“The king lives!” Sir Neil shouted over the pandemonium. He appeared ready to weep. “But he was ambushed at Methven and there, his army was slaughtered like sleeping sheep!”
Margaret could not breathe as Sir Neil released her, panting in distress. Sir Nigel took his arm. “Calm yourself and tell me what has happened.”
Sir Neil nodded, a tear now sliding down his face. “Bruce arrived at Perth and rode directly to the city gates, where he challenged Aymer de Valence. He demanded that Aymer either come out and fight or surrender. De Valence said it was too late to go to battle then, but they would begin the fight the next morning.”
Sir Nigel nodded grimly. The queen was stiff and unmoving, as were her ladies. No one in the hall was moving—the tension and fear were too great.
Sir Neil swiped at the single tear upon his face. “Bruce retired his army to Methven for the night. Some of his men were sent to forage for fodder, others told to cook, others had disarmed and were sleeping. And then the English army descended upon them.”
Christina choked. Mary put her arm around her, as ashen.
“They were ambushed, and a terrible melee ensued,” Sir Neil said. “They were mostly asleep, mostly unarmed, and outnumbered. Bruce was unhorsed three times! Sir Christopher saved him from capture.” He looked at Christina briefly. Then he turned to Sir Nigel. “A massacre ensued.”
Sir Nigel was as white as everyone else. “But the king survived?”
“Atholl, your brother Edward and Neil Campbell managed to defend him. They escaped into the forest.”
“Oh, my God,” Christina said. “What of the others?”
“Most were murdered. A few were captured in the field—but Sir Christopher escaped.”
Christina began to cry. Mary held her tight, upright. She was crying, too. Marjorie was white.
“What of Alexander?” Margaret whispered.
Sir Neil whirled. “I do not know if he was captured, if he escaped or if he is one of the dead.”
Margaret began to shake so badly, she knew she might collapse. Isabella took her hand.
Sir Nigel was so stricken, his nose was red. “Are you telling us that Bruce’s entire army was slaughtered? That over four thousand men are dead?”
“Perhaps a hundred men escaped into the forests.”
Margaret staggered blindly away. It was over—and Alexander could be dead.
Her fists clenched. But hadn’t she known that Robert Bruce could not go up against England and win? Yet he had dragged Alexander into the damned war, and now Bruce lived, but she did not know if Alexander did!
“There is more, Sir Nigel,” Sir Neil said hoarsely.
How could there be more? Margaret turned back to them and saw that the queen, who was so stoic all of the time, was as stricken as everyone else. Elisabeth was fighting the same tears of horror and anguish as everyone else.
“King Edward has issued a royal proclamation.” Sir Neil cleared his throat. “Every wife and every sister, every daughter amongst us, is as guilty of treason as we are.”
Gasps sounded.
“They must be hunted down,” he continued, now sounding shaken as he glanced at Margaret, “but the punishment will not be hanging.”
The queen cried out. Marjorie and Christina seized her, to keep her from collapsing. Margaret gasped, “How will King Edward punish us?”
“By royal decree, any man may now rob, rape and murder you.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A TERRIFIC NOISE awoke her.
Margaret was suddenly awake. It took her a moment to realize where she was. Since the news of the massacre at Methven, the sleeping arrangements had changed. She had been invited to share the queen’s chamber—as had Isabella. For she had risen in the queen’s esteem. As for Isabella, she suspected that the queen had been instructed by her husband to keep her close.
It was the middle of the night. She was instantly aware of the commotion below the royal bedchamber. Margaret froze, her heart pounding with fright. She could hear men shouting and racing into the great room.
