A terrible expression filled his face. “You betrayed Sir Guy, Meg—and you have betrayed Buchan!”
“I never meant to be disloyal. I am a Comyn woman. I am proud of it! I fought my feelings, I truly did.”
“Maybe Sir Guy will never know,” William began. “You could deceive him.”
Margaret stood up slowly. “Others know.”
Will also stood, forgetting to use his cane. “What?”
She wet her lips. “Isabella knows. Some of his men know. Atholl knows.”
Will’s expression was ghastly. “Then the whole land will know!”
“I am afraid,” she finally said, and it was a long overdue confession.
William grimaced, composing himself. “What do you intend?” He caught the edge of the table to balance himself. “You cannot remain here. When Sir Guy finds out you have been unfaithful, he will hurt you—or kill you.”
Margaret stared. “I asked Buchan if I could go to Balvenie with you—but I want to return to Alexander.”
William was disbelieving. “You would leave us.”
“No. Not entirely. I am a Comyn—I will always be your sister.”
His eyes had become moist. “And when you marry him? You will marry him?”
“If he will have me...but I will still be your sister!”
“No. You will be his wife, and we will be at war,” her brother said. “But I will help you—God help me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Early May, 1306, Kildrummy Castle, Scotland
WIDE-EYED, MARGARET stared up the hill at the great stronghold of Kildrummy Castle. It dominated the horizon with its huge round towers and imposing curtain walls, and was reputed to be impregnable, enough so that King Edward had stayed there in the past. Because its stout walls could not be breached, the queen and her women had been sent there.
Margaret had never been to the fortress. Staring at it now, she inhaled. Images flashed in her mind, of a lifetime spent in loyalty and duty to her family.
But because she could not marry Sir Guy—because she wanted a future with Alexander—this, then, was her choice.
She was a Comyn, yet she must now beg the queen to admit her to her court. Once the queen accepted her amongst her women, there would be no going back. Her uncle would never forgive her for her reversal of allegiance—for her treachery.
Her trepidation was vast. For now she had to face her greatest fear—she was worthless without her dowry. She had lost all of her value as a bride when Sir Guy had taken Castle Fyne. She believed Alexander cared about her. But did he care enough to marry her without her lands?
No one married without gain. No one married for love.
She was seeking admission to the queen’s court, hoping that Alexander wanted her still; she was forsaking her family now, with no guarantee that any future union awaited her.
She was afraid and she had to admit it.
Abruptly, her brother reached over from his mount beside her, and he squeezed her hand. “I dare not linger, Meg.”
She was jerked back to the reality of that moment. They were about to part company, perhaps for a very long time. The war would be between them now, with them on opposing sides as William had so feared last February. She dared not contemplate the possibility that they might never see one another again. “I cannot thank you enough for taking me to Kildrummy,” she whispered. And he was right—it was dangerous for him to linger with her on the hillside, in view of the great stronghold.
Will was stoic. “Buchan will be furious when he hears of it.”
But they had already discussed the ramifications of her defying both Buchan and Sir Guy—with William’s help. They had discussed the fact that she was betraying the Comyn family in such a manner, that she could never go back. But their actions paled in significance to the consequences she would surely suffer if she were to remain with the family.
Buchan had ordered her to return to Balvenie with Will. Margaret suspected that he had heard of her misbehavior from Sir Guy. But Will now supported her. He feared for her life, should Sir Guy ever learn of her affair with Alexander.
