He glanced aside. “Ye would not have to face Buchan if ye stay with the queen. Ye’d not have to face Sir Guy.”
He hadn’t answered her. But she did not believe that Alexander would keep her forcibly now. And that meant she did have a choice—to stay with the queen and her women, or return to Balvenie. “Even if the queen would allow me to join her court, how could I do so? Bruce doesn’t trust me. The women do not trust me. I am a Comyn—I am one of his enemies. Surely, I would have to pay homage to King Robert.” She recalled Christina Seton’s words—either that, or she could marry Alexander.
“If I speak fer ye, ye will be allowed to join Queen Elisabeth’s court,” he said flatly. “If ye stay with the women, ye could wait fer me.”
Margaret felt torn. She wanted to wait for Alexander to return to her. But then what? Was she to simply disavow her loyalty to her uncle, her brother and the entire Comyn family?
Was she to stay with Queen Elisabeth during this terrible war, while her family fought Bruce from its other side?
“Isabella will stay with the queen,” Alexander suddenly said. “She wishes to stay—as she cannot go home. Will ye stay at court to protect Isabella?”
Margaret was aware that Alexander thought to manipulate her. She hesitated. She was truly reluctant to go home to Balvenie. But the idea of staying with Queen Elisabeth was frightening—even if she wished to protect Isabella. God, what would her dear mother do in such a circumstance, in such times? “You are trying to convince me to choose to stay. Unfairly, you are using Isabella to do so.”
“Aye, I am trying to convince you to stay with the queen and her women,” he said. “I want ye here—waiting fer me.”
She was so tempted to stay. But he was asking for so much. “You are asking me to change my loyalties—again,” she said slowly. “But if I stayed here, I would not remain as your lover. You are actually asking me to stay—and marry you.”
“I haven’t hidden my true desire,” he said harshly. “So what will ye choose, Margaret?”
She felt as if she approached the precipice of a dangerous cliff. One more step, and she would surely leap off—but to what fate? “It is probably best that I return to Balvenie, for now.”
“Fer now?” He was angry and incredulous at once. “Ye will stay loyal to yer damned uncle?” he exclaimed. “Ye will marry Sir Guy?”
“It’s not just Buchan,” she cried. “And I cannot marry Sir Guy now—you must know that!” And as she spoke, she faced her innermost thoughts and feelings. It was true. She could not marry the Englishman. “Maybe, just maybe, this damned war will end, sooner, not later!” She reached for him.
He dodged her efforts. “Buchan will never release ye from the union.” He was hard now. “Very well. If ye wish to return, ye shall.”
And before Margaret could thank him, he spun on his heel and strode away.
* * *
IT WAS LATE, and there was little revelry in the abbey’s great room now. The fires in the hall’s two hearths were dying. A great many soldiers were taking to their pallets upon the floor there. A few men and women remained at the tables with their wine, but most of the court had already retired, as had the king and queen.
Margaret was exhausted, and she had wanted to leave the celebration hours ago, but she had decided to remain because of Alexander.
Tomorrow Bruce would take his army north, while his women went to Aberdeen under his brother’s care. She would ride with them, and be given an escort to continue home once they had reached the city.
Tonight was her last night at Bruce’s court, and for that, she was relieved. On the other hand, it was also her last night with Alexander.
He had been in conversation with Atholl for some time, and she could not imagine what they were discussing. But he had not looked her way even once, and she knew he was very angry with her.
She wondered if he would signal her to join him later, so they could spend one last night together.
Her heart hurt terribly now. Leaving him this time was so much harder than before. She cared far too much.
And she was so worried now about her return to Balvenie—and the confrontation she must have with her uncle.
Isabella also remained in the hall, having drunk a bit too much wine. She now came over to Margaret, having unsuccessfully tried to converse with the queen’s women for some time. She sighed. “You have been staring at Alexander all night!”
Margaret felt herself flush. “I am returning to Balvenie, Isabella. I intend to try to convince Buchan that you were coerced into participating in the coronation.”
Isabella shrugged. “I would not waste my breath, Margaret, but you are a dear friend.” Her gaze now settled on Alexander. “Why don’t you admit that you are smitten? Why don’t you surrender to him? Why not marry a great warrior who can keep you and your lands safe?”
Margaret tensed. What would Isabella say if she knew just how tempting such a decision was? “I do care deeply for Alexander, but my mother raised me to be loyal. How can I forget her now?”
Isabella shook her head, confused. “Your mother is dead, Margaret, but you are very much alive!”
Margaret did not bother to tell her that her mother’s legacy remained very much alive—and that it always would. She glanced at Alexander again, now conversing with Sir Christopher Seton. He had drunk a great deal of wine, and he was finally smiling. But she was not deluded. He remained upset with her.
