“The Wolf has five hundred men, does he not?”
She looked closely at him. He turned to face her, his back now to the window and the newly rising sun. “He has five hundred men, perhaps more, if his brother sent him an army, too.”
“And he leaves in two more days? The day after tomorrow?”
“No. My understanding is that he leaves tomorrow, but I have not yet spoken with him.” She shivered. She was aware of her dismay as she spoke of Alexander leaving, to go to war with Bruce. “What do you plan?”
“We will leave the castle from the north door. From there, we must only cross a short patch of forest, and we will be on the road. We can slip into his army, where we will never be discovered.”
Every castle had one or more small doors that could admit and expel a man on foot or even one astride, but no more than that. She stared, her mind racing. “You are guarded,” she began.
“Leave the potion with me—I will administer it myself. I will wear my guard’s clothes. You must disguise yourself, as well. As you just said, it was chaos this morning in the hall. It is chaos when the army leaves.”
She trembled, beginning to understand. “Even if you and I can get to the north exit, it is also guarded.”
“That is where Peg can be of value—do you doubt her ability to distract any man?” He smiled.
Could his plan actually work? She was incredulous. She knew she could slip away in disguise, so reaching the north door would not be difficult. And Peg could distract the guard at the small north exit. She would offer her some reward to do so. And once she left the castle, she could run into the forest....
Then she thought of Alexander and she sobered.
She knew he would be furious if she escaped—and he might even be disappointed.
She reminded herself that she had never given him her word that she would not eventually make such an attempt. It was her duty to escape, more so now than ever. Not only was she his prisoner, Bruce was seeking the crown. Isabella had to be warned, in case Bruce thought to use her against her will—and force her to commit treason.
William’s plan might work. If they could merge into Alexander’s army, they would never be remarked. And once at Dumbarton, they would be able to find friends to help them get to Buchan, if he was still in the south, or to return to Balvenie in the far north.
“What if I cannot bring you another potion? I have reason to believe that Alexander might not allow me to visit you again,” she said slowly.
William shrugged. “I am friends with all my guards. I am no longer weak, but they do not know that. I will strike my guard from behind. I am leaving this place, Margaret, to return to Buchan lands, because we are at war and I must fight!”
In that moment, William reminded her of her father. He was very young—not even twenty—but he was fierce and proud, and so handsome. She felt herself nod. “Then we must decide upon the final details now—because we might not have another chance.”
“He will leave after breakfast,” William said. “Like Bruce, Alexander and his knights will depart first. You and I will meet two hours after he leaves, exactly, at the north door. Peg will distract the guard, and we will slip from the castle, run into the forest, and join the rest of the army as it is departing.”
Margaret nodded, suddenly hugging herself. Was she dismayed? Wasn’t she thrilled to finally be planning an escape—one that might be successful?
“And Margaret? If one of us fails to escape, the other must go.”
She started. “I do not like the sound of that,” she cried.
He held up his hand. “There is no choice now. We must warn Isabella, we must warn Buchan, and Bruce must be stopped before he ever reaches Scone. We escape tomorrow.”
* * *
MARGARET RETURNED TO the hall, but slowly. She felt cold, and she hugged her mantle tightly to her. She did not know why she wasn’t excited over William’s plan. Tomorrow they might successfully escape; tomorrow they might be free! For it was a very good plan, and the odds might even be in their favor, now that Alexander trusted her enough to allow her some freedom of movement.
Was that the problem? That he trusted her somewhat? That she knew it? They were enemies, but in a way, an odd friendship had also formed. She had come to respect him; she had come to admire him. She was his prisoner, but she also knew he would keep her safe from all other enemies. He had even tried to protect her from Bruce.
What was wrong with her? As long as they were on opposite sides of this war, they could not be friends—and she must not forget that. He remained the enemy—and it was her duty to attempt an escape.
Tomorrow she might be on the road, hidden amidst his great army, as he rode to war. He would attack Dumbarton, and then continue to attack every enemy in Bruce’s path as they marched to Scone, while she went home to Balvenie. There, she would embrace Isabella, warn her uncle, and plead with both her uncle and Sir Guy to retake Castle Fyne. She would probably stay in the north until her marriage in June. Alexander would remain at Bruce’s side, as they fought to gain and keep Scotland’s throne.
She faltered in the corridor, too dismayed to go on. Oh, how she hated this war! How she hated all war! She had lost three of her brothers in war, and recently, so many of her archers and soldiers, and Malcolm. She began to shiver. Briefly, she had started to believe Bruce could be victorious, but that had been when in his powerful presence. She wasn’t overcome by him now. Bruce was one man, and a Scot at that, and he would never defeat King Edward!
Bruce would either die gloriously on the battlefield, or ingloriously, with his head upon the chopping block.
And Alexander’s fate was tied to Bruce’s. She did not believe he would be spared. If Alexander did not die in battle he would be executed alongside his leader. If he managed to escape King Edward, he would be in exile, an outlaw living in the forests....
