“Are we being attacked?” Isabella cried, seizing Margaret’s hand in their shared pallet.
Someone held a taper aloft. Margaret glanced across the space between her bed and the closest adjacent one. Christina held the candle high, Mary beside her. Their gazes were wide with fright.
And Elisabeth, terribly ashen, was on her feet, Marjorie helping her don a warm mantle. Marjorie’s movements, which were usually gentle, were rushed.
Margaret’s mind raced frantically. Was Aymer de Valence attacking?
She heard a great many voices raised in urgent conversation. What she did not hear was the ring of swords, or the cries of soldiers in battle. It was clear the others heard the same and were realizing that they were not being attacked.
A sharp, urgent banging sounded upon the queen’s doors. Elisabeth cried out loudly, “Enter.”
The doors burst open and Sir Nigel stood there. “You must come below, Elisabeth,” he said quickly.
But she was already crossing the room, Christina and Mary with her. They vanished into the hall outside with Sir Nigel.
Margaret quickly got up, lighting another taper. Isabella also slid from the bed. Marjorie joined them and they exchanged glances. “Who could it be—in the middle of the night?” Isabella whispered.
“I don’t know.” Margaret took up a plaid and draped it about her shoulders. She could not imagine who had come to rouse the queen at midnight, nor did she think the news good. She hurried out with the two women, everyone silent. The hall outside the chamber was brightly illuminated.
She led the way, hurrying down the stairs. The conversation in the great hall was now muted. When she reached its threshold, she faltered.
And then her heart exploded.
His back was to her, but Alexander stood with the queen.
Alexander was at Kildrummy; Alexander was alive!
Tears arose, blurring her vision. Isabella seized her hand. “He lives,” she whispered.
Margaret nodded, speechless and beyond relief. Alexander lived.
But Alexander spoke rapidly and urgently. The queen listened attentively, her expression grim. Bruce’s sisters stood with her, as did Sir Nigel and Sir Neil. Another man she did not recognize was also with them, but he resembled Bruce and she imagined he was another one of his brothers. Everyone was frighteningly grim.
Her relief and joy were short-lived. Why had he come? She stared at the women in their nightclothes, the men armed with sword and dagger. Alexander and the other nobleman had come from the war—they had come from the forests, where they had been hiding since Methven.
“What news could he be bringing?” Isabella whispered. “The queen looks frightened!”
Elisabeth did look frightened, Margaret thought. And in another moment or two, Alexander would see her. Her relief and excitement changed instantly. She had not seen him in three months, and he had never answered her letter.
She no longer feared the news he was bringing. Instead, trepidation assailed her. What would happen when he turned around to face her?
“What are you going to do?” Isabella whispered in her ear.
She could not even look at her friend. And she did not know what she would do—or what she should do.
The queen was now talking to him, and then Sir Nigel was saying something. As Bruce’s brother spoke, Alexander turned and glanced at her.
She stiffened as their gazes met.
He did not smile at her. For an instant he simply stared, his expression impossible to read. Then the queen spoke to him and he turned his attention back to her.
“I don’t know what I will do,” Margaret finally said to Isabella. And anguish began—anguish she must not allow to arise.
“I wonder why he is here. Maybe he has come for you,” she said.
Margaret finally glanced at her. “He is here on the king’s business, Isabella.”
Isabella’s eyes popped and she jerked hard on Margaret’s sleeve.
