Chapter Seventeen.html #2
“Bruce has ordered her to remain with the queen and her women. The queen could not remove her from Kildrummy if she wished it.”
They had reached the great front doors of the hall, and had halted their horses. Sir Neil dismounted, and came over to help her do the same. She looked down at him. “What else bothers you, Sir Neil?”
He smiled ruefully. “Am I so obvious? Now everyone says she pines for Bruce. My lady, she writes him almost daily—and she asks me to send those letters to him!”
Margaret allowed him to help her off of her horse. “Have you done so?”
He flushed again. “I am to obey her, my lady. Of course I have sent the missives to the king. But I believe the queen knows she is writing to him—it is unwise.”
It was very unwise, Margaret thought grimly. Everything Isabella did was unwise. “I am so glad you have been here to help her through this time. And now, you are here to help me.”
“I want nothing more,” he said fervently. And then he got down on one knee, head bowed. “My lady, I have sworn my fealty to the mighty Wolf, but remain devoted to you, always.”
She almost cried. Then she had a thought. “Sir Neil, if you can get letters to Bruce, could you get a missive to Alexander?”
He looked up at her. “Of course.”
Margaret’s excitement abated. Now she must consider what she wished to say—and how she would say it.
* * *
MARGARET FOLLOWED SIR NEIL through the castle. A huge hall was ahead, its great wood doors fully open. The stone floors within were covered with beautiful rugs, and the high ceiling was raftered. Two large hearths blazed. Tapestries covered both walls.
As she approached she could see the queen within, surrounded by some twenty ladies-in-waiting.
Elisabeth sat in their midst in a huge, thronelike chair.
A parchment in her hand, she was resplendent in a dark red gown with puffed sleeves and gold trim.
Garnets and rubies circled her throat and were dangling from her ears.
Her reddish hair was pulled tightly back beneath a gold circlet, but she did not appear severe.
She appeared elegant and regal—she appeared every bit a queen.
Her ladies sat and stood around her, one playing a flute, others sewing, a few in conversation with her.
Most of the ladies in attendance were about the queen’s age, two were quite older.
Some wore Highland garb—simple leines with plaid mantles—others, finer French gowns.
Margaret instantly saw Marjorie Strathbogie, the Earl of Atholl’s wife.
She sat with the queen, as did Christina Seton and Mary Campbell, the king’s sisters.
They had reached the threshold of the great room, where guards barred their way. Margaret looked past Sir Neil, her gaze on Marjorie. The other woman had seen her as well, and quickly smiled at her.
Her heart thudded. Could Atholl be a spy for Aymer de Valence? Should she share her suspicions with Queen Elisabeth? What if she was wrong?
She had always liked Marjorie, who was a pleasant, good-natured and pretty woman.
Marjorie had always welcomed her into her home, and had been eager to chat when visiting Bain or Balvenie.
But then, Margaret had always liked her husband, and he had, possibly, betrayed his dear friend, her uncle Buchan.
Either he was a traitor to King Edward, or he was a traitor to King Robert. But he was a traitor all the same.
Margaret realized that the great room had become silent. Queen Elisabeth had seen her and was staring. So was everyone else.
And now, Margaret espied Isabella, standing far behind the other ladies, almost against the wall. She was beaming—the only woman in the room who was pleased to see her. Margaret almost expected her to wave.
“Your Majesty,” Sir Neil said, bowing low. “Lady Margaret Comyn seeks an audience.”
For a moment, the queen no longer appeared regal—she appeared bitter. And as they stared at one another, Margaret recalled her odd remark after Bruce’s coronation. She had accused her husband of playing a children’s game of pretend, of playing at being a king.
Margaret bent on one knee. “My lady...Your Majesty,” she said.
“Rise, Lady Margaret.”
Margaret stood. The queen gestured and everyone stepped away from her, except for Marjorie, Mary and Christina, who remained seated with her. She waved at Margaret. “Your presence here is a surprise.”
Margaret came forward. “I have fled Castle Fyne, Your Majesty, with my brother’s help. I was hoping to join you and your women here.”
Her blue eyes were cool. “Really? And why would I allow a Comyn in my court?”
Margaret hesitated. “I have fled Sir Guy, Your Majesty. I cannot marry him so I am seeking sanctuary here.”
“Really? You cannot marry him, or you will not do so?”
She felt her cheeks heat. “I cannot and I will not, Your Majesty.”
“So you give up your great castle, just like that?” The queen was disbelieving.
“I am hoping that Alexander, who has sought my hand, will take Castle Fyne back.”
Surprised and titillated murmurs sounded.
