Brenda Joyce (10 page)

They had gathered about one of the trestle tables, as the maids within rushed to bring the boy food and wine, while stoking the fires in the hearth even higher. Margaret hesitated by the door, awaiting discovery—awaiting Alexander’s command to leave. But he only glanced briefly at her before clasping the young lad’s shoulder and guiding him aside. “How goes it, Seoc?”

Seoc grinned. “Well, my lord, and I have war news aplenty.”

Margaret could barely hear. She itched to move closer to them, but wasn’t certain she dared. The men huddled together, Seoc now speaking, the others listening closely. She could not make out their words, other than the mention of Rothesay and Inverskip.

“Do ye wish to join us?” Alexander asked, glancing at her.

Certain she was red of face, Margaret walked over to them. “Why would you allow me to join you?”

“Because yer the lady of Fyne and the country is at war,” he said simply, his gaze steady upon her.

She could not comprehend his motives. Did he mean that she should be apprised of the war? It seemed incredible.

Alexander turned back to the boy. “What else?”

“Bruce took Dalswinton easily,” Seoc said, “and Christopher Seton has taken Castle Tibbers.”

Margaret refrained from making a sound. But Dalswinton was a Comyn stronghold, one belonging to the deceased Red John.

Padraig smiled, handing Seoc a mug of wine, which he downed. “Boyd is a good man, as is Seton.” He looked at Alexander. “Dumfries, Ayr, Tibbers, Rothesay, Inverskip, and Dalswinton. A pleasing start.”

Alexander glanced at Margaret. “Ye’ve forgotten Castle Fyne.”

Padraig glanced at her, as well. “I was being polite.”

Margaret remained unmoving. Robert Bruce was on the march, she thought, with a sense of panic. Was he now unstoppable?

“There’s more,” the boy said, his mouth stuffed. “Red John’s wife, Joan, is now at Berwick. She is begging her brother for aid—she wishes fer an alliance with him—she wishes fer revenge.”

Margaret trembled, feeling for Joan de Valence, whom she knew somewhat. Red John had married Aymer’s older sister years ago, when Margaret was a small child. Such unions were commonplace. However, during the reign of King John Balliol, Joan had relinquished most of her ties to her brother, for this was when both the Comyn and MacDougall families had gained so much power in the north of Scotland, and had spent so much time warring against King Edward.

Now, she sought help from her English brother. Now, the Comyn and MacDougall families were united in their ambitions to avenge her husband, Red John, to stop Bruce from stealing the throne, and perhaps even to destroy him.

But what of Sir Guy? Did she dare ask Seoc herself?

“Aymer de Valence will gladly unite with his sister now,” Alexander said thoughtfully. “And if he did not, King Edward would order it.”

Margaret wondered at his tone. He had sounded as if he knew the English king.

Alexander looked at her and asked Seoc, “What of Sir Guy de Valence, his bastard brother?”

Seoc now looked at Margaret, clearly aware of her betrothal. “He has crossed the Firth of Clyde, my lord, and is at Glen Lean.”

Margaret gasped. Sir Guy was but a day or two away!

Alexander was staring at her now. “Have a care, Lady Margaret, yer eagerness to escape my hospitality shows.” Before she could answer—not that she had a reply to make—he turned to the boy. “And his force?”

“He has eleven hundred men, my lord, including two hundred mounted knights.”

Sir Guy outmanned Alexander, Margaret managed to think.

He looked at her again, and slowly, he began to smile. “So we go to battle, then.”

Did he look forward to engaging Sir Guy—when he was outnumbered? Margaret was incredulous.

He turned back to Seoc. “Tomorrow, ye ride to my brother at Dunaverty. Tell Angus all of this news, and that I have taken Castle Fyne. Also tell him to be certain he has provisioned the stronghold for war.”

“Aye, my lord,” Seoc said, no longer eating.

“And ask him for five hundred men—and as many knights as he can spare.”

Seoc nodded again. “If ye wish, I can leave in a moment. I’m not tired, my lord.”

Alexander smiled and clapped his shoulder. “It would please me greatly if ye left tonight.”

Seoc beamed, clearly basking in the Wolf’s approval.

Padraig now approached. “I am proud of ye,” he said. “Can I talk to ye for a moment, afore ye go?”

“Aye, Father.”

Margaret hadn’t realized that they were father and son. Padraig and Seoc stepped aside, moving to the other table, where they sat and began to converse.

“What ails ye, Lady Margaret?”

She stared at Alexander, reminding herself that if she was very fortunate, in a few days Sir Guy would take Castle Fyne, and she would be free of the mighty Wolf of Lochaber. But she remained nervous. “I do not like war, not even when it is for a good cause,” she finally said.

