Chapter Six.html
CHAPTER SIX
MARGARET PACED, ALONE in her bedchamber, aware of darkness settling over the hills and forests outside. When Peg slipped into the chamber, she whirled and rushed to her. “Sir Guy is marching on us,” she cried. “Clearly, he intends to free Castle Fyne.”
Peg paled. “Will there be another siege?”
“Alexander intends to meet him at Loch Riddon—he intends to be the attacker, not the attacked.” This was why he was such a mighty warrior, she thought grimly, turning and pacing again. She did not have to know very much about warfare to realize that attacking gave one an advantage.
“I am glad we won’t have to suffer another siege,” Peg said. “And ye may have yer English husband, after all.”
Margaret looked sharply at her—her tone was strange. Peg was opposed to the union, and she had been blunt about it the other day.
So much had happened since she had arrived at Castle Fyne—her entire life had been turned upside down.
She was a dutiful woman—a dutiful daughter and niece.
Of course she meant to do as her uncle ordered.
She knew she was fortunate, that he had arranged a good marriage for her.
But she was reluctant to wed Sir Guy, though he might be the one to liberate her.
She suddenly wondered if deep within herself, a tiny part of her wished for his defeat.
There would never be a union, then.
“Does he ride for war at dawn on the morrow?” Peg asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She jerked. “Yes.” She shook herself free of such absurd feelings. She wanted Castle Fyne back, even if it meant that she would marry an Englishman. She was the lady of Castle Fyne—and that was more important than anything else.
Margaret picked up her mantle. “Is he in the hall, still?”
Peg hesitated, seeming uncertain. “Yes. Why?”
“I wish to speak with William. If we did not have that guard outside, I would simply wait for him to go to bed, and attempt to steal into Will’s chamber. But Alan remains—so I will have to ask him for permission.”
“He will deny you,” Peg said, taking off her shoes and sitting on the bed. She began to unbraid her long auburn hair.
Margaret was afraid of that, as well. “William needs to know what passes, and I need to see him now that he is better.” She also needed to confide in him.
“Maybe ye should just rest, and retire for the night? Ye can speak with Will another time.” Peg began finger combing her curls, not looking at her.
Peg’s behavior was odd. “Is something amiss?”
The maid flinched. “No.” She smiled, but it seemed strained.
Something was bothering her, but Margaret dismissed it. Peg would tell her what was on her mind sooner, not later; she could not keep secrets. Margaret went to the door, opening it, and as she did, she heard Alexander on the stairwell.
She tensed as he appeared on the landing and they both ignored Alan, seated on his stool. “Is there any way you would be kind enough to allow me to see my brother before I retire?”
“No.” He walked past her, into his own chamber, where a fire already roared in the hearth.
Her heart sank. Grimly, she followed him to the threshold, but did not enter the room. He was removing his waist belt and dagger. She refused to recall the last time she had seen him doing so. “I wish to see for myself that he is better.”
“Ye wish to plan an escape while I am gone.” He faced her briefly, before sitting and removing his boots.
“But you will have Alan as my shadow. If we plot anything—he will report it.”
“If ye speak French, he will not know the contents of yer plot, Lady Margaret. Nor will I.” French was the language spoken amongst the nobility of Scotland, England and France.
While Alexander was fairly fluent in French, his men appeared to only speak English and Gaelic.
“Yer clever enough to arrange an escape when I am not present, and I have no intention of allowing that.”
“How could we escape?” she cried. “William isn’t well enough to travel through the forest in the midst of winter.”
He eyed her. “I can think of one or two ways—and ye are clever...eventually, ye will, too.”
She trembled, wondering if escape might be possible, with him gone. But she could not leave William behind. “I won’t leave my brother,” she said. “And I can swear to that.”
“So I can trust ye for the moment? Tomorrow I go to war, Lady Margaret, and I do not feel like having this battle now. My decision is final.”
She knew when she had hit an unmovable rock.
Margaret did not even attempt to smile, but their stares locked.
She suddenly wondered about his wife—the lover he had married, who had then died in childbirth.
Had he ever been kind or considerate toward her?
Had he ever given a command, only to later rescind it?
She did not think so.
“Good night, Lady Margaret,” he said.
She turned, not replying, going back into her room. Peg was standing in its center, barefoot, but clasping her plaid about her. “I must run downstairs,” she said.
