Margaret knew she could not worry about their open affair now, but she was terribly dismayed.
“What passes?” Bruce demanded, his eyes flashing.
“Sir Guy has attacked Castle Fyne with two or three thousand men. May I have yer permission to relieve the siege and defend the keep?” Alexander asked, speaking swiftly and sharply.
“You have my permission. And Alexander—make damn certain we do not lose Castle Fyne to the English!” Bruce said harshly.
Alexander did not reply, but Margaret knew he meant to do more than keep the castle; he meant to finally kill Sir Guy. She stepped forward, trembling, aware of her own audacity now. “Take me with you.”
Both men saw her at once. In unison, they turned to regard her. Alexander seemed incredulous, but Bruce stared, his speculation obvious.
Their scrutiny was unnerving. She inhaled. “Castle Fyne is mine—it is my legacy from my mother. I must go with Alexander!” She was pleading with the king, her gaze locked with his.
She instantly saw that Alexander meant to object. But before he could speak, Bruce held up his hand.
He stepped forward, past Alexander. His relentless gaze upon her and her alone, he spoke to Alexander. “Defeat Sir Guy—kill him, if you can—and take Lady Margaret with you.” He slowly smiled at her. “After all, it is her home—and that is where she should be.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THEY MADE CAMP along the pebbled shores of Loch Riddon, the high, rocky peaks of Cruach Nan Cuilean looming over them. They had ridden without pause for two days and two nights. The firs and pine crept almost to the shores of the loch itself, leaving a long but narrow clearing for Alexander’s men. Margaret hugged herself, so exhausted she could barely stand, as Dughall and another lad erected Alexander’s tent at the forest’s edge. Around her, his men were swiftly preparing for the night ahead. She ignored the sight of so many tents and cook fires being prepared, so many horses being watered and fed, so many arrowheads and knives being sharpened. Instead, she stared at the mountain.
Sir Guy had attacked Castle Fyne.
Even now, her home was under siege.
She rubbed her forearms, the afternoon chilling. Inwardly, she felt sick, as she had for the past two days. The prospect of her home falling under Sir Guy’s control was terrifying. She had finally realized she could not marry him, no matter how Buchan wished for the alliance, no matter how greatly it served the Comyn family. But if it did fall, what would happen to her?
She knew she must worry over far greater matters than her own tiny future. But if Castle Fyne fell, Buchan would never release her from the impending union with Sir Guy.
She glanced across the encampment, where Alexander spoke with some of his best Highland soldiers. His expression had not changed since they had left Scone Abbey—it was set with determination. He would not lose Castle Fyne.
She did not want to think about what he had told her about his deceased wife now, but she did. He had become involved with her for revenge—he had said so. And he had gone to battle, not for his mistress, who would later become his wife, but for Glen Carron, the stronghold he wished to possess.
She was certain that Alexander cared for her. But if Castle Fyne fell, would he be as eager to take her to wife? Would he wish to take her to wife at all? After all, she was already his mistress, and she would bring nothing to their union!
But she might not even have that choice. She wished her last thoughts were not screaming at her, but they were. If Sir Guy conquered the castle, there would be so much pressure brought upon her to go forward with the marriage....
The shadows of the late afternoon were lengthening. Alexander had dismissed his men, and he was starting toward her. Margaret glanced up at Cruach Nan Cuilean, remembering the last time she had been within its reach. She would never forget how Alexander had fought over her—and Castle Fyne—with Sir Guy then. She would never forget how it had ended—in hatred, with threats. Sir Guy had sworn to kill Alexander. Since then, his desire for vengeance had escalated. Since then, his hatred had grown. And since that battle, Alexander had vowed to kill Sir Guy.
It had become a blood feud.
She was afraid of what might happen when they next met—perhaps tomorrow—on the battlefield.
Alexander’s tent now stood entirely aloft, his banner flying above it. As he approached, she felt her knees buckle.
He caught her, some alarm in his eyes. “I would never wish ye here!” he exclaimed. “Only Robert would think to send ye with me.”
“I am tired. Some rest and I will be fine,” she said, but it felt like a lie. She was so frightened about the morrow. She was so frightened about the entire future!
“I canna worry about ye now, Margaret, yet that is what I must do.” He released her grimly, his gaze veering past her, as if he wished to espy the enemy upon the horizon.
She studied him. His focus was on Sir Guy and Castle Fyne, not her. She said softly, “He plots to marry us, even with Castle Fyne under attack.”
He started, his gaze veering back to her. “’Tis in everyone’s better interest, Margaret, even yers.”
She would not argue that last point now. She did not know if he was right or wrong. But it was even more tempting now than before to accept his offer of marriage. If she did, no matter what happened next, she would be out of Sir Guy’s reach. Buchan could not force her into wedlock.
She thought about her mother, wishing she were alive to advise her.
