Chapter Eleven.html #3
His gaze was searching, and she wished to avoid it. Suddenly she was terrified that he might guess her secrets—and suspect her infidelity. But he said tersely, “I owe you a vast apology, Lady Margaret, for my rude behavior when we first met.”
She was taken aback. “You owe me no such apology, sir.”
“I was dismayed to see you upon the battlefield—and in my worst enemy’s hands. I fear I could not think clearly. Some think me gallant, but you could not, not after our meeting in such dire circumstances. I hope to redeem myself in the next few days.” He bowed his head this time.
Did he regret his behavior, truly? If so, she should be glad—she should be impressed!
Margaret touched his sleeve briefly. He wore an armored breastplate over his brown surcote.
Armored plates covered the hose over his knees.
“You need not think about redemption.” She smiled.
“Thank you for offering an apology, but none is needed.”
“You are as kind as you are beautiful.”
He was a handsome man, his nose broad, his cheekbones high.
Alexander had said that many women found him both charming and gallant, and of course, he had the blood of both the French and English kings running in his veins.
She felt a new tension. Would she become charmed?
And why did that idea disturb her? Why did Alexander’s image now dare to haunt her?
“Margaret!” her uncle boomed. “We may all break the fast together, and you can tell us your tale of escape.”
Margaret turned, almost relieved to have the intimate conversation interrupted. “Of course, Uncle,” she said.
* * *
ISABELLA HAD LEFT to supervise the breakfast, and Margaret found herself seated at the table with her uncle, Sir Guy, Sir Ranald and a dozen other knights, some of whom she recognized, others who were English and clearly under Sir Guy’s command.
Wine, bread and cheese were served, the men instantly taking up the food and drink.
Margaret wasn’t hungry, and she toyed with her cup of wine, stealing glances at Sir Guy as he ate.
Her heart raced as she looked at him—not because she desired him, but because she would eventually be his wife. Thus far, he had been gallant. But she could not shake her first impression of him. She feared her initial opinions were correct.
Isabella returned to the table, taking a seat beside Buchan. He smiled at her then turned to Margaret. “So? Will you tell us your story?”
Margaret tore her gaze away from Sir Guy.
“There is not much to tell. We were disguised as common maids, and we stole from the castle while the Wolf’s army was leaving, and then slipped into his ranks.
It was easy to do, and we stayed hidden that way until they made camp outside Dumbarton.
My maid Peg got us into the castle. John of Menteith received us warmly, then gave us an escort and sent us immediately on our way. ”
“How simple you make such bravery sound,” Buchan said. “How is Will?”
“He was shot with an arrow while attempting to escape with us. Can you send a messenger to inquire after him?” Margaret asked.
“I will do so today,” Buchan said, pushing his plate aside.
“Is there any war news? Did Dumbarton fall to Bruce?” Margaret asked him.
Sir Guy said, “John of Menteith refused to surrender and Bruce retreated.”
She wondered where Alexander had gone. Margaret wanted to ask about him—and she wanted to ask about Castle Fyne. Did she dare? “MacDonald left a large garrison at Castle Fyne.”
“I heard. Have no fear—Castle Fyne will be ours again, by the time we wed in June.”
She stiffened. “So you have a plan to attack?”
“I am plotting with my brother. We will have Castle Fyne back, Lady Margaret, you may have no doubt on that.”
She had so much doubt. “Will Aymer send his troops to fight with yours?”
“Aymer will give me men, yes.” His stare remained riveted upon her. “You ask many questions.”
“I want Castle Fyne back.” She turned to her uncle hastily then. “Bruce was at Castle Fyne, Uncle, for a single night.”
Buchan choked on his wine. “My God! Did you learn anything from him?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that there might be a coronation on March the 25th.
But then she thought about the fact that if she said such a thing—and the date was right—Bruce and his allies would be attacked by King Edward.
Alexander would be attacked. She shifted in her seat.
She did not even know if Eilidh had heard the date correctly.
“He marches to Scone to be crowned there.”
“The world knows that!” Buchan exclaimed.
Sir Guy sent her a look. Was it as odd as she thought it was?
“They are seeking many earls, and I heard Lennox and Atholl will attend.” Now, she was aware of Isabella staring at her. She did not look back.
“Atholl will never attend,” Buchan said. “You must be mistaken, Margaret.”
“I did not hear that myself—I had my maids spy on Bruce and MacDonald,” Margaret said.
“You are clever,” Sir Guy said thoughtfully.
She flinched, staring at him.
“I know Atholl well. He opposes Bruce, just as we do.” Buchan was firm. “He is one of us.”
Sir Guy smiled. “We have spies everywhere—even amongst Bruce’s best friends. We will learn if Atholl is our friend—and we will learn when Bruce thinks to steal the crown.”
Margaret wondered if Alexander knew that there were spies amongst Bruce’s army.
“Bruce will be captured, and he will hang.” Sir Guy drained his wine and set the mug down hard. “As will all of his damned friends.”
Margaret hoped she did not appear appalled.
“We will be avenged, Lady Margaret, I vow it.”
Somehow, she spoke. “I do not like this blood feud, Sir Guy.”
His dark brows rose. “You opine against me?”
“I am afraid! Two great men—each seeking to kill the other!”
He stood, his stance wide, a warrior braced for attack. “He took Castle Fyne, he took you. And once, not long ago, we were friends! That bastard does not know the meaning of honor. So I will teach him the meaning of revenge.”
Sir Guy was angry—his gaze blazed. She decided not to speak.
“Surely, Lady Margaret, you wish for revenge, too?”
