She thought that his eyes now blazed. “Even if ye fight alone?”
“Someone will come.”
“No one will come. If Argyll comes, it will be after the castle has fallen.”
She swallowed, terrified that he was right.
It was a moment before he spoke again, and anger roughened his tone. “Lady Margaret, I admire yer courage—but I dinna admire defiance, not even in a beautiful woman.”
Margaret simply stared. She had given him her answer, there was nothing more to say.
And he knew it. The light in his eyes was frightening, even from this distance. “I take no pleasure in what I must do.” He then lifted his hand, but he never removed his eyes from her. “Prepare the rams. Prepare the siege engines. Prepare the catapults. We will besiege the castle at dawn.” And he turned and disappeared amongst his men, into his army.
Margaret collapsed in Sir Neil’s arms.
* * *
PEG SHOVED A cup of wine at her. Margaret took it, desperately needing sustenance. They were seated at one of the trestle tables, in the great hall. Night was falling quickly.
And at dawn, the siege would begin.
Sir Neil sat down beside her, not even asking permission. Malcolm took the opposite bench. Peg cried, “Ye should have surrendered, and it isn’t too late to do so!”
Margaret tensed, aware that Peg was terrified. When she had left the ramparts, she had gazed at some of the soldiers and women there—everyone was frightened. And how could they not be?
Alexander MacDonald had been forthright. If they did not surrender, he would defeat the castle and spare no one.
She hugged herself, chilled to the bone. Should she have surrendered? And dear God, why was such a decision hers to make?
She inhaled and set the cup down. “Is it possible he is telling the truth? Is it possible that Red John is dead—and that Robert Bruce has seized the royal castle at Dumfries?”
Sir Neil was pale and stricken. “Bruce has always claimed the throne, but I know nothing of this plot!”
“Even the Wolf would not make up such a wild tale,” Malcolm said. “I believe him.”
She could barely comprehend what might be happening. “Is Bruce seeking the throne of Scotland? Is that why he attacked Dumfries?” And did that mean that Sir Guy was there with his men? Sir Guy was in service to King Edward. He was often dispatched to do battle for the king. Was that why MacDonald had claimed no one would come—because Sir Guy would be occupied with his own battles for King Edward?
Sir Neil shook his head. “Bruce is a man of ambition, but to murder Red John? On holy ground?”
“If the damned Wolf is telling us the truth,” she said, “if Red John has been murdered, Buchan will be furious.” The Comyns and Bruces had been rivals for years. They had fought over the crown before—and the Comyns had won the last battle, when their kin, John Balliol, had become Scotland’s king. “A great war will ensue.” She was sickened in every fiber of her being—these events were too much to bear.
“Lady Margaret—what matters is that if this is true, Red John will not be coming to our aid. Nor will Sir Guy.”
Margaret stared at Malcolm as Peg cried, “We can still surrender!”
She ignored her maid. “But Argyll will come to our aid if he can.”
“If the land is at war, he might not be able to come,” Sir Neil said grimly. “And MacDonald claims he has the means to stop him.”
She looked at Sir Neil and then Malcolm. “I am frightened. I am unsure. So tell me, truly, what you think I should do?”
Malcolm said, “Your mother would die defending Castle Fyne.”
Sir Neil stood. “And I would die to defend you, my lady.”
God, these were not reassuring answers!
“But, my lady, if you decide you wish to surrender, I will support you,” Malcolm said.
