Page 65 of The Forest Bride
But the knight’s offer was Margaret’s matter to decide. No matter what Duncan thought, what he dreaded or wanted, he would wait on her will—at least for now.
He had dull charm, he knew, compared to a knight used to pride of place in a royal court; his gruff reserve, close-guarded secrets, and simple life in a half-ruined castle must look poor indeed. If the lass chose to walk away from Campbell of Brechlinn, he could hardly blame her.
But she was with him now, and he would make sure she was protected, and that the trouble that had brought her to the Highlands was resolved somehow. It was the least he could do to make up for the trouble he had caused her long ago.
Seeing Bran and Lennox, he waved. “We must fetch down the birds and get back quickly,” he called.
“Let me make sure those fellows are gone.” Bran ran up the incline.
“Lady Margaret,” Duncan said, “raise your glove. Aurelia will see you and come back.” She stepped away to lift her gloved hand and waited.
Within moments, the peregrine came floating, swift and golden, to flutter to the glove. Duncan produced a small hood from his belt pouch and slipped it over the bird’s head.
“All clear,” Bran said as he returned. “They are heading north along the track.”
Duncan nodded, raising his gloved hand. He did not see Greta, and turned, searching, praying she had not been sighted by the knights on the road. “You lot go ahead,” he said. “I will wait for her and follow.”
“I will stay,” Margaret said. “She is our bird.”
He gave her a grateful smile. She was so beautiful, earnest, so vivid. He had been a young fool to let her go. The encounter with De Soulis reminded him that he could lose her before he had even tried to win her back.
He, too, had a question for Margaret Keith. The need to ask spun in his core; uncertainty spun there too. He knew he had hurt her deeply. But even more than her forgiveness, perhaps he needed to forgive himself, though such thoughts were new, foreign to him. What did she want, what did he want? The answer seemed clearer than ever. He wanted Margaret Keith to stay; wanted her in his life, his bed, his heart, desired her more with each glance, each moment. But something held him in place. Fear she would refuse, tit for tat. Fear of losing her for trying—or never trying.
“Look!” Margaret called, pointing. “Greta! Greta, love!”
Then she was there, his other love, streaming like a ray of light through the glen. Wings spread, she angled down and settled on his raised glove like a cloud, ethereal, magical. He hooded her quickly, rewarded her with a bit of food torn from a scrap in his belt pouch.
Margaret leaned close, cooing to the bird. Then she smiled at him.
Our bird.The thought of it sent a warm thrill through him, as if they were a family, bonded long ago and reunited, with no loss, no hurt. He wished it was so.
She walked beside him with their friends, toward home. For a moment he felt the urge to stop, let the others go ahead, take the girl in his arms and kiss her, linger with her in peace.
But she hurried ahead and he strode after, the hooded falcon riding his glove, the peregrine on hers. Glancing around, alert and wary, he watched for horsemen on a hillside, travelers, shepherds, any who might see them.
The snowy gyrfalcon could be seen from afar, and the bright-haired beauty beside him was all too noticeable as well. Both were beyond value to him. Keenly, desperately, he needed to hasten them home.
Chapter Seventeen
The door ofher bedchamber showed an edge of light; the drawbar was up, the latch loose. Duncan had ushered her into the room and left without shutting the door.
Was she free to go this time? Within limits, she thought. Surely Duncan knew she needed his help as a justiciar, as a laird, as a warrior. What he did not realize is how much she needed Duncan Dhu, just him; she knew it in her heart now.
But she was tired, she told herself, and would rather rest than wander out. Rest and think, for her mind and feelings were in a tumble. The day had been exciting, exhilarating, and frightening as well. The meeting with De Soulis troubled her; and being near Duncan whirled her about, distracted her, drew her in—yet he had that protective wall around him. She would not try to breach it. A decade later, he was who he was; she wanted to know that man. Though she could not guess his feelings, she was more and more sure of hers.
For years, she had imagined herself in love with him in the way of dreams; what could have been, the handsome knight on a white charger, the saintly warrior. She had thought that was love.
Her feelings for him were changing rapidly, deepening, reforming, tumbling like a fast river with craving, yearning, wondering. Before he had reappeared, she cherished a pure and unrealized love for the young knight who had hurt herbut had nobly perished. That love, she realized now, was pallid compared to what she had begun to feel.
The shock and confusion of seeing him alive had confused her. Now past that, she felt compelled to be by his side, keenly aware of him when he was near, thinking of him when he was not; drawn to the deep timbre of his voice, the messages in his loch-blue gaze, the tenderness in his touch, and dear God, the fervor in his kiss. Quick and certain, she had fallen headlong into a heartfelt love—deep, fiery, and more consuming than she could ever have lent to the innocent ideal she had created.
William de Soulis was nothing compared to Duncan Campbell. The Lowland knight was shallow, bitter—and threatening. Yet De Soulis had Thomas’s brooch—and he might be the very avenue that would lead to Lilias. She could not ignore that.
Her choices, her needs—Lilias and Andrew, the missing men, the missing truth stone—and the tug between her honed independent nature and this fast, hard craving for Duncan overwhelmed her. She needed to rest and not think for a bit.
She curled on the bed with a blanket, but her thoughts still spun. If Duncan accepted that the Rhymer’s brooch proved that Menteith had taken Lilias, he would take swift action. She knew in every part of her being that he was a man of his word. But though she needed his help, she worried about the risk to him. De Soulis had seen Greta, and he was an untrustworthy soul. Duncan was not safe.
She would have to decide now between the two men if she wanted to find out what De Soulis knew. As for marriage—De Soulis had offered. Duncan had not. She had thought never to marry, but now she must choose one or the other—or refuse both.
