Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Midnight came softly to Inveraray. The corridors were emptied of all but guards and ghosts, and the loch outside Margaret’s window bore the likeness of a dark sheet broken only by moonlight and the occasional ripple of wind.
Margaret was standing at the glass, with her fingers pressed lightly to the cold stone of the sill, counting her breaths as though they might steady her.
They did not.
She was dressed for travel, not comfort.
She wore dark wool, close-fitting and unadorned, while her boots were laced and ready.
Her hair was braided tight and pinned high, and every loose strand was disciplined into obedience.
At her throat lay no jewels. At her wrist, there was only the bracelet she refused to leave behind.
She kept pacing, four steps to the door, turn, then four steps back to the window. Each sound in the castle made her pause. She strained to tell danger from routine, impatience from fear.
She will come, she told herself.
She stopped again at the window and looked out over the darkened grounds. Somewhere beyond the trees lay the pass she had marked days ago. Somewhere beyond that, Eleonor waited, wondering, perhaps fearing and perhaps blaming herself.
Margaret closed her eyes briefly.
“I am coming,” she whispered into the night.
Then, footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Her heart stuttered, then raced. She moved away from the window at once, nearing the door.
Her hand hovered near the latch and her body was suddenly too aware of itself, of the choice she was about to make, and of how thin the line was between resolve and recklessness.
The footsteps stopped and a knock came at the door. It was barely audible, just knuckles brushing wood, more to be felt than to be heard.
Margaret didn’t breathe. A moment later, she opened the door, only to see Annabel standing in the narrow gap, cloaked and hooded. She didn’t smile, nor did she curtsy. She leaned in just enough for her whisper to carry.
“It’s clear,” she murmured. “The castle’s safe tae move but ye must be very quiet. And ye must follow me without a word. Nay questions, nay delays.”
Margaret nodded at once. Annabel did not wait for further agreement.
She turned and moved down the corridor in a confident manner, as though the stone itself had learned to make way for her.
Margaret slipped out behind her, closing the door with care and easing the latch back into place so it made no sound.
They did not take the main passages. Instead, Annabel led her through servant routes Margaret would never have found alone, such as narrow stairwells tucked behind tapestries, low doors disguised as paneling and corridors that bent and dipped where the castle had been expanded and rebuilt over centuries.
They passed a scullery where embers still glowed faintly beneath ash. A sleeping guard snored softly beyond a half-closed door. Annabel slowed, raised a hand, then moved on only when the sound evened again.
Margaret followed without hesitation. Her heart hammered, but her steps were steady. She kept her skirts gathered, and her breathing quiet and controlled. Every lesson she had learned about moving unseen at court, in corridors, in rooms where she was never meant to linger served her now.
They descended a narrow stair that curved sharply left, then another that dropped more steeply.
Annabel paused once more, listening, then pushed open a door Margaret would have sworn led nowhere.
It opened into a passage barely wide enough for two, lit by a single hooded lantern set far down its length.
Annabel glanced back at her. “Almost there.”
The passage sloped gently downward, and she could feel the air grow cooler and damper with every step.
The stone beneath their feet was worn smooth, polished by centuries of servants who had learned to move unseen.
At the far end, Annabel paused and pressed her palm to the wall.
A narrow door opened inward, releasing a breath of night air.
They stepped out onto the back side of the castle wall.
Here, Inveraray rose dark and silent behind them, its great bulk cutting off the moonlight. The loch lay somewhere beyond sight, and the wind carried the faint smell of wet grass and salt.
A man waited in the shadow of the wall.
Thomas.
He straightened as they approached. His hand was resting near the hilt of his blade. He did not bow. He did not speak at first. His eyes flicked to Margaret, assessing her, then back to Annabel.
“Ye’re sure?” he whispered to his wife, not to Margaret.
Annabel nodded. “As sure as I can be.”
His jaw tightened. He leaned in, murmuring something Margaret could not catch. She assumed they were practical, urgent words meant only for a wife who understood their cost. Annabel answered just as quietly, her hand brushing his sleeve once.
Then Thomas turned to Margaret.
“We go now,” he instructed. “Quietly. Stay close, dae as I say.”
“I will,” Margaret replied.
Annabel took Margaret’s hands then, squeezing once, hard. “Go,” she whispered. “And come back safe.”
Margaret nodded, unable to trust her voice.
She turned away before she could falter.
Thomas led her along the outer wall, keeping to the deepest shadows and choosing paths that bent away from torchlight and guard routes.
They moved through low brush and damp grass, ducking beneath branches, then pausing when the wind carried sound the wrong way.
Thomas never looked back, but Margaret could feel his awareness of her.
She was certain that he was counting her steps and listening for her breath.
When they were far enough from the castle that its shape blurred into darkness, Thomas angled toward a stand of trees. He parted a curtain of bushes and revealed two horses tied securely to a thick trunk. Their dark coats were blending perfectly with the night.
Thomas checked the tack swiftly. “We ride hard, but nae fast. The path’s rough in places. Keep low.”
She mounted without assistance, grateful for the weeks of riding that had hardened her muscles and nerves alike. Thomas swung up behind her, took the lead, and they moved off at once.
Luckily, the chosen spot was situated right between her father’s lands and Domhnall’s.
The journey was not excessively long, but every moment of it thrummed with tension.
Hooves muffled on soft earth. Branches brushed past her boots.
The night seemed alive with watchful sounds of owls, foxes and the distant rush of water.
Margaret kept her gaze forward, marking turns and feeling the land open gradually around them.
She did not look back.
They finally got there. The trees thinned into a narrow clearing where the old road curved and dipped, half-forgotten and scarcely more than a memory pressed into earth.
Moss softened the stones, and bracken crowded close, reclaiming what had once been a thoroughfare.
