“Margaret!” He rushed up the stairs, eyes wide with surprise, and he hugged her, hard.
Margaret felt tears arise. Of course he cared about her. How had she been in any doubt? She smiled as he released her. “Good morn, Uncle.”
He clasped her chin and lifted it, his dark eyes searching. “We heard a rumor—that you had escaped—but we did not believe it!”
“I escaped, Uncle. It is a bit of a harrowing story.”
“So the rumor was true!” His eyes widened with obvious admiration. “I should have known. You are exactly like your mother!” Then he turned and beamed at Isabella. “Wife! What a pretty sight you are!”
Margaret watched as Isabella smiled and as Buchan swept her hard into his embrace. He kissed her, and Margaret looked away. In that moment, there was no doubt that Buchan adored his beautiful young wife.
Turning back, Margaret gasped as she saw that Sir Ranald stood holding two horses, grinning at her.
She flew down the steps. “Sir Ranald! I heard you had escaped the Wolf during the battle in the ravine!”
“I did escape—and I rode directly to Badenoch—only to learn of the murder,” Sir Ranald said, his smile disappearing. “My lady, how do you fare? We lost the battle of the ravine, and left you to defend Castle Fyne! I have heard the tale of how bravely you did so—and how many men were lost.”
She hesitated, but she had no interest in dissembling now. “I hope to never be in a siege again, Sir Ranald. My soldiers were terribly brave. So were the women, but there was never any hope, not against the Wolf.”
“Thank God you escaped.”
Margaret reached for his hand. She was about to answer, when she recognized the man who had just dismounted, and now stood behind Sir Ranald. She felt her expression freeze.
Sir Guy bowed, low. “Lady.”
Her heart slammed. Sir Guy had come to Balvenie. Of course he had.
Sir Guy, whom she was to wed in June—whom she had so recently betrayed with another man.
Somehow, she swallowed, somehow, she breathed. And then she smiled, coming down the steps slowly, her gaze now locked with his. “Sir Guy! I am so pleased that you are here.”
His gray stare swept her from head to toe. He still did not smile. “I will pray to God tonight, and give thanks, for His keeping you safe during your travails.”
She bit her lip, nodding. “Thank you.”
His gaze was searching, and she wished to avoid it. Suddenly she was terrified that he might guess her secrets—and suspect her infidelity. But he said tersely, “I owe you a vast apology, Lady Margaret, for my rude behavior when we first met.”
She was taken aback. “You owe me no such apology, sir.”
“I was dismayed to see you upon the battlefield—and in my worst enemy’s hands. I fear I could not think clearly. Some think me gallant, but you could not, not after our meeting in such dire circumstances. I hope to redeem myself in the next few days.” He bowed his head this time.
Did he regret his behavior, truly? If so, she should be glad—she should be impressed! Margaret touched his sleeve briefly. He wore an armored breastplate over his brown surcote. Armored plates covered the hose over his knees. “You need not think about redemption.” She smiled. “Thank you for offering an apology, but none is needed.”
“You are as kind as you are beautiful.”
He was a handsome man, his nose broad, his cheekbones high. Alexander had said that many women found him both charming and gallant, and of course, he had the blood of both the French and English kings running in his veins. She felt a new tension. Would she become charmed? And why did that idea disturb her? Why did Alexander’s image now dare to haunt her?
“Margaret!” her uncle boomed. “We may all break the fast together, and you can tell us your tale of escape.”
Margaret turned, almost relieved to have the intimate conversation interrupted. “Of course, Uncle,” she said.
* * *
ISABELLA HAD LEFT to supervise the breakfast, and Margaret found herself seated at the table with her uncle, Sir Guy, Sir Ranald and a dozen other knights, some of whom she recognized, others who were English and clearly under Sir Guy’s command. Wine, bread and cheese were served, the men instantly taking up the food and drink. Margaret wasn’t hungry, and she toyed with her cup of wine, stealing glances at Sir Guy as he ate.
Her heart raced as she looked at him—not because she desired him, but because she would eventually be his wife. Thus far, he had been gallant. But she could not shake her first impression of him. She feared her initial opinions were correct.
Isabella returned to the table, taking a seat beside Buchan. He smiled at her then turned to Margaret. “So? Will you tell us your story?”
