She was nervous about the new life that awaited her at Kerrera. She didn’t know what to expect, how she would fit in, or what would be expected of her. Gylen Castle was the unknown; on the road she could pretend things would be the same.
She was also enjoying getting to know her husband. Since she’d confronted him a week ago, Eoin had made an effort to spend more time with her—and not just at night. He rode beside her when he could, and every evening after they finished eating, he brought out the thin piece of wood that he’d etched lines in with a knife and the piles of different colored stones to teach her to play chess.
She’d picked up the rules of the game quickly enough, it was losing—rather handily—that was the difficult part to accept.
“Who would have thought a child’s game could exact such a blow to the pride?” she said. “Believe it or not, until I met you, I used to think of myself as relatively clever.”
He grinned. “I think your pride is strong enough to weather the blow, and it isn’t cleverness standing in your way.”
She lifted her brow. “Then what is it?”
“You’re too impatient for the game to end. You go on attack too soon. You need to bide your time.”
She lifted her brow, surprised by the insight. He was right. She was impatient and grew bored easily. Nor was she the lie-in-wait type; she liked the straightforward challenge. She suspected a two-day-long battle over a chessboard would never be in her future.
“Is that what you do?” she asked.
He shrugged. For a man who talked about battle so much with everyone else, he completely avoided the subject with her. She hoped there wasn’t a reason. She’d yet to broach the subject of the war, but maybe now was the time.
She glanced around, seeing that as in previous nights, the others were giving them space. “What will you do if war breaks out again?” she asked in a low voice.
It might have been a trick of the torchlight, but she swore he stiffened defensively. “What do you mean?”
“My father wants you to fight with him. He said your abilities would be valued by those loyal to King John.”
This time she was not mistaken: his expression went rigid. There was a steely glint in his eye she’d never seen before. “My duty is to my father.”
“And his is to his overlord, Alexander MacDougall, the Lord of Argyll, and to his king. Not to his kinsman,” she added, referring to Bruce.
She waited for a reaction, but there was none. His expression betrayed not a hint of his thoughts. He wore the same serious, intense expression on his face that he always did when he was with everyone else. But not usually her.
“My father knows well where his duty lies, Margaret.”
Hope sprang in her chest. “Does that mean you will—?”
He stood. “It means this is a pointless conversation. When the time comes—ifthe time comes—he will do what he must. As will I.”
He started to walk away, but she stood and stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wait, why won’t you talk about this with me?”
“There is nothing to discuss, and it has nothing to do with you.”
“I’m your wife! Of course it has something to do with me.”
He held her gaze, saying nothing but challenging all the same. She didn’t understand. Why was he doing this? Why was he shutting her out? Did he not value her opinion? She might not be as smart as he was, or know how to read and write, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t understand.
“I have to go,” he said impatiently.
She let her hand drop, not knowing or understanding how the conversation could have gone so wrong. “Where?”
“It’s my night to be on guard duty.” He paused. “I won’t be to bed until midmorning. Perhaps it would be best if you slept in the tent the last night?”
She was stricken. “Why are you acting like this?”
His expression changed, and once again he was the man she loved. He drew her into his arms. “Ah hell, I’m sorry. But it is your fault.” She looked up at him questioningly. “You have pushed me to the edge of madness. I can’t take another night of it.”
He was teasing her, but only partially. Suddenly, she scowled. “You volunteered for guard duty, didn’t you?”
He winced, not bothering to lie. “It’s only one more night.”
