“It will be different this time, Margaret,” he said, sensing her reaction. “I will be with you. For a while at least. The king has given me leave until my knee is healed. But even after that it won’t be like last time. I will be able to return to you—to you both—more frequently. The end is coming.”
She paused, not wanting to ask, but knowing she had to. “Does this mean you have forgiven me?”
He nodded, sweeping his thumb over her cheekbone as if it were the most rare porcelain. “Aye, we both made mistakes. We can’t go back, but we can try to go forward.”
Margaret couldn’t believe it: he’d forgiven her. She pushed aside the unease and anxiety provoked by the idea of returning to the place she’d run from all those years ago. It was his home, and if she wanted to be part of his life—to give their marriage another chance—she would have to make it her home, too. For Eachann’s sake, as well as her own, she nodded.
The smile he gave her tore through her heart. “Then it’s settled.” He drew her up on top of him. “But other scores have not been.” One hand snaked around the back of her neck and the other around her bottom to draw her in. “This time you’re going to help me feel better slowly. Very,veryslowly. And it’s going to take a long time.”
She did, and it did.
23
BY MIDDAYDumfries Castle belonged to Bruce, her father had swallowed his pride long enough to voice the words submitting to “King” Robert’s authority, and Margaret had said her farewells to him under the blistering glare of her husband, who despite her pleas, made no effort to make his feelings toward the man who’d struck her less apparent.
With Dugald MacDowell vanquished, the king and his men were celebrating the victory over the last of the Scottish resistance with a feast in the Great Hall of the castle that would be slighted on the morrow. Dumfries—like all the other strongholds Bruce had taken back from the English—would be destroyed to prevent the enemy from garrisoning it again.
Given the circumstances, Margaret did not feel like celebrating and decided to stay in the room that had been set aside for her and Eachann.
Although the day could be counted a great success for Bruce and had proceeded as well as could be expected, it had been a difficult day for her. Not only had her father’s virulent antagonism upon hearing that she intended to stay with her husband been difficult to bear, there was also Eachann’s reaction.
A reaction that hadn’t shown any signs of waning. Even after a hearty meal of his favorites—including mutton from the king’s own stores and sugared plums procured by Eoin as if by magic—and a warm bath, the boy was still close to tears and, as she tucked him into bed, still asking the questions he’d been asking since he’d walked out of the castle with her father.
“But why must we go withhim? Why can’t we go with Grandfather to the Isle of Man or back to England with Sir John? I thought you wanted to marry him?”
“I did,” she tried to explain, fearing she was doing no better than she’d done in the note she’d written to Sir John. She hoped he’d understood. “But that was when I thought your father had died. He is my husband, Eachann, and even were I to wish it—which I don’t—I cannot marry anyone else.”
The little face that was so much like Eoin’s screwed up angrily. “I wish he was dead. He’s a traitorous bastard, and I hate him!”
Apparently he’d learned how to pronounce the word correctly. Margaret didn’t want to be harsh with her son after all that he’d been through, but she knew she could not allow these feelings to fester. Her expression hardened, imparting the seriousness of what she was about to say. “I know you are confused and upset, but wishing someone’s death is a grave matter. Your grandfather was wrong to speak of your father like that, and I was wrong to allow him to. Your father has never been a traitor. He has always fought for what he believed in, even if your grandfather doesn’t agree with it. It shames me to think that you would condemn a man without giving him a chance.”
The face that looked up at her was as pale as the pillow behind him. He blinked, his rounded dark-blue eyes filling with tears. “But why does he want me now, when he didn’t before?”
Margaret gasped in horror. “Who told you that?” As if she needed to ask. Her mouth fell in a flat line. “Your grandfather was wrong. Your father wants you very much. He stayed away because he was angry with me—for somethingIdid.” His eyes widened. “Your father trusted me with something, and I betrayed him by telling someone I shouldn’t have. Many men died and your father was nearly killed because of it. He didn’t know about you. Had he, nothing would have kept him from you.”
He seemed to accept what she said, but as always he understood more than she intended. His expression turned grave. “If you did that, why does he want you back?”
She wasn’t sure he did, but the boy was confused enough. “Because your father is a fair man, Eachann, and he’s giving me another chance. I hope you will do the same for him.”
He considered her for a moment and nodded. Margaret heaved a sigh of relief, smiling at the small victory, and bent over to press a kiss on his forehead.
Before she could wish him a good night, however, he asked, “What’s a whore?”
The smile fell from her face. “Where did you hear that word?”
He flushed uncomfortably, seeming to realize he’d said something he shouldn’t. “One of Grandfather’s men.”
“What did he say?”
He looked down at his feet under the bed coverings. “Nothing.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” she said gently. “You will not hurt my feelings.”
“He said you were no more loyal than a halfpenny whore.” He paused. “It’s not a very nice word, is it?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not. But he is wrong, Eachann. I love your grandfather and will always be his daughter, but my loyalty belongs to your father and has since I married him, just as yours now belongs to him.” Divided loyalties had interfered in her marriage before; she would not let them again. “Do you understand?”
He nodded solemnly.
