Page 69 of The Forest Bride
“Thank you.”
Effie set the dishes on the tray. “I will take these to the kitchen. You are free to do what you like. But listen to your heart, my lady.”
“I will try. Sometimes it is not as loud as my stubborn nature. Effie, if I have freedom here, I want to help you in the kitchen or elsewhere.”
“Oh, I could not ask that of a lady! You are a guest and should not be chopping carrots and turnips with me. But if you want to visit the falcons, I think Duncan would like that. Or you could practice some archery,” she added with a twinkle in her eye.
“He might object to that,” Margaret said wryly. “Still, perhaps I will do that.” She touched the crystal pendant at her throat.
“It is a pretty thing, that. I noticed it before. An arrowhead, a decorative one?’
Margaret smiled. “A gift from my great-grandfather.”
“Then it will bring you good luck. If you want to practice archery, Sir Malcolm was oiling your bow just yesterday and added new arrows to the quiver. He remarked what a good bow it is. There are straw targets in the yard if you want to use them.”
“I would like that. I will look for him and ask for my bow.”
“If you see Duncan out in the yard, remember what I said. He cares for you. I am sure of it.” With a mischievous smile, Effie left the room, leaving the door wide open.
Margaret hesitated at the threshold, then stepped out, shut the door, and headed down the steps. Finding the great hall, she wandered through. Effie stood at the far end talking with servants, acting as a chatelaine for her cousin; Duncan was fortunate to have her here.
Walking past an open door, hearing male voices, she glanced inside as she passed. Duncan sat at a table looking at pages with his clerk.
As she passed, Duncan glanced up from the parchment in his hands to meet Margaret’s eyes. His were piercing blue, the afternoon sun on his face. She paused, drawn in by that steady gaze. Then the clerk spoke and Duncan replied, looking away.
That instant felt motionless, timeless. The finespun strand deep within her gave an insistent tug. She walked past.
Chapter Eighteen
His mind filledwith thoughts of a dozen orders and letters he was reviewing or writing, Duncan crossed the bailey looking for Lennox. Of all the decisions he had made lately, he had not drawn up a parchment for the lad accused by Menteith—nor would he. Just now, though, he wanted Lennox to look at some documents to lend some insight into Bruce’s plans, as the man might know more than others about that.
Hearing Malcolm’s voice, he glimpsed him at the far turn in the outer wall that backed up to forestland. In that section, a high wedge of stones sealed damage in the outer wall yet to be repaired. All in due time, Duncan thought as he approached.
Straw bales were set at the back wall for archery targets. Lennox stood gripping an upright longbow waiting for Margaret, who stood poised to release an arrow. Her long braid shone like rippled copper in the late sunlight. Duncan watched her draw back the bowstring and release. The arrow struck one of the bales, and Lennox called out approval. Her answering smile faded as she noticed Duncan. He felt a swirl of disappointment. He wanted that warm smile, too.
“She is a proper archer. Has not missed a shot yet,” Lennox said, seeing him.
“That went too far left,” Margaret said. “But I am glad to be outside with my bow again.” She smiled at Duncan then, but it seemed tremulous.
He frowned slightly, wondering at her cool demeanor. Only two days ago they had taken the falcons out, had lingered at the waterfall—he would have stayed there forever with her—and then, unfortunately, they had met De Soulis. Later Duncan had left her door unbarred, making her freedom clear. He had thought that might please her.
But since seeing De Soulis, the lass had befuddled him further, even avoided him. Perhaps she was upset with De Soulis; perhaps she was upset with Duncan for not riding off in a fury to find Lilias—had he even known where to look, or how to achieve it legally and ultimately. Still, he was glad Margaret was finding ways to occupy her time with books, archery, and helping Effie here and there, which he had noticed gratefully.
She stood back. “Sir Malcolm, it is your shot.”
“Hold. I need Lennox for a bit,” Duncan said. “Sir, if you would, I require your opinion on some matters. Patrick has the documents in the library for you to study if you have time. I can stay with Lady Margaret,” he added.
Lennox handed the longbow to Duncan. “Your turn then, Brechlinn. She might best you though. Later, my lady.” He walked away.
“Are you my erstwhile guard, then?”
“Do you need one?” When she only stared at him, he shrugged. “I have work to finish, but some air will do us good before the sun drops for the evening.” He raised the longbow and tugged the string. “The range of this bow is too long for those targets. The distance is better suited to your hunting bow.”
“Lennox was shooting past the bales toward that postern door. But some of his shots went over the back wall.” She indicated the old door, scarred with arrow shots, set in the wall. “His bowshot would catch English from here. Mine might catch a hare.”
“Or a sheriff,” he drawled as he took up a long arrow. He stretched the bowstring, balanced the arrow, sighted the old door.
“You still do not believe my shot was an accident.”
