“How is he?”
She started. The question seemed odd—as odd as her wide-eyed expression. “He is a powerful liege lord, Isabella. One arrogant enough to think he can be king.”
She smiled. “I met him at Fife, before my marriage.”
“I did not know.”
“He was proud and arrogant then. I saw him after my marriage, too, at Lochmaben, and then at Dalswinton. He is a strutting cock of a man.”
Margaret stared closely now. “He asked about you—now I begin to understand—I hadn’t realized you had met one another once, much less several times.”
“He asked about me?” She seemed clearly pleased. “So he remembers me?”
Margaret seized her hand. Did Isabella think that Bruce recalled her because she was a beautiful young woman? “I do not know if he recalls your having ever met, but he knows of you. And I am very worried.” She leaned close and lowered her voice to a whisper. “He marches on Dumbarton—and then, to Scone. He will be crowned there soon.”
Isabella’s eyes were wider now. “He will be our king, Margaret—I am sure of it.”
Margaret jerked. This was not the reaction she had expected. “He cannot hope to defeat King Edward, Isabella. It is mad to even dream of doing so!”
“Why not? He is next in line to be king—and we cannot remain yoked to England for much longer. God must finally be on our side!”
Was this her pretty friend speaking? Isabella never voiced an opinion, especially not when it came to affairs of state or matters of politics. Margaret was disbelieving. “You wish for Bruce to be king?”
She hesitated. “He is next in line—everyone knows it.”
Margaret did not know what her hesitation signified. “Your husband will fight him to the end.”
She flushed. “Yes, he will.”
“Isabella! There is more. Bruce spoke of using you to aid him in his quest to be king.”
She gasped.
Margaret hurriedly explained. “He cannot summon your brother to the ceremony, and apparently the earls of Fife have traditionally participated in the crowning of every Scot king. He and Alexander discussed the possibility of using you in the ceremony instead. After all, you are still the Countess of Fife.”
Isabella’s color was now high. She was speechless.
“I have come to warn you,” Margaret said.
“Warn me? Oh, I am so glad you have told me this!”
Was Isabella pleased?
“But how would I get to Scone to help crown him?” she asked.
Margaret shot to her feet. “Are you mad? I thought to warn you against him.”
Isabella stood. “I would love to help him be king!”
Margaret stared at her in horror.
Still red, her eyes bright, she cried, “I must get word to him! I must tell him I will help him in any way that I can! Or should I simply leave and go to Scone?”
Margaret seized her arm. “Buchan is against Bruce! He will disown you if you ever take Bruce’s side!”
Isabella shook her head, almost wildly. “I don’t care, Margaret. Let Buchan fret and fight, I don’t care! Bruce should be our king!”
“You are suddenly political? Since when? If you help him, your marriage is doomed.”
