Would Sir Guy come for her shortly?
If he forced her to bed, they would not be considered man and wife, under Highland tradition. Tradition held she must consent to the marriage. But he could claim otherwise, and who would know the truth?
Margaret slid her legs over the bed, standing. “Did I sleep for very long?” she asked. How she hoped it was close to sunrise!
“Only a moment, my lady.” She smiled, but with concern.
Margaret did not know if the maid was worried because she had fainted, or because she now lay in Sir Guy’s bed. “I wish to tend my brother.” William needed her, and she could use William as an excuse to hold off Sir Guy. “But first, I would like to get out of this gown.”
“I can wash the gown fer ye tomorrow, lady, but in the meantime, I only have a leine fer ye.”
Margaret now saw the pale, saffron-colored tunic lying upon the foot of the bed. Clearly it had been left there for her. “That will do. I am hardly a stranger to Highland garb.”
“Aye, I recall ye wearing just such a leine the last time ye were with us,” Marsaili said, smiling. “How is my sister?” She began helping Margaret remove her surcote.
“Eilidh is a wonderful help to me, and I wish she were here,” Margaret said, meaning it. By now, both Peg and Eilidh knew she had gone with Alexander to Scone and that Bruce had been crowned there. They would not be very worried about her.
“She is a good woman,” Marsaili said, with pride.
Margaret trembled from the cold as she removed her cote, left only in her chemise, which came to midthigh.
“I’ll add more wood to the fire, lady, before ye come back to bed.”
Margaret was going to tell her not to bother, as she would spend the night in William’s chamber, when she heard a movement outside her closed door. Dread arose. And then the door opened.
Sir Guy smiled at her.
Margaret seized the leine and held it against her breasts as Sir Guy leaned against the door, smiling. Staring at Margaret, he said to Marsaili, “Leave us.”
Margaret was afraid. Worse, she was almost naked. She did not like Sir Guy’s stare or his smile, and she did not want the maid to leave, but she could hardly ask her to stay. Marsaili glanced at her for approval, but Margaret could not look away from Sir Guy.
“Leave us,” Sir Guy snapped, annoyed at her failure to obey.
Marsaili fled past him.
* * *
SIR GUY’S HARSH expression eased as his gaze moved to the tunic she held, and then to the hem of her chemise, as if he could look through it, and then down her bare legs. “I have always thought you beautiful,” he said flatly.
Oh, my God, Margaret thought, her grasp on the tunic tightening. She knew what he wanted. “Sir Guy, please allow me to dress.”
He pushed himself off of the door and strode toward her. “So you are modest?” He took the tunic from her hands and tossed it to the floor. “I am enjoying the sight of you. You please me, Margaret—and we will soon be wed.”
Margaret backed up, certain he could see through her thin chemise. She debated telling him they would never wed—but was afraid that would inflame him. “Our wedding is in June.” She tried to sound calm.
He caught her by her arm and pulled her forward. “Do not be afraid of me, my dear,” he murmured.
“If you wish to speak with me, please, allow me to clothe myself!”
His gaze moved over her thinly veiled bosom before rising. “I have conquered Castle Fyne, Margaret, as I said I would—I have defeated the damned Wolf and I am the victor here.”
“I know,” she breathed, when she wished to point out that he had not, precisely, defeated Alexander. He had not been present to defend the keep from Sir Guy.
“Do you know how it feels, to triumph in war?” he asked, softly, his hand warm on her arm.
“No,” she answered breathlessly.
“It is a glorious feeling—there is no other feeling quite like it.”