“Sir Guy will never defeat me, lady.”

She inhaled raggedly. “I have heard you have never been defeated in battle—but there is always a first time. And this time, you are outmanned. This time, God is on our side, not yours—as you stole what is mine.”

“I happen to think God would be very pleased with me, for seeking to put Bruce on the throne,” Alexander said.

“Bruce murdered a man on holy ground!”

“He did not deliver the final blows, and he is next in line to be Scotland’s lawful king.”

“I do not care about the destiny of kings,” she cried, meaning it. “I care about this one place, which my mother passed on to me.”

“So if ye have yer wishes come true, I will be defeated, Castle Fyne will be yer portion—and ye will wed in June,” he said, staring closely.

She wanted Castle Fyne back, but if Sir Guy was victorious, they would soon be married.

He said softly, “I canna see ye as an English wife.”

She flinched. “I will never be an English wife—I will be an Englishman’s wife.”

He laughed, but the sound was mirthless. “’Tis the same. If ye wed Sir Guy, ye will become his wife, and ye’ll lose all yer rights—ye’ll be as English as he is, fighting his wars, against me, against Bruce.”

Margaret did not speak, for he had just verbalized her worst fears.

He then hardened. “Do ye really believe he can defeat me?”

Margaret hugged her mantle closer. A terrible battle loomed—in the midst of a terrible war. She was frightened—but there was more than just her fear of the siege to come. She simply couldn’t identify her emotions as she stared at him. “I will pray for your defeat.”

“And will ye pray for my death?”

“I pray for no man’s death,” she said. But hadn’t she once wished him dead, before the siege?

She should wish him dead now—but she simply couldn’t. Shaken, she whispered, “When will Sir Guy attack?”

“He will not attack. I ride out at dawn, lady.”

“What?”

“He will not attack here—I will attack him—at Loch Riddon.”

CHAPTER SIX

M
ARGARET
PACED
,
ALONE
in her bedchamber, aware of darkness settling over the hills and forests outside. When Peg slipped into the chamber, she whirled and rushed to her. “Sir Guy is marching on us,” she cried. “Clearly, he intends to free Castle Fyne.”

Peg paled. “Will there be another siege?”

“Alexander intends to meet him at Loch Riddon—he intends to be the attacker, not the attacked.” This was why he was such a mighty warrior, she thought grimly, turning and pacing again. She did not have to know very much about warfare to realize that attacking gave one an advantage.

“I am glad we won’t have to suffer another siege,” Peg said. “And ye may have yer English husband, after all.”

Margaret looked sharply at her—her tone was strange. Peg was opposed to the union, and she had been blunt about it the other day.

So much had happened since she had arrived at Castle Fyne—her entire life had been turned upside down. She was a dutiful woman—a dutiful daughter and niece. Of course she meant to do as her uncle ordered. She knew she was fortunate, that he had arranged a good marriage for her. But she was reluctant to wed Sir Guy, though he might be the one to liberate her.

She suddenly wondered if deep within herself, a tiny part of her wished for his defeat.

There would never be a union, then.

“Does he ride for war at dawn on the morrow?” Peg asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She jerked. “Yes.” She shook herself free of such absurd feelings. She wanted Castle Fyne back, even if it meant that she would marry an Englishman. She was the lady of Castle Fyne—and that was more important than anything else.

Margaret picked up her mantle. “Is he in the hall, still?”

Peg hesitated, seeming uncertain. “Yes. Why?”

“I wish to speak with William. If we did not have that guard outside, I would simply wait for him to go to bed, and attempt to steal into Will’s chamber. But Alan remains—so I will have to ask him for permission.”

“He will deny you,” Peg said, taking off her shoes and sitting on the bed. She began to unbraid her long auburn hair.

Margaret was afraid of that, as well. “William needs to know what passes, and I need to see him now that he is better.” She also needed to confide in him.

“Maybe ye should just rest, and retire for the night? Ye can speak with Will another time.” Peg began finger combing her curls, not looking at her.

Peg’s behavior was odd. “Is something amiss?”

The maid flinched. “No.” She smiled, but it seemed strained.

Something was bothering her, but Margaret dismissed it. Peg would tell her what was on her mind sooner, not later; she could not keep secrets. Margaret went to the door, opening it, and as she did, she heard Alexander on the stairwell.

She tensed as he appeared on the landing and they both ignored Alan, seated on his stool. “Is there any way you would be kind enough to allow me to see my brother before I retire?”

“No.” He walked past her, into his own chamber, where a fire already roared in the hearth.

Her heart sank. Grimly, she followed him to the threshold, but did not enter the room. He was removing his waist belt and dagger. She refused to recall the last time she had seen him doing so. “I wish to see for myself that he is better.”

