There was so much disbelief—and so much relief. Castle Fyne was hers again. They were home.
As she stood there, she could hear Alexander in the great room below with his two brothers. He had been planning his attack upon Castle Fyne ever since she had met her uncle and Will at the MacSween chapel. A January siege had been devised. The entire plan was to retake Castle Fyne, fortify it, and then Alexander could join Bruce.
Bruce had been forced to flee Dunaverty after all, as the English pursued him there, and he had hidden upon Rathlin Island. But he continued to solicit support amongst a great many clans, including those in the western islands. Promises of men and arms had begun to come to fruition. Bruce had sent a small army to raid the castle upon Arran, as it was being supplied by the English. The raid had been a success, and now Bruce was gathering up several armies, a great many ships, preparing to launch an attack upon the mainland.
As for the attack on Castle Fyne, it had been swift. With Sir Guy now dead, a great many of his men had simply fled the battle. His remaining men had not been eager to defend the stronghold. The keep had fallen to the MacDonald brothers in a single day.
Margaret knew she had no right to the happiness she felt then. But her pregnancy had changed everything. Even with the war looming, she had never been as happy, and she had never loved Alexander more. She wandered to the chamber’s open window and stared down at the loch. Patches of ice floated upon the nearfrozen waters. Snow-clad trees covered the shores.
She thought of her mother, her heart lurching. How pleased Mary MacDougall would be—Margaret had no doubt. She had loved her husband, and she had given her daughter Castle Fyne. Now Margaret was following in her mother’s footsteps, loving Alexander, and being able to one day bequeath her daughter with the same gift.
It was foolish, but she almost felt her gentle presence, as if she were close by, smiling at her.
She could still hear the men below in animated conversation—the three brothers were warriors, and they were relishing their victory. Cups of wine were being raised. Boasts were being made, jests were being told. Food was demanded.
And she recalled the first time she had ever seen Alexander, below the castle walls, when he had come to demand her surrender. She smiled. He had been a proud and great warrior then, he remained a proud and great warrior now, and he was her husband.
How frightened she had been. How the past year had changed their lives. How fortunate she was, that they had both survived the first months of Bruce’s war.
She sobered, thinking of Christina Seton—and then of Marjorie. Atholl had been captured with the queen and her women—he was in London, awaiting trial. No one believed he would survive; the trial was meant to be a spectacle. She prayed for him and the women daily.
She prayed for Isabella.
How she wished she could visit her. How she wished she could send her a letter. But she could not. All Margaret could do was send her prayers and love.
A soft knock outside the open tower door interrupted her thoughts. Margaret turned, warmth rushing through her.
Juliana MacDougall stood there. And she looked so very much like her mother, there was no doubt that they were sisters. She was a slim, beautiful woman with red-brown hair and bright blue eyes. They had met when Alasdair Og and she had come to Kintyre. They had become friends instantly. Juliana understood what it was like to love one’s enemy, and to choose that love over family.
She came into the room. “What a wonderful day this is. Mary would be so proud of you.”
Margaret clasped her hand. “I thought I felt her here, a moment ago. Silly, isn’t it?”
“You don’t believe in ghosts?” Juliana smiled.
Of course she did. It was a Scottish tradition. “Thank you for your help—yours and Alasdair’s.”
“We were pleased to help you meet Buchan, and even more pleased to help young Alexander take Castle Fyne.”
“I am so glad I have a new friend,” Margaret said impulsively.
Juliana took her hand. “When it is time for the birthing, send for me. I wish to be here.”
Margaret nodded, too moved to speak.
Rapid footsteps sounded, booted spurs clinging. Margaret felt her heart skip and she turned. Alexander came striding into the room, appearing very satisfied.
He smiled at Juliana. “My brother is asking for ye, Lady Juliana. He wants ye to join him at our table. He says he hasn’t seen in ye in two entire days!” Alexander laughed.
Margaret thrilled at the sound, as it was so rare.
“Men,” Juliana said to Margaret with mock exasperation. “Just remember to always be at your husband’s beck and call, and your marriage will be fine.” Juliana kissed her cheek, patted Alexander on the arm and left.
Margaret went into his strong arms. “Thank you.”
He raised his brows as if he had no idea of what she spoke. “Fer what, pray tell?”
“For taking Castle Fyne back for us—for our daughter.”