The queen’s eyes widened. Then she demanded, “Speak forthrightly, Lady Margaret. Have you chosen to defy your family? Have you chosen MacDonald over Buchan? Do you support my husband now?”
Margaret wet her dry lips. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she answered. “I have chosen Alexander and I now support Robert Bruce.”
Shock rippled through the room. Everyone began speaking at once.
“Quiet!” the queen exclaimed. “And I am to believe you?”
“She is a spy,” Christina Seton said sharply. “Sir Guy and the Earl of Buchan have sent her here to spy upon us. Perhaps she has been in Alexander’s bed for the sole purpose of spying!”
Margaret gasped. “I am not a spy!”
The queen stood up. She was actually a tiny woman, no taller or heavier than Margaret, but her stature was immense.
“All of Scotland speaks so highly of you, Lady Margaret. You are a legend in your own right, the great lady of Castle Fyne, a tiny woman brave enough to defy a mighty Wolf, a lady who would die of loyalty for her family. Are those legends not the truth?”
“I have been loyal and devoted my entire life. It is my nature to be loyal,” she said.
“Then you must have been sent here to spy,” the queen said.
She was going to become a prisoner of the queen, Margaret thought wildly. “I have not been sent to spy, Your Majesty. I have had to make a terrible choice!”
“And you chose to betray Buchan?” Queen Elisabeth was incredulous and mocking.
Margaret trembled. “Could I have a privy word, Your Majesty?”
A moment passed before the queen nodded. Everyone left the room, except for Marjorie, Mary and Christina. “They will not betray us,” the queen said flatly.
Margaret did not wish to speak openly in front of Marjorie, in case her husband was a spy for her uncle and King Edward. “I meant to obey my uncle. I meant to go forth in marriage to Sir Guy. It is why I refused Alexander, not once, but two times.”
“Go on,” the queen said, her red brows raised.
She bit her lip. “I do not want to sound foolish. But I have been influenced by my parents—their marriage was arranged, but they respected one another, and they even loved one another greatly.”
The queen was amused. “Will you now tell me you seek love in marriage—with the handsome Wolf of Lochaber?”
She knew she blushed. “I seek a future with someone I trust and respect, Your Majesty. As it happens, I care greatly for him, as well.”
Marjorie said softly, “She does not have a deceptive nature.”
Margaret started, then faced Elisabeth. “Your Majesty, may I try to prove my sincerity to you?”
Her gaze narrowed. “Please do.”
“I sent a letter to Isabella. Did she receive it?”
“She did.”
“I was hoping she would share its contents with you. I was trying to warn you that you and your court are in danger.”
The queen sat back down and folded her hands in her lap. “I read the missive, Lady Margaret. Was that a warning?”
“Yes, it was.” She glanced at Christina, who stared coldly at her. “Aymer de Valence has been ordered by King Edward to capture you, Your Majesty. Sir Guy seeks the command.”
Christina leaned over to the queen and whispered in her ear. The queen said, “We know all of this, Lady Margaret. What else do you know?”
Margaret hesitated. “Aymer has spies amongst Bruce’s closest friends.” She did not look at Marjorie now.
Christina looked surprised, while the queen remained impassive. “How do you know this?” Bruce’s other sister, Mary Campbell, demanded.
“Sir Guy told me,” Margaret said.
Christina turned to Elisabeth. “We must warn Rob.”
Queen Elisabeth nodded. Then she said decisively, “There is one way you may prove your new loyalties once and for all. Will you get down on your knees and swear your fealty to me and King Robert?”
Margaret trembled. But she lifted her chin and said, “Your Majesty, I will swear my fealty to you and Robert Bruce.”
* * *
MARGARET MADE HER way back to the hall, having left only to use a privy chamber, aware of one of the queen’s guards carefully following her.
She was now in attendance on the queen, but she was not trusted yet.
She would swear fealty to her new liege after the mass on Sunday.
Margaret did not think that she would be trusted even then.
She turned a corner in the corridor and was seized by both shoulders. “I am so happy you are here!” Isabella cried.
After the harrowing interview, Margaret had taken a seat behind Marjorie and Christina, and she had remained quiet for the rest of the afternoon.
What she had really wished to do was retire, in both exhaustion and relief, but she knew better than to ask for permission to leave the queen.
She also knew better than to openly seek out Isabella, which would only garner more disapproval from her new liege.
Now, Isabella embraced her wildly. Margaret smiled, hugging her in return; she had missed her dear friend. “How are you?” she asked.
Isabella’s smile vanished, tears filling her eyes. “Margaret! I am in grave jeopardy!”