Brenda Joyce (16 page)

She swallowed. Was he suggesting a liaison between them? That if she joined him that night, he would surrender the keep to her—and give her back her freedom? “Are you offering me my freedom? What would I have to do to be freed? To have Castle Fyne returned to me?”

“No, I am not offering you your freedom—in return for a night in my bed.” His smile grew. He was so amused. “Not that I do not desire you. But I am at war with England. I will soon attack Dumbarton. Alexander will be joining me very shortly. I need him at my side, for he is one of my best soldiers.”

Margaret was overcome with relief. Bruce would not make advances—he was merely touting his power. But she then became torn with dismay. Alexander was going to war with him!

“When will Alexander leave here?”

“If he can ready the garrison here tomorrow, I expect him to ride out the following day,” Bruce said flatly. “I cannot decide if Alexander’s departure pleases or dismays you, Lady Margaret.”

She inhaled, somehow smiling. “It pleases me, because I am his prisoner.” She was shocked at how much her words felt like a lie.

Bruce laughed. Then he looked past her, toward the stairs. His smile changed.

Margaret turned and saw Peg standing there. She blushed and curtsied, murmuring, “My lord.”

Bruce smiled at Peg, turned to Margaret, and inclined his head. Without bidding her good eve, he went into his bedchamber.

Margaret walked slowly into her room, only vaguely aware of Eilidh waiting for her. Bruce was powerful and frightening, and suddenly, she wondered if he could actually seize the throne, if he would one day be king.

She shivered. She did not want to be his enemy if that day came!

Peg came to her door. “Margaret? Will ye be angered if I go to him?”

Margaret turned to gaze at her. “No. If he is ever Scotland’s king, it will serve you well.”

Peg seemed relieved, and left the room. Margaret slid into her bed, as Eilidh lay down on the pallet she used on the floor. “Good night, my lady,” she said.

“Good night.” Margaret turned over, curling up. How she hated war. But Bruce loved it, Alexander loved it, fools that they were. And she did not want to worry now, not about Alexander or anyone, but she kept seeing him on the battlefield, sword raised, his hair in the wind, Bruce’s banner flying...the images following her into sleep.

CHAPTER TEN

M
ARGARET
GLANCED
FURTIVELY
into the great hall. Bruce and his men were finishing up breakfast, everyone eating determinedly, clearly intent upon an early departure. And Alexander was with them. Like the night before, he and Bruce sat together at the far table, their backs to the wall. Like the night before, they spoke quietly while eating. And they were so engrossed in the conversation that neither man ever looked up.

No moment could be better. She quickly rushed past the threshold of the room, expecting Alexander to shout at her to halt, but the command never came. Breathing hard, she raced down the corridor.

She had arisen well before dawn to help the women in the kitchens. Alexander had yet to summon her, but she knew such a summons would come. She expected it almost immediately after Bruce and his army left. In the light of this day, she anticipated far more than a rebuke for her defiance. And she could imagine how he would punish her—one choice would be to deny her the daily visit with her brother.

Therefore, she must speak with William now, in case such a punishment was inflicted.

She had so much to tell him; she so needed his opinion!

In the south tower, William’s guard was eating a loaf of bread with some cheese. He nodded at her, lumbering to his feet.

“Good morning.” Margaret smiled. The guards changed frequently, but she knew them all. Still, it took her a moment to recall his name. “Duncan.”

“Lady.” He unlocked the door and opened it.

William was pacing, and he turned, clearly surprised to see her at dawn. He did not even greet her. “Bruce came last night—and they are leaving now?”

Aware of the guard in the doorway, who would listen to their every word, she smiled at him. “I was as surprised as you are. He rides on Dumbarton, William. There is a great deal of news.”

He stared for a moment. And then, suddenly, he seized his right side and cried out, collapsing. Margaret started to rush forward, but so did the guard. She let him catch William, and as he did, she turned and emptied the contents of a small vial into his mug of wine.

The action took an instant, and then she was running over to them. “What is it?”

