But if she was ever found out, she was doomed.
He smiled at her and took her hands, tugging her down from her horse. Margaret landed in his arms.
“All will be well,” he said softly, and then he released her.
“Lady Comyn.”
Margaret froze at the sound of Bruce’s voice. Slowly, she turned, wishing he had not noticed her.
He smiled at her, though it did not reach his eyes. Instantly, she dropped into the lowest curtsy she had ever performed. Keeping her head bowed, she said, “Your Majesty.”
“You may rise,” Bruce said, his gaze sharp.
She was a Comyn and Bruce’s rival—but she was now in his court. She shifted, stepping closer to Alexander, aware now of a rising sense of fear.
“Is it Lady Comyn? Or have you wed Alexander?”
Margaret did not know what to say. “My uncle refused Alexander’s offer, Your Majesty.”
“And you, Lady Margaret? Have you refused his offer, as well?”
She inhaled. If she confessed that she had refused Alexander, what would Bruce do? If she admitted to maintaining loyalty to her family, would he imprison her?
“Lady Margaret has decided to speak with her brother.” Alexander stepped between them. But he spoke casually, as if they were discussing the recent storm and nothing more. “If he gives her his blessing, she will defy her uncle and marry me.”
She hadn’t said any such thing, but wisely, Margaret did not speak.
“Good.” Bruce confronted Margaret, his stance wide. “At Castle Fyne, I tolerated your politics. But I have no patience for such loyalties now. I have given Alexander my approval for your marriage. The sooner you wed him, the better it will be—for you, for him...for me.”
He was threatening her. She nodded and cast her head down, but inwardly, she was shaken and afraid.
“Lady Margaret,” he snapped.
She flinched at his tone and looked up.
“Beware. I have no use for spies.” His blue eyes blazed.
She wished to cringe. Did he think she meant to spy on him? Did she?
“She will not spy,” Alexander said.
“If she spies, she will pay the price for such actions, no matter how you care for her. I suggest you guard her well.” And then he smiled at them. “Come, we will continue to celebrate my crowning.” Bruce turned, indicated for Isabella to join him, and hurried back up the stairs.
Margaret stared after him and Isabella, watching him as he put his arm around his wife—the queen. Isabella seemed taken aback by the gesture, and having no choice, she fell into step behind him and his wife. They vanished inside, followed by their coterie of soldiers, hangers-on, ladies-in-waiting and gentlemen in attendance.
Margaret began to shake. “I am Bruce’s enemy, Alexander.”
Alexander put his arm around her. “No. Yer with me.” His face was hard. “Dinna do anything foolish. I can protect ye, but not if ye betray the king.”
Margaret nodded. She had no wish to become Robert Bruce’s prisoner, not now, not ever.
* * *
MARGARET FOLLOWED ALEXANDER into the central hall of the abbey, entirely aware of the position she was in. A terrible tension beset her. She was Margaret Comyn, the Earl of Buchan’s niece—a rival to the king. Indeed, she was the only rival to the king present. She would be considered a traitor by everyone at the abbey.
And now that Robert was King of Scotland, she was very much at his first court. She glanced swiftly around. The hall was filled to overflowing with ladies and noblemen. The queen and her women had taken up one end of the hall, where they were seated at a long table, Isabella with them, along with Marjorie—Atholl’s wife.
The women were conversing quietly, but Isabella was distracted—her gaze was on Bruce.
