“Thank God Bruce has sent for us,” Isabella whispered.
Margaret had forgotten her presence. Now, the other woman put her arm around her. And for that, Margaret was grateful.
* * *
THE FIRST THING Margaret saw was Bruce’s red-and-yellow banner waving high in the sunny blue sky above his tent.
It was a bit after noon. Bruce had made camp just outside the city’s walls, and Margaret was surprised to see that his army was larger than she had expected after what she had heard about the massacre at Methven. Tents covered the grassy slopes surrounding the city. Their warhorses grazed freely among sheep and cows. The city gates were open, and men and women were coming and going freely. The scene seemed pleasant and almost gay.
But there was nothing pleasant about the mighty Robert Bruce being reduced to a king in hiding, she thought grimly.
The queen’s cavalcade slowed as it approached the camp, the queen riding at the forefront with Bruce’s two brothers, Sir Nigel and Sir Edward—the man she had not recognized that night alongside Alexander. Christina, Mary and Marjorie were behind her, several dozen knights alongside and behind the group.
Alexander rode a bit ahead of her. He had continually changed his position, sometimes going to the front ranks to speak with Sir Nigel and Sir Edward, at other times dropping back to ride with the rear guard. She felt certain, knowing him as she did, that he had scouts positioned along their route to make certain they could pass safely through the countryside.
He had ridden past her once. They had simply gazed at one another. The moment had felt significant, when all they had done was exchange stares.
Sir Nigel was helping the queen dismount. Bruce came striding out of his tent, and as he did, his men began to cheer. “King Robert! King Robert!”
Along the city walls, the cheering was taken up by the men and women watching the camp. “King Robert of Scotland!”
Isabella had been riding alongside her, and Margaret glanced at her. “So he remains beloved, at least here in the north.”
Isabella did not answer and Margaret took a closer look at her set face. She was not happy.
She turned back to Bruce and saw him embracing Elisabeth, the way a husband hugs his wife after a long period of separation. Elisabeth actually smiled at him, and touched his cheek, a simple caress.
Margaret glanced back at Isabella, who appeared furious. “She is his wife,” Margaret stressed.
Isabella wisely did not answer, but her color was high.
Suddenly a woman began crying out. “John! John!”
Margaret saw Marjorie running across the camp. Atholl was rushing toward her from the other side of the camp, his arms open.
She watched them embrace. Atholl held her, hard, for a long time, and then they kissed as if they were lovers, not man and wife.
Feeling so happy for them, she no longer believed Atholl a spy for King Edward. His life had been at risk at Methven. He would have fled to the English ranks during the massacre, had he been their agent.
As she watched them hugging one another, Margaret realized she was being closely watched, as well.
Alexander was staring at her. She felt her cheeks flame. Did he know that she yearned to be embraced in just such a manner?
He rode his warhorse over to her. “Two tents have been made for the women.” He slid from his horse, handing the reins to a young Highland lad, and approached, reaching up for her.
Her heart continued to race. He was going to realize that he still affected her in a great many ways. Margaret let him help her dismount, and then he turned to aid Isabella. He gestured to them both to follow. Margaret fell silently into step behind him with Isabella, who clearly was reluctant. Margaret knew she wished to veer away and attempt to see Bruce. She so hoped Isabella would behave sensibly now.
She gazed at Alexander’s broad shoulders, at his unruly dark hair. She hated the awkwardness between them. Inhaling, she said, “Do you know how long we will be here?”
He turned and paused, allowing her to fall into step with him. They walked past a large cook fire and several tents. Young boys were playing with a stick and a ball of rope. “No, I dinna ken. But Bruce plans to send the women to the Orkney Islands.”
Margaret gasped. She had no wish to live in the Orkney Islands!
Her dismay must have shown, because he said, “He needs to keep the queen safe, Lady Margaret. His sister Isabel is the Dowager Queen of Norway. He has already sent emissaries ahead.”
Margaret’s head began to ache. She wished to remain behind—the Orkney Islands were so far away from Alexander.
He said, “That tent is for ye and six other ladies.”
