Chapter Fifteen.html #3
Margaret tensed. She did not think Sir Guy cared whether William lived or died. “Yes. But he has lost a great deal of blood and an infection has set in.”
“Do you think he will live?”
“He will live,” Margaret flared, and then she reminded herself to hold her emotions in check.
Sir Guy slowly stood. “If you are angry, be angry with MacDonald, not me. His men delivered the blow to your brother’s leg, not mine.”
She trembled. Of course William had been fighting with Sir Guy, against Alexander, to liberate the keep. Yet she hadn’t had time to dwell on that fact.
“And William was only here because MacDonald refused to ransom him,” Sir Guy added with a slight smile.
Was he trying to drive a wedge between her and Alexander?
Yet why would he even think to do so? He did not know they were anything other than a captor and a captive.
But he did speak the truth. If Alexander had ransomed William—or simply freed him—he would not have remained at Castle Fyne, and he would not be fighting for his life now.
“William has been a prisoner here since February. As soon as he is well, I would like to send him home to Balvenie.”
“Are you asking my permission?” Sir Guy seemed surprised. “I am lord here, but I am not lord over your brother. I already sent word to Buchan, by the way, telling him of my conquest, and of Will being wounded.”
She wished he hadn’t done so. “Then we will hear from him in return.” She forced a smile. “Sir Guy, I must beg you to dismiss me. We rode for two days straight, and then I tended my brother. I am exhausted, I must change my clothes—and then I wish to stay with William. He needs my care.”
Sir Guy smiled oddly. “We have a great deal to discuss, Lady Margaret. If you wish to change your soiled gown, you may do so later.” He gestured. “Sit down.”
It was not a request, nor was it uttered as one.
Margaret felt her heart lurch with dismay, and she slowly crossed the room.
Sir Guy did not move, his stare unwavering upon her.
When she sat, he poured wine from a vessel into a mug and handed it to her.
Then he glanced at one of the maids, standing nervously in the corner, and ordered food for her.
Margaret stared grimly at her wine, as Sir Guy sat down on the bench beside her. “There is great talk in the land,” he said.
She tensed, but not because his big thigh was against hers. She looked up at him, praying gossip of her affair had not reached him.
His gray gaze was steady upon hers. “Bruce was crowned king at Scone,” he said flatly. It was not a question.
Was she to admit having been there? She had come with Alexander, so of course she would have been there.
“Not once, but twice,” he continued, almost softly. “Will you deny it? Will you deny being a witness to the coronation?”
She held her mug now tightly with two hands. “No.”
“And the Countess of Buchan led him to the throne?”
She inhaled. So the news was out. “Yes.”
Sir Guy smiled. “They say MacDonald came for her in the middle of the night, that he took her directly from her own bed.”
She was shaking now. “Yes, that is what happened.”
“They say she was not forced—they say she was more than willing.”
She wet her lips and shook her head. “No.”
“No?” His brows lifted.
She must lie for Isabella, she thought, feeling desperate. “Bruce meant to use her no matter what, Sir Guy. She decided to cooperate. She did not have a choice!”
He studied her. “The gossip is vicious, Lady Margaret, truly vicious. They say she was thrilled to crown him...and that she shares his bed.”
Margaret looked helplessly at him.
“I have spies,” Sir Guy said, “in a few places, mostly in the south. But Aymer, my brother, has spies amongst Bruce’s most trusted men.”
Margaret went still, immediately thinking of Atholl.
“You are pale,” he said softly. “Surely, you do not have something to hide?”
“No,” she managed to answer. And she said, not just because she wished to change the topic, “Isabella had no choice!”
“She had no choice but to crown Bruce—or to bed him? Please, do not tell me the mighty Bruce forced her to bed! The man has slept with half of the women in England. Soon, he will sleep with half the women in Scotland.”
She was silent, thinking frantically, wishing she hadn’t seen Isabella in Bruce’s bed—for then it would be so easy to dissemble. And if Sir Guy knew all of this, didn’t her uncle?
There would be no saving her marriage, she realized. But Isabella did not wish for it to be saved, anyway.
“And you, Lady Margaret?” he asked softly.
She flinched. “I beg your pardon?”
“What choices have you had?”
His gray stare was mesmerizing. “I do not comprehend you,” she tried, but she did. She knew exactly where he meant to go.
“You were at the coronation.”
“Yes.”
“And you had no choice but to attend?”
She felt her cheeks begin to warm. “I was curious. And I was there—at Scone Abbey....” She trailed off. Oh, God, what would he say and do, next?
