“Will ye marry me now?”
Speechless, her heart thundering, she nodded.
He laughed and swept her into his embrace. His forehead against hers, he said thickly, “Now I can tell ye how I never thought to see this day.”
“Me neither,” she answered.
He lifted her into his arms. Margaret gasped in surprise as he carried her from the hall. “Alexander!”
“Ye said yes,” he teased, striding up a narrow stairwell and hunching over to do so.
“It isn’t noon!” she protested, clinging to his shoulders.
“So? I happen to ken well that ye like sex in the morning better than at night!”
She could not believe he would speak so openly, and she felt her cheeks flame. Fortunately, they were alone as he reached the landing and strode down the corridor. And she had no desire to protest.
The tradition of handfasting was as old as time. She had agreed to the union. As soon as they made love and consummated it, they would be man and wife.
He kicked open a door and she saw a dark bedchamber, but knew it was Alexander’s. An old, rusted shield hung on one wall, and a coat of mail, worn and in need of repair, cloaked a straw replica of a man. Instinctively, she knew the shield and armor had belonged to his father, the last lord of the isles, Angus Mor.
He kicked the door closed and laid her down on the bed, coming down on top of her. She met his dark, intense stare.
“Will ye marry me now?”
“Yes.”
His gaze did not waver. “Will ye be as loyal to me as Juliana is to my brother?”
“Yes.”
“Till the death?” His tone was now thick.
She could not speak then, so she nodded, then managed, “Yes.” Then, “I will love you for all time, Alexander. And you? Will you be loyal to me—will you love me—for all time?”
“Yes.” He leaned low and covered her mouth with his.
Margaret had never loved him more. She reached for his face and held him, letting him kiss her deeply. When he finally ended the kiss, she realized she was crying.
He brushed her tears away with his fingers, then untied her girdle, tossing it aside.
Margaret had become breathless. Desire had risen up, hot and hard, joining the impossible surge of love.
He removed her surcote and cote together, lifted her chemise, and then settled his hard thighs between her legs. He thrust deep, watching her, and Margaret did not move. Pleasure took her breath away. So did love.
He said, “We’re man and wife now.”
* * *
A FEW WEEKS later, Bruce arrived at Dunaverty Castle.
The news of his arrival swept the castle. Margaret was putting away clothing that had recently been washed when she heard a young maid running past her chamber, crying out to her as she did so. Bruce had come! Dropping the pile of tunics, Margaret ran after the maid.
They charged up to the ramparts, which were filled with men and women, everyone hanging over the walls. “Bruce!” a man shouted.
“The Bruce!” another cried.
“King Robert Bruce!” men and women cheered.
