As they stared at one another, Margaret realized her demand had been impossible. She and Alexander would be captured if she went to visit her friends.
Her mind raced. Buchan would visit Isabella. Wouldn’t he?
“I must see my uncle, Alexander.”
His eyes widened. “Fer what cause?” Then comprehension covered his face. “So ye can beg him to spare Isabella his wrath? Ye canna do so, Margaret!”
“I must beg him to show her mercy! Buchan is an ally of King Edward. If he wants his wife back, King Edward will surely agree! Please! I must convince my uncle to take Isabella back! She will be better off if he is the one to punish her! God only knows what her fate will be otherwise!”
Alexander shook his head, resigned. “I must be mad—to agree to such madness.”
Kilmory Knap Chapel, Loch Sween—November, 1306
ALEXANDER AND HIS men had gone into the small stone chapel where Margaret was to meet her uncle. In spite of the promises that had been made, he wished to make certain that they would not suffer an ambush. After all, the chapel was on MacSween land, and they were allied with the MacDougalls—they had taken up arms against Bruce.
But the meeting had been arranged by Alasdair Og and his wife, Juliana. Everyone had agreed that Juliana would be able to best bring both sides together, as she was a MacDougall by birth, and married to a MacDonald.
For Buchan, such a meeting posed little danger. Although Alasdair Og had managed, through his wife, to obtain the promise of safe passage for them, they were in the midst of the enemy’s territory. Alexander trusted no one. Neither did Margaret.
She shivered, although fur-clad, astride her mount as she waited outside the chapel. It was a frigidly cold day. Snow covered the ground, weighed down the evergreens, and capped the mountain peaks. The loch was as dark as iron as it swept out to the sound.
Alexander came outside, a fur swinging from his broad shoulders. Margaret breathed hard as he strode to her.
He was not happy; his mouth was downturned. “They’re within—waiting fer ye.”
Tension filled her, so much so, she could barely breathe. Somehow she nodded.
Alexander came forward to help her slide down from her mount. “Ye dinna have to meet him, Margaret. ’Tis not too late to turn back.”
“I am not turning back,” she said. If she could, she hoped to be forgiven by her uncle for falling in love with Alexander. For months, she had yearned to explain to him what had happened and how it had happened. But her needs were mostly irrelevant now.
She had one real ambition—to save Isabella.
Alexander guided her forward and they walked along the snow-covered stone path to the chapel’s door. Alexander swung it open for her, but then he made her wait so he could enter first. Margaret only followed when he turned and indicated that it was safe for her to do so.
Margaret stepped inside the century-old stone church. She saw the group of men standing at the end of the knave, which included William and her uncle.
Buchan looked at her, his eyes dark with anger. She cringed.
William ran up the knave, toward her. “Meg!”
Her tension vanished. She could not believe how much he had grown since she had last seen him! He had seemed more of a boy then, but suddenly, she was faced with a grown man. “Will!”
She leapt into his arms and he hugged her, hard, rocking her as he did so. Then he stepped back and stared, amazed. “How beautiful you are!”
She smiled. “You look so well, too. I am happy, Will.” And then she saw him glance at Alexander and she watched the two men whom she loved most in this world exchange long looks. There was a great deal of relief. She understood that both men had come to terms with one another—for her sake.
She glanced at her uncle now. He was so angry with her. Trembling, sick with dread, she slowly walked to him. “Uncle John.”
He was breathing hard. “Ye betrayed me.”
“I did not mean to fall in love with him.”
“Love? Love has nothing to do with marriage!” Buchan said harshly.
“Uncle, I love you, I always have and I always will—but I fell in love with Alexander. I did not mean to. I fought my every emotion.”
“You fought your emotion? You married him.”
