She had refused to believe it, but it was true. Her father would never have treated her in such a way. He had loved her for who she was, from the time she had been born. He would have wanted a marriage for her that was expedient, but he would have also wanted her to care for her husband. Margaret had no doubt.
He would never have bartered her away, not even in a time like this, when a kingdom was at stake.
“Of course he would seek a trade if doing so would make a good alliance—you are only a woman.” Isabella clasped her hand tightly. “We are all disposable, Margaret. You must know that.”
Margaret had not realized that Isabella was so worldly. “What if Alexander makes a third offer? What if he offers so much that Uncle John cannot refuse?”
“Will he make another offer?” Isabella asked, surprised.
“I never expected any offer!” Margaret cried.
Isabella paused. “The truth is, if Sir Guy fails to take Castle Fyne back, you will have lost your value to him—but you are a great prize for Alexander.”
* * *
“THE WOLF IS smitten,” Peg said, stepping forward. “He was smitten with Margaret from the moment he first conquered Castle Fyne.”
Isabella turned an incredulous look upon Margaret. “Is it true?”
“He is hardly smitten,” Margaret said, standing. But she wasn’t angry with Peg for speaking up. She wondered if she could be right. “Can you help me out of my clothes?”
Eilidh rushed to her chest to pull out dry garments as Peg came over, and they began to pull off her wet cotes. Isabella watched them and said, “Margaret, the Wolf has already proven he will go to great lengths to take a woman to wife.”
Margaret had just shrugged on a dry chemise and surcote. Peg began to unbraid her wet hair as she faced Isabella. “You are right. He is relentless.”
Isabella studied her. “Is he repulsive?”
Margaret laughed, somewhat hysterically. Should she confess all to her friend? Did she dare?
“He is very handsome,” Eilidh whispered. Peg nodded in agreement.
Isabella started and Margaret winced. “He is handsome—and there is more. He said he would kill Sir Guy if he had to.”
“He will not let a marriage stand in his way?”
“No.” Her gaze locked with Isabella’s. She knew that even if she married Sir Guy, Alexander would come for her.
Isabella knew it, too. Her color high, she slowly said, “He may be your savior, Margaret, in the end.”
Margaret shook her head. “Please don’t say that.”
“He has stolen Castle Fyne from you, and now, you have nothing but the hope that Sir Guy will take it back. But if he marries you, you will be lady of Castle Fyne again.”
* * *
MARGARET COULD NOT sleep. She stared up at the ceiling of her chamber, watching moonlight play across it. Her uncle had left with his great army that morning.
Buchan would take his army south to join King Edward’s as it marched north, in an attempt to stop Bruce in his westward march across Scotland.
She wondered if Bruce would attempt to be crowned in four more days; she wondered if Aymer de Valence, who now commanded most of England’s army, would learn he was marching for Scone and somehow stop him. She turned over onto her side, hugging her pillow. To stop Bruce, if he was intent on a coronation, would mean a battle to the death. Of that, she was certain.
She trembled. She had done her best to avoid Buchan ever since that meeting with Alexander at the red rocks. Buchan had been preoccupied with his war preparations, so it had been easy to do. Still, she knew he was not pleased with her now.
Could Alexander be smitten? If he was, wouldn’t she know? And didn’t he realize how devastating his ambitions were for her—for her entire family?
More dismay arose, as did a lump of fear. Margaret wished she knew if Atholl and the others had a plan to separate their armies. If she had, she would send word. No matter what happened—even if she married Sir Guy—she did not want Alexander to die.
Tears arose. Hugging the pillow, she rocked herself finally to sleep.
