She stared after him. She did not want to argue or fight! But what did he expect from her now? Her family was at war with Bruce. Of course she must spy!
But that did not mean she would relay everything she learned.
Margaret turned and slowly approached Isabella, whose eyes were wide. She sank down beside her, knees buckling.
“Are you lovers?”
Margaret flinched.
“You have kept my secret—I will keep yours.”
“That isn’t fair,” Margaret breathed.
“Why not? We are friends. You have helped me—perhaps I wish to help you, too.”
Margaret had no intention of telling Isabella the truth. She was afraid Isabella might inadvertently let the truth slip. “I need a privy moment.”
“I think I know your answer, Margaret,” Isabella said.
Margaret’s head ached now, along with her body. Alexander’s men all glanced at her as she veered away from the small camp, and she quickly realized that she was to be watched—and she would not be allowed to simply walk away into the forest, to attend to her own needs...or to escape.
Was she Alexander’s prisoner now? Somehow, she did not think that he would actually keep her against her will.
Dughall had detached himself from a group of men who were seated around a fire. He was following her, but at a discreet distance.
“I am not going far,” she said over her shoulder.
“Good.” He smiled at her. “But I must go with ye—I will turn away, Lady Margaret, so ye can do what ye must.”
She was somewhat angry, but she knew she must not blame Dughall—if she was to blame anyone, it would be Alexander.
And escape was not on her mind. Isabella needed her. And she and Alexander had to speak. It felt as if they had so much to say to one another. She just wasn’t sure how to begin, or what to say, or how to get through an entire conversation without anger and accusations.
She hurried into the trees. Dughall stayed back, and she found a private place to take care of her needs.
Then she paused in another small glade, Dughall not far from the camp, where he kept one eye upon her, leaning against a tree. She rubbed her temples tiredly, walked over to a flat rock and sat down on it. Then she hugged her knees to her chest and laid her cheek there.
What should she do now?
She remained terribly attracted to Alexander. She continued to care for him. When they had spent that one night together, nothing had really changed. Now, everything had changed.
She did not want to marry Sir Guy. Alexander had taken her forcefully away, so now she could not marry Sir Guy, and for that, she was grateful. But he had decided he wished to marry her himself, undoing her every conviction. If ever such a marriage came to pass, she would be giving up her every significant loyalty—all would be transferred to Alexander.
“Ye will not rest?” she heard Alexander ask.
She shifted to face him, suddenly a bit breathless, dropping her legs over the side of the rock. “I will gladly rest, after we have had a chance to speak.”
“I wish to speak with ye, too, Margaret,” he said, very seriously. “We shared a bed, and the morning afterward ye left me.”
She could not look away from his searching gaze. He was so solemn, and she felt guilty. “Will had devised a good plan. It seemed likely to succeed. In a way, I did not want to leave, Alexander. But Peg had heard of your plans for Isabella. I had to warn her.”
“I trusted ye.”
She flinched. “I had to escape. It was my duty, Alexander.”
“Did ye sleep with me to soften me fer the escape?” he asked, his gaze direct.
She gasped. “How could you think such a thing?”
