Peg returned with a platter of bread, cheese and cold venison. Margaret was starving and for the next ten minutes, she ate ravenously, and in silence. When she was done, she thanked Peg and got up. “I am going to inspect the keep,” she said. “I want to see what he is doing.” She left Peg clearing the table, and went outside.
She paused in surprise, as the courtyard was a hive of activity, and the ramparts above were as busy. The castle had suffered a great deal of damage during the siege, and Alexander’s men were everywhere, some firing anvils, others sawing wood, others with hammers in hand. The walls were being repaired with mud and stone, the stone having clearly been brought in from the countryside. The drawbridge had been damaged somewhat in the siege, and it was down, a dozen men bent over it with hammers, planks of new wood and rope. The gates of the barbican were open and great planks of wood were being used to fortify it after the destruction caused by the Wolf’s battering rams.
There was even more. Other men were dragging huge casks from the cellars, and some of those casks were being winched up onto the ramparts. Still others were entering the keep, leading horse-drawn carts filled with rocks and stones or firewood.
Ignoring Peg, who had come outside behind her, Margaret walked down the stairs, realizing that this was why the Wolf was such a mighty warrior. He took nothing for granted. Clearly, these repairs had been underway since she had collapsed, as clearly he was preparing the castle for war.
Images flashed of the siege she had just resisted, of men climbing up the walls of her ramparts, of arrows and missiles flying, of her archers lined up, shooting at them, of her women attempting to stop them with burning oil. She felt sick.
She did not want to be a part of another siege again, yet she desperately needed just such an attack, if the castle were to be freed.
War now frightened her as never before, for it was no longer an abstract concept. Her gaze moved over everyone in the crowded bailey, and then in the barbican. She realized she was trying to locate the Wolf. Not having done so, she looked up at the ramparts.
Her heart lurched. Alexander stood there. He was with a great many men, directing their actions. He had shed his swords and mantle, and the breeze outlined his leine against his powerful body, while his dark hair streamed in the wind.
How mighty he appeared. Was she a madwoman, to think she might ever defeat him?
He glanced down at her.
She instantly turned away.
“Lady Margaret!”
She turned at the sound of Sir Neil’s voice. He was hurrying to her, clad only in his leine and boots, a dagger at his waist, a hammer in hand. He was smiling and she smiled back. “I heard you were awake,” he exclaimed. “We have been so worried about you.”
“I am sorry to have caused alarm,” she said, searching his gaze as he paused before her. “How are you, Sir Neil?”
He sobered. “In truth? I didn’t care for the Wolf’s trickery, lady, but he is a good leader. He is fair and strong. He works us hard, but he feeds us well.”
“You swore fealty, so you must be his advocate now.” She somehow smiled when she did not feel like smiling at all.
“But I will still protect ye,” Sir Neil said. “My one vow cannot change the other.”
Margaret decided not to point out the falsity of that. “This is rather impressive,” she said, glancing around. “Is he expecting an attack?”
“He has not said so, but I watch him closely, lady, and I believe he is. He has been urging these repairs and preparations, and when we are not mending stone and wood, we are in the fields, practicing with our swords and riding our horses.” He touched her sleeve. “Sir Guy is on the march.”
Her heart slammed. “Is he marching here?”
“I don’t know, my lady. He left Castle Ayr days ago, when it fell to Bruce.”
Was Sir Guy marching toward them? If he attacked, could he win? His reputation was an impressive one, but not as impressive as the Wolf’s. Would his brother, Aymer de Valence, aid him? If so, perhaps sheer numbers would win the day.
“How many men does Alexander have?” she asked.
“He has five hundred here. But he has the support of his brothers—I have heard that he can summon hundreds more, lady.”
“So can the English,” she said rather tersely.
Sir Neil started at her tone. Then he flushed, as Alexander said, from behind her, “Be careful of what ye wish for.”
She felt an impossible tension, and slowly, she turned. “How could I not wish for your defeat?”
“If I am defeated, Castle Fyne falls—it could easily be destroyed.”
Margaret was taken aback. “It is a great stronghold—are you telling me it could be razed to the ground?”
“No castle is indestructible, lady, not in this modern day, when we have siege engines and battering rams.”
