The maid hesitated. “Lady, ye dinna eat. Ye should eat, to keep up yer strength.”
She sounded the way Peg used to sound—as if she were actually concerned. “What is your name?”
“Eilidh, my lady,” she said, with a small smile.
Margaret tried to eat a bit more, as the maid cleaned up the rest of the table. Eilidh was industrious, her actions filled with energy. Margaret watched her, very aware that she needed a new maid. “You were on the ramparts during the siege, stoking the fires for the burning oil,” she said softly.
Eilidh glanced at her in the midst of wiping down the table. “Yes, my lady, as was my sister, my mother and my nephews. And we saw ye there, too.”
Margaret stood up. “I cannot thank you enough for your courage, Eilidh.”
“My sister’s husband is one of yer archers, my lady—ye saved his life, when ye asked him to swear fealty to the MacDonald. We’re all so grateful to ye.” She smiled shyly. “We’re so pleased to have our lady back.”
She clearly meant it. “I am sorry I failed all of you,” Margaret said. “I am sorry we lost Castle Fyne.”
“Ye dinna fail us, lady. My grandmother served yer mother, until she was handfasted to Master Comyn and she left us. She says yer just like her—brave and kind. How could ye fight off the mighty Wolf? No one blames ye, lady.”
Margaret thought, I blame myself. But she said, “Eilidh, would you care to serve me while I am here? I no longer have a lady’s maid, but I desperately need one.”
Pleasure shone on her small face. “I would love to be yer maid, my lady!”
“Then go upstairs and ready my chamber for the night. Someone else can clean the table.” Margaret smiled.
The young maid hurried to obey, and Margaret went to the kitchens, to give the final orders of the night. Peg sat with two other women at the table there, looking defiant and sullen. Margaret ignored her as she asked everyone to finish tidying up.
Upstairs, Eilidh had stoked the fire in the hearth, and was now heating water for a hot bath. Braziers were being warmed for Margaret’s bed. She had even brought up a cup of hot wine. Clearly, the maid was eager to serve her. Margaret’s every instinct told her she had chosen well. She was about to disrobe, her earlier grief dissipating, when a knock sounded on her chamber door.
Margaret could not imagine why someone was at her door at bedtime. She rushed to answer it, and found Alan outside, a strange look on his face. “My lady, I am sorry to disturb ye, but the Wolf has sent two messengers to us.”
“Is there news? Has there been a battle?”
Alan met her gaze. “His lordship attacked this afternoon, not at Loch Riddon, but at Cruach Nan Cuilean,” he said. “The English suffered heavy losses, being trapped in a mountain pass, but they managed to flee.”
It was over? She was incredulous. “The Wolf has won?”
“No, my lady, their armies will fight again in the morning. Both sides have retreated to their camps for the night, on either side of the mountain.”
She became wary. “So he has simply sent us the war news?” Why would Alexander send two men to her, merely to tell her what had happened? Or, did he have another message of some kind?
Alan flushed and lowered his voice. “His lordship wishes for Eilidh to come to him, tonight.”
For one moment, comprehension escaped Margaret.
Alan said quickly, “He would hardly know that ye have asked her to serve ye, Lady Margaret, and I cannot refuse him.”
Margaret could not believe it. First he had summoned Peg, now he summoned her new maid? Could he not remain celibate for a single night?
She trembled, torn between dismay and anger. “Excuse me,” she said to Alan tartly, then slammed the door in his face.
She turned, and Eilidh burst into tears. “I dinna wish to go, lady! I am not like Peg! I like serving ye, and wish to do so always!”
“Stop,” Margaret said. “And let me think.” She was of half a mind to send that damned Peg to him—Peg would be eager to go. She began to pace. He was at war! Why did he have to send for a woman? It was unbelievable!
But she needed to confront this problem. “Eilidh—have you already been with Alexander?”
She nodded, seeming ashamed.
Margaret turned away, further dismayed. Did she now care about his affair with Eilidh? She shouldn’t care about anything he did, or anyone he did it with! Then she turned back to her. “Did he hurt you?” she asked briskly. She had to know.