“Ye wish to plan an escape while I am gone.” He faced her briefly, before sitting and removing his boots.

“But you will have Alan as my shadow. If we plot anything—he will report it.”

“If ye speak French, he will not know the contents of yer plot, Lady Margaret. Nor will I.” French was the language spoken amongst the nobility of Scotland, England and France. While Alexander was fairly fluent in French, his men appeared to only speak English and Gaelic. “Yer clever enough to arrange an escape when I am not present, and I have no intention of allowing that.”

“How could we escape?” she cried. “William isn’t well enough to travel through the forest in the midst of winter.”

He eyed her. “I can think of one or two ways—and ye are clever...eventually, ye will, too.”

She trembled, wondering if escape might be possible, with him gone. But she could not leave William behind. “I won’t leave my brother,” she said. “And I can swear to that.”

“So I can trust ye for the moment? Tomorrow I go to war, Lady Margaret, and I do not feel like having this battle now. My decision is final.”

She knew when she had hit an unmovable rock. Margaret did not even attempt to smile, but their stares locked. She suddenly wondered about his wife—the lover he had married, who had then died in childbirth. Had he ever been kind or considerate toward her? Had he ever given a command, only to later rescind it?

She did not think so.

“Good night, Lady Margaret,” he said.

She turned, not replying, going back into her room. Peg was standing in its center, barefoot, but clasping her plaid about her. “I must run downstairs,” she said.

Margaret thought that odd, but she nodded, going to each taper and blowing them out. The small fire remained in the hearth for warmth. She crawled into the bed, cuddling under the covers as Peg left.

She wasn’t angry, for she had expected him to deny her. She even understood why he had done so.

She hoped she was not becoming soft toward the enemy. First she had been hesitant about wishing for Sir Guy to defeat him, and now, she understood why he would not let her see her brother. But at least William was healing.

Her eyes were closing, and she realized that she would fall asleep easily, in spite of how much she had slept these past few days. She was still overburdened and overtired. So much had happened...and now, there would be another battle...and maybe she would soon be free....

A loud thump awoke her. Margaret clutched the covers, eyes wide, staring into the dark. It took her a moment to calm, as her reaction to being awoken abruptly, in the middle of the night, was one of fear. But no one began a siege in the middle of the night. She had probably been dreaming. Still, her heart continued to race.

She began to relax into the quiet now, and then she realized that other half of the bed was empty. She sat up. “Peg?” she whispered. The embers in the hearth cast a small halo of light. Peg was not on a pallet on the floor, where she sometimes slept when Margaret was too restless and bothersome.

Margaret sank back down, curling up under the covers. Before she could wonder where Peg was, she heard a woman’s throaty moans coming from the adjacent chamber.

She felt her cheeks flame. Alexander had a woman in his bed, she managed to think, stunned. But why was she surprised? Most men spent the night with their lovers or their wives. He would hardly be celibate for all of this time.

Margaret clapped her hands over her ears, to block out the disturbing, distressful noises.

The woman seemed quiet now, but Margaret was afraid to unclasp her ears. Slowly, she did so. She was stiff with a tension she could not identify. The one thing she did know was that she was upset.

But why should she care what Alexander did—or who he took to his bed?

She began to worry about where her missing maid might be.

And then she heard a thump, followed by another one and another one, and the rhythmic pounding was unmistakable. Margaret dove under the covers, seizing her pillow, as the woman gasped in pleasure again. She pulled the pillow over her head, but it could not block out the sound of the woman’s growing delight. Margaret threw the pillow away, covered her ears with her hands, and gritted her teeth. It was a long time before the adjacent chamber was silent, and even longer before she fell asleep.

* * *

M
ARGARET
STOOD
BEFORE
the fire she had stoked herself, warming her hands. It was at least an hour before dawn. She had at last fallen asleep when the lovers next door had finally stopped their lovemaking, but she thought she had only slept a few minutes. She was too distressed to sleep any more—and too angry.

The door to her chamber slowly opened, and Peg peeked inside.

Margaret felt a rush of anger, then. “Are you afraid to come into my chamber? Oh, wait, it is the crack of dawn and you are afraid, for you have betrayed me.”

Peg stepped inside, eyes wide. “Lady!”

“No, do not ‘lady’ me!” Margaret admonished. She seized a rush and lit it and held it up, close to Peg, but then wished she hadn’t.

Peg was beautiful—radiant. She was flushed, her eyes bright, her hair loose and wild—she looked like she had been well pleased.

“How dare you sleep with him and then come back to me!”

Tears filled Peg’s eyes. “I had no choice, my lady!”

“There is always a choice, and we both know he did not rape you!”

