Dunaverty Castle—late August, 1306
“I AM EAGER to acquaint ye with my brother,” Alexander said, smiling.
She could not believe they had reached the great MacDonald stronghold. Margaret walked beside Alexander, his arm around her. She had been exhausted, for they had ridden long and hard for the past four days, only pausing to rest for a few hours at night.
Just a short while ago they had been at sea in a vessel borrowed from a fisherman, crossing the Firth of Clyde. The seas had been choppy, with a strong breeze filling the single sail, and they had swiftly approached Kintyre. Margaret had been seated in the bow of the tiny vessel, clinging to its side. When Dunaverty had come into view, a bulky castle perched high above the sea upon great cliffs, her exhaustion had vanished. It had been immediately replaced with excitement and awe.
They had escaped the mainland. They had left the war behind.
Finally, they were safe.
And maybe, just maybe, this was a new beginning....
They were strolling through the castle’s large outdoor courtyard, now. Margaret smiled up at Alexander; he smiled back.
He thinks this is a beginning, too, she thought.
The MacDonald flag with its dark field and red dragon flew proudly from one high tower, whipping in the wind. Highlanders stood above them on the ramparts. And then she heard the sound of Alexander’s name, and she slowed and turned, as did Alexander. Highland soldiers had come to the edge of the ramparts to look down upon them.
“Alexander!” they called. “The mighty Wolf returns!”
Chills swept over her; tears filled her eyes. These men were his kin, and they worshipped him.
His name was being echoed amongst them again and again. And a refrain began, one that turned into a chant.
“Alexander! The mighty Wolf is home! The mighty Wolf returns! Long live the mighty Wolf of Clan Donald!”
His grasp on her shoulders tightened. He leaned closer. “Welcome to Dunaverty, Margaret.”
She looked up at him, overcome with relief. She reached for and squeezed his hand. “They love you,” she whispered.
He smiled at her, a twinkle in his eyes—one she had never before seen. “And soon, they will love ye just as much,” he said. “Come.”
She stiffened, even as he propelled her inside the great hall of the castle. For his meaning was clear. Soon, she would be his wife, the lady MacDonald.
She thought of her mother, Mary MacDougall. Somehow, she knew Mary would be happy for her, and that she would be pleased.
Margaret’s attention was diverted. The great room had high-beamed ceilings, and two massive stone hearths. Otherwise it was sparsely furnished, with one table, benches and a few chairs. Rushes were upon the floors, banners hanging from the high rafters. Fires blazed. And a tall, dark-haired man was at the far end of the room.
Even without the MacDonald plaid worn about his broad shoulders, Margaret would have recognized him instantly. He looked so much like Alexander—no one could doubt that they were brothers.
Margaret thought him in his early thirties. He was taller than most men, with broad shoulders, and arms sculpted from the years he had spent wielding swords and axes. His dark hair was shoulder-length. His eyes were sky-blue. He was an attractive man, one resonating power and command.
Angus Og, lord of the isles, approached. He was beaming.
Alexander hurried forward, smiling, as well. Both men embraced, the hug filled with warmth and feeling. Then Angus withdrew, clasping his brother’s shoulder. “I dinna expect ye. What news?”
Alexander sobered. “None of it is good, Angus. Bruce hides in the forests. He has been defeated twice this summer, at Methven and Dalry. At Methven, there was treachery and a massacre—he lost most of his army. John the Lame and Sir Guy de Valence ambushed us at Dalry. Sir Guy is dead.”
Angus was grim. “News of Methven reached us a few weeks ago. But not of Dalry. Where is Bruce now? What men does he have left?”
“I left Bruce in Argyll, not far from Dalry. He has few men, no horses and his women have been returned to Kildrummy Castle, with few knights to guard them and no stores.”
“Is it true that Aymer has six thousand men?”
“Aye, and he holds a great many castles once taken by Bruce. He continues to hold Perth.”
“And Bruce?” Angus pressed.
