Chapter Nineteen.html
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MARGARET SAT WITH Isabella, arm in arm, in exhaustion. They had gathered up the wounded and fled the ravine. In a more defensible area, they had paused and Margaret had spent the afternoon with the other women taking care of their wounded.
Margaret leaned tiredly against Isabella, her cheek upon the other woman’s shoulder. The camp was spread out before them. The wounded lay in one area; the women had gathered near them while the able had gone to forage for their supper. The horses grazed. “I am too tired to move.”
“I am afraid,” Isabella whispered.
Margaret took her hand. “We’re all afraid.”
She was so tired that she did not want to think. But she had to contemplate the future. Bruce had lost hundreds more men. His army had been reduced to almost nothing. His men were exhausted. The horses were exhausted. They had no supplies, no food. Now what would they do?
She had heard bits and pieces of their conversations all afternoon. Sir Guy had not led the attack. It had been devised and commanded by Argyll’s son—John the Lame. They remained on MacDougall lands. Everyone expected to be attacked a second time.
Bruce was considering a different path of flight, into the lands of his close ally, the Earl of Lennox. But Lennox had not been seen nor heard from since Methven....
She saw Alexander walking slowly toward her. He was so tired. She saw it not just by his pace, which was more sluggish than usual, but in the set of his broad shoulders.
Nevertheless, he smiled at her. “Can we speak?”
“Of course.” He put his arm on her shoulder and guided her aside. “What will we do now?”
He smiled again and tilted up her chin. “Bruce has decided to send the women back to Kildrummy. They’re not safe here, and he needs to travel swiftly now, in order to hide from those who seek to hunt him down and kill him.”
Margaret trembled in dismay. Kildrummy was now safe? Since when? “I do not want to return to Kildrummy,” she began.
He held up his hand, silencing her. “Bruce is sending the horses with the women. It will be too hard to find grazing for them.”
Margaret had thought the situation very dire before. Now, he meant to hide in the forests with his remaining men, on foot! “They will not move as swiftly on foot.”
“They will move swiftly if they do not wear mail.”
She inhaled. They would abandon their armor. “So they will flee with but sword and dagger?”
He nodded.
She was suddenly furious. If an English army found them, they would be destroyed. A man on foot could not fight a man on horseback. No one would survive such an encounter. “God, and you will flee with them?”
“No. He sends me back to Kintyre to warn Angus of what has happened—to beg him for his aid and for refuge.”
He was leaving Bruce and his decimated army—she was relieved!
“I want ye with me, Margaret.”
She took a deep breath, but before she could speak, he said, “Kildrummy has never been under siege. But I fear for the queen and her women with Aymer in control of so much of the north. I could be captured, Margaret,” he warned. “If yer with me, ye’d be captured, too.”
She nodded tearfully. “I don’t care. I will come with you, Alexander.”
They stared at one another for a long time. “I’ll tell Bruce.”
Dunaverty Castle—late August, 1306
“I AM EAGER to acquaint ye with my brother,” Alexander said, smiling.
She could not believe they had reached the great MacDonald stronghold. Margaret walked beside Alexander, his arm around her. She had been exhausted, for they had ridden long and hard for the past four days, only pausing to rest for a few hours at night.
Just a short while ago they had been at sea in a vessel borrowed from a fisherman, crossing the Firth of Clyde.
The seas had been choppy, with a strong breeze filling the single sail, and they had swiftly approached Kintyre.
Margaret had been seated in the bow of the tiny vessel, clinging to its side.
When Dunaverty had come into view, a bulky castle perched high above the sea upon great cliffs, her exhaustion had vanished.
It had been immediately replaced with excitement and awe.
They had escaped the mainland. They had left the war behind.
Finally, they were safe.
And maybe, just maybe, this was a new beginning....
They were strolling through the castle’s large outdoor courtyard, now. Margaret smiled up at Alexander; he smiled back.
He thinks this is a beginning, too, she thought.
The MacDonald flag with its dark field and red dragon flew proudly from one high tower, whipping in the wind.
Highlanders stood above them on the ramparts.
And then she heard the sound of Alexander’s name, and she slowed and turned, as did Alexander.
Highland soldiers had come to the edge of the ramparts to look down upon them.
“Alexander!” they called. “The mighty Wolf returns!”
Chills swept over her; tears filled her eyes. These men were his kin, and they worshipped him.
His name was being echoed amongst them again and again. And a refrain began, one that turned into a chant.
“Alexander! The mighty Wolf is home! The mighty Wolf returns! Long live the mighty Wolf of Clan Donald!”
