Page 111 of The Forest Bride

“Remember what?”

“To be loyal, as you advised.” He turned away to help Menteith stagger away, while Iain got to his feet and went toward them, ready to guard.

“What was that about?” Duncan asked.

“Oh,” she said, “I looked into the blue stone and it had a warning for him. I delivered it. He seems to have had a change of heart. I wonder how long it will last.”

“You are an amazement to me.” He leaned and kissed her brow, then set an arm around her shoulders to lead her back toward the trees. About to return to assist Iain in guarding the other two, he noticed Menteith’s discarded leather gauntlet on the ground, the one Duncan had refused to take.

He picked it up, slid it on, and lifted his arm high, bending his wrist in a welcoming perch. He whistled softly.

After a moment, she came gliding out of nowhere, an angelic and magnificent creature, to alight on his wrist, the merest weight of feathers and air and beauty.

“Hey, Greta,” he murmured. “Here you are with your family at last.”

“Family?” Margaret asked, snug under his arm.

“Aye, love. Our bird. Our family, together now.”

“Hey, Greta,” she whispered. “Hey, my love.”

“I was a fool to not see it then,” he said. “So much time was missed.”

“No matter. We have all the time we need now. We have changed, you and I, since then. Older and wiser, and now we know what we want in life.”

“Aye so,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I know what I want.”

“What is that?” She tipped her face up to his, and he kissed her slowly, gently, tenderly drawing out the kiss, letting it merge into another.

“I want forever with you,” he said, “one bit at a time.” She laughed against his lips, sinking into the next kiss.

He lifted his head, hearing a thundering noise above the waterfall. Straightening, he looked past the trees. In the distance, riders were coming up from the south from the direction of Brechlinn—and he saw Constantine, Henry, Malcolm, and more than a dozen men riding behind them.

“Well, look there,” Iain said, coming toward them, ushering Menteith and De Soulis, who seemed complacent and exhausted. “Just in time.”

“With two sheriff’s deputies—Constantine and Henry—prepared to arrest a fellow sheriff. I must be here for that. Do you mind, lass? I know you are weary.”

“I will stay with you always.”

“Always,” he murmured, keeping her close.

“You two,” Iain said, “need a wedding.”

Margaret laughed, silvery and sweet. Duncan smiled.

“I know,” he said. “But it is her choice.”

Epilogue

“Brechlinn! Duncan!” Brancalled, hurrying through the bailey. Duncan, standing with Lennox, turned to see three monks approaching with Bran. He frowned, wondering if they brought news for Bishop Murray, who was still with them.

A fortnight after the arrests of Menteith and De Soulis, and after Henry Keith and others had brought the men of Kincraig out of Dunbarton and up to Brechlinn, the castle was bustling and busy with riders going in and out the gates, men arriving by horse or by boat, Duncan’s own men heading out on patrols. Effie had brought in neighbors from the hills to help with the greater work in the household, and Margaret was helping too in organizing beds and meals and more.

Now, Duncan noticed one of the monks carried a satchel crossed over his chest in the manner of a messenger. Bruce often used monasteries to covertly communicate. With a worried glance for Lennox, he moved toward the newcomers.

“Sir Duncan Campbell?” the monk asked.

“Aye, Brother. Welcome.”