“Of course not.” She blushed. “He’s a frightening master, but he did not hurt me.” Then she rushed, “I still dinna wish to go to him again!”
Margaret realized she meant her every word. And she had to ask, because Eilidh seemed so young. “Eilidh—did he take your virginity?”
She shook her head quickly. “I was no virgin, lady, but before ye think badly, I had a true love. He was killed last year when the MacRuari came rustling here.”
Margaret was relieved, though sad for her loss.
There had been a battle that day. It had not gone well for Sir Guy. The armies would meet again tomorrow—and tonight, Alexander wanted a companion.
So many possibilities filled her mind that briefly, she was overwhelmed.
She had never met Sir Guy. What if she went in Eilidh’s place? Even if she only had the opportunity to view him from afar?
And she would be close to the battlefield. She would know the outcome immediately.
And if she took Eilidh’s place, an opportunity to escape might present itself. She could gather help and return to free William.
Excitement began. Peg was tall and voluptuous. Margaret could never hide under a hood and mantle, pretending to be her. But Eilidh was a petite woman, like herself. It was as if fate had presented Margaret with this moment.
“Give me your clothes,” Margaret said. “All of them.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
MARGARET COULD NOT stop shivering. She had been astride her mount for about three hours, traveling along a well-used path with Alexander’s two men, the way lit by the torch the lead rider held. The night was silent, except for the sound of their horses’ hooves on the frozen ground, the jangle of their bridles and their occasional blowing. The men did not talk. Every now and then an owl hooted. Once, in the far distance, she thought she heard a wolf baying.
She had never traveled in the middle of the night before, and she hoped to never do so again. She was just about to ask the men how much farther the camp was, when the path turned abruptly, and they came out of the forest.
Margaret gasped. They had paused their horses on the side of a ridge. Below, the night glowed with light, illuminated by dozens of campfires. Because of the brightness, she could just discern the array of tents formed by the army’s encampment. Above the camp, a half moon was hanging, surrounded by winking stars. After the past few hours of traversing nothing but dark, dense and snowy forests, it was a stunning sight.
Her heart began to race.
“Ye’ll be warm enough in a few more minutes,” one of the men said, somewhat lewdly.
Margaret did not bother to answer. The horses trotted down the ridge now, eager for the end of the journey and the hay they would surely be given. Margaret’s heart continued to pound too swiftly. In a few more moments, she would come face-to-face with Alexander.
She was not deluded—he would not be pleased to see her. But he could hardly send her back in the middle of the freezing night.
Their trek through the camp lasted for a few more minutes, and then she saw a tent three times the size of all the rest, a huge banner with a red dragon waving above it.
This time when she shivered, it was not from the cold.
Their horses halted and the two soldiers leapt to the ground. Margaret made certain her hood remained in place, its upper brim hiding her forehead, its cowl hiding her chin and mouth. Only her nose and eyes were exposed.
A soldier helped her alight. She followed both men to the tent’s flap door, fighting to remain composed. The first soldier called out, and Margaret heard Alexander reply.
The soldier lifted the flap for her. “Yer to go in, but then, he’s expecting ye.” He winked at her.
Margaret ignored him and stepped carefully into the tent.
The hide door dropped closed behind her.
Inside, it was warm. The tent was constructed of layers of thick hides, meant to keep the cold out, and several torches burned, at once illuminating the interior and warming it further. A hole atop the tent allowed the smoke to drift outside. Furs covered the floor. A small table and a bench were at one end, a large pallet at the other.
He had been sleeping, she saw. He stood by the pallet, clad only in his leine, which was unbelted and almost reached his knees. His hair was loose and disheveled. The fur covers had clearly just been thrown aside. She was afraid to look him in the eye.
But she looked up, without removing the hood or cowl.
Their regards met.
