Page 88 of The Forest Bride
A pottery bowl on the table held the little river stones that she and Duncan had found. Picking up one of them, she held it toward the window, then candle flame, but nothing remarkable appeared. She thought of the silver brooch again, with its luminous blue stone and a central hole outlined in tiny crystals.
The only way to reclaim it from De Soulis was to go to him herself. He would never relinquish it to Duncan. She was sure of that.
As for wee Lilias, she did not know—no one did—the best way to reclaim her.
Lifting the stone to her eye again, she looked toward the window, once again seeing only a small slice of hills and gray sky. Her father had once said there were ways to see distant objects closely in glass globes that made things appear larger, or small glass lenses that some could afford to aid failing eyesight. But nothing sharpened distant views.
Something moved within the small range of the stone’s hole. Narrowing her eyes, she watched the landscape and saw movement again. She waited. The slope disappeared into a field of fog and a figure moved through it—then vanished. The hill and sky returned. When she had tried the stone the other day, she had seen an extraordinary sight—a battle of some kind. A true vision. But she did not know how to invite such things. They seemed random, accidental. But something appeared now and then.
Closing her eyes, she tried to recall what Thomas had told her in the year before his death, eight years ago now. Her sisters hadgifts. He had said she did too. Yet what was there came and went capriciously.
Well, she thought, setting the little stone back in the bowl, if that was all she could do, it would have to be enough. The little river stones were not quite like the stone that Thomas had given her. Perhaps, when she regained that, she could try again.
Sighing, she picked up the little prayer book once more to turn its pretty pages. The rain tapped against the glass in the window arch, that repetition coaxing a yawn as she flipped the pages. Distracted, she felt anxious about Duncan and what he might encounter, and felt her stomach spin with fear as she thought about Lilias and how frightened the girl must be by now. She needed to know both were safe.
Yet she was a bit tired, and the wait might be long. Turning pages of prayers, she whispered a little prayer asking protection for Lilias, Duncan, the missing men, the gyrfalcons too—and added a little prayer for herself, wishing she might always stay here with Duncan Campbell. Drowsy with hopes and prayers, she laid her head on her arms and dozed.
Margaret. Margaret lass.
She looked around. A man stood in the shadows by the door. Thomas the Rhymer of Learmont, her great-grandfather. She sat up, reached out, but he held up a hand. “Grandda!”
Merry Margaret, dear lass, he said.Our wee forest bride.
“Oh, Grandda!” Tears rose in her eyes, and she felt an overflowing sense of love and kindness from him. He was younger than she remembered, fit and handsome, no longer crooked and old, with silver-white hair. His pale blue eyes held a gentle light.
Lass, the blue stone, my truth stone.
“I lost it, Grandda.” She wanted to cry.
Thee must get it back. And thee must keep the elf-bolt too.
“That one is safe, see.” She pulled out the silver chain and pendant to show him. “But I do not know how to use the stones you gave me, Grandda.”
Just look and wait without thought or fear. The stone will show thee what it wants thee to know.
“What is it I need to know?”
Truth, dear one. The truth in thy heart. Then thee will know what thee needs.
“You said the pendant would help me. But I do not know how it can do that.”
Where thee will it, the arrow will fly. Think, and do. Wee forest bride, be patient and watch. Thee will see.
“I am trying to understand. Grandda, why do you call me a forest bride?”
It has always been thy destiny.He held up a hand, stepped back, and was gone.
Rain pattered against the glass, the candle flame flickered.
Margaret opened her eyes, blinking. Her head was still on her folded arms. Just a dream—that was all. She sat up, feeling dazed. What had he told her?
Look and see.Picking up the plain little stone again, she peered through it. This time, she saw a high rocky slope, not the view framed by the window. She saw a cave opening in the slope. A girl sat there, dark-haired, wrapped in a cloak. Above, a white falcon glided. In the distance, she saw the frothy tail of a waterfall.
She blinked wide, nearly dropping the stone. Looking again, she breathed deep, and waited, as Thomas had told her in the dream.
Another image formed. Men, bloody and exhausted, some on the ground, some kneeling. One standing. Duncan leaned on his upright sword, its point in the ground. Then he collapsed, lying still—
Margaret cried out and held the stone away from her, breathing quickly. Trembling, she dared to look again. A blur of green became a forest. Two people stood there, but she could not see their faces. Chainmail on the man; a woman in a blue gown. Mist again.
