Chapter Seven.html #3
Yesterday, when Alexander had ridden off to battle, she had not been able to wish him ill. She could not wish him ill now, either. Yet she prayed for Sir Guy’s victory.
His regard remained riveted on her. “We’re leaving, Lady Margaret. Ye can mount.”
She gazed past him. Padraig was astride a red steed just behind him. He was leading a small gray mare, which was apparently her mount. A dozen Highland knights were with them, clad in mail and fur.
Margaret tucked her uneaten portion in the pocket of her mantle, hurrying to her mare. Dughall went with her and helped her up. She took up the reins with both hands, as Padraig released them. The auburn-haired Highlander asked, “Can ye ride?”
Margaret nodded.
Alexander whirled his mount and started forward at a fast trot; everyone followed.
It was two good hours past dawn now, but the day remained gray and bright. Margaret looked from Alexander’s broad shoulders to the sky above. It was going to snow, she thought, shivering. Was that good or bad, as far as the impending battle went?
She simply did not know. And as they left the camp behind, the shadow of Cruach Nan Cuilean fell over them, making the morning darker and colder.
Her nerves made her stomach hurt and her head ache. Margaret wondered what Sir Guy wanted. Did he truly wish to negotiate a peace now, after one single battle? Surely, he had not given up on Castle Fyne—on her. Or was this treachery on his part? Perhaps he had laid a trap for Alexander.
She then realized that, if they were riding into a trap, she would be amongst Sir Guy’s victims. Of course, he did not know she was present.
Her gaze found Alexander’s tall, broad-shouldered form again. He would not be easily tricked and trapped. And she would soon find out just what Sir Guy intended—and what Alexander intended, as well.
Suddenly she saw the blur of the approaching Englishmen. Above them two banners waved. They became more visible, as did the armored knights and their horses, as they came closer. One banner was the red royal banner, the other blue and white, belonging to the great de Valence family.
Her heart thundered now. She could see the men who were approaching, although not well. Their visors were up. All eyes were trained upon them. She wondered which knight was Sir Guy.
When the distance of a great hall separated them, Alexander threw up his hand, abruptly halting them. But Sir Guy and his men had halted, too.
Margaret remained in the midst of the other men as Alexander and Padraig rode slowly forward, at a walk. Two of the Englishmen met them.
Her heart exploded as she stared at the two English knights, for one was heavyset and she instantly identified the other as Sir Guy.
His beard was gray. He was of medium height and build, with a swarthy complexion so common amongst the French.
He remained at a distance, but she could see he was a fine figure of a man.
She was gazing at her future husband, and he, of course, was unaware of her presence—or even of who she was. She did not know what to think.
“Good morning, Sir Guy,” Alexander said, his tone cool. “I am sorry we meet under such circumstances.”
“You’re sorry?” Sir Guy sounded angry and incredulous. “No one is sorrier than I am!”
Margaret was bewildered. The conversation seemed personal—as if the men knew one another.
“I always laughed when anyone referred to you as the Wolf, Alexander. I would laugh to myself when I would hear the stories of how ruthless you are!” Sir Guy rode his horse in a tight circle now, about Alexander and Padraig, the animal tossing its head.
The older knight did not move. “But you are exactly as claimed, damn it. You could have attacked Inverary or Lachlan—but you attacked what is mine!”
They did know one another, Margaret thought in disbelief. And he already called Castle Fyne his?
“Castle Fyne is a very fine castle, Sir Guy. It controls a portion of the sound, most of the loch, and the route into Argyll. And it is on MacDonald borders...I can think of no better place to attack.”
“You coldhearted bastard,” Sir Guy said.
Margaret flinched, but Alexander seemed amused. “Surely Buchan will give yer intended another portion for her dowry? He has lands throughout the north.”
“My lands are in the south and you know it. I will never forgive you for this, Alexander, and neither will Buchan!” Sir Guy jerked hard on his reins in his anger, and his bay stallion reared.
“And I am sorry we are on opposite sides of this war.” Alexander was calm—so calm it was hard to decide if he meant his words or not.
“You are a madman, to betray the king and ride with Bruce! When he is caught he will hang, his lands forfeited to King Edward’s noblest allies. You will hang beside him, your lands will be forfeit, too.”
“Bruce will not be caught, nor will I. King Edward will never take on the lords of the isles—he will always need me and my brothers to rule the seas of the western Hebrides.”
“Never is an extraordinary word—perhaps you should not use it!”
“If ye have come to rant and rave, then we are wasting the day.”
Sir Guy drove his horse up to Alexander’s mount, so that their shoulders brushed.
“We have fought together, many times. We have supped, shared wine and women. Once, we were friends. Now, I thought it behooved me to tell you that I will never forgive you for what you have done, and you will pay dearly for your betrayal of me and our liege.”
“If ye think I will thank ye for such a warning, think again. But mostly, ye should think long and hard about making threats—when I have yer bride.”
Sir Guy stared, and Margaret cried out unthinkingly.
“Do you care about her, at all?” Alexander asked, coldly. “Ye have not asked how she is.”
Sir Guy looked past him. Margaret began to tremble as their gazes met.
Sir Guy inhaled, a hissing sound. And he drove his bay steed past Alexander and Padraig, toward her.
Margaret knew she turned red. So this was Alexander’s plan—to anger Sir Guy!
And as he came forward, she saw that her uncle had not lied—he was a handsome man. But his gray eyes were filled with disbelief.
