“Yes, I did!”
“And you, Lady Margaret? All this advice you dispense, out of loyalty, with such sincerity, do you follow any of it, yourself?” He stood, legs braced.
She was too tired to stand, yet she did not like him towering over her—and she was afraid of his insinuations. “I am doing my best, Sir Guy, in these treacherous times.”
“MacDonald has become fond of you. Fond. I comprehend his offer of marriage—he seeks what I seek—legitimacy of ownership here. But now he is fond of you. Just how fond has he become?”
She managed to stand up. Did he know of her affair, or not? Was he fishing—or was he playing cat and mouse? “I refused his offer of marriage, Sir Guy!” she cried. “Not once, but several times.”
“So he has asked you directly?” His eyes were wide. “That begs the question then—has he seduced you?”
She was overcome with panic. How could she answer when she was a terrible liar? When lying was the only possible answer?
“Why do I even ask?” He shook his head then. “You are so loyal—even to Isabella—you are too loyal to Buchan to betray him by sleeping with the enemy! But he has tried, hasn’t he? He has tried to seduce you.”
Tears had arisen. It was a sign of her desperation. Why hadn’t she married Alexander? This man would learn the truth, eventually, and then he would hurt her! Somehow, she nodded.
“Why did he release you?” Sir Guy demanded. “Did you use your wiles upon him?”
“No! He never kept me prisoner—because he is fond of me! I went to Scone with Isabella of my own volition! And Alexander had agreed to allow me to return to Balvenie when we received the news of your attack here.” She was shaking now. She felt as if she would soon fall over.
Sir Guy was now truly surprised. “MacDonald let you return here—and he was about to allow you to return to Balvenie! And you are a valuable prize!” Sir Guy was thoughtful now. “MacDonald has become a fool. But why would Bruce release you?”
“I begged Bruce to let me go with Alexander when we heard of your attack. I do not know why he agreed, I swear to that! But he also wishes for a union between myself and Alexander—I think he thought Alexander would take Castle Fyne from you, and I would then marry him.”
“A grave miscalculation on Bruce’s part—and it will not be his final error,” Sir Guy said. Mug in hand, he slowly paced back and forth in front of her.
Margaret had to sit back down. She could not stop trembling. “Sir Guy? I do not feel well,” she said, and she meant it. She was dizzy and light-headed now. The room was beginning to sway.
He planted his hands on his hips. “I cannot believe they let you go! But they did—MacDonald, the mighty Wolf, and Bruce, the mighty king. And now, all is to my advantage.” He smiled, hard, with satisfaction.
She was going to swoon, she thought, from sheer fatigue, yet she must not do so, because Sir Guy was the enemy, and William needed her!
“Lady Margaret, we will be married this night,” he said.
Margaret heard him, in horror, as the hall turned black.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MARGARET AWOKE AND instantly recognized the chamber she was in. It had once been her parents’, and then so recently, it had become hers, but only briefly—only until Alexander had besieged Castle Fyne. Her gaze veered to the suit of mail hanging on a peg on the wall.
The bedchamber was now Sir Guy’s.
She trembled. She was at Castle Fyne, and William was seriously ill, but she was Sir Guy’s captive, whether he said so or not.
“My lady!” Marsaili cried, rushing to her side. “Here, take a sip of wine.”
Her heart had sunk with dismay and even fear. She recalled the terrible conversation she had just had with Sir Guy. Was he suspicious of her loyalties? It seemed so. And he had said that they would consummate their marriage that very night.
Margaret quickly looked past the maid, but no one else stood in her bedchamber, much to her relief. She sat up breathlessly, her heart thudding, but she no longer felt faint. Could she fend off Sir Guy? She must—but how? And even if she succeeded in denying him the consummation he wished for, what would happen when he heard the rumors of her affair with Alexander? Would he believe her denials? Her lies?
For those rumors would reach him, sooner or later.
Margaret took a sip of the wine. She had fainted in the great hall below once before, only to be carried upstairs by Alexander. It felt like a lifetime had passed since then.
And now, she compared the two times, the two men. When Alexander had rescued her from a swoon, she had been oddly grateful. There was no gratitude now. Even when she had been Alexander’s prisoner of war, she had felt safe and protected. She was not confirmed as Sir Guy’s prisoner, but she had no doubt she would not be allowed much freedom of movement, making her a veritable captive. And this time, she did not feel safe, not at all. She felt as if she were in dire jeopardy.
And she was in danger, was she not? Her entire future was at stake. What was she to do?
