She started, and then she looked him over with great care. She saw cuts upon his thighs that might have been caused by shrubs and branches, and an abrasion upon his arm. “You are not hurt?”
“I am not hurt.”
She realized just how relieved she was. And he reached out to steady her, for she was trembling. She glanced up and their gazes collided yet again. “I am pleased,” he said slowly, “that ye worry overly.”
What could she say? She tried, “You must be tired. Please, sit down. Peg! Bring wine!”
He settled upon the bench, and seriously said, “A great many men have been wounded, Lady Margaret, and dozens have died. We fought for almost two entire days.”
She sat beside him, carefully folding her hands in her lap. “I take it you were victorious?”
“Aye, but the cost was great.”
Her thoughts now raced. He had won, she remained his captive.
“Ye have yet to ask about Sir Guy.”
She smiled grimly. “I have prayed he is well,” she lied, speaking rather tersely. “How is he?”
“Sir Guy suffered a mild wound to his shoulder—but he will live to fight another day.” He finally sipped the cup of wine Peg had given to him.
Surely, Margaret was relieved. Surely, she had some small care for the man who would be her husband! “And I thank God he is not seriously harmed.”
He was staring, his expression slightly bemused. “He is fortunate he did not lose his arm.”
“You saw him receive the wound?”
“I delivered the blow, Lady Margaret.”
Her tension instantly increased as she recalled how Alexander had stated that he might have to kill Sir Guy. She could imagine the two men wielding swords against one another, each intending to kill, and she shuddered.
Appearing very satisfied, Alexander drained his cup of wine.
Margaret refilled it for him and handed it back. She asked carefully, “Did you seek him out purposely? Did you wish to kill him?”
“Did he not vow to destroy me?”
Alexander had deliberately sought to attack Sir Guy, she was certain. And he had meant to kill him if he could.
“He will be back to fight another day—with more of the king’s men.”
She looked at him. “Are you certain?” she asked.
A long pause ensued. Alexander finally said, “He wants Castle Fyne.”
Margaret flinched and looked away. Alexander was astute, and he had witnessed her entire exchange with Sir Guy. He knew, as she did, that Sir Guy had no care for her, except for the dowry she brought to their union. She thought about how angry he had been at the war parley. “Yes, I imagine he will be back—he must be enraged.”
“Angry or not, Castle Fyne is a great prize. King Edward will want to control the route to Argyll—he will wish for Sir Guy to command Castle Fyne.”
She stiffened as their gazes locked. “Just as Bruce now wishes for you to command Castle Fyne?”
“Aye.”
Margaret looked at her hands. The implications of the war and how she was affected by it now hit her with great force. Castle Fyne was in the midst of the storm of war—just as she was. How those winds blew would decide her fate.
“Do ye pray fer Sir Guy’s return?”
Slowly, she looked up. “It is my duty to be loyal to him.”