“God, I don’t know!” William now sat down on the pallet, holding his side. “It was a terrible pain. But it is now gone.”

“Ye had better hope so.” Duncan returned to the door. He had dropped his bread, and now, he kicked it across the hall. Having lost the rest of his breakfast, he picked up the mug and drained the wine.

In five more minutes, he would be unconscious. Satisfied, Margaret turned to her brother. “Alexander is garrisoning Castle Fyne with a hundred good men.”

“So he thinks to defend the keep if Sir Guy or Buchan attacks? Damn! Castle Fyne is easily defended with such a garrison. What other news, Meg?” William was hard and intent.

“Bruce has come from Galloway. He has not been able to gain support there.”

William nodded, grim but briefly smiling. “The Gaels will never support him or anyone other than their own.”

Margaret glanced at Duncan and saw him yawn. “I received a letter from our uncle, too.”

William’s eyes widened. He glanced at Duncan. “What did he write?”

“He is preparing for war against Bruce. He is hoping to ransom us, but Alexander has said he will not do so now. He says I am too valuable—even Bruce said as much. William, we will be captives for a lengthy time.”

William gave her a smug look. She was certain he had a plan. “You will always have great value, for any man who weds with you will have a legitimate claim on Castle Fyne, as will his sons.” Then, “Did you meet Bruce?”

She nodded. “He is a very strong man. I did not believe it possible for any man to go up against England and win, but maybe Bruce can do so.”

“No. It will never happen. I won’t allow it—Buchan won’t allow it—King Edward won’t allow it!”

A crash sounded and they turned; Duncan lay on the floor, unconscious. William laughed. “That was well done, Meg!” On his feet, he raced to the door and dragged Duncan inside, then closed the door solidly behind him. He bolted it.

“William! Bruce marches on Scone—to be crowned there!” Margaret cried.

William cursed. “He has always coveted the throne! Just as his father did!”

Margaret seized his sleeve. “He might plan to abduct Isabella. Peg heard him and Alexander discussing it. Apparently the Earl of Fife must play a role in the coronation ceremony, and they cannot get young Ed to attend, obviously. So they are wondering if they might use Isabella, instead. And Bruce asked me about her! I am very worried now. I have not been thinking about escape lately, but we must warn Isabella.”

“I have a plan, and the timing is perfect!” William said.

“How could we possibly escape? I am no longer under guard, but someone is always close by—someone always has an eye upon me—except for now, when I made certain to use the chaos in the hall as an opportunity to see you. And you are under constant guard!”

William walked to the window and gestured. Margaret hurried over and looked out.

Perhaps a hundred knights were now riding out of the barbican and down the forest road, the sun just rising and shedding its bright light. The day was a clear one, with but a few fluffy white clouds in the sky, and Bruce was clearly visible at their forefront. Even from this distance, he made a proud, commanding figure, his huge yellow-and-red banner waving overhead in the midst of the cavalcade. The sight was at once powerful, sobering and frightening.

“The road is naught but a path, and it will take hours for his army to leave here,” William said. “How many men does he have?”

“I don’t know.”

“The Wolf has five hundred men, does he not?”

She looked closely at him. He turned to face her, his back now to the window and the newly rising sun. “He has five hundred men, perhaps more, if his brother sent him an army, too.”

“And he leaves in two more days? The day after tomorrow?”

“No. My understanding is that he leaves tomorrow, but I have not yet spoken with him.” She shivered. She was aware of her dismay as she spoke of Alexander leaving, to go to war with Bruce. “What do you plan?”

“We will leave the castle from the north door. From there, we must only cross a short patch of forest, and we will be on the road. We can slip into his army, where we will never be discovered.”

Every castle had one or more small doors that could admit and expel a man on foot or even one astride, but no more than that. She stared, her mind racing. “You are guarded,” she began.

“Leave the potion with me—I will administer it myself. I will wear my guard’s clothes. You must disguise yourself, as well. As you just said, it was chaos this morning in the hall. It is chaos when the army leaves.”

She trembled, beginning to understand. “Even if you and I can get to the north exit, it is also guarded.”

