Page 90 of The Forest Bride
“He looks differently at you than at others. Softer. Warmer. Have you not noticed? And how did you meet again after all this time?”
“Oh,” Margaret sighed, and recounted the circumstances. “He hid with me in the forest while others were searching. That was when I recognized him, and he knew me by then too.”
“Meg!” Agatha leaned forward. “Just when you needed a justiciar, your Duncan was the one who appeared. Angels direct our lives—I am sure of it. Tell me the rest.”
Margaret hurried through the story. “So here we are. Agatha, I still care for him.”
“As Duncan Campbell, or some impossibly virtuous warrior saint?”
“As himself. And he seems to—I think he returns the interest.”
“Of course the man is attracted to you. Even I can see that. The way he watches you—it is loving. Simply that, Meg.”
“He—I wondered. I hoped. But now William de Soulis is back, and awaits an answer from me. Listen.” She told Agatha some of what had happened.
“De Soulis! Tell me you would never accept him. He only thinks of his own benefit, whatever it may be.”
“But this time I want something from him. He may know where Lilias is. I have to find out. And he has the Rhymer’s cloak pin. I must have it back.”
“Be careful. That one will only bring you trouble.”
“Aye,” Henry Keithsaid, as they waited on the ridge of the hill. “My father hoped you would marry Margaret after all.”
Stunned, unsure what to say, Duncan gathered the reins and urged his horse ahead, Henry riding alongside. “Why did he consider it after all that time?” he finally asked. “He was set on Margaret marrying, but he made other choices.”
“Which only brought her unhappiness with each new betrothal. After you were gone, she refused to marry anyone. But Father knew she needed a strong husband, someone who could protect her—and understand how spirited she can be without trying to rule her. He wanted her to be happy. But none of the matches came about.”
“She told me some of it. I feel—responsible for her troubles,” Duncan admitted.
“You could never have known that you would be captured and held for years. As for the other suitors, two died, and De Soulis rejected her in the worst way. A pity, all this, for she would bring real advantage to a marriage, and be a blessing and a delight for the right man.”
Duncan cleared his throat, seeing Henry’s keen glance. “De Soulis wants some advantage for himself with his apparent desire to court her again.”
“Aye, but what? The fellow left her in a silk gown and flowery headgear on the church steps. For all her refusal, she wanted to please my father in the end, so she agreed. I would have gladly killed Sir William that day. Later he returned part of the dowry, but kept a land grant for his trouble, he claimed. Father would have pressed for the return, but by then he was growing ill.”
“But he decided to send word to me?” Duncan still felt puzzled.
“I think so. We all believed you were dead, but it seems he heard a rumor about your return. He must have intended to find out more before revealing it to us. I knew nothing until I discovered the pages he had locked away.”
“I was sure my father had repaid the dowry, so I thought it was over and done. And I heard that Margaret had stayed in the convent.”
“Sir Colin offered to repay it, but Father refused it. That I knew. He said the situation was tragic enough with your death and Margaret’s desire to remain in the convent. He did not want to profit from the pain of two families.”
“He was a good man. I wish I had known him better.” Duncan watched the empty valley below. “My father died while I was away those years.”
“I heard. Sad circumstances for both sides of your broken betrothal.”
“If the dowry funds were never repaid, and if the documents were not processed through the Church—” He looked at Henry.
“Then the betrothal still stands. Exactly.”
He shook his head a little, as if the truth of it would settle in his brain. “Legally it would still be in effect. But Robert Keith had negotiated other betrothals.”
“Only because he believed you were deceased. When he heard otherwise, he sent a message to you at Innis Connell.”
“I never received it. When was this?”
“Two years ago, a little less. He died months after.”