His grasp on her shoulders tightened. He leaned closer. “Welcome to Dunaverty, Margaret.”
She looked up at him, overcome with relief. She reached for and squeezed his hand. “They love you,” she whispered.
He smiled at her, a twinkle in his eyes—one she had never before seen. “And soon, they will love ye just as much,” he said. “Come.”
She stiffened, even as he propelled her inside the great hall of the castle. For his meaning was clear. Soon, she would be his wife, the lady MacDonald.
She thought of her mother, Mary MacDougall. Somehow, she knew Mary would be happy for her, and that she would be pleased.
Margaret’s attention was diverted. The great room had high-beamed ceilings, and two massive stone hearths.
Otherwise it was sparsely furnished, with one table, benches and a few chairs.
Rushes were upon the floors, banners hanging from the high rafters.
Fires blazed. And a tall, dark-haired man was at the far end of the room.
Even without the MacDonald plaid worn about his broad shoulders, Margaret would have recognized him instantly. He looked so much like Alexander—no one could doubt that they were brothers.
Margaret thought him in his early thirties. He was taller than most men, with broad shoulders, and arms sculpted from the years he had spent wielding swords and axes. His dark hair was shoulder-length. His eyes were sky-blue. He was an attractive man, one resonating power and command.
Angus Og, lord of the isles, approached. He was beaming.
Alexander hurried forward, smiling, as well. Both men embraced, the hug filled with warmth and feeling. Then Angus withdrew, clasping his brother’s shoulder. “I dinna expect ye. What news?”
Alexander sobered. “None of it is good, Angus. Bruce hides in the forests. He has been defeated twice this summer, at Methven and Dalry. At Methven, there was treachery and a massacre—he lost most of his army. John the Lame and Sir Guy de Valence ambushed us at Dalry. Sir Guy is dead.”
Angus was grim. “News of Methven reached us a few weeks ago. But not of Dalry. Where is Bruce now? What men does he have left?”
“I left Bruce in Argyll, not far from Dalry. He has few men, no horses and his women have been returned to Kildrummy Castle, with few knights to guard them and no stores.”
“Is it true that Aymer has six thousand men?”
“Aye, and he holds a great many castles once taken by Bruce. He continues to hold Perth.”
“And Bruce?” Angus pressed.
“Bruce thinks to pass to the west of Loch Lommond and then onto the lands of Lennox. But we dinna ken if Lennox survived Methven. He has sent Neil Campbell ahead to procure ships. If he can cross into Campbell territory, he will need the vessels to cross to Dunaverty.”
Angus stared at Alexander, his expression impassive and impossible to read.
“I have been sent ahead to ask ye fer yer help,” Alexander said.
“Bruce is Scotland’s rightful king. I promised him my support long ago. He will have it now, in his darkest hour.” And as if the conversation were concluded, his gaze veered to Margaret briefly. He seemed surprised, and he took a second glance at her, before returning his attention to Alexander.
Alexander nodded with hard satisfaction. “It is up to Bruce then—and to Lennox if he lives, and to Campbell. But I have been instructed to begin to raise a new army for him.”
Angus’s smile was knowing. “He has many here in the isles who will support him. We’ll sit later and discuss it.” He now turned and faced Margaret. “Introduce me to yer lady, Alexander.”
Alexander smiled. “Brother, there is nothing I wish to do more. She is Lady Margaret Comyn.”
Angus Og approached. “The Lady of Loch Fyne.”
Margaret had tensed. She and Alexander now planned to marry, and she wanted his brother’s approval.
But she was a MacDougall by birth—she was the blood enemy of his entire clan.
“My lord,” she said. “I am Lady Margaret Comyn. I pray it does not distress you that I am here, imposing upon your hospitality now in our time of need.”
He seemed amused as he studied her. “I ken who ye be, Lady Margaret. I heard the tale long ago of how bravely ye tried to fight off my brother.”
Margaret hoped that was praise. “At the time, he was the enemy, and there was no other choice.”
“How old are ye?”
“I will soon be eighteen.”
“Most women yer age would not have tried to defend a castle with but a handful of men.”
Alexander said, “She is not most women. She is uncommon.”
Angus glanced at him with a smile. “Uncommonly brave, uncommonly beautiful. I can see why ye keep her. Ye remind me of yer aunt, Lady Margaret.”
Margaret was surprised.
“Ye look very much like Juliana. She is another MacDougall who is brave and beautiful—who dared to love one of my brothers.”
Margaret wasn’t sure how to respond.