Chapter Twelve.html
CHAPTER TWELVE
MARGARET HAD BEEN summoned to her uncle in the great hall. She was worried as she traversed the castle. She could not imagine what he wished with her.
Suddenly Isabella appeared, falling into step with her. “Where do you go?” Isabella asked. “My husband has said he wishes to speak with me, immediately.”
Margaret faltered. “He has also summoned me.”
Isabella seemed alarmed. “He knows. There are spies everywhere. The first day we spoke, someone spied upon us!”
Margaret took her arm and tried to calm her. “Isabella, if he had heard about our conversation, he would have confronted you the day he returned. He would have confronted me.” And Buchan had been in residence for five days—it was the eighteenth of March. Sir Guy had left for Berwick four days ago.
At Berwick he would rejoin his army, and then join his brother, Aymer, as they sought to engage Bruce and defeat him.
By now, the world knew that Bruce raced across Scotland, seizing what castles he could, subduing what enemies he could, in defiance of King Edward, his ambition to become Scotland’s king.
There were so many rumors now, so many tales, and in them all, Bruce was becoming a hero.
The small keeps he threatened refused to rise up against him—instead, they opened their doors to him.
Soldiers and knights were joining his army everywhere.
He was, it was said, being happily greeted in every village he passed through.
Farmers and fishermen were provisioning his growing army.
Women with their children now followed him, as if he were a great piper.
King Edward was furious. His chamberlain had ordered Bruce to cease and desist. He had ordered Bruce to surrender. But Bruce had refused.
“I hope you are right,” Isabella now said tersely. “But what would he want with us both?”
“We will soon find out,” Margaret said. There were other rumors, too. Angus Og MacDonald was now actively aiding Bruce. But there was not one word whispered about Alexander.
Margaret knew she must, finally, ask about him. Was he with Bruce, still? Or did he go to war for Bruce on some tangential path? Had he even returned to Castle Fyne?
By now, he would know of her escape. It had been almost two weeks. She could not imagine his reaction to the news that she had left Castle Fyne—the morning after they had shared such passion.
Buchan was waiting for them in the great hall, standing before one hearth with two of his most trusted knights, whom he instantly dismissed. Margaret smiled hesitantly at him. “We are very curious, my lord, as to why you wish to speak to us.”
“You must pack your trunks,” he said, smiling. “We go to the shire of Aberdeen.”
Margaret started. “May I ask what passes?”
“Of course you may. I am meeting with Sir John Mowbray, Sir Ingram de Umfraville, and the earls of Menteith and Atholl.”
Margaret stared, her mind racing. Hadn’t Bruce mentioned that her uncle had met with Mowbray and Umfraville already, in Liddesdale? Her uncle was going to Aberdeenshire to continue to plot against Bruce; of that, she had no doubt. And she would be going with him.
She was thrilled. She did not know why he wished for her to join him, but did it matter? There, she would hear so much more news of the war. There, she might learn of Alexander.
“You wish for me to go, as well?” Isabella asked, eyes wide.
“I always prefer you at my side, sweetheart,” Buchan said. “But in truth, my dear friends know that Margaret was MacDonald’s prisoner, and that she met Bruce when he stayed overnight at Castle Fyne. They wish to speak directly with her.” He glanced at Margaret, still smiling.
Instantly Margaret felt some alarm. Mowbray was warden of the Scot marches, Umfraville a great baron renowned for the decades he had spent warring against England.
Menteith had just refused to surrender Dumbarton—and Bruce had decided to move on.
The Earl of Atholl had fought the English for most of his life. She knew him well.
All of these men were powerful forces, not to be lightly reckoned with.
She was to impart whatever knowledge she had of Bruce and his plans to these men. Of that, she had no doubt.
She had yet to reveal that the coronation might be in seven more days. She knew her omission was treachery, and she was afraid that if she made one false move, one of these men would suspect her.
“I wish for you to accompany Margaret, actually,” Buchan said to Isabella. “But we will not be gone long. It is a day to the Peel of Strathbogie.”
Peels were specially erected dirt fortifications, layered over the castle’s walls, and Strathbogie was Atholl’s seat. It had been fortified as a peel.
Isabella smiled, but so falsely that Margaret knew she did not wish to accompany them. “Whatever you wish, my lord,” she said sweetly. She turned to Margaret. “Shall we pack?”
