She could marry Alexander instead of Sir Guy.
And for one instant, her heart leapt. For one instant, she was relieved.
“He has said he will await your answer, my lord,” the outrider said.
Buchan turned. “Damn him to hell! My answer is no! Tell him I demand a ransom for my nephew, and he will suffer my wrath if he does not ask for one!”
Margaret gripped the horn of her saddle tightly, and her mare was prancing about, as she sensed her rider’s tension. What had she been thinking?
Her family hated Alexander’s family; the clans were rivals and blood enemies.
A war now raged, pitting the Comyns against him and Bruce.
Of course they could not marry. He was her enemy!
And he had only asked for her hand in marriage because of Castle Fyne.
The rider was galloping off toward the north, where Alexander was camped, and would soon tell him that her uncle had refused his offer.
She began to shake. Did she feel dismayed? She must be mad, if so.
Buchan faced her. “You are to marry Sir Guy and he knows it.” He then seized his horse’s reins and leapt astride. “To Balvenie,” he roared, still enraged.
Margaret watched him gallop away, and then realized she must follow, when she was so stunned, she was merely sitting there in a daze.
“Come, Lady Margaret, as it will rain soon,” Sir Ranald said, having ridden up to her.
She flinched, as he had taken her by surprise, she was so enraptured in her thoughts. She had avoided looking at him the entire day, after he had caught her eavesdropping the night before. Now she was surprised, because his expression was kind.
She took a deep breath. “Yes, we must hurry to Balvenie—before it rains.”
* * *
MARGARET DARED TO cross the great hall, where Buchan paced, still in a temper, and now surrounded by his men. He did not even see her, and for that, she was relieved. She ran upstairs to her chamber. Once inside, she halted, breathing hard.
Now what should she do?
Alexander was but a few minutes away, and Buchan had refused a union between them, and rightly so.
She hugged herself. If only she could think clearly. But now, she had one thought. She kept thinking about how different it would be if she married Alexander instead of Sir Guy.
Peg rushed into the room, her eyes wide. “MacDonald offered marriage? And he is at the River Spey?”
Margaret nodded. And as she stared at Peg, she thought about Will, who would have been freed if Buchan had agreed to such a union. Poor Will.
Peg said, “He is a MacDonald. The enemy of yer mother’s kin. But Sir Guy is English—and every bit as much an enemy.”
“We ride with the English now.”
“Fer how long?” Peg challenged.
Margaret shrugged helplessly and said, “Peg, we are at war.”
“Fer how long?” she repeated relentlessly.
Before Margaret could respond, Isabella came to the threshold of the room and stared at her. “Ye are white,” she finally said. “What has happened?”
Margaret bit her lip. “I never imagined he would ask to marry me.”
