She inhaled, their gazes locked. She did not dare look away now—not that she had the power to do so. It was as if time had stopped.
This was, beyond any doubt, a defining moment. She must save the lives of her men. But she was a Comyn and a MacDougall. Could she swear her allegiance to the Wolf of Lochaber—to Clan Donald?
Her mind felt frozen now. And there did not seem to be time to think. She only knew that if she refused, he would probably execute her men; if she accepted, he would spare them.
“Yes,” she said.
Sir Neil cried out. “Lady! You cannot do such a thing!”
She blinked back hot tears, thinking of her mother now. Even as she spoke, she did not look at Sir Neil—she only had eyes for Alexander. “I can, and I will. This is war, Sir Neil, and in war, men change sides all the time. Why can’t I change my loyalties, too?” But she felt a tear sliding down her cheek. Her mother would approve. She simply knew it. But she felt ill, because once she performed an act of homage to Alexander MacDonald, her family would be her enemy.
But she must not contemplate that now.
“Bring them up into the courtyard at noon,” Alexander ordered his guards, eyes ablaze. “The prisoners will make their vows before me—as will Lady Margaret Comyn.” With that, he looked at her.
Margaret was taken aback. Why was he angry?
But Alexander then whirled and strode out of the cell, across the dungeons, and vanished into the stairwell.
Margaret hugged herself, staring after him. And all eyes remained upon her.
CHAPTER FIVE
“YE’LL SWEAR YER loyalty to the Wolf of Lochaber?” Peg had spoken with both disbelief and hostility.
It was noon. Margaret stood on the topmost step of the stairs leading from the great hall into the courtyard. Her men had already assembled there—Malcolm, Sir Neil, the archers and the soldiers. They were under a heavy guard.
The sun was high, amidst blue, cloudless skies, the mountains in the distance snowcapped. But she barely noticed the beauty of the land, for she was ill—very, very ill. In her stomach, in her heart—and in her soul.
She looked at Peg as she came to stand beside her. “He will spare them if I do.”
Peg’s eyes were on fire. “Yer mother despised the MacDonalds—as we all do!”
Margaret trembled, her stomach churning. What was she about to do? Could she really get down on one knee before Alexander MacDonald, and swear to keep her faith to him and him alone, as her liege lord, for the rest of her time on this earth?
“Mother would do what she had to do, to save her people,” Margaret whispered.
“She hated the MacDonalds!” Peg cried.
She had hated Clan Donald more than she had hated the English—that was true. But Margaret was certain her mother would have sacrificed her own interests, as Margaret was doing, to save the lives of the men who had fought so courageously for her.
“How will ye go to war against yer own family? Ye’ll have to fight every Comyn now, every MacDougall. What of William? He’d never let ye do this, Margaret, if he were not so ill!”
“Hush! Enough!” Unfortunately, every word Peg had uttered was true. Alexander was at war with all of England and half of Scotland—he was at war with the great Comyn family now. It would not be long before their armies met, the one on Bruce’s behalf, the other opposed against him. And what was she to do, then?
Would she be at Castle Fyne, awaiting word of a battle, whilst knowing her kin was fighting her liege lord?
She suddenly tensed, as Alexander emerged from the entry tower. He made a tall, proud figure, the wind whipping his dark hair about his shoulders, his mantle streaming like a cape behind him, both swords riding his thighs. The stiff breeze also buffeted his linen leine against his hard body. He appeared as powerful and as indomitable as when she had first glimpsed him.
She thought of his older brother, the lord of the Islay. Alasdair Og had married her maternal aunt, in spite of the hatred between their clans. She had heard so many tales about the couple, so it was impossible to know the truth—one such legend had it that Alasdair had abducted the lady Juliana from her bed, in the middle of the night, against her furious objections—and they had been married before dawn. Other tales claimed it had been love at first sight, and she had ridden off at midnight to meet him, against the explicit command of her father—risking her life to do so. It was also said that their marriage had been arranged during a brief truce between the clans.
If Juliana had been unwilling at first, then they had a great deal in common, Margaret thought. But this was not marriage. She was merely swearing to give her loyalty to Alexander in times of both war and peace, for as long as she lived. Juliana had had to marry the enemy; she had had to sleep with him and bear his children.
She realized she was staring at him, and that he was staring back.
“Oh, he makes a fine figure of a man,” Peg said angrily. “Is that why ye’ll swear fealty now? Betray yer beloved family? Did something happen last night? Do ye yearn for his embrace another time?”
Margaret was so angry, she could not breathe properly. “How dare you! I thought we were friends. I am trying to do what is right! This is hardly an easy decision.”
