She should not care. She did not want to care.
“Somehow, I dinna think yer looking for me.”
She jerked out of her terrible reverie at the sound of Alexander’s voice. He leaned against the doorway of the hall, his posture casual—his expression too bland. His eyes, however, were hard.
It was a moment before she could speak, and even so, her tone was strained. “Good morning, my lord. Bruce has left?”
“I feel certain ye ken that Bruce is gone.”
“I saw him leave, yes.”
“Ye disobeyed me directly, Lady Margaret. I am vastly displeased.”
“I could not stand the rumors,” she whispered.
“What rumors? And what excuse is that?” he demanded, anger now crossing his expression.
“The rumors of war. The rumors of a coronation. Does he march to Scone? Will he be crowned there?” she cried, trembling. She realized her fists were clenched. “And do you go to war tomorrow?”
“If he will be king, he will be crowned at Scone,” Alexander said, more calmly. But his gaze was still searing. “I am leaving tomorrow.”
“To attack Dumbarton? To attack every ally of King Edward as you march to Scone?” she cried.
“So yer maids were spying on us last night.”
Tears seemed to arise. “Please leave Isabella alone.”
“Ye discovered too much, Margaret.”
“You already mean to punish me, do you not? Yes, my maids overheard you last night. But Bruce told me that you go to battle at Dumbarton. I can imagine the rest. God, Alexander—you go to war against King Edward’s army!”
He studied her and began to smile. “Lady Margaret—are ye frightened for me? Even more now than before?”
She could not breathe properly. “I should not care. I know that. I really do not care! But I cannot wish you ill!”
His smile widened.
“You’re amused? You think it amusing—to fight a legitimate king, to make an illegitimate one?” She felt like striking him, the way her mother had once struck Bruce! “This is not some silly blood feud over stolen cattle! This is a great war waged by a would-be king against a great king!”
“Scotland has been fought over before,” he said, still smiling.
“Why? Why ride with Bruce? Six months ago you were King Edward’s vassal.”
“Yer worried about me.”
She wanted to deny it. But she could not, not even to herself. “I did not wish you ill when you fought Sir Guy, and I do not wish you ill now. I may be your hostage, but you have been just.”
He emitted a short laugh. “The lengths ye go to, to excuse yer affections for me!”
“I do not have affection for you!” she cried.
He studied her, his mouth soft. “I would be very dismayed,” he finally said, “should you ever wish me ill.”
Margaret had no response to make. She could not fathom the depth of her distress now. She wished he had never taken up Bruce’s cause. She wished he were not going to war tomorrow—and she even wished she were not planning to escape with William.
He moved away from the wall, saying, “We have digressed. There is no excuse ye can make fer disobeying my command.”
She took a breath. “I am aware that you are angry.”