Margaret thought that odd, but she nodded, going to each taper and blowing them out. The small fire remained in the hearth for warmth. She crawled into the bed, cuddling under the covers as Peg left.
She wasn’t angry, for she had expected him to deny her. She even understood why he had done so.
She hoped she was not becoming soft toward the enemy. First she had been hesitant about wishing for Sir Guy to defeat him, and now, she understood why he would not let her see her brother. But at least William was healing.
Her eyes were closing, and she realized that she would fall asleep easily, in spite of how much she had slept these past few days. She was still overburdened and overtired. So much had happened...and now, there would be another battle...and maybe she would soon be free....
A loud thump awoke her. Margaret clutched the covers, eyes wide, staring into the dark.
It took her a moment to calm, as her reaction to being awoken abruptly, in the middle of the night, was one of fear.
But no one began a siege in the middle of the night.
She had probably been dreaming. Still, her heart continued to race.
She began to relax into the quiet now, and then she realized that other half of the bed was empty. She sat up. “Peg?” she whispered. The embers in the hearth cast a small halo of light. Peg was not on a pallet on the floor, where she sometimes slept when Margaret was too restless and bothersome.
Margaret sank back down, curling up under the covers. Before she could wonder where Peg was, she heard a woman’s throaty moans coming from the adjacent chamber.
She felt her cheeks flame. Alexander had a woman in his bed, she managed to think, stunned. But why was she surprised? Most men spent the night with their lovers or their wives. He would hardly be celibate for all of this time.
Margaret clapped her hands over her ears, to block out the disturbing, distressful noises.
The woman seemed quiet now, but Margaret was afraid to unclasp her ears. Slowly, she did so. She was stiff with a tension she could not identify. The one thing she did know was that she was upset.
But why should she care what Alexander did—or who he took to his bed?
She began to worry about where her missing maid might be.
And then she heard a thump, followed by another one and another one, and the rhythmic pounding was unmistakable.
Margaret dove under the covers, seizing her pillow, as the woman gasped in pleasure again.
She pulled the pillow over her head, but it could not block out the sound of the woman’s growing delight.
Margaret threw the pillow away, covered her ears with her hands, and gritted her teeth.
It was a long time before the adjacent chamber was silent, and even longer before she fell asleep.
* * *
MARGARET STOOD BEFORE the fire she had stoked herself, warming her hands.
It was at least an hour before dawn. She had at last fallen asleep when the lovers next door had finally stopped their lovemaking, but she thought she had only slept a few minutes.
She was too distressed to sleep any more—and too angry.
The door to her chamber slowly opened, and Peg peeked inside.
Margaret felt a rush of anger, then. “Are you afraid to come into my chamber? Oh, wait, it is the crack of dawn and you are afraid, for you have betrayed me.”
Peg stepped inside, eyes wide. “Lady!”
“No, do not ‘lady’ me!” Margaret admonished. She seized a rush and lit it and held it up, close to Peg, but then wished she hadn’t.
Peg was beautiful—radiant. She was flushed, her eyes bright, her hair loose and wild—she looked like she had been well pleased.
“How dare you sleep with him and then come back to me!”
Tears filled Peg’s eyes. “I had no choice, my lady!”
“There is always a choice, and we both know he did not rape you!”
“He didn’t rape me, but there was no choice, I vow it!”
“I heard how pleased you were to be with him,” Margaret choked. “You are my maid! He has stolen my castle! We are his prisoners! What is wrong with you?”
She was crying now. “When ye were ill, he sent for me. I dinna wish to be with him, I swear it, but Margaret, he knows how to please a woman!”
She felt fire exploding in her cheeks. She struck Peg hard across the face, and the sound rang out in the stillness of the night. “He is my enemy!”
“I ken,” she wept. “And I’m sorry!”
Margaret trembled in rage. But now, as Peg collapsed on the bed, crying, she could not believe that she had hit her.
She clenched her fists. “If you truly loved me, you would not have even considered sleeping with him. Honor would forbid it. If you loved me, you would have been furious when he asked for you.”
“I’m only twenty, Margaret. I canna help but notice how handsome some men are! Have ye not noticed just how handsome the Wolf is? He’s the mighty Wolf of Lochaber! Every woman wishes for his attention!”
“He’s a MacDonald, Peg, or have you forgotten?”