Chapter Thirteen.html #3
“’Tis unlikely. We turned all their horses out of the stables.
They will have to catch them before they can chase us.
And we rode very hard fer the first few hours, and I have taken an unusual route.
We do not travel in the most direct manner.
” He gestured, indicating that she should join Isabella, whose pallet was now beneath the open tent.
Margaret did not move. “How long will it be before we reach Scone, Alexander?”
“It depends on whether we are being pursued, and if I have to take an even more unusual route. It also depends upon ye and Isabella. I dinna think either of ye will be able to ride as long tonight.”
“Is he to be crowned on the twenty-fifth?”
Alexander started. “Why should I be surprised by anything ye say or do, Margaret? I already knew ye spied on us when Bruce came to Castle Fyne.”
“I was your prisoner—it was my duty to spy—to learn of what was happening in the country.”
“And will it be your duty now—again?” His eyes remained dark and hard.
“I wish not!”
“So yer answer is aye.” He turned away from her, anger and disgust in his strides.
She stared after him. She did not want to argue or fight! But what did he expect from her now? Her family was at war with Bruce. Of course she must spy!
But that did not mean she would relay everything she learned.
Margaret turned and slowly approached Isabella, whose eyes were wide. She sank down beside her, knees buckling.
“Are you lovers?”
Margaret flinched.
“You have kept my secret—I will keep yours.”
“That isn’t fair,” Margaret breathed.
“Why not? We are friends. You have helped me—perhaps I wish to help you, too.”
Margaret had no intention of telling Isabella the truth. She was afraid Isabella might inadvertently let the truth slip. “I need a privy moment.”
“I think I know your answer, Margaret,” Isabella said.
Margaret’s head ached now, along with her body. Alexander’s men all glanced at her as she veered away from the small camp, and she quickly realized that she was to be watched—and she would not be allowed to simply walk away into the forest, to attend to her own needs...or to escape.
Was she Alexander’s prisoner now? Somehow, she did not think that he would actually keep her against her will.
Dughall had detached himself from a group of men who were seated around a fire. He was following her, but at a discreet distance.
“I am not going far,” she said over her shoulder.
“Good.” He smiled at her. “But I must go with ye—I will turn away, Lady Margaret, so ye can do what ye must.”
She was somewhat angry, but she knew she must not blame Dughall—if she was to blame anyone, it would be Alexander.
And escape was not on her mind. Isabella needed her. And she and Alexander had to speak. It felt as if they had so much to say to one another. She just wasn’t sure how to begin, or what to say, or how to get through an entire conversation without anger and accusations.
She hurried into the trees. Dughall stayed back, and she found a private place to take care of her needs.
Then she paused in another small glade, Dughall not far from the camp, where he kept one eye upon her, leaning against a tree. She rubbed her temples tiredly, walked over to a flat rock and sat down on it. Then she hugged her knees to her chest and laid her cheek there.
What should she do now?
She remained terribly attracted to Alexander. She continued to care for him. When they had spent that one night together, nothing had really changed. Now, everything had changed.
She did not want to marry Sir Guy. Alexander had taken her forcefully away, so now she could not marry Sir Guy, and for that, she was grateful.
But he had decided he wished to marry her himself, undoing her every conviction.
If ever such a marriage came to pass, she would be giving up her every significant loyalty—all would be transferred to Alexander.
“Ye will not rest?” she heard Alexander ask.
She shifted to face him, suddenly a bit breathless, dropping her legs over the side of the rock. “I will gladly rest, after we have had a chance to speak.”
“I wish to speak with ye, too, Margaret,” he said, very seriously. “We shared a bed, and the morning afterward ye left me.”
She could not look away from his searching gaze. He was so solemn, and she felt guilty. “Will had devised a good plan. It seemed likely to succeed. In a way, I did not want to leave, Alexander. But Peg had heard of your plans for Isabella. I had to warn her.”
“I trusted ye.”
She flinched. “I had to escape. It was my duty, Alexander.”
“Did ye sleep with me to soften me fer the escape?” he asked, his gaze direct.
She gasped. “How could you think such a thing?”
“I would be foolish not to consider such a possibility.”
“I came to you because I was afraid you might go to war—never to return. I did not know we would make love. I came only to tell you that I had become fond of you, against my better judgment, in defiance of my loyalties.”
“When I heard ye’d escaped—that very morning—the news was like an ax striking my chest.”
“I am sorry!” she cried.
He tilted up her chin. “I believe yer sorry—I also believe ye’d escape again, if ye could.”
“From here? No. I can’t leave Isabella yet.”
