Will nodded. “I long to fight Bruce, with the rest of my family.”
Margaret managed to remain impassive, but inwardly, she cringed. So swiftly, they were on opposite sides of the war, as he had feared—as she had feared.
Sir Guy now stared at her. “Bruce sent his wife and her women to Aberdeen. King Edward wants them captured. Aymer has offered me the task.”
Alarm flooded her, and she feared it was evident. “Is it possible to capture them? They must be well guarded.”
“I have heard they are not well guarded—that they are in the care of Bruce’s brother, Sir Nigel, and a handful of his best men. Are you now fond of Elisabeth de Burgh?”
She wondered if she could send word to Queen Elisabeth, and warn her that Aymer de Valence wished to capture her and her ladies-in-waiting. “I have barely said a word to her—and she has barely said a word to me.”
“Ah, yes,” he mocked. “You fear for Isabella.”
She hadn’t given Isabella a thought until then, but she imagined her fate would be dire if the queen and her women were captured. She decided not to speak.
“We have matters to discuss before I leave,” Sir Guy said. “I will speak with you downstairs.” He nodded curtly, spun on booted heel and left.
Margaret’s shaking increased. He wished to speak with her downstairs?
He hadn’t summoned her to the adjacent chamber. Dear God, was she being given another respite? Relief began to flood her. Moisture gathered in her eyes. Images flashed of that brutal encounter. But now was not the time to think about it.
“You are afraid of him!” Will cried weakly.
She looked at Will and nodded. And she did not think she should confide in William about what had happened—not because he was weak, but because he would be enraged.
“I knew you should not marry an Englishman! But what has happened—does he dislike you, too?”
She leaned over him. “Do not bother yourself now! You are too weak to become impassioned.”
Will panted and said, “At least he got Castle Fyne back for us.”
Did she dare tell him about her relationship with Alexander? Did she dare share her feelings? Was Alexander right? Would he approve of their union?
“Are you going to marry him, Meg? Is the marriage still planned?” Will asked feebly.
She stroked his hair. “I am supposed to marry him, but I cannot. Even if it means losing Castle Fyne, I cannot marry him—I despise him.” She felt ill again—enough so to use the chamber pot.
Will stared widely in surprise. “Is he that horrid?”
“I do not like him, and I never have.” She paused, tears filling her eyes. How she needed Will’s support, his blessing. “I love someone else.” And it was true. But hadn’t she known on some level, for some time, that she loved Alexander?
She did not know when she had come to love him. Perhaps it had been at Balvenie, when he had come for her and Isabella in the middle of the night. Or maybe it had been the morning after the first night they had made love, when they had met in his hall, and each had admitted to not having a single regret.
But he had been so disappointed and so angry when she had left him to attend William. Was he angry, still? Surely he would forgive her eventually, and understand why she had gone to Castle Fyne.
But now what? She looked at William, who was stunned. “You have fallen in love? In such a short time?”
“Yes. I wish to marry someone else.”
And dear God, it was true. Her heart leapt with excitement now. She wished to marry Alexander. Even though it meant changing sides in this war—she had already changed sides!—and it meant giving up every loyalty she had lived with for her entire life. The time had come to choose. Sir Guy had made that very clear.
“Who has claimed your heart?” Will asked harshly.
It was a moment before she spoke, fearful of his response, yet praying he would approve. “Alexander MacDonald.”
Will choked in disbelief. “Meg? Is this a jest?” When she did not speak, when she sat stiffly, staring, he flushed with anger. “Are you mad? He is not just our blood enemy—he does not just have MacDougall blood on his hands—he rides with Bruce, in a war against us. Against me—against you!”
She trembled. “Bruce is king, Will. He was crowned a few days ago at Scone.”
