Chapter Six.html #2
Peg hesitated, but her cheeks were red. “I won’t lie to ye. I hated him at first. But this doesn’t change anything—I am yer maid.”
“It changes everything,” Margaret said, incapable of drawing an even breath. “When did this affair begin?”
Redder now, Peg said, “The night ye collapsed.”
Margaret was in disbelief, but then she found her voice. “If he summons you again, you will refuse him. If you ever wish to return to Bain with me.”
Peg cried out.
“You cannot be loyal to us both,” Margaret said.
“I am loyal to ye, Lady Margaret, always, and how could ye doubt that? Sharing his bed cannot change that!”
“You did not hear me well. If you share his bed again, you will no longer serve me—and you may stay here, in his service.” She was sick now.
Peg did not move. She stared so wide that in the dark room her eyes seemed entirely white.
Margaret heard his door open and close. She clenched her fists.
Peg wet her lips and said, “He willna take no for an answer. He willna let me refuse.”
“Then you will stay here, in his service, or go with him to the isles.” She was final.
Margaret now turned and entered the hall. A part of her wanted to cry for the loss of her friend and maid, another part of her refused to do so. Alan must have heard them, for he was on his feet. Margaret ignored him, hurrying downstairs after Alexander, her shoulders now squared.
The great hall was entirely lit. Burning torches had been placed on the wall sconces, and fires roared in both hearths. Three dozen knights slept in the hall, and they were already up and seated at the tables. Castle Fyne’s maids were busily bringing them their breakfast.
She faltered. Every Highlander wore his swords, and their shields were piled up close to the door. There was no conversation as everyone consumed their rations for the long day ahead.
She stared past them all. Alexander was not seated. He stood by the head of one table, but he was looking directly at her.
He was going to war. She should wish him dead—both because she wanted Castle Fyne back, and because he had destroyed her relationship with Peg.
But still, she did not wish him dead. As she stared at him, her heart lurched, as if with dread.
Now, she knew firsthand what war was like. He was a great and mighty warrior, but all it took was one true arrow, or one fatal sword, and he would be mighty no more.
She said, very quietly, “I’d like a privy moment.”
His eyes flickered as he came forward. “Do ye wish to go upstairs? Or step outside?”
Peg was upstairs. “Outside.”
“I thought so.” He touched her elbow, as if to guide her. Margaret leapt away instantly.
She hurried ahead of him, her spine stiff, but he opened the heavy door for her.
Outside, they paused atop the wood steps leading down to the courtyard.
It was freezing and she shivered, noting that the sky was just beginning to pale in the east, but stars winked above them in the blackness of the west.
She faced him. “You have stolen my maid from me.”
“That was not my intent.”
“But that is what you have done. I cannot have a maid with loyalties to my enemy.”
He studied her. It was a moment before he spoke. “I agree. Yer maid must be loyal to ye, not to me. But I dinna steal her. Yer maid has an appetite. She is a bawd. Her character is flawed. She could have refused me. She did not. She is not good enough for ye.”
Margaret had not expected such a response. “I have known Peg since we were children. She has been an important friend for most of my life. You knew she was in my service.”
“Aye, but I also knew she would rush to my bed, if asked—she is not a true friend, Lady Margaret.”
Margaret was taken aback. Was he right? She had always thought of Peg as a true and loyal friend. “And you had to ask her? You could not ask someone else?”
“I dinna think much about it. If ye wish to be angry with me, so be it. But ye should punish her and dismiss her.”
She was bewildered. “Why do you take my side? She is your lover!”
His brow lifted. “She warmed my bed for a night or two—she is but a passing amusement, Lady Margaret, not a mistress.” He then added, “Ye almost seem jealous.”
“I’m hardly jealous.” But as she spoke, an odd pang went through her. “I am angry and I am also sad. Because of your need for amusement, I have lost a friend.”
He suddenly swept off his mantle and threw it around her shoulders. “Sometimes, blessings come in disguise. ’Tis good to learn of her weaknesses now, before ye could be truly hurt.”
Margaret gazed up at him. Was he concerned for her? Did he care that her maid was now of questionable loyalty?
