Something was bothering her, but Margaret dismissed it. Peg would tell her what was on her mind sooner, not later; she could not keep secrets. Margaret went to the door, opening it, and as she did, she heard Alexander on the stairwell.
She tensed as he appeared on the landing and they both ignored Alan, seated on his stool. “Is there any way you would be kind enough to allow me to see my brother before I retire?”
“No.” He walked past her, into his own chamber, where a fire already roared in the hearth.
Her heart sank. Grimly, she followed him to the threshold, but did not enter the room. He was removing his waist belt and dagger. She refused to recall the last time she had seen him doing so. “I wish to see for myself that he is better.”
“Ye wish to plan an escape while I am gone.” He faced her briefly, before sitting and removing his boots.
“But you will have Alan as my shadow. If we plot anything—he will report it.”
“If ye speak French, he will not know the contents of yer plot, Lady Margaret. Nor will I.” French was the language spoken amongst the nobility of Scotland, England and France. While Alexander was fairly fluent in French, his men appeared to only speak English and Gaelic. “Yer clever enough to arrange an escape when I am not present, and I have no intention of allowing that.”
“How could we escape?” she cried. “William isn’t well enough to travel through the forest in the midst of winter.”
He eyed her. “I can think of one or two ways—and ye are clever...eventually, ye will, too.”
She trembled, wondering if escape might be possible, with him gone. But she could not leave William behind. “I won’t leave my brother,” she said. “And I can swear to that.”
“So I can trust ye for the moment? Tomorrow I go to war, Lady Margaret, and I do not feel like having this battle now. My decision is final.”
She knew when she had hit an unmovable rock. Margaret did not even attempt to smile, but their stares locked. She suddenly wondered about his wife—the lover he had married, who had then died in childbirth. Had he ever been kind or considerate toward her? Had he ever given a command, only to later rescind it?
She did not think so.
“Good night, Lady Margaret,” he said.
She turned, not replying, going back into her room. Peg was standing in its center, barefoot, but clasping her plaid about her. “I must run downstairs,” she said.
Margaret thought that odd, but she nodded, going to each taper and blowing them out. The small fire remained in the hearth for warmth. She crawled into the bed, cuddling under the covers as Peg left.
She wasn’t angry, for she had expected him to deny her. She even understood why he had done so.
She hoped she was not becoming soft toward the enemy. First she had been hesitant about wishing for Sir Guy to defeat him, and now, she understood why he would not let her see her brother. But at least William was healing.
Her eyes were closing, and she realized that she would fall asleep easily, in spite of how much she had slept these past few days. She was still overburdened and overtired. So much had happened...and now, there would be another battle...and maybe she would soon be free....
A loud thump awoke her. Margaret clutched the covers, eyes wide, staring into the dark. It took her a moment to calm, as her reaction to being awoken abruptly, in the middle of the night, was one of fear. But no one began a siege in the middle of the night. She had probably been dreaming. Still, her heart continued to race.
She began to relax into the quiet now, and then she realized that other half of the bed was empty. She sat up. “Peg?” she whispered. The embers in the hearth cast a small halo of light. Peg was not on a pallet on the floor, where she sometimes slept when Margaret was too restless and bothersome.
Margaret sank back down, curling up under the covers. Before she could wonder where Peg was, she heard a woman’s throaty moans coming from the adjacent chamber.
She felt her cheeks flame. Alexander had a woman in his bed, she managed to think, stunned. But why was she surprised? Most men spent the night with their lovers or their wives. He would hardly be celibate for all of this time.
Margaret clapped her hands over her ears, to block out the disturbing, distressful noises.
The woman seemed quiet now, but Margaret was afraid to unclasp her ears. Slowly, she did so. She was stiff with a tension she could not identify. The one thing she did know was that she was upset.
But why should she care what Alexander did—or who he took to his bed?
She began to worry about where her missing maid might be.
And then she heard a thump, followed by another one and another one, and the rhythmic pounding was unmistakable. Margaret dove under the covers, seizing her pillow, as the woman gasped in pleasure again. She pulled the pillow over her head, but it could not block out the sound of the woman’s growing delight. Margaret threw the pillow away, covered her ears with her hands, and gritted her teeth. It was a long time before the adjacent chamber was silent, and even longer before she fell asleep.
* * *
MARGARET STOOD BEFORE the fire she had stoked herself, warming her hands. It was at least an hour before dawn. She had at last fallen asleep when the lovers next door had finally stopped their lovemaking, but she thought she had only slept a few minutes. She was too distressed to sleep any more—and too angry.
