sky.
“Farewell then,” De Soulis said. “I wait upon your will, my lady. You can find me with Sir John at Roskie.” As he spoke, a burst of wind billowed the red cloak away from his shoulders, a fold of cloth at his throat lifting.
She had to ask now or lose the chance. “Sir, your brooch! Where did you get it?”
“This?” He shrugged. “Sir John gave it to me.”
“It belongs to—Sir Duncan. Sir John was holding it for him.”
“True,” Duncan said. “I won the bauble in the archery contest when Menteith was injured. But in all the fuss, I did not claim my prize.”
“It is more than a bauble,” Margaret said. “I would very much like to have it.”
“What I have is yours, my dear,” Duncan murmured.
“If Sir John confirms that the brooch is yours, sir, it will be returned to you. For now, it keeps my cloak closed against the wind.” De Soulis patted his shoulder.
Margaret drew a breath. “Sir—give me the brooch now in token of goodwill.”