“He didn’t rape me, but there was no choice, I vow it!”

“I heard how pleased you were to be with him,” Margaret choked. “You are my maid! He has stolen my castle! We are his prisoners! What is wrong with you?”

She was crying now. “When ye were ill, he sent for me. I dinna wish to be with him, I swear it, but Margaret, he knows how to please a woman!”

She felt fire exploding in her cheeks. She struck Peg hard across the face, and the sound rang out in the stillness of the night. “He is my enemy!”

“I ken,” she wept. “And I’m sorry!”

Margaret trembled in rage. But now, as Peg collapsed on the bed, crying, she could not believe that she had hit her. She clenched her fists. “If you truly loved me, you would not have even considered sleeping with him. Honor would forbid it. If you loved me, you would have been furious when he asked for you.”

“I’m only twenty, Margaret. I canna help but notice how handsome some men are! Have ye not noticed just how handsome the Wolf is? He’s the mighty Wolf of Lochaber! Every woman wishes for his attention!”

“He’s a MacDonald, Peg, or have you forgotten?”

Peg hesitated, but her cheeks were red. “I won’t lie to ye. I hated him at first. But this doesn’t change anything—I am yer maid.”

“It changes everything,” Margaret said, incapable of drawing an even breath. “When did this affair begin?”

Redder now, Peg said, “The night ye collapsed.”

Margaret was in disbelief, but then she found her voice. “If he summons you again, you will refuse him.
If
you ever wish to return to Bain with me.”

Peg cried out.

“You cannot be loyal to us both,” Margaret said.

“I am loyal to ye, Lady Margaret, always, and how could ye doubt that? Sharing his bed cannot change that!”

“You did not hear me well. If you share his bed again, you will no longer serve me—and you may stay here, in his service.” She was sick now.

Peg did not move. She stared so wide that in the dark room her eyes seemed entirely white.

Margaret heard his door open and close. She clenched her fists.

Peg wet her lips and said, “He willna take no for an answer. He willna let me refuse.”

“Then you will stay here, in his service, or go with him to the isles.” She was final.

Margaret now turned and entered the hall. A part of her wanted to cry for the loss of her friend and maid, another part of her refused to do so. Alan must have heard them, for he was on his feet. Margaret ignored him, hurrying downstairs after Alexander, her shoulders now squared.

The great hall was entirely lit. Burning torches had been placed on the wall sconces, and fires roared in both hearths. Three dozen knights slept in the hall, and they were already up and seated at the tables. Castle Fyne’s maids were busily bringing them their breakfast.

She faltered. Every Highlander wore his swords, and their shields were piled up close to the door. There was no conversation as everyone consumed their rations for the long day ahead.

She stared past them all. Alexander was not seated. He stood by the head of one table, but he was looking directly at her.

He was going to war. She should wish him dead—both because she wanted Castle Fyne back, and because he had destroyed her relationship with Peg.

But still, she did not wish him dead. As she stared at him, her heart lurched, as if with dread.

Now, she knew firsthand what war was like. He was a great and mighty warrior, but all it took was one true arrow, or one fatal sword, and he would be mighty no more.

She said, very quietly, “I’d like a privy moment.”

His eyes flickered as he came forward. “Do ye wish to go upstairs? Or step outside?”

Peg was upstairs. “Outside.”

“I thought so.” He touched her elbow, as if to guide her. Margaret leapt away instantly.

She hurried ahead of him, her spine stiff, but he opened the heavy door for her. Outside, they paused atop the wood steps leading down to the courtyard. It was freezing and she shivered, noting that the sky was just beginning to pale in the east, but stars winked above them in the blackness of the west.

She faced him. “You have stolen my maid from me.”

“That was not my intent.”

“But that is what you have done. I cannot have a maid with loyalties to my enemy.”

He studied her. It was a moment before he spoke. “I agree. Yer maid must be loyal to ye, not to me. But I dinna steal her. Yer maid has an appetite. She is a bawd. Her character is flawed. She could have refused me. She did not. She is not good enough for ye.”

Margaret had not expected such a response. “I have known Peg since we were children. She has been an important friend for most of my life. You knew she was in my service.”

“Aye, but I also knew she would rush to my bed, if asked—she is not a true friend, Lady Margaret.”

Margaret was taken aback. Was he right? She had always thought of Peg as a true and loyal friend. “And you had to ask her? You could not ask someone else?”

“I dinna think much about it. If ye wish to be angry with me, so be it. But ye should punish her and dismiss her.”

She was bewildered. “Why do you take my side? She is your lover!”

His brow lifted. “She warmed my bed for a night or two—she is but a passing amusement, Lady Margaret, not a mistress.” He then added, “Ye almost seem jealous.”