She tensed. What should she say? “I despise war. I have suffered through too many wars to count! War only brings death. So no, I do not wish for revenge, as it only brings death, too.”
“Then you will have to change your mind, lady. If I seek revenge, it must please you, too.”
She looked down at her hands as they lay on the table. Most men thought as Sir Guy did, so she should not be dismayed. But she was both. “Of course,” she murmured.
His gaze narrowed. “I will make certain,” he said, after a pause, “that you are with me when we hang the mighty Wolf.”
She trembled, looking up, wondering if fear was written all over her face.
* * *
EVENING HAD FINALLY fallen. Margaret thought that the day had been one of the longest of her life. She slowly went up the stairs, aware of the tension within her that she had not been able to shake all day. How she yearned for the privacy of her own chamber now.
She had caught Sir Guy watching her closely a dozen times that day. His enigmatic stare was so disconcerting! She could not imagine what he was thinking, but she had the terrible inkling that he suspected her of some grave failing.
But what was worse was that she did not care for him—not at all. In fact, she did not even like him. And she did not know how to change her thoughts. She did not know what to do.
Will had asked her if she were being sent to the gallows, would she meekly go?
She had said no. Her impending marriage now felt like the gallows.
Margaret paused by a ledge in the hall outside her door, a window above it.
Outside, the night was a pale, soft purple, with many winking stars just beginning to emerge in the sky.
If she married Sir Guy, she would be told how to think. She would be told what to do. She would be criticized if she did not conform to his expectations of her. Margaret was certain.
Did she dare be honest with herself? She no longer wanted this marriage!
She thought of Alexander and felt a terrible pang—as if she missed him. But she must not miss him. What they had done was wrong. And even if she never married Sir Guy, Alexander remained a mortal enemy—in possession of both her brother and Castle Fyne.
Did she dare speak with her uncle about the marriage? He was so pleased with her now. Could she somehow convince him to change his mind about it?
Margaret instantly knew better than to try. Now that the Comyn family fought with King Edward against Bruce, her marriage had become more important than ever.
Despair immobilized her. She almost felt like crying. Instead, she lifted her face to the cool night air.
“I hope you are thinking about me.”
She had been so immersed in her anguished thoughts, that she had not heard Sir Guy approaching. Slowly, with dread, she turned. “I did not hear you come up the stairs.”
He smiled at her, pausing beside her. “I am a soldier, Lady Margaret. If I cannot steal silently upon you, how could I ever surprise the enemy?” His gray gaze slid over her slowly.
Margaret hugged her wool mantle more closely to her body.
“Are you cold?” He reached for her shoulders.
Margaret tensed. His hands covered her shoulders, slid down her arms, and adjusted the mantle for her.
Her body was now entirely in a coil. She did not like this man’s touch.
He dropped his hands. “You fear me,” he said softly.
She said slowly, “We are strangers.”
“It is not the same.” He slid the tip of his finger along her jaw. “You are so beautiful. I am pleased.”
She stood very still, otherwise, she would flinch and pull away. “It is late,” she said.
“Is it?” He trailed his finger lightly down the side of her neck. “You are only seventeen. In a way, you are so young. But most women are married well before such an age...by now, most women are well versed in their relations with men.”
“But not I.” She finally stepped backward, but into the wall.
“You have made me wonder,” he said.
She almost choked. Did she dare lie monstrously now? “My lord?”
“Sometimes I look at you and I see a woman with experience far beyond her years. Other times, I think you are so innocent, and so ripe for the plucking.”
She knew she must end this encounter. “I do not know why you see me in two such different ways. Sir Guy? It is late. I am tired, you must be tired, too. We should bid one another adieu.”
He smiled. “But I am leaving in the morning, Lady Margaret. We might not see one another for some time—or even until our wedding in June. And I am enjoying being with you.”
He would leave tomorrow. Her relief made her knees buckle.
He caught her by seizing both of her arms, pulling her close. “I have been waiting for a kiss all day.”
She wanted to deny him, but she knew she could not.
Sir Guy pulled her against his lean body and claimed her mouth instantly.
Margaret felt tears arise. She did not move. She let him ply her lips with his, let him increase the pressure until his kiss became hard and hungry. Only then did she push at him. “Stop.”
“Why?” He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “Let’s go into your chamber, Lady Margaret. Lie with me. We will handfast tonight.”
She cried out. “My uncle has arranged an English wedding—in a church!”
“But I do not wish to wait.” He caught her face in his hands. “If you consent and take me to bed, the deed is done.”
She opened her mouth to tell him no, but could not speak, for he kissed her again.
Fury began. Margaret hit his shoulders, once and then twice. He straightened, eyes wide. “You are fighting me?”
“We are not married yet!” She wrenched away, ducked under his arm and moved a great distance away.
He was incredulous. “What difference does it make, if we handfast tonight or marry in June?”
“If my uncle wanted us married today, he would have arranged it!”
“So you are loyal? Or are you afraid? Are you afraid of lovemaking?”
Margaret’s mind raced. “I will not betray my uncle. I am his ward. I will do as he wishes.”
Sir Guy began to smile. “If you will be as dutiful to me, I will be a very pleased husband.”
Margaret trembled. “It is time to say good-night, Sir Guy.”
He approached her in two strides, clasping her shoulders and pulling her close to kiss her soundly again.
“I will forgive you your disloyalty now, as you should be loyal to Buchan. But now I expect the same fervor after we are wed.” He caressed her cheek.
“Good night, Margaret.” Turning, his strides now hurried, he vanished down the stairs.
Margaret ran into her room, slammed the door and bolted it. She sank onto her bed, tears beginning. What was she going to do?
She knew the truth now. She feared Sir Guy—and she despised him.