He halted and crossed his arms. “And what, pray tell, would attending a parley, or seeing Sir Guy from afar, gain ye?”
“I have never seen him!”
“So, ye hope to be reassured that yer English husband is not a toad? Or do ye think to arouse him? So fiercely, that he will forever hold to yer cause?”
She flushed. She knew very well that it would not hurt her cause if Sir Guy found her pleasing. He might become more resolved to have her and Castle Fyne.
“Mayhap,” he added, somewhat scathingly, “ye even think to find a moment in which to send him a message—or even to escape.”
She knew her cheeks were even warmer, because he was right. She had wondered if she could bribe a guard to get a message to him, alerting him to the fact that she was there. She had half hoped he would think of a way to help her escape. With great care, she said, “I would escape if I could. It is my duty to escape. You know that.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “Ye won’t escape, not even from here.”
He was so hard that she believed him. Suddenly, there was despair. A silence fell. It was fraught with tension.
He gave her a dark look, walked over to the table and poured two cups of wine. “War is no place for a woman.”
“What will happen tomorrow?”
He took up her cup and walked to her. “There will be a battle, and this time, I intend to chase Sir Guy back to England.” He handed the cup to her.
He had become savage as he spoke. “My fate is at stake, Alexander.”
He stared for a prolonged moment. “I might almost believe that ye came here to make yer fate.”
“Staying at Castle Fyne, while my fate swings in the balance between you and Sir Guy, hardly seemed resourceful.”
“I dinna think ye truly hope fer Sir Guy’s victory.”
She was stiff with tension. “I can hardly hope for your victory.”
“Ye dinna answer.”
“Of course I do. I want Castle Fyne back.” She meant her last words.
“But do ye truly wish fer an English husband?” He lifted his cup and drained it.
She did not have a good answer, so she did not speak.
“I dinna think so. Sir Guy will not win.” He strode back to the table and poured more wine. Margaret realized he was far more than tense; he was angry.
She took a sip of the wine, trying to hide her dismay. Unfortunately she was afraid that he was right. “Will you let him know that I am here? Is there a reason you cannot do so?”
“Why would I do such a thing? I cannot think of a good reason to flaunt ye before Sir Guy.”
She wet her lips. “And if I asked you, as a friend?”
“Ye keep claiming we are enemies. Now, we are friends?”
“You claim we are not enemies.”
He gave her a very intent look.
“Ye will never be my enemy.” He was final. “But ye should tread with care, Lady Margaret. My mood is foul this night.”
“That is exactly what I am trying to do!” she cried. “You know I don’t wish you ill, when I should pray for your defeat and downfall!”
He studied her for another moment, then drained his mug. “Ye should have stayed at Castle Fyne.”
