Chapter Eight.html #3
“Ye have been avoiding me—dinna try to deny it.” He stepped into her chamber and now she saw that he held a scroll, one tied tightly with twine.
“Is that a missive?”
“Buchan has written ye.” Alexander’s small half smile never wavered. He came forward. “He has written me as well, asking after ye—and demanding yer release.”
She slid unsteadily from the bed, breathless with excitement now. “Have you replied?”
“No.” His gaze moved over her—she was wearing a simple leine with a belt, instead of one of her usual gowns. “Ye look like a Highland lass.”
She felt like hopping from one foot to the other, so impatient was she. “I am a Highland lass. What will you say, Alexander?” A pleading note had crept into her tone.
He handed her the rolled-up parchment. “I will refuse, Margaret. The time isn’t right for a ransom or yer release.”
“Will it ever be right?”
“I dinna ken.”
She sat down, untying the twine. “Did you read this?”
“No, but I will. He will expect me to read it,” he added, rather unnecessarily.
Margaret barely heard him.
February 19, 1306
My dear niece Margaret,
I have received word of the siege of Castle Fyne and its fall.
Your courage in defending the castle moves me to hold you in the highest regard.
My brother would be so proud of you if he were with us today, as would the great lady Mary.
Had I known of the siege, I would have come to your aid, but alas, the news has but reached me recently.
I need you to have courage now. The land is at war.
Robert Bruce attempts to claim Scotland’s throne.
If you have not heard, he has murdered our cousin Red John in a church in Dumfries.
We go to war, Margaret, for Bruce must never be allowed to take the throne, and he must be punished for our cousin’s murder.
As I write to you, asking for your patience, I am gathering our allies and soldiers.
We will fight with England now, for Scotland’s freedom from a bitter and conscienceless rival.
I have asked MacDonald for your and William’s release.
However, your value as a hostage is being widely discussed throughout the land, and whether he will release you or not is uncertain.
It is also clear that he will hold Castle Fyne if he can.
I have offered him other lands; he has refused.
In such a time of war, between kings and traitors, it will be difficult to raise an army with which to rescue you.
However, I know you to be a strong, proud woman, capable of enduring captivity in his hands, so if all fails, you will have to wait for the Wolf’s defeat in battle to attain your freedom. But have hope. That day will come. And know that you are not forgotten.
You are a boon to the great Comyn family, Margaret. Sir Guy sends his regards, as we all do.
God keep you safe.
Your uncle, John Comyn, the Earl of Buchan
Margaret was in disbelief at the significance of his letter. She was being abandoned.
“The news is not good?”
She thrust the parchment at Alexander. Then she stood, feeling as if her uncle had struck her. No, he had not struck her—he had tossed her away. “He is not coming. Not to free us—nor to take Castle Fyne back.”
Alexander was reading the letter now.
“I am to have patience. I am to have hope.”
He then looked up. “Do ye wish to keep this?”
Bitter tears filled her eyes. “Burn it.”
He walked to the fireplace and dropped the parchment in the flames. Then he faced her. “I hardly wish to give ye hope. But if he meant to attack, he would never say so.”
“He doesn’t. I know him well. He expects me to wait here, as a prisoner—as your prisoner—until you are defeated or this war ends! But it will never end, will it?” She wiped her eyes roughly with her fingertips.
“So ye feel sorry for yerself now?”
She blinked at him. It was a moment before she spoke. “Yes, I feel sorry for myself now.” She heard how defiant her tone was. “I am just one woman, and you are the mighty Wolf. I cannot continue to fight you, Alexander, alone like this.”
“But I do not wish to fight ye, Margaret. I never have.”
“Don’t. I am still intended for Sir Guy!” And now she realized that their union was more important than ever.
“When he has but one use for ye?” He was scathing.
She got to her feet. “I do not wish to discuss Sir Guy.”
“Ye never do. But I wish to discuss him now.”
She shook her head.
“When will ye admit that he was rude, unbearable—that he insulted ye, that ye deserve better?”
“It is late. You should leave.”
“I dinna wish to leave.” He folded his arms across his chest as if he meant to stand there in her room for a very long time. “Do ye think avoiding the subject of Sir Guy will change the truth? Do ye think that avoiding me will change anything?”
She decided to feign absolute ignorance of what he meant—when she knew his meaning completely! “The truth is that I am promised to an English knight, one reputed to be honorable and brave, and now, my family fights for King Edward, so the alliance is a good one.”
“The truth is yer a great lady, too good for Sir Guy. And yer a Highland lass, like yer mother. Ye belong with a Scot or a Highlander.”
“Do not ask me to be your mistress again!” she cried.
“I’m no fool. I ken ye’ll be loyal fer as long as ye can—until there’s no point.”
It took her a moment. “Do not kill Sir Guy, Alexander. Not on my account.”
He smiled, but it was chilling. “I almost killed him at the war parley. He insulted ye. I dinna like it. My blood boiled.”
She was stunned. She hadn’t known—he had been a master at hiding his anger.
“And if he’s dead, there will be no point to yer loyalty,” he said.
“You read the letter!” she cried. “We are at war! Now, we fight with the English, against you, against Bruce! Whether Sir Guy lives or not!”
“You prefer King Edward’s rule to Bruce’s?” He studied her. “One day ye will meet Bruce and ye’ll change yer mind—and yer loyalties.” He turned to the doorway, but then turned back. “Avoiding me will not change the kisses we shared, or that I want ye—or that ye want me back.”
She trembled.
“I’m a patient man, Lady Margaret, and ye may take that as fair warning.”
Margaret did not answer, watching him leave.