“I am only a woman. I would not be so foolish as to think I could outwit the mighty Wolf of Lochaber.”
“So now ye mock me?”
She trembled, wishing she hadn’t inflected upon the word mighty.
“Yer answer, Lady Margaret,” he warned.
She choked. “I need time! I will give you an answer in the morning!” By morning, maybe help would have arrived.
“Ye call me a liar and think me a fool? Lady Margaret, the land is at war. Robert Bruce has seized Dumfries Castle—and Red John Comyn is dead.”
She cried out, her world suddenly spinning. “Now you lie!” What he claimed was impossible!
“Yer great Lord of Badenoch died in the Greyfriars Church at Dumfries, four days ago.”
She turned in disbelief. Sir Neil looked as stunned as she was. Could the patriarch of their family be dead? If so, Red John was not coming to her aid! “What do you mean—Red John died? He was in good health!”
Slowly, the Wolf smiled. “So ye want the facts? Ye’ll hear soon enough. He was murdered, Lady Comyn, by Bruce, although he did not deliver the final, fatal blows.”
Margaret’s shock knew no bounds. Had Robert Bruce murdered Red John Comyn?
If so, the land would most definitely be at war!
“Bruce is on the march, Lady Comyn, and yer uncle, the MacDougall, is on the march, as well—in Galloway.” He stared coldly up at her. “And do ye not wish to know where yer beloved Sir Guy is?”
Sir Neil had taken her arm, as if to hold her upright.
“He was also at Dumfries, sent there to defend the king.”
She had not given her betrothed a thought since that morning. Had Sir Guy fought Bruce at Dumfries? If so, he was but two days away. She did not know what the Highlander was implying, but Sir Guy would surely come to her rescue. “This castle is a part of my dowry. Sir Guy will not let it fall.”
“Sir Guy fights Bruce, still. Argyll is in battle in Galloway. The Lord of Badenoch is dead. Ye have no hope.”
Now she truly needed time to think—and attempt to discover if his claims were true. For if they were, she was alone, and Castle Fyne would fall.
“He could be lying,” Sir Neil said, but there was doubt in his tone.
She met his gaze and realized he was frightened after all. But then, so was she. She turned back to the Highlander standing below her walls. “I need a few hours in which to decide,” she said hoarsely.
“Yer time is done. I demand an answer, lady.”
She began shaking her head. “I don’t want to defy you.”
“Then accept my generous terms and surrender.”
She bit her lip and tasted her own blood. And she felt hundreds of pairs of eyes upon her—every man in his army stared at her—as did every man, woman and child upon the ramparts. She thought she heard Peg whisper her name. And she knew that Sir Neil wanted to speak to her. But she stared unwaveringly at the Wolf of Lochaber. As she did, she thought of her mother—the most courageous woman she had ever known. “I cannot surrender Castle Fyne.”
He stared up at her, a terrible silence falling.
No one moved now—not on the ramparts, not in his army.
Only Margaret moved, her chest rising and falling unnaturally, tension making it impossible to breathe normally.
And then a hawk wheeled over their heads, soaring up high into the winter sky, breaking the moment. And disgust covered the Wolf’s face. Behind him, there were murmurs, men shifting. More whispers sounded behind her. The sounds were hushed, even awed, from behind and below.
Finally, he spoke, coldly. “Yer a fool.”
She did not think she had the strength to respond. Sir Neil flinched, his hand moving to his sword. She had to touch him, warning him not to attempt to defend her. She then faced the dark Highlander below her again. “This castle is mine. I will not—I cannot—surrender it.”
