Will sat up, as white as snow. “And he will be hanged as the traitor he is! You have lost your wits! We are fighting Bruce, Meg—we are, you and I!”
“Did you not once say that any Scot, even Bruce, would be a better king for Scotland than King Edward?”
“You dare to argue?” He now collapsed against the pillows, panting.
“You are tiring yourself!” she cried. She quickly placed a linen compress in the icy lake water, and laid it on his forehead. “You will become ill again. Please, we should not discuss this, now.”
“Does Buchan know? Of course he does not!” Now, his eyes closed.
She decided not to answer, but it was very clear—Will was not about to approve of her feelings for Alexander, and he was not going to bless a marriage between them.
“I am sorry,” Margaret whispered, choking.
But Will was now asleep.
* * *
WHEN MARGARET ENTERED the hall, she saw that Sir Guy was immersed in a deep conversation with three of his men, and she overheard them discussing the transportation of three siege engines. She folded her arms, standing by the threshold, trembling. She could not have a natural reaction to him; she remained utterly afraid of Sir Guy.
“Where is Bruce now?” one of his knights asked him.
“He is on his way to Dundee, and that will be a lengthy battle.” Sir Guy turned, having become aware of her.
Margaret stared back at him, aware of how ill she felt. But she dismissed the terrible, haunting sensation. In the heat of their struggle, she had lost all discipline, shouting her true feelings about their marriage to him. Now, they were serious rivals.
Her mind raced. If he believed her in opposition to their marriage, she would be held a prisoner, certainly. She might be held prisoner anyway. No matter what, no good would come of her having disclosed the truth of how she felt and what she wanted. She must somehow convince Sir Guy that she would meekly obey him, even if she did not mean it.
Sir Guy was staring at her. Not looking at his men, he said, “These matters can wait. Leave us.”
The three knights turned and hurried out, leaving them very much alone in the great hall. Somehow she asked, “When are you leaving?”
“As soon as we can, within hours, or less,” he said, starting toward her. He paused before her. “How that must please you.”
She did not reply and she did not allow her facial muscles to move.
He smiled unpleasantly at her. “I am leaving a very strong garrison here. But MacDonald will not attack—if that is your hope. He is with Bruce now. Castle Fyne remains ours.”
She fought to keep her expression unchanged as she prayed to God to keep Alexander safe. And it did not escape her attention that Sir Guy had referred to the stronghold as theirs. “I hardly wish for Castle Fyne to be attacked another time.”
“Then, finally, I am pleased with you,” he said.
She had her opening. “I am also sorry to have displeased you.”
“Really?” His single word was a challenge. “I am a knight, and when called to battle, I go,” he said harshly. “But I will return here as soon as I can, to finish this consummation. And Margaret? I will write Buchan immediately.”
Of course he would. Perhaps she could get her own missive to him, defending herself, and begging him to support her decision to abandon his plans for her marriage to Sir Guy. If Buchan could be dissuaded from their union, it would change everything! But she knew that was not likely.
“You are a mere woman. You do not get to choose whom you will wed, or whom not to wed.” His gaze narrowed. “While I am gone, you should think about our upcoming nuptials, and what serves you best when I return. Fighting me is not in your better interest.”
“I know I do not get to choose my husband, nor do I get to refuse a husband. And I regret losing my temper, Sir Guy, but you frightened me terribly.”
“So the fault is mine?”
“Of course not.” Carefully, she said, “Sir Guy, I became frightened last night. I have been expecting a June wedding. And I am also afraid that we do not suit—that I continually displease you. I lost all reason. I wish to apologize.”
He made a harsh, disparaging sound. “I have always thought you clever—too clever. Do you think to convince me that you are not opposed to our marriage? You will have to do better. You will have to change your nature, and your ways. And Margaret? If you are being insincere, know this—what you wish doesn’t matter. We will marry, either here, in a handfast, or in June.”
She somehow nodded.
