She burst into tears. “He hasn’t answered my letters.”
Margaret was relieved. Had Bruce lost interest? How she hoped so!
Isabella now gave her a strange, teary look, walked to the farthest bed, and began to reach under the mattress. She straightened, holding a parchment. “But I am not safe, Margaret,” she said, her tone filled with tension.
Margaret was alarmed. Before she could ask if those letters were from Bruce, Isabella said, “He hates me, Margaret.” Her hand trembled as she extended the roll.
Margaret inhaled, filled with dread. “Is that from Buchan?”
She nodded, starkly white. “He has damned me to hell. He has called me a bitch and a whore.” Tears sparkled. “He has even threatened me, should we ever meet again.”
Margaret’s mind raced frantically. Of course Buchan was furious with her.
She was grim as she took the parchment and quickly read her uncle’s bitter words. He had disowned his wife. He would not accept a treacherous bitch and an adulterous whore as his spouse, and he wished that she would rot in hell for all eternity.
“Pray Isabella,” he then wrote, “that the day does not come where we come face-to-face. For if ever that day comes, you will be treated like the treacherous whore that you are. I will strip you of your clothes, parade you through the streets in shackles, and hang you from the closest gallows, where your body shall rot for all time.”
Margaret trembled. Would her uncle really punish Isabella in such a vicious manner?
“I am not safe,” Isabella whispered. “He means his every word.”
“He is angry. Understandably so. But we must hope his anger will pass. Why do you keep this?”
“I want Rob to see it.”
“Bruce is king, Isabella. He has no time for these intrigues.”
“I have given up everything for him.”
Margaret went to her and put her arm around her, when she heard a noise at the door. Both women turned instantly, Margaret hoping it was her guard. But Christina Seton stood there.
“Elisabeth wishes to know why the two of you have run off, perhaps to conspire against her?” Christina said coldly to Margaret. Then she turned her attention on Isabella, and her entire demeanor softened. “Isabella, you know better. You cannot simply vanish from the queen’s hall, even if you wish a privy moment with your friend.”
Margaret realized that Christina had some affection for Isabella, and that she was protecting her from the folly of her impulsive nature. She was relieved, and she thought she understood—Christina undoubtedly felt gratitude for Isabella’s help in crowning her brother.
“She would not allow me a moment with Margaret if I asked,” Isabella said petulantly, sounding much younger than she was. “She will not allow me anything, other than to stand alone in a corner.” She turned to Margaret. “She has made her women dislike me. She has made certain I am an outcast in her hall.”
“You are not an outcast.” Christina was firm. “I am your friend, as are a great many of the ladies, but we must respect the queen. If you will carry on with Rob, openly, then you must suffer the queen’s anger.” Then she looked up at Margaret. “If you are luring her into your intrigues, do not. She has enough on her plate.”
“I have no intrigues,” Margaret said. But she was pleased that Christina Seton was attempting to guide Isabella into some sensibility of action. “If you are taking care of her, I am thankful.”
Christina shrugged. “If you have truly turned your back on the Earl of Buchan and King Edward, then we will have nothing to divide us.”
“Then we have nothing to divide us,” Margaret said.
For one more moment Christina stared, and then she smiled at Isabella. “We must return to the hall. It is time for supper.”
Isabella turned and replaced the roll of vellum beneath her bed.
Margaret tensed as she did so, reminded of the disturbing contents of the letter. As she met Christina’s gaze, she knew that the other woman was also concerned about Isabella’s fate.
Margaret shivered, suddenly chilled. Hadn’t she always had a terrible and dreadful feeling about Isabella’s fate, should she aid Bruce as he seized the crown? Now, she forced aside the graphic image of Isabella, naked and being hanged from a noose.
* * *
A RIDER WAS approaching, and the ladies attending Queen Elisabeth began to speak excitedly amongst themselves. Margaret felt her own heart leap in the same excitement. Their only ties to the outside world were the occasional passing merchant or wandering friar and gossip from the villagers outside Kildrummy. A lone rider, coming directly at a gallop, must be a messenger.
As usual, the ladies and the queen were in the great hall. It was midafternoon, and an uneventful week had passed since Margaret had arrived. The days were long, with little of substance to do—at Castle Fyne and even at Balvenie, she had had a household to look after. The women read, sewed, sang, danced and several played musical instruments. Mostly, there was a great deal of conversation, filled with speculation, fear and trepidation, as they longed for news of the war.
