“I had to choose.”
“There was no choice to make!” her uncle cried. “I made the choice for you!”
She brushed aside incipient tears. “Is it too much to ask for your forgiveness?”
“You turned your back on us all, on your mother, your father, on your brother, on me!” Buchan said. His nose was red and moisture glistened upon his eyes. “I will never forgive you, Margaret. I disowned you the day you fled Sir Guy—and swore your fealty to Bruce.”
She inhaled, trembling. “I so wish for your forgiveness, but so be it. Just know, Uncle, that I am in grief over losing you.”
He made a harsh, dismissive sound. “Is this why you have asked for a meeting? To seek my forgiveness? If so, you have wasted my time.”
“I had to see you, I had to explain and I had to try to persuade you to forgive me. But there is more.” She paused.
He slowly smiled at her, but it was unpleasant and cold, as if he knew what would come next. “Of course.”
“Uncle, I wish to talk to you about Isabella.”
“Do not bring up her name!”
“Please, forgive Isabella. She is young and foolish, impulsive and reckless. She did not know what they wanted of her—and she did not think it through. Bruce took advantage of her—a young, naive woman. And had she not helped him, he would have forced her.”
He snarled, “She is a whore.”
“She was used by an older, powerful and clever man! You loved her! I know—I saw it, time and again! How can you stop loving her now?”
“I stopped loving her long ago.”
Margaret believed him. But she had never thought their marriage salvageable. She only wanted to save Isabella’s life. “This is her time of need. How can you refuse to aid her? I understand why you will not take her back as your wife, even if, in God’s eyes, she will always be your wife. But do you want to see her hanged? Just aid her, Uncle, just help her escape the king’s rage, help her avoid execution.”
He was shaking, but he smiled tightly now. “King Edward is not having her executed. How fortunate for Isabella.”
Margaret froze. His smile was so savage that she feared whatever punishment had already been meted out.
“King Edward has ordered her caged.”
“Caged?” Had she misheard?
“She is in a cage at Berwick! She has been caged like an animal, and she has been displayed so anyone, everyone, can see her, taunt her, insult her, condemn her for the treacherous bitch she is! And she will stay in that cage until she dies!”
Margaret stared, stunned.
“God damn her to hell. And God damn you, Margaret,” he choked. “I trusted you!”
“I am sorry,” she managed to say. As they stared at one another, both of them in tears, for an instant she thought he was going to come to her and forgive her after all. But then he whirled and strode through a back door and out of the chapel.
William rushed to her. “I love you,” he said.
She could not speak now and she nodded.
“And I am happy for you!” With that, he turned and hurried after the Earl of Buchan.
Margaret did not move. Alexander put his arm around her. She looked up at him. “I am truly a MacDonald now.”
“Aye.”
Castle Fyne, Scotland—January, 1307
MARGARET PAUSED ON the threshold of the bedchamber that had belonged to her parents, holding her slightly protruding belly in both hands. She looked down at her tummy and smiled warmly at her unborn child. “We are home, little one,” she whispered. “Welcome.”