And was he right? Was it better to have learned now how easily Peg could betray her, rather than at a later time?
Castle Fyne had been besieged and defeated, and Scotland was now in the throes of war.
She could have asked Peg for aid in some way related to her predicament, never knowing that she might not be loyal.
And what about later, when she meant to use trickery to see William?
Would Peg keep her confidence? If Alexander asked her, upon his return from the battle, would she divulge it?
“I suppose it is best that I learned of her true character, but I am hardly going to thank you for your part in all of this.”
He smiled. “I never thought ye would. Yer a strong, brave woman—ye need strong, brave allies.”
The scents hanging to his mantle began to waft over her. She smelled pine, fire, the sea...and man.
His smile vanished. He regarded her closely. “Sir Neil is a better ally. Ye can trust him.”
She hugged his mantle closer. Why was he telling her that she could trust Sir Neil? Again, she had the oddest notion that he cared. But she had to be wrong. “Why would you advise me like this?”
He hesitated, no longer smiling. “I admire ye, Lady Margaret, but yer very young and very untried. And ye have no champion now.”
“You cannot take that role. You cannot be my champion, not even in this moment—you are my enemy.”
His stare darkened. “We’re on opposing sides of a great war, but yer not my enemy.”
She inhaled, their gazes locked. She simply could not comprehend him, but he was fierce. It suddenly occurred to her that, if he hadn’t attacked her castle, even though on opposing sides of such a war, they could be friends. But she did not say so.
“And yer in my care. If I can advise ye, I will.” He had softened. “I must go, Lady Margaret.” He hesitated, his stare piercing. “It would please me greatly if ye dinna wish me dead.”
She stiffened. He was going to war. He might be defeated. He might even be killed. And that prospect should thrill her. Instead, she felt nothing but worry and dismay.
She said, very slowly, and choosing her words with great care, “I cannot wish you well, Alexander.”
He did not make a sound, but she thought she saw disappointment flaring in his eyes.
She added, “But I do not wish you ill.”
* * *
MARGARET STOOD ON the bottom steps, gazing out into the great hall. How empty it now was.
Alexander had ridden out of the keep hours ago, astride his gray stallion, followed by his forty mounted knights.
Margaret had watched from a window in the south tower as they rode through the entry tower and then the barbican, the MacDonald colors waving high above them.
Outside the castle’s walls, the rest of his army had fallen into place behind him—first several more columns of mounted knights, and then hundreds upon hundreds of Highland foot soldiers.
She had watched him until he disappeared from view, as the path they traveled vanished into the forest, and then she had watched for another two hours, until his entire army was gone. And only then had she turned away from the window.
She stared into the empty great room. It was almost as if something were amiss with them gone. She almost expected to hear the clatter of spurs and the clank of swords and shields, as Alexander and his men filed in.
But they would not be returning from battle at this early evening hour.
Alexander had probably attacked that afternoon—the march to the northernmost tip of the loch was only a few hours—or he might have decided to wait and attack tomorrow in the morning.
Margaret wished she had asked. But he probably would not have told her his battle plans, anyway—no matter what he had said, she was his enemy.
Peg came into the hall and glanced at her, carrying a platter.
Margaret had banished her to the kitchens before Alexander had even ridden away, so she could spend the day slaving over the hot ovens—so she could repent her sins.
Thus far, Margaret had been ignoring the pain of her betrayal all day. It wasn’t that easy at this late hour.
They had been close for most of their lifetimes. There were memories now, of the times they had shared as children—of running barefoot through a hillside blooming with wildflowers, or riding double, bareback, and falling off, of skipping over wet stones in a bubbling brook.
And they had grown to womanhood together, through both the trials and triumphs of emerging from adolescence.
There had been laughter and tears. Peg had always been there, when her brothers had not come home from war, when Mary had become sick and passed away, when her father had gone out riding, never to return.
... When Margaret had received the news that Buchan had arranged a marriage for her to an English knight, Peg had helped her get to her room, for Margaret had been overcome by shock.
The ache in Margaret’s chest had been there all day, but it was bubbling up now, more insistently.
“Will ye eat?” Peg asked, her tone and manner subdued.