She knew she must not allow her mind to go in such a direction. Instead, she must concentrate on all the advantages a union with Sir Guy would bring to her and the entire Comyn family.
“The Wolf has never been defeated in battle,” Eilidh said, but carefully.
Margaret looked at her, jerked out of her wayward thoughts. “He is outnumbered, Eilidh. He may be defeated this time.”
“We will have word as soon as the battle is over,” Eilidh said, smiling in a comforting manner. “News flies faster than any bird. We will soon learn who has triumphed, lady.”
Eilidh was right on that one point—someone would soon appear at her castle walls, and he would be the victor. But which man would it be?
“And Sir Guy has a great army. He will probably be at our walls at any moment.” But now, Eilidh’s smile was gone. “And ye’ll be a free lady once more.”
Margaret knew Eilidh hoped to reassure her. But that was impossible, when her heart was weighing her down, and she was faced with so much uncertainty. “Yes, if Sir Guy triumphs, I will be free.”
Eilidh’s smile vanished. Peg turned to stare sharply at her.
“I am worried,” Margaret said to Eilidh. “That is all.” She picked up her knife and used it to push her food around her trencher. She kept recalling how Alexander so often looked at her—with scrutiny and consideration—as he tried to fathom her thoughts. It was as if he cared to know what she was thinking. In his camp, she had wondered if he cared about her welfare.
She did not think Sir Guy would ever care about her thoughts. But she must not compare the two men. No good could come of it.
Eilidh hesitated by her side. “Ye should eat, lady. Yer already like a feather! Ye dinna wish to become ill.”
“You’re right. I should eat. I should have some wine. Worrying will not solve anything.”
Pleased, Eilidh rushed to pour her wine. As she did, Peg stalked out of the hall.
Margaret watched her old friend with a grimace. The pain of her betrayal had already subsided, so perhaps Alexander had been right, and they hadn’t really ever been as close as she had thought. But Peg was angry, and that did not bode well.
“Eilidh, I want you to continue to wait on me. In a short time, I have come to depend on you.”
“Really?” Eilidh gasped, her surprise obvious.
“Really.” Margaret smiled, clasping her hand. She liked the young girl very much. “I will even take you home with me, to the north, if I ever return there.”
“Oh, lady, thank ye! Castle Fyne is my home, but I think I wish to serve ye, always! I am so proud to serve the lady of Fyne!”
Before Margaret could respond, she heard pounding footsteps outside the hall. She stiffened, gripping the edge of the table. Dughall burst into the hall.
She took one look at his ecstatic expression, and her heart slammed.
The Wolf had won.
“The Wolf returns, Lady Margaret!” Dughall shouted, confirming her thoughts. “His army is on the road, and his knights are at the barbican, his banner waves proudly, and he is at their head!”
She stood up, stunned. And there was no mistaking the flood of relief within her.
Alexander had defeated Sir Guy.
She was so relieved that she could hardly deny it. However, she had no intention of analyzing her reaction to Alexander’s victory now. He was returning; his army was returning.
She rushed from the table. “Is he hurt?”
“I dinna think so!” Dughall exclaimed, and then he turned and raced back out of the great room.
Her heart thundered now. “We will be feeding a great many men,” she said briskly to Eilidh. She took a deep breath. “Have more meat brought up from the cellars, and bring up another barrel of cheese and several barrels of wine. And there will be wounded to attend. Send several maids for linens, as many as they can find. Begin warming water. And my chest—bring it to the hall!” She lifted her skirts and ran out of the great room without waiting for the maid to respond. She hurried up the stairwell and onto the ramparts.
Twilight was upon the land, cool and gray, with a few snowflakes falling. A few of the knights and archers who had been left behind to guard the castle were already present, as were a great many of the castle’s women, and they were all leaning over the crenellations, waving and calling out with cheers to the returning army. Her heart was racing madly as she ran along the ramparts, passing her people. She tried to gaze past the crowds, over their heads and shoulders, and over the crenellations. She could just barely see the huge army slowly rippling up the forest road. She could not see the forefront, which had reached her castle walls. She ran faster.
Margaret reached the entry tower and rushed to the closest wall adjacent to it. She seized the rough stone wall and looked down at the barbican.
