She lifted her reins. “Alexander.”
He signaled his men, who turned their mounts around, in preparation of returning to Loch Riddon. “Ye should hurry, while there’s still some light,” he said. He waved his men forward.
“Alexander!” she cried. But she did not know what to say, because the only words that came to mind were wildly inappropriate: I love you.
“Godspeed.” He spurred his stallion into a trot and then a canter.
She watched, incredulous, as she was left there alone, a short distance from the barbican. He had not looked at her, not even once. And that hurt so much.
But what had she expected? She was riding into a castle under Sir Guy’s command. Of course he disapproved.
But if he cared for her, wouldn’t he say something in farewell?
Alexander had caught up to his men, but he suddenly halted. He turned and, from across the glade, he looked at her.
Tears blurred her vision. And she almost considered giving up her desperate need to see William—she almost spurred her own mare and galloped back to him.
But what if Will died? She could not live with herself if she turned her back on him, and she knew her mother would feel the same if she were alive.
Margaret lifted her hand.
That brief instant stretched into an eternity. Then Alexander whirled his stallion and galloped into the forest, disappearing from her view.
She choked on her grief, staring at the woods where she had last seen him. And then she summoned up every ounce of determination she had. It was over; it was time.
Margaret turned her mare and urged her into a trot, up the hill and toward Castle Fyne. As she did, archers appeared on the ramparts above her. The bells continued to toll.
She realized she was crying—that tears were sliding helplessly down her face. She already missed Alexander. She would always miss him.
But so be it. Margaret used her sleeve to dry her cheeks, and then she drew her hood down to reveal her unusually colored hair. Cries began to sound from the castle’s walls. She had been recognized.
And by the time she reached the barbican the front gates had been opened. But before she could pass through them, a group of armed knights thundered through the entry tower, over the drawbridge and across the barbican toward her.
They were heavily armed, clad in mail, their visors down. Abruptly, she halted her mare. Her heart skidded in fear and alarm.
The dozen knights surrounded her. One lifted his visor as he trotted directly to her. It was Sir Guy, and he stared, surprised. “Lady Margaret!”
She somehow wet her lips. “Sir Guy. Good evening. I have come to see William. Is he still alive?”
His eyes wide, he studied her. “Yes. Is this a trap?” He scanned the land beyond her.
“No, this is not a trap—I am entirely alone,” she said tersely.
His gaze slammed back to hers. “He let you go.”
“Please—we can discuss this later. I am desperate to see my brother.”
His stare remained searching—and now, she did not think his expression particularly welcoming. She tensed. She hadn’t had the time to wonder if he might be suspicious of her relationship with Alexander—now that so many knew that they were, indeed, lovers.
He moved his steed against her mare and caught her arm. “This is a surprising but pleasing turn, Lady Margaret.” And before she could object, he lifted her from his horse and placed her in the saddle in front of him.
Heat exploded in her cheeks. His arm tightened around her waist, and he was galloping back over the drawbridge and through the entry tower. “I look forward to your tale, Margaret, for I cannot imagine how you persuaded Alexander to release you.”
His breath brushed her ear as she spoke. She shuddered with distaste. “I have no intention of escaping, Sir Guy, if that is why you removed me from my mare. I am here of my own free will, sir.”
“I take no chances now,” he said, sounding pleased. “My God, I have Castle Fyne—and I have you.”
She trembled again, deciding not to speak—as any response that came to mind would most likely annoy or provoke him. But one thing was clear. Twice he had referred to her having been released; he believed she had been kept against her will.
