Alexander was reading the letter now.
“I am to have patience. I am to have hope.”
He then looked up. “Do ye wish to keep this?”
Bitter tears filled her eyes. “Burn it.”
He walked to the fireplace and dropped the parchment in the flames. Then he faced her. “I hardly wish to give ye hope. But if he meant to attack, he would never say so.”
“He doesn’t. I know him well. He expects me to wait here, as a prisoner—as your prisoner—until you are defeated or this war ends! But it will never end, will it?” She wiped her eyes roughly with her fingertips.
“So ye feel sorry for yerself now?”
She blinked at him. It was a moment before she spoke. “Yes, I feel sorry for myself now.” She heard how defiant her tone was. “I am just one woman, and you are the mighty Wolf. I cannot continue to fight you, Alexander, alone like this.”
“But I do not wish to fight ye, Margaret. I never have.”
“Don’t. I am still intended for Sir Guy!” And now she realized that their union was more important than ever.
“When he has but one use for ye?” He was scathing.
She got to her feet. “I do not wish to discuss Sir Guy.”
“Ye never do. But I wish to discuss him now.”
She shook her head.
“When will ye admit that he was rude, unbearable—that he insulted ye, that ye deserve better?”
“It is late. You should leave.”
“I dinna wish to leave.” He folded his arms across his chest as if he meant to stand there in her room for a very long time. “Do ye think avoiding the subject of Sir Guy will change the truth? Do ye think that avoiding me will change anything?”
She decided to feign absolute ignorance of what he meant—when she knew his meaning completely! “The truth is that I am promised to an English knight, one reputed to be honorable and brave, and now, my family fights for King Edward, so the alliance is a good one.”
“The truth is yer a great lady, too good for Sir Guy. And yer a Highland lass, like yer mother. Ye belong with a Scot or a Highlander.”
“Do not ask me to be your mistress again!” she cried.
“I’m no fool. I ken ye’ll be loyal fer as long as ye can—until there’s no point.”
It took her a moment. “Do not kill Sir Guy, Alexander. Not on my account.”
He smiled, but it was chilling. “I almost killed him at the war parley. He insulted ye. I dinna like it. My blood boiled.”
She was stunned. She hadn’t known—he had been a master at hiding his anger.
“And if he’s dead, there will be no point to yer loyalty,” he said.
“You read the letter!” she cried. “We are at war! Now, we fight with the English, against you, against Bruce! Whether Sir Guy lives or not!”
“You prefer King Edward’s rule to Bruce’s?” He studied her. “One day ye will meet Bruce and ye’ll change yer mind—and yer loyalties.” He turned to the doorway, but then turned back. “Avoiding me will not change the kisses we shared, or that I want ye—or that ye want me back.”
She trembled.
“I’m a patient man, Lady Margaret, and ye may take that as fair warning.”
Margaret did not answer, watching him leave.
