Margaret was seized from behind. “Let me be,” she screamed at the men, struggling to become free of them as they held her arms from behind. But as she struggled viciously against them, she stared at Alexander, hoping he knew just how much she hated him. He had tricked her, and she had never hated anyone more.
He stared coldly back at her.
A loud thump sounded.
Margaret went still. Slowly, she turned her head, and saw Malcolm hanging from the scaffold, his hands on the noose at his throat as he frantically attempted to loosen it.
She choked on the horror, turning her head away. As she did, someone seized her and pulled her forward, and she was enclosed in a powerful embrace.
Margaret realized Alexander was shielding her from watching Malcolm die. But all the same, she cried.
* * *
MARGARET KNELT BY William, who was unconscious, holding his hands. She could not stop weeping. Her heart was entirely broken. All was lost.
Castle Fyne was lost, her men were lost, and Malcolm had been hanged. And the damned Wolf of Lochaber had tricked her and her men.
But of course he had. Someone had said, from the beginning, that he was clever and shrewd and not to be trusted. She would never trust him again.
Why had he refused her oath of fealty? She was so distraught she could not think of a single reason for him to have done so.
Holding her brother’s hands, she laid her cheek on the pallet, tempted to crawl into bed with him. But he was hurt and the pallet was narrow and she did not want to disturb him. God, she was so alone! She needed comfort from someone, anyone, but there was no one to offer it to her.
When her tears finally ceased, she curled up on the floor beside William’s bed, exhausted. There were no rugs in his chamber, and the stones were freezing, but she almost welcomed the chilling cold. She did not care if she lived or died.
And when strong hands grasped her, and she was lifted into powerful arms, she was too exhausted to fight him another time.
Alexander carried her to her chamber, and left her there in her bed.
* * *
MARGARET AWOKE AND was surprised, because a bright, strong light was shining through her chamber’s single window, indicating it was midafternoon. For one moment, she was confused, as she attempted to sit up. She was so oddly weak—as if she had been ill. And then there was total recollection.
She sank back down onto her bed, recalling the siege, her captor, her men performing homage to him, and the hanging of Malcolm. And for one moment, she lay very still.
Why had Alexander carried her from the entry tower to her own chamber? And why had he refused her oath of fealty?
She was so weak—and so hungry—that she could not think clearly. She could not recall when she had last been as ravenous. Margaret attempted to sit up again, and this time, she felt dizzy.
She took her time, now concerned—she must not become ill. Castle Fyne had fallen, and she had lost her men, but the country was at war—Robert Bruce was fighting the English, and seeking Scotland’s throne. Castle Fyne could be retaken—it had to be retaken. Now, she thought about the first messengers, sent by Malcolm before the siege. Had the one headed for her mother’s brother ever reached him?
And where was Sir Ranald? Would he return with help? He would never abandon her!
Margaret managed to shove her feet to the floor, trembling from the exertion. Someone had removed her shoes, and they were on the floor, but she ignored them. She stood, her balance so precarious that she staggered to the door and fell upon it, sinking to her knees on the floor.
The door was opened immediately. “Yer awake!” Alan cried, sounding relieved. He stooped over her, extending his hand. “Let me help ye.”
“Don’t touch me,” she warned. She seized the door handle and stood up. How could she be so weak, when she needed to be so strong?
Alan met her gaze, his wide, and he turned and rushed off.
Margaret paused, gathering up her strength, hoping Peg might appear, to help her sort through the facts—and plot the future. As she did so, she heard his determined strides, on the stone stairwell, and she tensed.
Alexander appeared on the stairs, Peg behind him. His gaze locked instantly with hers.
She found it difficult to breathe. “Why am I so weak? What has happened?”
“Ye slept for three entire days, and Peg says ye haven’t eaten since the siege.”
