And when the kiss had ended, he looked down at her. “I will come to ye tonight.”
* * *
“I HAD FORGOTTEN,” Alexander said, “how beautiful ye truly are.”
Margaret lay in his arms, their naked bodies entwined. He had said he would come to her in the middle of the night, but it was later that afternoon, and they were in Alexander’s tent. He shared it with several other men, but he had obviously instructed them to give them an hour of privacy.
She had missed him so much. “I did not forget how handsome you are,” she said teasingly. Then she sobered. “I have been so afraid for you.”
“I have worried about you, as well.” He shifted so they could look at one another more easily. “I have heard that yer uncle has disavowed his wife—and that he is furious with ye, too.”
“He has threatened Isabella. I pray they never see one another again.”
“Ye were so loyal to yer family fer so long. Ye were so loyal to Buchan. What happened at Castle Fyne?”
Her tension spiraled. She felt ill in the pit of her belly. She had not thought about Sir Guy’s attempt to rape her in months—she had deliberately buried the memory. Now, images tried to emerge within her mind, along with grotesque tactile sensations, of being brutally gripped and violently kissed, and she remembered how fear had clawed at her.
“Did Sir Guy hurt ye?” Alexander asked.
She pushed away from him and sat up, unable to breathe. She did not want to look at Alexander now—she did not want to have this conversation. But their gazes met.
“Why won’t ye answer?”
She inhaled, shaking. “He wanted to consummate the marriage—I refused.”
“What happened—exactly?”
She pulled away. “A messenger came, interrupting us. I was fortunate.”
Alexander also sat up, the covers falling to his waist. “Did he try to rape ye, Margaret?”
She met his gaze, and somehow she nodded.
Alexander did not move, except for his chest, which slowly rose and fell. “I am going to kill him.”
Margaret whispered, “It is over, Alexander.” But it did not feel over, not at all.
“It is over when he is dead.” He pulled her unyielding body close. “I was not there to protect ye, Margaret. What he tried to do will haunt me till I die.”
She felt tears of grief arising.
He stroked her hair for a moment. “If the queen and her women are captured before they reach the Orkney Islands, they will suffer a terrible fate. And ye could be captured with them.”
She stiffened, aware that what he said was true, but wondering at his declaration.
If she was ever captured, Sir Guy might come for her. He might demand she be handed over to him certainly wanting some kind of revenge for her actions. “If I am captured, I might be handed over to Sir Guy.”
“If yer captured, ye will shout to anyone who listens that yer Buchan’s niece.”
“Everyone knows I fled Sir Guy—and I swore fealty to Bruce.”
“Ye will deny ever paying homage to King Robert. And yer still Buchan’s niece—the most powerful Comyn lord alive.” He clearly saw her surprise and misgivings. “I have not changed my mind about our marriage, Margaret. But I will never marry ye while the king’s proclamation against the women stands. I will never marry ye if doing so puts yer life at risk. Ye have some protection now, being Buchan’s ward and niece, if everyone believes yer still loyal to him.”
She was shaken. “I don’t know if Buchan will try to save my life. Sir Guy might even let me hang.”
“Sir Guy will seek to marry ye—for the sake of Castle Fyne, for the sake of his alliance with Buchan.”
Could that be true? “I cannot marry him,” she said tersely.
