They had been riding at a rapid pace, away from Balvenie, ever since leaving the castle in the middle of the night. Margaret rode beside Isabella, between two of Alexander’s men. There were about fifty Highland knights in their group. Nine or even ten hours had to have passed. They were deep within a forest now, but they had been using deer paths that had clearly become roads for warhorses for most of the journey. Initially their pace had been as rapid as possible in the dark of the night, but at dawn, when it seemed that any pursuit would be far behind, Alexander had slowed the pace to a walk. Now, he turned his mount to face them. “We will rest here until dark,” he said.
Margaret was relieved. She was stiff, sore and exhausted—in fact, she was even more fatigued mentally than she was physically. Conversation had not been allowed. She had had hours in which to think.
She could not bring herself to feel genuinely dismayed over her abduction. But she remained terrified for Isabella. If she could, she still hoped to convince her not to participate in Bruce’s coronation.
She glanced at Isabella, who also appeared pale and exhausted, and they smiled grimly at one another. Margaret could not wait to dismount. She imagined Isabella felt the very same way.
Alexander had already leapt from his horse. Dughall was leading it away. He smiled at Isabella, striding to her. “How do ye fare, Countess?”
“I do not know if I can stand up,” she admitted. “My entire body hurts.”
He caught her around the waist and helped her down. When Isabella’s feet touched the ground she fell against him. Alexander righted her, but for a moment, Isabella was in his arms.
Margaret watched, feeling oddly annoyed, and her annoyance increased when Isabella smiled at him and murmured her thanks.
Margaret pretended to ignore them as Alexander led her toward a pallet recently put down; a tent was being erected for her. She slid from her horse with some difficulty, wincing. But Alexander caught her arm from behind. “If ye would wait, I would help ye down in turn.”
Margaret faced him, and then she pulled away. But his touch seemed to linger. His touch affected her as no other man’s could. She was so acutely aware of him now.
But hadn’t she been as aware of him all night? She had found herself staring at him as he led the way, time after time. And as frightening as the night was, there had been something reassuring about the broad set of his shoulders, the proud tilt of his head.
But she should not be reassured. Their disappearance had been remarked by now. Sir Ranald must be in hot pursuit. Word would have been sent to Buchan.
“You seemed occupied tending to Isabella,” she said, unsmiling.
“Are ye jealous? Because ye need not be, Margaret.”
“I do not wish to be jealous, Alexander, just as I do not want to have any care for you.” She then shrugged. Some feelings were simply impossible to control.
“But ye do care.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “Ye should eat and sleep. We’ll ride again at dark—through the entire night.”
His stare was unwavering, but she could not look away, for she had not seen him for so long. But she must rein in her affections. “There will be pursuit.”
“Do ye warn me?”
Was she warning him? “Sir Ranald is devoted to me.”
“Of course he is. I am prepared, Margaret. Six of my men ride far behind—if they discover pursuit, they will relay the news to me.”
“Is there any way that they can catch us?”
“’Tis unlikely. We turned all their horses out of the stables. They will have to catch them before they can chase us. And we rode very hard fer the first few hours, and I have taken an unusual route. We do not travel in the most direct manner.” He gestured, indicating that she should join Isabella, whose pallet was now beneath the open tent.
Margaret did not move. “How long will it be before we reach Scone, Alexander?”
“It depends on whether we are being pursued, and if I have to take an even more unusual route. It also depends upon ye and Isabella. I dinna think either of ye will be able to ride as long tonight.”
“Is he to be crowned on the twenty-fifth?”
Alexander started. “Why should I be surprised by anything ye say or do, Margaret? I already knew ye spied on us when Bruce came to Castle Fyne.”
“I was your prisoner—it was my duty to spy—to learn of what was happening in the country.”
“And will it be your duty now—again?” His eyes remained dark and hard.
“I wish not!”
“So yer answer is aye.” He turned away from her, anger and disgust in his strides.
