Together, they had made this terrible decision—she would attempt to join the queen and her women, in the hopes of marrying Alexander and attaining the future she deserved.
Meanwhile, William would claim that he meant to take her to Balvenie, and that she had stolen off in the night, just before their arrival there. Kildrummy was a short day’s ride south of her uncle’s seat. He would also deny the rumors, as if she were innocent, in case Alexander had changed his mind about marriage. Still, neither one believed that if he had changed his mind, she would ever be welcome home.
Her heart hurt her terribly now. Margaret did not want to release Will’s hand. “I love you so,” she whispered. “Please, stay out of harm’s way. Please, stay safe.”
“I will do my best, but you must promise me to obey your husband, for he will surely keep you safe.” Will’s tone was brisk, and she knew it was to mask his emotions. “And if he doesn’t marry you, I may kill him myself.”
“You will do no such thing—because I love him. I will try to send word,” Margaret said, choking up. “Oh, Will. I will miss you so much! I miss you even now!”
He leaned over his horse to hug her briefly. “You have made your choice, we all have. Now, our fate is up to God. God bless you, Meg. God keep you safe.” He released her hand and turned his mount abruptly, nodding at the dozen knights riding with them.
Margaret choked on a sob, incapable of movement as her brother and their escort galloped down the hill. She watched them until they had vanished beyond the curve of land.
And suddenly, she was entirely alone, as never before.
Tears blinded her. Had she just given up everyone and everything dear to her, with the exception of Alexander? When she did not even know if he would take her back and offer marriage again?
She had never felt so fragile, so powerless. Surely, if a wind blew up, she would be knocked over.
She heard a bird chirping above her. The sound was bright and merry. She glanced up, wiping her eyes with her fingertips, and saw, through the leafy green top of the nearby oak tree, a bright blue sky, and a pair of hawks wheeling above. For a moment, she watched the pair as they soared through the sky. Undeniably, it was a bright, beautiful May afternoon. The hawks flew so freely, and she watched them until they had disappeared from her sight.
Her tears dried up. She blinked and gathered up her reins and her courage. She could do this. She must do this.
She nudged her mare slowly forward. The gatehouse was as formidable as the rest of the stronghold. Two towers guarded the entrance, larger, higher round towers at the corners of the front walls. She trotted steadily closer, the watch now having spotted her, until she halted her mare a stone’s throw from the closed front gate. Margaret looked up at the two men who stood on the edge of one watchtower, staring down at her. Clearly, they were not alarmed by a single female rider.
“Who goes there?” one shouted.
“It is Lady Margaret Comyn, a friend of the Countess of Buchan and Fife.” Margaret watched the men conferring, and then she watched one disappear from her view, obviously to ask a superior if she should be let in. Perhaps ten minutes later dozens of archers appeared on the walls, while two riders galloped out to her.
The first rider became recognizable. Clad in a shirt of mail, he wore no helmet, and his hair gleamed almost black in the sun. “Lady Margaret!” Sir Neil cried, grinning.
She could barely believe it was Sir Neil—her Sir Neil! “Sir Neil!” She was thrilled. “But, you ride with Alexander! What are you doing here?”
His blue eyes twinkled as he rode up to her, taking one of her reins. “The Wolf left me behind, lady—to guard the Countess of Fife.”
Margaret’s heart lurched hard. Alexander knew she cared about Isabella—and he had left one of his men behind to look after her. She knew he had done so for her sake, not Isabella’s.
“I am so pleased to see you,” she said as they trotted over the lowered drawbridge and through the entryway of the gatehouse.
“And I am pleased to see you! But Sir Guy let you go?” Sir Neil was puzzled. “And why have you come to the queen?”
“Sir Guy did not let me go. He wished for me to remain at Castle Fyne. I have disobeyed him directly,” Margaret said. “I have come to attend Isabella, if I will be allowed to do so.”
Sir Neil stared in surprise at her.
But he did not know she had no intention now of ever marrying Sir Guy, and that she would not suffer the consequences of her defiance. But it was not the time to discuss such matters with him now. Instead, she plucked his mail sleeve. “How is Alexander?”
Sir Neil smiled with pride. “He has brought a great many keeps to their knees, my lady, often without lifting a sword. He has been far to the north, where Bruce has spent most of this past month.”
There had been rumors of Alexander’s actions since she had returned to Castle Fyne, including rumors of his taking a great many smaller keeps without even a battle, his mere appearance frightening the enemy into surrender, but she was pleased now to hear the news firsthand. Otherwise, she had not heard from him, but she had not expected to. She had wanted to write to him, but William had advised her against it. He had feared her missive might be intercepted, and that Sir Guy would be alerted to her plans.
“Now they march southward,” Sir Neil was adding. “Bruce will not give up on Strathearn.”
Margaret thought of the Earl of Strathearn, her uncle by marriage, whom she had never met, and her aunt, whom she had met but twice in her lifetime. Their lands were under siege and Strathearn had been captured. She should be concerned, and she imagined Buchan was furiously aiding them in their defenses, but she was not. “Is the earl still Bruce’s prisoner?”
“I believe so, but his men are holding out, and Bruce wishes for the castle to fall.” Sir Neil grinned. Then he sobered, as if realizing the family connection. “I am sorry, my lady. I keep forgetting—we are on opposite sides of the war.”
“Perhaps not,” she said. Then, “How is Isabella?” She had not received a response to her letter from her, and she wondered if the queen had prevented the correspondence, or even denied her receipt of her letter in the first place.
