Tears arose. Wasn’t it better to have a Scot king, than to answer to King Edward?
“King Robert! King Robert the Bruce!” the crowd chanted.
Alexander suddenly grasped her waist and lifted her high.
“What are you doing?” she cried. He was twirling her about, as if in a dance, but then, a great many men and women were dancing wildly now.
He suddenly set her down, his hands on her shoulders. “Will ye celebrate with me?” His eyes gleamed.
Her heart lurched. She knew exactly what he wished. “Yes.”
He grinned at her. And then he swept her up against his chest and kissed her, deeply.
Margaret gasped for air when he was done and he had set her back on her feet. Then she realized that the Earl of Atholl was staring at her. He smiled slightly at her before turning to Scotland’s king and queen.
She tensed. He knew she and Alexander were lovers. If Atholl was still pretending allegiance to Buchan, would he tell him of Margaret’s betrayal? But he was with Bruce—he had betrayed Buchan himself—and she knew that. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so quick to share what he knew, then.
* * *
ALEXANDER PUT HIS arm around her and they approached Bruce, who stood with Elisabeth now. Isabella stood behind him, and he and the queen were surrounded with the noblemen and women of his court. Margaret saw Bruce take Elisabeth’s hand and kiss it.
And Robert Bruce said, very loudly, for a great many to hear, “From this day forward, you are queen and I am king of Scotland.”
His wife widened her eyes. “Really? For I think we are only playing at being king and queen, very much like small children.”
Margaret bit back a gasp.
Bruce darkened. “You are queen, Elisabeth,” he warned, “and I am king of the Scots.”
Elisabeth smiled and did not speak.
* * *
ALEXANDER GAVE HER such a promising look that she failed to breathe, and then he pulled her down behind a line of trees. Margaret seized his broad shoulders as he came down on top of her, and their mouths fused wildly.
As they kissed on a bed of grass and pine needles, she could hear the crowd atop the hill; there was so much happy laughter. Alexander’s tongue moved deep. Margaret kissed him back as thoroughly, briefly blinded by her need. How she had missed him during her time at Balvenie. In a way, she missed him still, for she was acutely aware that little time remained for them to be together now.
But the crowd that had just witnessed Bruce being crowned for a second time was beginning to disperse. The sound of their conversation and laughter was growing louder, as the noblemen and women, the farmers and their wives, the soldiers, began descending the hill. In a moment, the crowd would be walking just past them, unaware of where they lay hidden among the trees.
Alexander tugged her skirts up to her waist. “Ignore them,” he whispered.
His touch was deft and Margaret gasped. But then she heard the gentlemen who were walking so closely by them.
“The queen is furious with Bruce,” a male passerby said.
Alexander went still, listening now as she did.
“He has made her Queen of Scotland, she should be pleased,” a familiar voice answered. It was Atholl.
Margaret had frozen as Alexander held her closely. She could just glimpse the line of people walking past the trees that hid them, and she could see the three closest men—Atholl walked with Lennox and another nobleman whom she recognized but did not know. A part of her wanted to listen, a part of her feared discovery and part of her did not want Alexander to stop making love to her.
“Bruce will do as he pleases,” Lennox said. “And Isabella is very pleasing.” He laughed.
“I know Isabella well. I also know Buchan. I fear for her,” Atholl replied.
“The queen will not tolerate her for long,” the third man said. “But she will never harm Isabella while she is in Bruce’s favor.”
“And for how long will that be?” Lennox asked.
