Page 80 of The Forest Bride
She watched the loch too, checking from every window she passed. Bran took the bishop and a few others out to exercise the birds, heading west. Wanting to stay at Brechlinn should anything happen there, she stayed behind. When she heardDuncan tell the bishop more about Greta and the family of gyrfalcons, she knew that trust in Bishop Murray said a great deal.
“Edward does not deserve such fine falcons,” the bishop replied. “Besides, in Scotland they are the privilege of earls as well as kings. I would not be surprised if one day Bruce will grant you an earldom for your services.”
“I am honored that you think so, sir,” Duncan said.
Helping Effie in the kitchen and elsewhere, Margaret prepared meals and attended tasks in the newly busy household. More guests meant that the few bedchambers in the tower were in use, needing dusting and fresh linens, and pallets were found for the soldiers, while Effie and Owen took a small room near the kitchen.
Owen was a big lad of eleven, with long brown hair and his mother’s light-blue eyes. He had such a knowing way with the birds that Margaret wondered why he did not train with Duncan as a falconer. She mentioned so to Effie, who shrugged.
“Bran says so too, and Duncan would teach him when they are both here. But Owen wants to forge steel. It is a good craft and he will do well in his uncle’s smithy.”
Despite so much activity, Margaret fought impatience and concern over Lady Lilias, hoping the girl would be safe until the moment Duncan and the others found her. She distracted herself further while practicing archery with Andrew and visiting the mews with Andrew and Owen, where she watched Owen calmly handle the birds.
She saw too little of Duncan, catching a glimpse of him working with the clerk and Sir Constantine as she passed through the hall; a farewell wave when he saw her at the window as he rode out on patrol with the men to circle the glens and ensure safety; a remark or two exchanged at supper when shecaught his attention for a moment. He seemed distracted and troubled.
Even with the quiet distance between them, her heart beat faster when he was near, her breath caught at his deep, resonant voice or his keen and steady gaze. Her dreams were filled with him again, as in the days before the broken betrothal, when hope brightened the future.
Each day, as the castle seemed to wait as if caught in time, she was aware that she missed him. Needed him, craved his nearness, wanted to feel the thrill of an unexpected touch, a kiss. More.
Her decision had been easily made, but William de Soulis would expect an answer from her soon. He might even come to Brechlinn to ask, though the patrol would keep him out. Her heart belonged to Duncan fully, though he seemed to have drifted away somehow. One night, she dreamed that he rowed a boat in a mist, while she called through the fog. In the dream, she feared he no longer loved her, and she did not know how to ask, or if the question was welcome.
She woke that rainy morning to hear horses in the bailey, and ran to see Duncan ride out with several knights, his cloak hood pulled up against the wet.
Chapter Twenty
On the thirdday, just before dawn, Margaret woke to a soft rapping on the door of her bedchamber. She could only guess at the hour, with no monastery for miles, no bells tolling prayers for the monks and across the hills too. Sitting up, she wondered why Effie tapped on her door so early without simply entering. The knocks sounded again, light and urgent. She rose, gathering a length of plaid woolen blanket around her, wearing a crumpled linen shift, her hair in one fat, messy sleeping braid. Opening the door, she gasped, startled to see Duncan silhouetted there.
“What is it?” she whispered opening the door as he slipped inside.
“A birlinn docked here not long ago,” he murmured.
“Bruce’s men?” She noticed he wore a long dark blue tunic over a linen shirt, a gentleman’s gown, but he had dropped a brass-studded leather hauberk over the tunic, with a low-slung belt holding a sheathed dagger. “You are dressed for conflict, not guests.”
“A boat arriving in the dark demands extra precaution, but now that I have seen them, they are indeed welcome. Dress, if you will, and come downstairs.”
“I will be right there. Effie will need my help in the kitchen.”
“You make excellent oatcakes and such, but you do not belong in the kitchen.”
She tilted her head. “You never said that you like what I make for the table.”
“Have I not? I do.”
“You have hardly spoken to me for days, but you came here to wake me, so this must be important. We will need to feed them and find more beds.”
“Important but not urgent. And thank you for helping Effie with the extra work. But I do not expect a daughter of a noble house to cook and such.”
“In the convent, we all worked by turns in the kitchens, the gardens, the laundry, and all over. I did all a servant would do, and did not mind. And I do not mind helping here. My mother taught my sisters and me to have no airs even if we had the best in life. It does not serve anyone.”
“You deserve the best. I would give that to you.”
His soft-spoken answer thrilled all through her. “Would you?”
“Indeed so. Dress now and come down.”
“Duncan, if you would let me be useful, then let me take up my bow and ride with you when you finally go to fetch Lady Lilias. Which will be soon, aye?” She nearly pleaded that as impatience and fear and worry rushed in again.
“We will fix our plans today, as we may have enough men for the task. I hope arrows are not needed. I want you safe here.”
