Her heart turned over once more. But they hardly had time to argue. “Does it change my name? I am Margaret Comyn. Does it change who my uncle is—who my brother is? Does it change that I am to wed Sir Guy in June?”
“Sir Guy might refuse to marry ye, if he learned of this.” His stare was sharp.
“He must never know! Buchan must never know! My uncle would lock me away in a tower for the rest of my life if he ever learned of this.”
“Margaret, I ken ye fear Buchan—as ye should. But he cannot harm ye here. He cannot harm ye while yer under my protection.”
Margaret tensed, realizing he was right—but she planned to escape. “Dughall must be sworn to secrecy,” she said.
“Dughall has already been sworn to secrecy.” He studied her. “But ye must have a care with yer maids.”
“I know.”
He glanced over his shoulder, into the hall. “I would like to stand here, speaking with ye, for some time, especially on this topic, but I canna. We are leaving. It is time.”
Her heart lurched. “When will you return?”
“I dinna ken. Months, mayhap. Even after Bruce has the throne, the war will rage on. King Edward will have to suffer many defeats to ever accept the loss of Scotland—as will men like your uncle Buchan.”
“I hate this war,” she said, aware of how uneven her tone sounded. “Bruce said the war would be a long one.”
“We fight for a throne. Such matters cannot be swiftly decided.”
“I want to see you again, Alexander. Do not die.”
His eyes blazed. “Then you will. God keep ye, Margaret.”
Their stares held, and then he was turning and striding away, his swords bumping his thighs as he walked. Margaret hugged herself. “God keep you,” she said harshly.
Then she realized that Padraig was staring, Sir Neil was staring, others were staring. She turned away, shaken, afraid her feelings had been written all over her face.
She heard them leaving, a thunder of booted steps across the stone floors and out the courtyard doors. Margaret told herself she must not feel such a sense of loss.
Peg stepped into the hall. “Margaret?”
Margaret understood and she looked at her. Peg wanted to know if they were putting their plan of escape into effect.
Alexander was gone. It would be months before he returned. And one night did not change who he was or who she was.
She had betrayed her family and Sir Guy last night, but that did not mean she had changed her loyalties. Besides, she could not remain at Castle Fyne, Alexander’s prisoner, knowing what she did.
“Be at the north door in two hours,” Margaret said.
* * *
THE COURTYARD HAD been terribly crowded and filled with gawkers as Alexander and his knights had ridden out, but now it was quiet. Margaret paused on the steps leading into the yard, Eilidh behind her, both women in disguise.
Their hoods were full, their cowls long. Margaret wore Eilidh’s clothes. Both women looked like Highland maids. But Margaret did not move down the steps.
William’s plan would have been better, she thought, if they had left while Alexander and his knights were riding out, causing a great spectacle—most of the castle had turned out to watch and wave farewell. Now, the courtyard was too quiet. Some men and women were leading several cows into the yard, while a carpenter was making repairs to a door. Four children played in one corner and a pair of soldiers guarded the entry tower. On the ramparts, Alexander’s archers stood, and the watch was in all the towers.
She knew his huge army was on the march, and slowly leaving the camp it had made outside the castle’s walls, but from where she stood, she could not see it. Instead, she felt terribly exposed.
Her pulse raced. She told herself that no one would recognize her now, especially not from the ramparts above, and she started down the steps, Eilidh following. If they were to successfully escape, they must do so now.
She must not think about what she meant to do, either—she must simply do it. Aware of Eilidh on her heels, Margaret hurried across the courtyard, away from the entry tower, toward its northernmost walls.
Ahead, she saw Peg there, laughing with the Highlander guarding the north exit. Peg had been eager to help—as long as she could escape and go home with them. Margaret glanced behind them and relief arose—William was hurrying toward them in his own disguise.
