“So you will turn your back on Castle Fyne? You will allow Sir Guy this triumph?”
“I allow nothing,” he said harshly. Then, “I had planned to attack his flank, Margaret, while he besieged the keep. But the garrison there fell too quickly. A siege now could take weeks—but more likely, it would take months—and Bruce does not have weeks or months. As soon as word of his coronation spreads, King Edward will send forth every single man he can muster. The war for Scotland’s crown begins.”
She hugged herself, still in disbelief. God, Buchan would put her under terrible pressure to marry Sir Guy. And all while Alexander fought with Bruce to keep Scotland’s crown! And where would she now go? To Queen Elisabeth’s court?
“There is more.”
Alexander had spoken so tersely that she cringed. Margaret dared to look up at him, knowing whatever he meant to reveal it would not be in their better interest.
“Yer brother was wounded in the siege.”
She gasped. “William was hurt?”
“Aye.”
Margaret began to shake. William had been wounded. Her only living brother, whom she had not seen in over a month.... Fear clawed at her. “Oh, God—how badly is he hurt?”
“Badly.”
She could not move, and for a moment, she could not speak. Then, “Is he dying?”
Alexander grimaced.
She hit him, hard, across his huge forearm, and pain shot through her hand. “Tell me!” she screamed. “Is he dying?”
“I dinna ken,” he shouted back, a roar. “But he is badly wounded, so aye, he could die, there is that chance!”
She hit him again, but weakly, and this time, she was crying.
But she knew what she must do—what her duty was now. Then the words came forth, unbidden. “I am going to him.”
He grasped her by her arms. “If ye go to him, Sir Guy willna let ye go, ye will be his prisoner—and then ye will become his wife.”
She fought for air. She knew he was right. Sir Guy would hold her against her will. He would control her fate. She would become his wife.
But if William died, and she did not see him first, she would never be able to live with herself. “Let me go,” she managed to say. “Get me a horse. Take me to my brother.”
Roughly, he released her. He gave her one last look—his expression hard. To his men, he said, “Take her to Castle Fyne.”
And she began to realize what was truly happening. Tears fell. “Alexander,” she whispered.
But his back was turned; he walked away.
* * *
CASTLE FYNE WAS ahead. Everyone halted their horses at the edge of the woods, the castle above them, atop the hill. And then the bells in the watchtower began tolling.
Margaret felt sick. They had ridden out of the camp immediately, as she could not wait until dawn to see William. By dawn, he could be dead.
There had been no time to send a messenger, no time to do anything other than to mount up and ride out. The shadows of the late afternoon had given way to the fading light of dusk. A crescent moon was emerging in the purple sky above the keep.
A dozen Highland soldiers had accompanied her. Margaret’s mare was in their midst, Alexander astride his gray stallion at their forefront. He had not spoken to her since she had decided that she would go to William—and put herself in Sir Guy’s command.
If she were not so frightened for her brother, she would be deathly afraid of what her actions meant, not just for her, but for her relationship with Alexander. But she only knew she must see William, and that he must not die. He was the only family that she had left!
Alexander turned his stallion so he partially faced her—but he did not look at her. “Ye will ride alone from here. Identify yerself to the watch.”
She flinched, for his tone was so impassive. It was as if he had also made a decision not to care. She stared, but he would not make eye contact with her.
