Margaret was bewildered. The conversation seemed personal—as if the men knew one another.
“I always laughed when anyone referred to you as the Wolf, Alexander. I would laugh to myself when I would hear the stories of how ruthless you are!” Sir Guy rode his horse in a tight circle now, about Alexander and Padraig, the animal tossing its head. The older knight did not move. “But you are exactly as claimed, damn it. You could have attacked Inverary or Lachlan—but you attacked what is mine!”
They did know one another, Margaret thought in disbelief. And he already called Castle Fyne his?
“Castle Fyne is a very fine castle, Sir Guy. It controls a portion of the sound, most of the loch, and the route into Argyll. And it is on MacDonald borders...I can think of no better place to attack.”
“You coldhearted bastard,” Sir Guy said.
Margaret flinched, but Alexander seemed amused. “Surely Buchan will give yer intended another portion for her dowry? He has lands throughout the north.”
“My lands are in the south and you know it. I will never forgive you for this, Alexander, and neither will Buchan!” Sir Guy jerked hard on his reins in his anger, and his bay stallion reared.
“And I am sorry we are on opposite sides of this war.” Alexander was calm—so calm it was hard to decide if he meant his words or not.
“You are a madman, to betray the king and ride with Bruce! When he is caught he will hang, his lands forfeited to King Edward’s noblest allies. You will hang beside him, your lands will be forfeit, too.”
“Bruce will not be caught, nor will I. King Edward will never take on the lords of the isles—he will always need me and my brothers to rule the seas of the western Hebrides.”
“Never is an extraordinary word—perhaps you should not use it!”
“If ye have come to rant and rave, then we are wasting the day.”
Sir Guy drove his horse up to Alexander’s mount, so that their shoulders brushed. “We have fought together, many times. We have supped, shared wine and women. Once, we were friends. Now, I thought it behooved me to tell you that I will never forgive you for what you have done, and you will pay dearly for your betrayal of me and our liege.”
“If ye think I will thank ye for such a warning, think again. But mostly, ye should think long and hard about making threats—when I have yer bride.”
Sir Guy stared, and Margaret cried out unthinkingly.
“Do you care about her, at all?” Alexander asked, coldly. “Ye have not asked how she is.”
Sir Guy looked past him. Margaret began to tremble as their gazes met.
Sir Guy inhaled, a hissing sound. And he drove his bay steed past Alexander and Padraig, toward her.
Margaret knew she turned red. So this was Alexander’s plan—to anger Sir Guy!
And as he came forward, she saw that her uncle had not lied—he was a handsome man. But his gray eyes were filled with disbelief.
The bards who sang about her so often sang about her long, curly red-gold hair. Margaret dropped her hood and released her braid, finger combing her hair into a mane, looking down and away. She wasn’t trying to be demure—she was suddenly frightened, terribly so.
This man was going to be her husband. And if she had learned one thing that day, it was that he had a hot temper.
“Lady Margaret?” His tone was as incredulous as his eyes.
She fought for composure and met his regard. Why did she have the terrible inkling that he was neither kind nor compassionate? “Yes, Sir Guy, I am Lady Margaret—your intended.”
“My God, he brought you here!”
Margaret bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She did not want Sir Guy to discover that she had used treachery to slip into Alexander’s camp. She glanced at Alexander. He was watching them, and she was instantly relieved—she knew he would not reveal her secret.
“I am so sorry we are meeting this way,” she managed to say.
“Has he hurt you?” Sir Guy demanded.
“No.”
Sir Guy stared very closely now. “Why do you blush, Lady Margaret?” he asked.
