“Keep yourself out of harm’s way,” he said.
She somehow nodded.
But he did not wait to see; he was galloping back to his men. “A de Valence!” he shouted, his war cry. “For King Edward!”
His knights roared the same war chant, “A de Valence! For King Edward!” And as one unit, they wheeled, galloping away.
Margaret held on to her saddle, close to collapse. That was her future husband. She began to feel ill. He had such a hot temper. And he had no care for her—none. He only cared that she brought him Castle Fyne. He only cared that both she and the castle had been taken from him.
A strong hand grasped her arm, steadying her. “Will ye fall off?”
She glanced up at Alexander. She meant to make a jest and make light of the moment, but she could not do so.
“I would be proud if ye ever fought to defend what was mine,” he said softly.
Margaret began to shake. She felt even sicker than before.
He raised his voice as he regarded his men. “Take her back to Castle Fyne. Make certain no harm comes to her.”
Margaret jerked, realizing that he meant to send her home—and that he was going to battle. “Let me stay! I will even swear not to try to escape!”
He barely glanced at her. “Ye’ll return to Castle Fyne.” And then he stood in his stirrups, roaring, “A Bruce! A Donald! A Alasdair!”
And his men roared his war cries back at him.
And the ridges and forests of Cruach Nan Cuilean shook.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“WHAT IS WRONG, LADY? Ye’ve barely spoken since ye came back.”
Margaret was seated at the table in the great hall. Young Dughall and another Scot had escorted her back to Castle Fyne two days ago. Eilidh had just set a trencher down before her, and her gaze was concerned. Peg, who was serving the guards at another table, turned.
How she wished for a confidante. The past two days had been interminable. She could not stop recalling her brief stay in Alexander’s camp—and the war parley with Sir Guy. She could not cease thinking of her future as Sir Guy’s wife, nor of the battle that might still rage near Loch Riddon.
“It has been two days, with no word,” she said. “I am anxious to learn what has happened...and to discover if Sir Guy has triumphed.”
When she had left, both armies had been preparing to do battle. She was desperate to learn of the outcome.
Sir Guy had vowed to destroy Alexander.
Her heart slammed with worry and fear. She knew she worried about Alexander’s welfare—she hoped he would not be hurt in the battle. But she must hope that Sir Guy won. It was her duty to be loyal to him. Her uncle would be supporting Sir Guy in his quest to defeat Alexander and take Castle Fyne back. So would William, so would all her Comyn and MacDougall kinsmen. This wait to learn who had triumphed and who had lost was impossible.
An image flashed, of Sir Guy looking at her, his gray gaze wide with disbelief and disapproval. He did not appreciate what she had done to defend Castle Fyne. She had summoned up every ounce of courage she had to defy the Wolf’s demand that she surrender. She knew nothing of sieges, but she had had to quickly learn, and improvise. She had even gone to the ramparts to fight alongside her archers, her soldiers and her women.
He disapproved.
She had been aghast. No woman wished to offend her future husband! Every woman hoped to please the man she would eventually wed.
Worse, Sir Guy already considered Castle Fyne his. Yet their union hadn’t even been consummated—until they married, Castle Fyne was hers. It was her dowry, it had been her mother’s—how could Sir Guy speak as if he already possessed it?
But if he triumphed now, if he defeated Alexander, if he took Castle Fyne back, they would marry as planned. He would possess Castle Fyne; he would possess her.
She was trying to remain brave, but she was scared. She kept recalling his hot temper, his lack of respect, his disapproval of her. And she was scared of the man she would marry in June.
She knew she must not compare her future marriage to the union her parents had had. But she could not help herself. Her father had rarely disapproved of her mother. And then she had the treacherous thought: Alexander had not disapproved of her actions, either. To the contrary.
It was so tempting to hope that Alexander was the victor now.
