She leapt over a body and saw Marjorie being seized by an English knight, one on foot. “Marjorie!”
Her friend was struggling frantically. Margaret hadn’t realized she clenched her dagger until that moment. With a howl, she leapt up and thrust the knife as hard as she possibly could into a spot on the base of the knight’s neck, beneath the mail of his helmet. He released Marjorie, howling. Margaret seized her hand and both women ran, Margaret leading the way.
She jammed Marjorie into the crevice. She was about to slip into the space as well, when suddenly her skin prickled.
Margaret whirled, pressing her back against the boulder, as Marjorie cried, “Margaret!”
A huge gray destrier faced her, blowing hard, pawing the earth. An English knight was mounted upon it, his visor down, and he was staring at her.
And Margaret could not move. She knew who it was before he lifted his visor.
“Treacherous bitch,” Sir Guy said. He withdrew his word from its sheath in a hiss, while smiling coldly at her.
He had no honor—he meant to kill her. Margaret had no doubt.
In that moment, she became paralyzed. She could not look away. His gray eyes burned with hatred. And he was walking his mount forward....
Margaret pressed her spine into the rock, wondering if she could somehow wriggle backward into the space there, knowing that if she turned to escape into the crevice, he would use his sword to cleave her back.
“How long have you been MacDonald’s whore?” he demanded, crowding her against the rocks.
She could feel the horse’s breath blowing upon her face; she could smell its breath. She did not dare answer.
“Tell me, whore!” he shouted.
“I love him!” she shouted back.
Sir Guy drove the destrier forward. Margaret screamed as the animal, having nowhere to go except over her, reared in protest. She saw its deadly hooves above her....
“A Donald!” Alexander roared.
Margaret covered her head with her arms as Sir Guy’s horse came down a mere inch away from her, and she heard their swords ring wildly. She looked up and saw Alexander and Sir Guy braced sword to sword against one another, each man’s face filled with vicious fury.
“Margaret!” Marjorie begged her to hide in the rocks.
Margaret ignored her, as the men exchanged enraged and violent blows. Both men were skilled. Both men were determined. Both men meant to kill the other.
And then Sir Guy’s sword danced off of Alexander’s arm, dripping blood. She cringed in dread. But Alexander parried so hard now, it was as if he hadn’t been wounded. A series of terrible blows were exchanged before both men moved their horses a few steps backward. Alexander was panting—so was Sir Guy. Neither man ever looked away from the other.
In unison, they both leapt to the ground, swords raised. Their horses raced away. Alexander and Sir Guy began circling one another. Alexander’s smile was cruel and menacing. Sir Guy’s smile was as vicious.
And they both struck at once.
Blow after blow was dealt and parried. Margaret could not stand it, when suddenly Sir Guy’s sword went flying from his hand.
Sir Guy froze, his expression one of fear.
Alexander smiled ruthlessly, in triumph, as he raised his sword and brought it ruthlessly down....
Margaret closed her eyes, but she heard the terrible sound of the blade driving through a human body. And she heard Sir Guy scream.
There was another horrific sound, followed by a thump. A moment later Alexander closed his hands upon her shoulders. “It is over, dinna look.”
She opened her eyes, meeting his burning blue gaze—careful not to look past him, where she knew Sir Guy lay dead, his body probably decapitated. Margaret somehow nodded, trembling, in shock.
Sir Guy was dead. She could not believe it.
And then she realized that the battle was also over. She looked in the opposite direction from where Sir Guy lay. The ravine there was littered with the bodies and corpses of dying and dead horses and men. She sank against Alexander in relief, and for another brief moment, he held her.