He studied her. “Isabella was expecting us—ye warned her. But ye dinna warn Buchan. If ye had, I would never have been able to get inside Balvenie. Why?”
She flushed. “I could not betray Isabella, not once I realized how eager she was to aid Bruce.”
“So ye put her before yer uncle.”
She hesitated. “She isn’t my blood, but she is my friend.”
“Blood always comes before friendship.”
He was right. She had put Isabella first. “I was protecting her.”
“The way ye think to protect me?”
She started. Before she could ask him what he meant—afraid of what he meant—he said, “Ye ken Bruce will be crowned the twenty-fifth,” Alexander said, staring. “When did ye learn that?”
She flushed. “Eilidh thought she heard such a date, Alexander.”
“Did ye warn Buchan about that?” His gaze was searing.
“No. I could not bring myself to tell him of the date—which Eilidh was uncertain of, anyway.”
“Why not? The great Comyn family hates Bruce. Yer a Comyn. Why not, Margaret?” he demanded. “Or have yer loyalties finally changed?”
She slipped to her feet. “My loyalties haven’t changed! I wasn’t sure the date was correct!”
“Tell me the truth. Tell me the real reason ye did not tell Buchan when we will crown Bruce.”
She inhaled. “If I told him, he would ambush Scone on that date—and you would be there with Bruce. I am afraid for you!”
He reached out and clasped her shoulder, pulling her closer. “So yer loyalties have changed.”
“Don’t do this, Alexander. I do not want to be enemies, but that is what we must remain.” Yet how could they truly be enemies when she wanted to be in his arms?
“We ceased being enemies when we shared the same bed.”
He was so resolute. And she knew that when resolute, Alexander was impossible to move. “I’m your prisoner—again! And that makes us enemies.”
“Yer a prisoner here only if ye want to be one.” He clasped her other shoulder and pulled her entirely into his embrace. “I think yer loyalties have already changed, but as stubborn as ye can be, ye refuse to recognize it.”
If he was right, she had to warn him of all she’d learned. “Alexander, there is more. Buchan and his allies hope to divide your army from Bruce’s. They hope to isolate you and then destroy you.”
His eyes gleamed. She knew he was thinking that he was right after all—that her loyalties had changed. “Are ye certain?”
She nodded. “But I have no other details.”
He tilted up her chin. “See, Margaret? Ye think to warn me now.”
“Yes, I am warning you. Can’t I be loyal to my family, and try to keep you safe, too?”
He shook his head, an odd, tender light filling his eyes. “Mayhap for a day, or two, or ten. But in the end, ye will have to choose. In the end, it will be me—or them.”
She would never be able to abandon her family, she thought, feeling frantic.
But she would never purposefully place Alexander in jeopardy.
“Why can’t you understand? Buchan and Will are all I have left of my mother, my father, my other brothers!
” But his hand was now caressing her back, causing desire to fist within her.
And he clasped her face in his large hands. “Buchan would sell ye to me fer the right price. And Will would understand—if ye told him that ye love me.”
She went still. What had he said?
When she didn’t respond, he seemed disappointed. “Will ye ever give an inch?” he murmured. “Tell me ye still care. Tell me yer glad I came to Balvenie. Tell me ye wish to be my wife.”
Her heart thundered. “I can never marry you.”
“Ye can,” he said softly. “Ye will.”
“I am always afraid for you. I’m afraid you will die by the sword.”
“I will die like my father, sword in hand, upon the battlefield, in God’s grace,” he said fiercely. “But if yer waiting fer me, I will not die soon.”
She clasped his face. “Is that a vow?”
“Aye, ’tis a vow, Margaret.”
Her heart turned over, hard. What if? her mind began.
But then he kissed her, hard, with a hunger pent up from the past weeks, and her thoughts simply ceased.
There was only sensation—his hard, inflamed body, her taut, heated skin, the urgency racing between them.
And there was emotion—desperation, relief and elation.
She had forgotten how much she needed to be in his arms. She had forgotten the rush of dizzying pleasure, the budding desire, the building pressure. Margaret ran her hands over his hard back, their mouths fused.
He broke the heated kiss abruptly. “I missed ye,” he said, eyes hot.
“I missed you,” she admitted breathlessly.
His smile was satisfied, yet savage. Alexander lifted her abruptly into his arms, shoved his way into the forest, and laid her down on a bed of pine needles. He paused on all fours, a question in his eyes. And Margaret reached up and pulled him down on top of her.
Their mouths fused frantically as he reached for the hem of her clothes. A moment later Margaret gasped as he impaled her amidst an explosion of stars....