He nodded, embarrassed.
“You don’t need to apologize. Just please, take me with you. I can’t stay here not knowing what is happening. I need to be there, Eoin. I promise you won’t even know I’m there.”
As if that were bloody possible. He’d always been too damned aware of her. Even now when by all rights he should want nothing to do with her. But he understood her urgency. She was worried about the boy.
She must have sensed his hesitation. “I can be of help. I know the castle, and I know how my father thinks. I can help get Eachann back, I know I can.”
He shook his head. “You aren’t wanted, Margaret. Your presence would make things difficult.”
She misunderstood, her breath catching as if his words had stabbed. “You have made your feelings for me clear, Eoin. I know you don’t want me. I won’t interfere if...” She looked down, her cheeks pale. “If you already have a woman in your tent. I will sleep outside if you desire privacy.”
He knew he didn’t owe her any explanations. She was the one who’d been about to marry another man. He shouldn’t care what she thought. Hell, maybe it would even make it easier if he did have a woman in his tent.
But it hadn’t been himself he’d been talking about but the others in the Bruce camp. Too many people knew what she’d done. His brethren, the king, some of his men. She was Dugald MacDowell’s daughter and the enemy. He of all people shouldn’t need a reminder.
He hardened his jaw, refusing to let her sway him. “You will stay here for now. I will send word as soon as I have anything to report.”
“But—”
“It’s not a request, Margaret,” he said, cutting her off.
Her eyes blazed golden fire. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin in that defiant way he remembered. “Apparently all that extra muscle has turned you into a bully. You have no right to order me to do anything.”
“Don’t I?” he challenged. “I’m still your husband.” He paused significantly. “At least for now.”
She flushed angrily. “A fact you seem to have conveniently forgotten for six years.”
He hadn’t forgotten. That was the problem. And being around her was making him weak. He couldn’t soften toward her, damn it. He hated her, didn’t he?
He’d thought so, but maybe “the why” had mattered more than he wanted it to. He’d thought of her as a traitorous bitch for six years, but he couldn’t think of her that way now—not after hearing her explanation. It wasn’t as black and white as he’d thought. She hadn’t intentionally betrayed him. She hadn’t been trying to get back at him by revealing his presence in the area to her father. She hadn’t purposefully sought to see him captured or killed. And that knowledge had taken the bite out of his anger and hatred.
Aye, what he was feeling right now was definitely not hate. It was hot and fiery, surged through his blood, set his nerves on edge, and made him want to lash out, not with anger but with something else. Six years or sixty years, he didn’t think it would make a difference: he would still want her.
Fuck. The oath was painfully appropriate.
He gave her a hard look to hide the emotions teeming inside him. “Aye, well I wasn’t the first one to forget. Perhaps this time you can remember that you are married and stay where I leave you.”
Not wanting to hear what he was sure would be her furious response, he turned on his heel and left.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Aware of the number of eyes following her, Margaret drew the cloak more firmly around her. She wished she had a hood. The long unbound waves of red streaming down her back beneath the gossamer-thin, silky golden veil suddenly felt conspicuous.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have changed gowns and veils? The nun’s habit would have certainly discouraged the blatant staring. But when the package arrived yesterday at the convent, Margaret assumed the gown and veil were a gift from her husband—an apology for his high-handed attitude at the convent a few days ago.
All right, she didn’treallybelieve the gown was an apology (Eoin had been far too assured in his “lord and master” role), but it was as good as an excuse as any to come find him.
Goodness knows how he’d been able to procure something so fine in such a short time. She would have thought the mossy green velvet gown trimmed in gold embroidery and matching gold silk veil had been made for her, were it not a smidgen too small in the bodice and hips.
In any event, she thought it the least she could do to wear the gift, given that he wasn’t going to be pleased to find her here. But if he thought she would meekly stand aside and do his bidding...
She fisted her hands at her sides and tightened her mouth, recalling his imperious order to stay put. She hadn’t changedthatmuch.
Still, she hadn’t thought it would be so difficult to find him—the camp was much larger than she’d realized. Hundreds of men had gathered for the siege, turning the grassy moorlands of the countryside around Dumfries Castle into a makeshift village of tents, carts, stalls, kitchens, and pens for the livestock and horses.
She was forced to walk a gauntlet of men—ratherbigmen, she couldn’t help noticing—as she wound her way through the bustling camp.
Though her impulse was to bite her lip, look down, and try not to make eye contact with the rough-looking bunch of warriors sitting outside the tents, Margaret knew better than to show weakness. Instead, she met the bold stares and tried to pretend she didn’t hear the suggestive comments that followed her. As Eoin had warned her, it was clear from the “invitations” being hurled in her direction what type of woman typically frequented an army’s camp.
Bruce’s men had a reputation for being brigands, and she must admit they looked the part. Most of them appeared not to have seen a razor or a bath in months and looked far more familiar with a barber’s cauterizing iron than his scissors. Fierce, scarred visages, and hard, unsmiling mouths were half-hidden behind scruffy beards and long, unkempt hair. They were big, imposing men made even bigger and more imposing by the abundance of armor and weaponry surrounding them. Most wore leathercotuns, some of which were studded with mail, and she seemed to have arrived at weapon preparing time, as many men were sitting outside their tents sharpening or otherwise tending to their various swords, axes, pikes, and hammers.