The bards who sang about her so often sang about her long, curly red-gold hair. Margaret dropped her hood and released her braid, finger combing her hair into a mane, looking down and away. She wasn’t trying to be demure—she was suddenly frightened, terribly so.
This man was going to be her husband. And if she had learned one thing that day, it was that he had a hot temper.
“Lady Margaret?” His tone was as incredulous as his eyes.
She fought for composure and met his regard. Why did she have the terrible inkling that he was neither kind nor compassionate? “Yes, Sir Guy, I am Lady Margaret—your intended.”
“My God, he brought you here!”
Margaret bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She did not want Sir Guy to discover that she had used treachery to slip into Alexander’s camp. She glanced at Alexander. He was watching them, and she was instantly relieved—she knew he would not reveal her secret.
“I am so sorry we are meeting this way,” she managed to say.
“Has he hurt you?” Sir Guy demanded.
“No.”
Sir Guy stared very closely now. “Why do you blush, Lady Margaret?” he asked.
“Because you are staring as if I have two heads!” she cried. But she was thinking of the way Alexander had kissed her last night. She did not have to be well acquainted with Sir Guy to know that he would be furious if he ever found out.
“I am staring because you are even more beautiful than your likeness, or than your uncle described.”
She breathed hard. “So you are pleased?”
He began to shake his head. “Of course you please me, Lady Margaret. But I am not pleased that Alexander attacked Castle Fyne—and that he holds you hostage—and he has brought you here.”
She wondered if she should reveal that she had taken it upon herself to come to the encampment. But instinct prompted her not to disclose the truth. “I am so sorry Castle Fyne was lost, my lord. But you must know how bravely my people fought to defend it.”
His eyes widened. “So it is not a tall tale?”
“What tale, my lord?”
“All of Scotland has been speaking of the lady of Fyne who dared to defend her castle against the mighty Wolf of Lochaber. I did not believe it.”
Was he pleased? She could not tell. “I did not think there was a choice at the time. I did not know of Bruce’s rebellion. I thought aid would soon come, and that we could hold the Wolf off until my uncle Buchan or my uncle Argyll came to rescue us.”
“You are a woman! You are seventeen! How could you possibly defend a castle under siege?” He was incredulous and angry at once. “Why didn’t your brother defend the castle?”
“My lord, my brother left to fight the Wolf in the ravine, hoping to turn him back before he ever could reach our walls! There was no one else left to defend the castle. I am Mary MacDougall’s daughter. It was my duty to defend Castle Fyne.”
He now stared and she felt terribly uncomfortable. “You should have conceded to one of your knights. No woman can fight a battle. And you should not be here, in his camp.” He whirled his mount to face Alexander.
And once his back was to her, she breathed deeply and looked quickly at Alexander. He sent her a glance she could not decipher.
“I want you to release her—now. She need not be a part of this war,” Sir Guy said fiercely.
“I cannot release her. She is the lady of Castle Fyne and the Earl of Buchan’s niece,” Alexander spoke calmly. “She remains a valuable prize, Sir Guy, but that, ye already know.”
Margaret trembled, aware that Alexander was being utterly provocative, no matter that his tone was dispassionate.
“We were friends once,” Sir Guy exclaimed, pacing his stallion about Alexander and Padraig again. “What if I ask you to release her—because she is a lady, and while you are a wild Scot, I happen to know that you have some small sense of honor!”
Alexander smiled that half smile Margaret now knew so well—the one containing no mirth at all. “And what will I get in return?”
Sir Guy halted.
“Will ye give me Castle Fyne? Will ye turn around and retreat?”
Margaret was shocked. Would Alexander release her if he was given Castle Fyne?
“Never,” Sir Guy snarled.
“I dinna think so.”
Sir Guy cursed. “What ransom then?”
Alexander sat his gray steed in profile to Margaret. He glanced briefly at her now. “I am not asking for a ransom.”
Sir Guy choked, so furious he could not speak.
“She is too valuable to ransom,” Alexander said, softly. He did not look at her—his stare was unwavering upon Sir Guy.
“You bastard heathen Scot! She is mine—Castle Fyne is mine! I am going to destroy you, Alexander, or die in the attempt.”
“Then ye will likely die.”
Sir Guy turned toward Margaret, enraged. She cringed.
“Keep yourself out of harm’s way,” he said.
She somehow nodded.
But he did not wait to see; he was galloping back to his men. “A de Valence!” he shouted, his war cry. “For King Edward!”
His knights roared the same war chant, “A de Valence! For King Edward!” And as one unit, they wheeled, galloping away.
Margaret held on to her saddle, close to collapse. That was her future husband. She began to feel ill. He had such a hot temper. And he had no care for her—none. He only cared that she brought him Castle Fyne. He only cared that both she and the castle had been taken from him.
A strong hand grasped her arm, steadying her. “Will ye fall off?”
She glanced up at Alexander. She meant to make a jest and make light of the moment, but she could not do so.
“I would be proud if ye ever fought to defend what was mine,” he said softly.
Margaret began to shake. She felt even sicker than before.
He raised his voice as he regarded his men. “Take her back to Castle Fyne. Make certain no harm comes to her.”
Margaret jerked, realizing that he meant to send her home—and that he was going to battle. “Let me stay! I will even swear not to try to escape!”
He barely glanced at her. “Ye’ll return to Castle Fyne.” And then he stood in his stirrups, roaring, “A Bruce! A Donald! A Alasdair!”
And his men roared his war cries back at him.
And the ridges and forests of Cruach Nan Cuilean shook.