Page 9 of The Forest Bride
Margaret squeezed her eyes shut, struggling for alertness. She recalled the flash of swords, a flurry of arrows, thethunkof long poles that jousted men from their horses. Remembered her horse neighing in alarm, remembered shooting—where was her bow? Gone.
Lilias had been taken first, dragged screaming as she was tossed over a thug’s lap and carried away. Then Andrew, flung to the ground, was quickly subdued and tethered with a rope to stumble with the good knights of their escort who had been captured and were still on their feet. Other good men lay on the ground.
Glancing behind her now, she saw Andrew, Hugh Stewart, Quentin Douglas and a few other men walking, hands bound, bleeding from wounds, some limping.
To her left was a vast loch through a screen of trees. Guessing that was Loch Lomond, she knew they were traveling north.Yet soon they veered to the right through forestland, heading northeast. A few moments later, they stopped briefly, the knights conferring, pointing. She and Lilias and the men were kept under close guard. When her captor remounted, he pushed her behind him, so that she had to cling to him or fall.
He should have kept her in front of him. Her head was clearer now. If she had a chance to grab his dagger—or even to just slip away—she would have to take it.
The knights rode single file along a rough forest path. One side was a steep slope carpeted with ferns and studded with saplings. It made Margaret think of games she had played with her brother and others in the forest around Kincraig. She had loved climbing trees, leaping branch to branch, rolling down hills to jump up and run. She could do that now.
Taking the risk before she could think further and let fear hold her back, she let go of the man’s belt and slid down and away. He grabbed for her cloak as she fell, snatching hold, tearing the wool. Her cloak pin popped open and the cloak spread as she tumbled to the ground. She grabbed the cloth but missed the pin.
Rolling down the ferny incline, feeling sticks poking into her sides, she slid to the bottom and scrambled to her feet, launching into a run. Men shouted, and one or two slid down the hill in pursuit. But she slipped away into the forest, cutting behind trees, farther and farther away each time she paused to look, to breathe.
“Eh, let her go!” someone shouted. “We will come back. We have what we want for now. Come on!” Horses began to advance along the path at the top of the slope.
She turned and fled.
Running until her breath went ragged, she fell to her knees, then rose and ran on. Branches smacked, leaves slapped her faceand hands, roots tripped her, bracken snagged at her skirts. She plunged onward through the greenwood, heart slamming.
Finally she stopped where the forest was thick with tall pines. Her breath heaving, she ducked under the drooping boughs of an ancient pine and leaned against the trunk, hidden. Piney fragrance filled her nostrils, the scent and the quiet forest calming. After a while she peered out. No one seemed to have followed her.
She listened, hearing wind and rustling leaves, chirping birds, the burble of a nearby stream. Beams of sunlight threaded green and soft through leaves and boughs, undisturbed by human movement. Her wild path had taken her well off the beaten path. Safe for now, she sat back with a sob, burying her face in her hands.
Lilias was gone. Andrew was gone. The knights of the escort were taken, a few left killed or wounded. And she was lost in an unknown forest.
Touching her forehead, she felt a tender bump there, then flexed her right knee, which felt twisted and bruised. She pushed the pine branches aside to look out again at a forest redolent with green and earthy scents and spring growth. She had plunged so deep into the woods that she heard only the sounds of nature. There was no trace of men, no voices, chinking armor, horse hooves.
Sliding to sit, she tucked her arms around her legs and lowered her head and waited for the urge to cry to lessen. She would not cry. She never cried. Not any longer.
Leaning her head back, her coppery hair loose of its braiding, forehead and knee throbbing, she felt on the edge of panic. She made herself breathe, calm, reminding herself that she was safe and free. And somehow she must help the others.
First she had to understand what had happened. She thought back.
Her bow was gone, as well as their baggage and her horse.
She counted. Three good knights, two from Kincraig and one sent by King Robert, laid sprawled on the earth. Six others, including Andrew, taken prisoner, wounded and tied with rope. Three others, also left on the ground, had been enemy men. Sir Hugh Stewart and the captured men had been bloodied and limping. Thinking back, she guessed a dozen attackers had descended upon them, armed and ready.
A chilling thought occurred. Had they been waiting for the escort, aware that Bruce’s daughter was with them? But how had they known?
The area they rode through, along the eastern shore of Loch Lomond, with the loch to her left, was in the region called the Lennox. She knew it belonged rightfully to the Earl of Lennox, a Bruce ally. But Lennox had been outlawed by the English, and his lands had been confiscated. King Edward had awarded them to Sir John Menteith, a Scottish lord who catered to Edward and would therefore benefit. She had heard Henry and other men discussing it at Kincraig. Was Menteith involved, since they rode through the Lennox, or was the attack just a coincidence arranged by brigands and thugs?
Perhaps she was in the Lennox, but she did not know more than that. She was far from home, certainly; Kincraig Castle was two days south at least. No one would know that something had happened until their escort failed to arrive as expected.
What she knew for certain was that she had not protected Lilias and Andrew. She had tried to defend them, but the odds had been against her. Her bow and arrows, a gift from Thomas the Rhymer, were gone now—along with the beautiful cloak pin Thomas had given her.
She felt struck to the heart. Not only Lilias and Andrew, but the precious things Thomas had entrusted to her. Tears rose in her eyes. She dashed them away.
Searching for the silver chain and pendant she wore around her neck, tucked inside her bodice, she was relieved to find it still there. Grandda had given her the little charm stone that he said a queen had given him. It reminded Margaret of him—and the trust he had placed in her.
But the lost cloak pin held the large blue stone he had called his truth stone. She pulled her green cloak close to find the rip in the wool where the silver-framed pin had been torn away. The pin and the pendant had been gifts to Thomas from the Queen of Faery, so he had said, and thus both pieces were enchanted. Someday she would know how to use them, he had told her. But he had died before she could ask more.
In his will, he had entrusted to her the pretty pendant and hisclach na firinn, his truth stone. The greater power lay in the brooch, and it was lost now.
She wrapped her fingers around the pendant, finding it a comfort after the shock of the day. The silver filigree frame held a translucent crystal pink as dawn, carved in the shape of an arrowhead. Grandda had said it was an ancient elf-bolt enchanted with magic.It makes arrows fly true, he had told her.
Her arrows had not flown true that day, she thought; but she did not know much about the charm stone. Thomas had given her the yew bow too, which her father and brother had taught her to use. She wore the necklace in remembrance of her great-grandfather, deciding that its true magic was as a reminder of Thomas, inspiring her to be the best archer she could be, and to reach for courage and boldness.