“Yes, you were there.... When he came for Isabella at Balvenie, did MacDonald take you from your bed, as well?”
She wanted to glance away, but his stare was so relentless that she could not look aside. “I was asleep when they intruded.”
“I can only imagine,” he said, unsmiling. “You were asleep, and you awoke to what? A fight in the hall below?”
She stared into his expressionless gray eyes. “The fighting did not awaken me. I awoke...when he seized me.”
He made a harsh, amused sound. “Of course he seized you in your bed. How frightened you must have been.”
Her cheeks were on fire now. “I was not frightened, Sir Guy. I had already been his captive for almost a month. Had he wished to hurt me, he would have done so while I was a prisoner here.”
“You are such a clever woman,” he murmured. “And now you will tell me that he abducted you, as well?”
“No.” She shook her head, her heart thundering.
“I was afraid for Isabella. I knew what they intended. I had overheard them discussing her here, at Castle Fyne, that single night Bruce was with us. She is so young, so reckless! I decided to go with them to attempt to keep her safe—to try to thwart their schemes to use her! But as you know, I failed. Isabella is headstrong.”
He studied her. Then he turned his relentless gaze away, finally. As he reached for his wine, Margaret almost collapsed.
But she knew this respite would be brief, she knew another attack was forthcoming.
He drank for a moment, then he glanced at her. “You went willingly with him.”
“Because of Isabella.”
“Yes, because of Isabella, because you are such a loyal friend—when you do not share a drop of blood.”
“She is married to my uncle. I advised her, again and again, of the fate of her marriage, should she help his worst enemy.”
“And did you advise her to stay out of Bruce’s bed?”
“Yes, I did!”
“And you, Lady Margaret? All this advice you dispense, out of loyalty, with such sincerity, do you follow any of it, yourself?” He stood, legs braced.
She was too tired to stand, yet she did not like him towering over her—and she was afraid of his insinuations. “I am doing my best, Sir Guy, in these treacherous times.”
“MacDonald has become fond of you. Fond. I comprehend his offer of marriage—he seeks what I seek—legitimacy of ownership here. But now he is fond of you. Just how fond has he become?”
She managed to stand up. Did he know of her affair, or not? Was he fishing—or was he playing cat and mouse? “I refused his offer of marriage, Sir Guy!” she cried. “Not once, but several times.”
“So he has asked you directly?” His eyes were wide. “That begs the question then—has he seduced you?”
She was overcome with panic. How could she answer when she was a terrible liar? When lying was the only possible answer?
“Why do I even ask?” He shook his head then. “You are so loyal—even to Isabella—you are too loyal to Buchan to betray him by sleeping with the enemy! But he has tried, hasn’t he? He has tried to seduce you.”
Tears had arisen. It was a sign of her desperation. Why hadn’t she married Alexander? This man would learn the truth, eventually, and then he would hurt her! Somehow, she nodded.
“Why did he release you?” Sir Guy demanded. “Did you use your wiles upon him?”
“No! He never kept me prisoner—because he is fond of me! I went to Scone with Isabella of my own volition! And Alexander had agreed to allow me to return to Balvenie when we received the news of your attack here.” She was shaking now. She felt as if she would soon fall over.
Sir Guy was now truly surprised. “MacDonald let you return here—and he was about to allow you to return to Balvenie! And you are a valuable prize!” Sir Guy was thoughtful now. “MacDonald has become a fool. But why would Bruce release you?”
“I begged Bruce to let me go with Alexander when we heard of your attack. I do not know why he agreed, I swear to that! But he also wishes for a union between myself and Alexander—I think he thought Alexander would take Castle Fyne from you, and I would then marry him.”
“A grave miscalculation on Bruce’s part—and it will not be his final error,” Sir Guy said. Mug in hand, he slowly paced back and forth in front of her.
Margaret had to sit back down. She could not stop trembling. “Sir Guy? I do not feel well,” she said, and she meant it. She was dizzy and light-headed now. The room was beginning to sway.
He planted his hands on his hips. “I cannot believe they let you go! But they did—MacDonald, the mighty Wolf, and Bruce, the mighty king. And now, all is to my advantage.” He smiled, hard, with satisfaction.
She was going to swoon, she thought, from sheer fatigue, yet she must not do so, because Sir Guy was the enemy, and William needed her!
“Lady Margaret, we will be married this night,” he said.
Margaret heard him, in horror, as the hall turned black.