This was where they had agreed to meet. It was quiet, unremarkable, and easy to miss unless one knew precisely what to look for.
Margaret dismounted first. Thomas moved to the edge of the clearing at once, fading into the shadows as though the night itself had taken him in. He did not speak. He did not need to. His presence was a promise that if danger came, it would not reach her without warning.
Margaret stepped forward alone.
She drew her cloak tighter and watched the road, her heart pounding as the minutes stretched. Every rustle of leaves made her still. Every shift of shadow pulled her attention sharp and fast. This was the longest she had stood still in days.
Nothing moved.
The road lay empty, pale in the growing light. There were no footsteps, and she heard no voices. There was only the whisper of wind through grass.
Perhaps we are too early, she told herself. Or perhaps—
Then, a branch cracked behind her.
Margaret jerked around, with her hand flying instinctively to her chest. Her eyes searched the tree line, and her mind was racing.
Was it a boot? A blade? Would Thomas reach me in time?
She opened her mouth to call out, but then a voice spilled into the silence.
“Margaret.”
The voice was achingly familiar. Her heart leapt. From between the trees stepped a hooded figure, slight and wrapped in travel-worn cloth. The hood lifted just enough to reveal a face she knew better than her own, then it slipped down again.
“Eleonor,” Margaret breathed.
Her sister’s eyes shone in the dim light, bright with relief and disbelief all at once.
“I thought I heard ye,” Eleonor whispered, breaking into a smile that wavered as it formed.
Margaret crossed the distance in three strides and caught her sister in her arms, holding her tightly, as though she might vanish if released.
“Ye’re safe,” Margaret said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Ye’re truly safe.”
Eleonor laughed softly against her shoulder in a sound that was half-sob. “I am. I swear it.”
They did not linger in the open. Margaret drew Eleanor gently toward the shelter of the trees, where the branches knit overhead. Thomas shifted farther back, giving them privacy, yet his presence was still felt, if not seen.
They stood close with their foreheads nearly touching and their voices lowered to breath.
“Ye’re all right,” Margaret whispered again, as though the words needed repeating to become true. “I was so afraid…”
Eleonor squeezed her hands. “I ken, I felt it too. Every mile away from ye felt wrong.” She swallowed. “We heard rumors… of what happened… is it true? I feared I’d broken yer life in two.”
“Ye saved it,” Margaret murmured. “Or gave it a chance, at least.”
Eleonor searched her face, eyes shining in the half-light. “Is he… kind?”
Margaret hesitated, then nodded. “He is… formidable. And fair. And more careful with me than he has any reason to be.”
Relief softened Eleonor’s shoulders. “Then I can breathe.”
They spoke quickly then, whispers tumbling over one another. Margaret told her of Inveraray, of the tightening watches, the healer’s fever, the herbs gathered at dawn, the letter bearing their father’s seal. Eleonor listened with her hand pressed to her mouth and her eyes dark with worry.
“And ye?” Margaret asked. “Tell me everything.”
Eleonor glanced toward the road, then back. “We did it quietly….” A faint smile trembled onto her lips. “I am married woman, Maggie.”
The words struck like sunlight.
“Ye are?” Margaret breathed, joy flaring hot and sudden. She caught Eleonor’s face between her hands, thumbs brushing away dampness at the corners of her eyes. “Oh, me sweet Nell…”
Eleonor nodded, laughing softly through tears. “Three days past. He’s good tae me. He keeps watch as though the world might steal me away if he blinks.”
Margaret hugged her again, breathing in the familiar scent of her sister. “I’m so glad,” she whispered. “So very glad.”
They held each other there, swaying slightly, listening to the forest murmuring around them. A bird was startled into flight. Somewhere water ran over stone. The world kept moving, heedless and kind.
“We’re nae far from here, ye ken,” Eleanor suddenly said. “There’s a croft, tucked against the rise near the old sheep road. A few hours’ ride, nay more. His kin own it, and they are quiet folk. We’re staying there until the situation settles down.”
Relief loosened something deep in Margaret’s chest. “That close?”
Eleonor nodded. “Close enough tae run if we must, and far enough nae tae be found by accident.”
They clasped hands again, intertwining their fingers.
“I’ll send letters,” Eleonor continued. “Nae often, only when it’s safe. And we can meet again, if the roads allow it. This neednae be the last time.”
Margaret smiled, feeling overwhelmed by the possibility. “Nay. It willnae be.”
Eleonor studied her for a moment, then said softly. “Ye should tell him.”
Margaret stilled. “Domhnall?”
“Aye,” Eleonor said. “Yer future husband.” There was no bitterness in the word, only care. “I dinnae want ye sneaking about when men are dying in passes and knives move in the dark. If he is what ye say he is, he should ken I’m safe and he should make sure ye are safe, too.”
Margaret exhaled slowly. “I dinnae want secrets between him and I.”
“Then dinnae keep them,” Eleonor said, squeezing her hands once more. “Ye have me blessing. Tell him everything.”
Emotion rose in them both, and although they wanted to stay there for hours more, they both knew that the clock was ticking. Margaret pulled her sister into one last embrace, pressing her cheek to Eleonor’s hair.
“I love ye,” she whispered.
“I love ye, too,” Eleonor replied. “And I’m nae lost anymore. Remember that.”
They parted reluctantly, exchanging one final look, meant to last longer than words. Then Eleonor stepped back, drawing her hood up once more.
“Go,” she murmured. “Before the light changes.”
Margaret watched until her sister vanished into the trees, until the forest closed gently behind her as though she had never been there at all.
At that exact moment, a deep vice from behind her spoke.
“Ye should have been more careful if ye wanted tae stay hidden fer yer rendezvous.”