“Yes, ye are,” he said grimly.
Margaret wondered then if he had known her mother. “It doesn’t have to be this way. We do not have to be the worst of enemies.” It was, perhaps, her last plea.
“Ye have decided this day that we are already the worst of enemies,” he said grimly. “They hang on the morrow.”
She turned abruptly, about to walk to the door. Then she halted. “I was on the ramparts with them. I fought you, too.”
He crossed his muscular arms and stared coldly at her.
“You should hang me tomorrow, too.”
“I am not hanging ye.”
He was furious, now. She trembled, incapable of looking away from him. “Because I am such a valuable hostage? Dowry and all?”
“Because yer such a valuable hostage—and yer a woman.”
“How can you be so ruthless?”
“I am fond of living.”
She hugged her clothes more tightly to her chest. Oddly, comprehension flashed just then, and for one instant, she did not hate him. In that instant, she understood—he was fighting just as she was for his life and the lives of his men. He was a feared and respected warrior, and rightly so. And then the moment was gone.
“Ye need to leave, Lady Margaret,” he warned.
She shook her head in refusal. “My brother is hurt. He is my only living family. I must attend him—please.”
“You can tend his wounds tomorrow.” He walked to the door and opened it and then stepped aside.
She was stunned by his acquiescence. “You will let me see him?”
“I will allow you to see him—this one time.”
Margaret nodded, tears falling, and she ran past him, escaping.
* * *
MARGARET HUDDLED UNDER the fur covers, staring out of her chamber’s window as dawn stained the sky with fingers of mauve. She had slept fitfully and uneasily all night when she was exhausted—when she had needed the kind of deep sleep that would refresh her, so she could battle another day. But every time she had dozed she had dreamed of the hangings to take place that day and had instantly awoken.
Because it was so cold and they were prisoners, Peg had shared her bed. But Margaret’s restlessness had caused her to finally make a pallet on the floor. Peg now sat up, yawning.
Margaret began to greet her when she heard a movement in the chamber next to hers. Alexander had arisen. She was careful not to allow her thoughts to revisit their encounter of the previous night. She did not want to recall the sparks of desire she had felt while in his arms.
But he had said she could see her brother. As Peg began to braid her long hair, Margaret leapt from the bed, slid on her shoes, seized her mantle and hurried to her door. As she opened it Alexander came out of the adjacent chamber and their gazes collided.
“Good morn,” he said, unsmiling. His eyes moved over her as he gestured to the guard, “Alan will take ye to William when ye wish.”
“I am ready now, thank you,” she cried. “Can Peg come to help me?”
He looked away. “Aye.” He said to Alan, “She may tend her brother’s wounds, but do not leave them alone together.” With that, he nodded at her and went downstairs.
A moment later, both women were following Alan through the keep and into the courtyard. The guard carried a small chest for Margaret, one in which she kept her herbs and potions. It was freezing cold out, and they could not cross the bailey fast enough. The horses garrisoned in the stables there were just being given fodder, the men tending them the only others present. They entered the tower’s door and hurried up its narrow winding staircase to the second floor.
A Highlander sat on a barrel outside William’s closed chamber door. Alan spoke briefly with him, and he opened the door for Peg and Margaret.
William lay upon the narrow pallet inside, and Margaret choked back a gasp of horror.
He seemed asleep—he might have been unconscious. He had clearly bled heavily, as both his head bandage and the one on his chest were entirely red. Having lost so much blood, he was as white as a corpse. Her worry knew no bounds.
