Page 23 of The Forest Bride

“They are waiting, sir.” She could not look at him. “Claim your prize.”

“You did well.” His voice was gruff as he shouldered his bow and quiver and walked away. She watched his broad-shouldered back, his confident stride, saw how he ignored the praise as he passed.

Menteith handed him the brooch and a small pouch of coins and the two men spoke. Margaret walked closer, hoping to hear.

“No matter to me,” Menteith was saying. “I will be away in the north.”

“I prefer you stay until the Stirlingshire sheriff finishes his inquiry.”

“I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

If Menteith left, Margaret might never find Lilias. She had to get word to Bruce and her brother. But she had to do something now. Menteith could not leave yet.

“Sir!” she called impulsively. Her thoughts were spinning, a plan forming even as she called out. “My lord Dunbarton! I wish to challenge the winner!”

Both Menteith and Campbell turned. “Challenge?” Menteith asked.

“A—bonus shot!” That was it. She came forward. “For the brooch.”

“This thing?” Menteith asked. “But you lost.”

“I need a pin for my cloak,” she said, keeping her naturally husky voice low. “And I need coin more than Sir Justice does.”

“No chance!” someone called. “No one can beat the justiciar at the archery!”

“I could shoot that brooch off the top of his head,” she said boldly.

Laughter rose, but she hardly heard it. She felt desperate to delay Menteith, ready to say anything,doanything.You stole Bruce’s daughter, she wanted to yell out.

Instead she had to be bold and earn the crowd’s goodwill. It was clear that Campbell and the other sheriff wanted Menteith to stay in the area too. That would help.

“Give me a chance to win that brooch and earn some silver to buy my supper!” Hearing laughter in the crowd, she sensed they supported the lad over the justiciar.

Menteith cocked a brow. “Very well. One arrow each. Winner takes all. I would not mind seeing Campbell defeated.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Then we are done.”

She returned to the butts, Campbell with her. When she reached into the quiver for another arrow, she glanced at him. His steady, searing blue gaze threw her off.

“You first,” she said, and stepped back. Instinctively she reached for the chain at her neck, but only set her hand to her upper chest for a moment. She dared not reveal the pink stone arrowhead caged in silver. No crofter’s lad would wear such a thing. But the Rhymer’s elf-bolt gave her courage, and thoughts of Thomas gave her courage too.

The elf-bolt will go wherever thee sends it, she remembered him saying once. Good. She would send it to hit that target and solve at least part of her dilemma.

Duncan Campbell set the arrow, stretched the string and took aim. Waited. Then he released the arrow. The banner fluttered and tore as he hit the very eye of the falcon.

She could not let him have the brooch. He could keep the coins. And she desperately needed Menteith to be delayed somehow. But she could not think about that now.

Lifting the bow, she sighted the target. The false falcon’s wings rippled as if to fly away in the breeze. Duncan Campbell stood to the side, his sheer presence disrupting her focus so much that she could hardly think. Dear saints. She hoped he did not recognize her. She wanted to talk with him—she had so many questions—but not now.

Not yet. Lilias’s safety was essential to her.

Menteith crossed the green to observe them closely. She ignored the man’s glower and Duncan’s silence as she raised the bow, tightened the string, sighted down the shaft. So much was at stake—hitting the eye, winning the brooch, delaying Menteith until she had a chance to alert Campbell to him. It all seemed impossible.

She breathed long and deep, seeking calm.

“Easy now,” Campbell murmured softly. His voice was a balm. On the exhale, she let go the string.

The arrow shaft skated past the banner and the hay bale, curved askew toward the earth—and struck Menteith as he walked over the grass. With a scream, he fell.

Dear God, what went wrong?Stunned, she stared.