Suddenly Isabella appeared, falling into step with her. “Where do you go?” Isabella asked. “My husband has said he wishes to speak with me, immediately.”
Margaret faltered. “He has also summoned me.”
Isabella seemed alarmed. “He knows. There are spies everywhere. The first day we spoke, someone spied upon us!”
Margaret took her arm and tried to calm her. “Isabella, if he had heard about our conversation, he would have confronted you the day he returned. He would have confronted me.” And Buchan had been in residence for five days—it was the eighteenth of March. Sir Guy had left for Berwick four days ago.
At Berwick he would rejoin his army, and then join his brother, Aymer, as they sought to engage Bruce and defeat him. By now, the world knew that Bruce raced across Scotland, seizing what castles he could, subduing what enemies he could, in defiance of King Edward, his ambition to become Scotland’s king.
There were so many rumors now, so many tales, and in them all, Bruce was becoming a hero. The small keeps he threatened refused to rise up against him—instead, they opened their doors to him. Soldiers and knights were joining his army everywhere. He was, it was said, being happily greeted in every village he passed through. Farmers and fishermen were provisioning his growing army. Women with their children now followed him, as if he were a great piper.
King Edward was furious. His chamberlain had ordered Bruce to cease and desist. He had ordered Bruce to surrender. But Bruce had refused.
“I hope you are right,” Isabella now said tersely. “But what would he want with us both?”
“We will soon find out,” Margaret said. There were other rumors, too. Angus Og MacDonald was now actively aiding Bruce. But there was not one word whispered about Alexander.
Margaret knew she must, finally, ask about him. Was he with Bruce, still? Or did he go to war for Bruce on some tangential path? Had he even returned to Castle Fyne?
By now, he would know of her escape. It had been almost two weeks. She could not imagine his reaction to the news that she had left Castle Fyne—the morning after they had shared such passion.
Buchan was waiting for them in the great hall, standing before one hearth with two of his most trusted knights, whom he instantly dismissed. Margaret smiled hesitantly at him. “We are very curious, my lord, as to why you wish to speak to us.”
“You must pack your trunks,” he said, smiling. “We go to the shire of Aberdeen.”
Margaret started. “May I ask what passes?”
“Of course you may. I am meeting with Sir John Mowbray, Sir Ingram de Umfraville, and the earls of Menteith and Atholl.”
Margaret stared, her mind racing. Hadn’t Bruce mentioned that her uncle had met with Mowbray and Umfraville already, in Liddesdale? Her uncle was going to Aberdeenshire to continue to plot against Bruce; of that, she had no doubt. And she would be going with him.
She was thrilled. She did not know why he wished for her to join him, but did it matter? There, she would hear so much more news of the war. There, she might learn of Alexander.
“You wish for me to go, as well?” Isabella asked, eyes wide.
“I always prefer you at my side, sweetheart,” Buchan said. “But in truth, my dear friends know that Margaret was MacDonald’s prisoner, and that she met Bruce when he stayed overnight at Castle Fyne. They wish to speak directly with her.” He glanced at Margaret, still smiling.
Instantly Margaret felt some alarm. Mowbray was warden of the Scot marches, Umfraville a great baron renowned for the decades he had spent warring against England. Menteith had just refused to surrender Dumbarton—and Bruce had decided to move on. The Earl of Atholl had fought the English for most of his life. She knew him well.
All of these men were powerful forces, not to be lightly reckoned with.
She was to impart whatever knowledge she had of Bruce and his plans to these men. Of that, she had no doubt.
She had yet to reveal that the coronation might be in seven more days. She knew her omission was treachery, and she was afraid that if she made one false move, one of these men would suspect her.
“I wish for you to accompany Margaret, actually,” Buchan said to Isabella. “But we will not be gone long. It is a day to the Peel of Strathbogie.”
Peels were specially erected dirt fortifications, layered over the castle’s walls, and Strathbogie was Atholl’s seat. It had been fortified as a peel.
Isabella smiled, but so falsely that Margaret knew she did not wish to accompany them. “Whatever you wish, my lord,” she said sweetly. She turned to Margaret. “Shall we pack?”
Margaret hesitated. “I’ll join you shortly. I’d like to ask Uncle John about Castle Fyne.”
Isabella nodded and left. Buchan said, “Nothing has changed, Margaret. I have yet to receive word about your brother. MacDonald has not returned, nor will he, I think. He remains with Bruce—they have just crossed the River Forth. Of course, you probably wish to know that Sir Guy has now left Berwick with a force of two thousand men. He means to meet Bruce head-on, with Aymer planning to outflank him. He will be trapped, sooner or later—you may be sure of it.”
Alexander remained with Bruce, she thought. Surely they knew about the great English army attempting to engage them—hoping to destroy them.
“What is it? I can see you wish to ask me something.”
