She stood very still, otherwise, she would flinch and pull away. “It is late,” she said.
“Is it?” He trailed his finger lightly down the side of her neck. “You are only seventeen. In a way, you are so young. But most women are married well before such an age...by now, most women are well versed in their relations with men.”
“But not I.” She finally stepped backward, but into the wall.
“You have made me wonder,” he said.
She almost choked. Did she dare lie monstrously now? “My lord?”
“Sometimes I look at you and I see a woman with experience far beyond her years. Other times, I think you are so innocent, and so ripe for the plucking.”
She knew she must end this encounter. “I do not know why you see me in two such different ways. Sir Guy? It is late. I am tired, you must be tired, too. We should bid one another adieu.”
He smiled. “But I am leaving in the morning, Lady Margaret. We might not see one another for some time—or even until our wedding in June. And I am enjoying being with you.”
He would leave tomorrow. Her relief made her knees buckle.
He caught her by seizing both of her arms, pulling her close. “I have been waiting for a kiss all day.”
She wanted to deny him, but she knew she could not.
Sir Guy pulled her against his lean body and claimed her mouth instantly.
Margaret felt tears arise. She did not move. She let him ply her lips with his, let him increase the pressure until his kiss became hard and hungry. Only then did she push at him. “Stop.”
“Why?” He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “Let’s go into your chamber, Lady Margaret. Lie with me. We will handfast tonight.”
She cried out. “My uncle has arranged an English wedding—in a church!”
“But I do not wish to wait.” He caught her face in his hands. “If you consent and take me to bed, the deed is done.”
She opened her mouth to tell him no, but could not speak, for he kissed her again.
Fury began. Margaret hit his shoulders, once and then twice. He straightened, eyes wide. “You are fighting me?”
“We are not married yet!” She wrenched away, ducked under his arm and moved a great distance away.
He was incredulous. “What difference does it make, if we handfast tonight or marry in June?”
“If my uncle wanted us married today, he would have arranged it!”
“So you are loyal? Or are you afraid? Are you afraid of lovemaking?”
Margaret’s mind raced. “I will not betray my uncle. I am his ward. I will do as he wishes.”
Sir Guy began to smile. “If you will be as dutiful to me, I will be a very pleased husband.”
Margaret trembled. “It is time to say good-night, Sir Guy.”
He approached her in two strides, clasping her shoulders and pulling her close to kiss her soundly again. “I will forgive you your disloyalty now, as you should be loyal to Buchan. But now I expect the same fervor after we are wed.” He caressed her cheek. “Good night, Margaret.” Turning, his strides now hurried, he vanished down the stairs.
Margaret ran into her room, slammed the door and bolted it. She sank onto her bed, tears beginning. What was she going to do?
She knew the truth now. She feared Sir Guy—and she despised him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MARGARET HAD BEEN summoned to her uncle in the great hall. She was worried as she traversed the castle. She could not imagine what he wished with her.