Margaret hesitated. “I’ll join you shortly. I’d like to ask Uncle John about Castle Fyne.”
Isabella nodded and left. Buchan said, “Nothing has changed, Margaret. I have yet to receive word about your brother. MacDonald has not returned, nor will he, I think. He remains with Bruce—they have just crossed the River Forth. Of course, you probably wish to know that Sir Guy has now left Berwick with a force of two thousand men. He means to meet Bruce head-on, with Aymer planning to outflank him. He will be trapped, sooner or later—you may be sure of it.”
Alexander remained with Bruce, she thought. Surely they knew about the great English army attempting to engage them—hoping to destroy them.
“What is it? I can see you wish to ask me something.”
“Have you heard how MacDonald reacted when he learned of my escape? I am worried he was enraged—that he will eventually take his wrath out on the people of Castle Fyne, or upon my brother.”
“I heard he said not a word. I heard he was stone-faced. However, he had to have been surprised that a small woman like yourself could outwit him.”
What did such an impassive reaction mean? Was it possible that he had not cared?
She was taken aback. She thought about Alexander a bit too much after spending the night with him, and she had assumed he was thinking about her, too.
But now, she worried that he had forgotten the time they had shared together.
Was it possible? She had so often gotten the impression that he cared about her, at least somewhat.
But if he had not cared about her escape, did that mean that she had been entirely wrong?
“Is something amiss?” her uncle asked.
She quickly smiled. “No, of course not. But I do yearn to hear that Will is fine.”
“As do I,” her uncle said. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”
She should raise the subject of her marriage to Sir Guy. No opportunity could be better. Instead, she inhaled and smiled. “No, of course not.”
* * *
ALTHOUGH THE ROADS were muddy from the spring thaw, the ride to Strathbogie was an easy one, accomplished in just eight hours. They were greeted by the Atholl himself, and ushered directly into his hall.
John Strathbogie, the Earl of Atholl, was a tall, handsome man of forty, with tawny hair that was forever tousled.
Margaret had known him since she was a child—he had fought beside her father and her oldest brother at Dunbar ten years ago, where he had had the misfortune of being captured and then being imprisoned in the London Tower.
Like a great many of his peers, he had only been set free when he agreed to serve King Edward in his army in Flanders.
Bruce and Alexander believed he would support them. Margaret did not know what to believe. She knew that Atholl hated the English, even though he had recently paid homage to King Edward. And his daughter had married one of Bruce’s brothers.
But she could not imagine him betraying her uncle. Atholl and Buchan were friends. But clearly, both sides believed him their ally; therefore, he would have to betray someone.
He now embraced Buchan warmly. Then he kissed Isabella’s hand. “You become more beautiful every day, lady,” he said, obviously flirting.
She flushed and smiled, clearly pleased.
“Hello, Margaret,” Atholl then said, turning to her.
She began to greet him but was swept into his embrace instead.
“So the little child has become the fierce woman, to fight the Wolf of Lochaber, survive capture and confinement, and then dare to escape.” He laughed, releasing her.
“If ever we are besieged here, I hope my wife will be as brave. You have set the example!”
“I wasn’t brave, I was afraid,” Margaret said.
“And you are so modest,” he teased.
Atholl led them to the table inside his hall, where the others waited. Greetings were exchanged as everyone sat down, the women together at the far end of the table.
“These proceedings will be kept secret,” Buchan declared. “Bruce must never learn of our plans.”
Murmurs of agreement sounded, all from the men. The women pretended not to listen.
“How was your journey?” Marjorie asked. Atholl’s wife was a pretty blonde and the daughter of the Earl of Mar.
Margaret told her it had been swift, but she was listening to the men, stealing glances at them, as Marjorie turned her attention to Isabella.
She did not know Mowbray, the young warden of the marches, and she had only briefly met Menteith, at Dumbarton, after her escape from Castle Fyne.
But Ingram de Umfraville’s mother had been a Comyn, and he was a legend in his own right.
Middle-aged, he had devoted his life to the war against England.
It was shocking to know that he hated Bruce even more than he hated King Edward, and that he now fought on the side of England.
Umfraville pounded his fist on the table. “Bruce murdered our blood. I have vowed to God to make him pay for his treachery and his sacrilege. No matter how I despise King Edward, Bruce must pay for what he did.”
“Hear, hear,” Atholl said fiercely.