He did not know of her affair. Not yet, anyway.
“Can you take me immediately to my brother, sir? Please?” Margaret asked, as calmly as she could.
“Of course. And afterward, we will...discuss...matters.”
She closed her eyes in sheer dread. She now recalled how he had wished for a Highland handfasting at Balvenie, and she had little doubt he would wish to marry her and consummate their marriage as swiftly as possible now.
But she would worry about Sir Guy later. First, she must see Will.
And as they trotted across the courtyard, a great many men and women waved at her, calling out to her. Margaret recognized most of them.
“Wave back,” Sir Guy said softly. “They adore you. I see that now. They adore the lady of Castle Fyne.”
Margaret waved dutifully back.
“Alexander was a fool to release you to me,” he said in her ear.
They had reached the stairs leading to the great hall. Sir Guy had only halted his horse and loosened his grip upon her, but Margaret was already leaping to the ground. She did not want to consider his meaning. “Where is Will?”
“He has the chamber next to mine.”
Margaret lifted her skirts and raced up the wooden steps, running through the hall. Several maids rushed after her. “Can we help ye, Lady Margaret?”
Margaret recognized Eilidh’s sister, Marsaili. “Is my chest still here? I will need my potions, surely, to attend my brother.”
“Yes, and I will retrieve it fer ye,” the second woman said.
Margaret recognized the woman who had been beside her on the ramparts, fighting off the invaders, during Alexander’s siege.
She reached Will’s door. It was open, and she halted there. There was so much blood. Will was so pale. And he was unconscious.
Margaret steeled herself, then she strode into the chamber.
Before she woke him up, she looked at his bandaged thigh—the linen soaked through with blood. A sword had clearly sliced through an artery. If he was still bleeding, he would certainly die!
“I need more linens,” Margaret said, praying she sounded calm. “And I need a strong pair of hands—preferably male hands—in case we must stanch this again.”
Will’s lashes lifted. “Meg?” He was weak and disbelieving.
She knelt beside him, clasping his face and kissing his cheek. “Yes, I am here. I am going to take care of you, Will.”
“I can’t believe it...how did you come? And did I dream it or is Sir Guy here, as well?”
Will did not know of her divided loyalties. “Sir Guy has taken Castle Fyne from the Wolf, Will. And you must not speak, you must save your strength! I will look at your leg.”
“Thank God,” he murmured, eyes closing.
She touched his forehead, which was damp with sweat and hot with a fever. He was already fighting an infection.
Margaret waited until the maid had returned with a young Highland lad before she began to peel away the bloody bandages. To her relief, the wound had been cauterized and the bleeding had stopped. But the terrible gash was inflamed with an infection.
Marsaili returned with her chest. Margaret smiled at her grimly. “Now we will save my brother’s life,” she said.
* * *
SIR GUY WAS seated at the table in the great hall, still, when she paused on its threshold several hours later. She tried to control her dismay. She had hoped he would have gone to bed, though she had not thought that likely.
Instead, she had suspected that he would wait up for her—and she had been right.
