Margaret watched her for a moment, grimly. In a short amount of time, everyone at Scone would realize how Isabella felt about her king. She then realized that Elisabeth was watching her, as well. The queen was not quite scowling, but her expression was dismissive and filled with disdain. She disliked Isabella already.
Margaret turned her gaze. Bruce was surrounded by a great many of his noblemen, including Atholl. They had gathered by the hall’s single hearth. Servants were giving everyone cups of wine. Other followers stood about in groups, everyone animated and pleased.
Alexander leaned close. “I must attend Bruce, Margaret. I will find out where ye will reside while we are here.”
She almost asked him not to leave her, but managed to refrain. “How long will we stay here?”
“Bruce will not linger. Unless he has changed his plans, he will march on Monday.”
“Where will you go on Monday?”
His gaze held hers. “I will march with Bruce, and we will discuss that later.” He gave her a significant look, then strode away, approaching Bruce.
He would go to war in two more days! And what would her fate be on Monday? Where would she go?
She thought about what he had told Bruce—that she would go to Castle Fyne to speak to Will. Surely that had been a ploy to please Bruce—hadn’t it?
Margaret hugged her mantle close, watched him speaking to Bruce. A moment later a woman paused directly before her. Golden-haired and blue-eyed, she did not smile. “I am Lady Seton—Christopher Seton’s wife. Robert has asked me to introduce myself and show you to your chamber, Lady Comyn.”
Surprised, Margaret met her cool gaze and thought, She does not like me. She had called Bruce “Robert,” indicating that they were familiar, and hadn’t Christopher Seton been with Bruce at Dumfries during Red John’s murder? Rumor had it he had even deflected blows sent toward Bruce. “You may call me Lady Margaret,” she said carefully.
“Very well. And you may call me Lady Christina. How odd this is, that you are here.” She started to walk from the hall.
Margaret followed. Several responses came to mind, but she held them all back. This woman was married to one of Bruce’s closest knights. They were, most definitely, enemies.
They left the hall and walked up a narrow stairwell in silence, Margaret deliberately remaining behind her. Christina went past several chambers, finally pausing before a small room filled with pallets and chests. Margaret suddenly felt a pang, wishing Eilidh and Peg were with her here, and not back at Balvenie where they remained when Margaret and Isabella were taken.
Christina stood aside, gesturing into the room. “You will sleep here, Lady Margaret. The abbey is a large one, but Robert already has a great many followers and a large court, so we are terribly crowded.”
Margaret now realized that Christina had the same hard blue eyes as Bruce. “Are you his sister?”
“You did not know?” She was cool, but surprised.
Margaret managed a smile. “You have a passing resemblance.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “That is what everyone says. In any case, I am going back downstairs. You may rest here or you may join us.” She shrugged, clearly indifferent.
Margaret suddenly touched her sleeve, forestalling her. “I am not a threat to you.”
Her stare was as cold as ice. “Really? You are the Earl of Buchan’s niece and ward. I am Sir Christopher’s wife—and King Robert’s sister. You are very much a threat. You should not be here, Lady Margaret.”
“I did not think Isabella should come here, to commit sheer folly, without a friend.”
“Do not think to turn her against us.”
Margaret froze. Christina Seton was as ambitious as her brother, she realized. She would see him crowned king, no matter the consequences.
“Unless you mean to marry the Wolf and pay homage to my brother, you should go home, Lady Comyn, back to Buchan, back where you otherwise belong.” Christina turned abruptly and left.
Margaret sought the closest pallet—her legs would not hold her—and sat down.
Christina Seton hated her. That much was clear. But then, wasn’t Margaret one of Bruce’s greatest rivals? Not by will, but by legacy?
She was afraid to go back downstairs; she knew that every one of Bruce’s supporters would regard her with suspicion and hostility—everyone except for Isabella and Alexander.
Maybe Christina Seton was right—she should choose. Either marry Alexander or go home to Balvenie.
* * *