“That is where Peg can be of value—do you doubt her ability to distract any man?” He smiled.

Could his plan actually work? She was incredulous. She knew she could slip away in disguise, so reaching the north door would not be difficult. And Peg could distract the guard at the small north exit. She would offer her some reward to do so. And once she left the castle, she could run into the forest....

Then she thought of Alexander and she sobered.

She knew he would be furious if she escaped—and he might even be disappointed.

She reminded herself that she had never given him her word that she would not eventually make such an attempt. It was her duty to escape, more so now than ever. Not only was she his prisoner, Bruce was seeking the crown. Isabella had to be warned, in case Bruce thought to use her against her will—and force her to commit treason.

William’s plan might work. If they could merge into Alexander’s army, they would never be remarked. And once at Dumbarton, they would be able to find friends to help them get to Buchan, if he was still in the south, or to return to Balvenie in the far north.

“What if I cannot bring you another potion? I have reason to believe that Alexander might not allow me to visit you again,” she said slowly.

William shrugged. “I am friends with all my guards. I am no longer weak, but they do not know that. I will strike my guard from behind. I am leaving this place, Margaret, to return to Buchan lands, because we are at war and I must fight!”

In that moment, William reminded her of her father. He was very young—not even twenty—but he was fierce and proud, and so handsome. She felt herself nod. “Then we must decide upon the final details now—because we might not have another chance.”

“He will leave after breakfast,” William said. “Like Bruce, Alexander and his knights will depart first. You and I will meet two hours after he leaves, exactly, at the north door. Peg will distract the guard, and we will slip from the castle, run into the forest, and join the rest of the army as it is departing.”

Margaret nodded, suddenly hugging herself. Was she dismayed? Wasn’t she thrilled to finally be planning an escape—one that might be successful?

“And Margaret? If one of us fails to escape, the other must go.”

She started. “I do not like the sound of that,” she cried.

He held up his hand. “There is no choice now. We must warn Isabella, we must warn Buchan, and Bruce must be stopped before he ever reaches Scone. We escape tomorrow.”

* * *

M
ARGARET
RETURNED
TO
the hall, but slowly. She felt cold, and she hugged her mantle tightly to her. She did not know why she wasn’t excited over William’s plan. Tomorrow they might successfully escape; tomorrow they might be free! For it was a very good plan, and the odds might even be in their favor, now that Alexander trusted her enough to allow her some freedom of movement.

Was that the problem? That he trusted her somewhat? That she knew it? They were enemies, but in a way, an odd friendship had also formed. She had come to respect him; she had come to admire him. She was his prisoner, but she also knew he would keep her safe from all other enemies. He had even tried to protect her from Bruce.

What was wrong with her? As long as they were on opposite sides of this war, they could not be friends—and she must not forget that. He remained the enemy—and it was her duty to attempt an escape.

Tomorrow she might be on the road, hidden amidst his great army, as he rode to war. He would attack Dumbarton, and then continue to attack every enemy in Bruce’s path as they marched to Scone, while she went home to Balvenie. There, she would embrace Isabella, warn her uncle, and plead with both her uncle and Sir Guy to retake Castle Fyne. She would probably stay in the north until her marriage in June. Alexander would remain at Bruce’s side, as they fought to gain and keep Scotland’s throne.

She faltered in the corridor, too dismayed to go on. Oh, how she hated this war! How she hated all war! She had lost three of her brothers in war, and recently, so many of her archers and soldiers, and Malcolm. She began to shiver. Briefly, she had started to believe Bruce could be victorious, but that had been when in his powerful presence. She wasn’t overcome by him now. Bruce was one man, and a Scot at that, and he would never defeat King Edward!

Bruce would either die gloriously on the battlefield, or ingloriously, with his head upon the chopping block.

And Alexander’s fate was tied to Bruce’s. She did not believe he would be spared. If Alexander did not die in battle he would be executed alongside his leader. If he managed to escape King Edward, he would be in exile, an outlaw living in the forests....

She should not care. She did not want to care.

“Somehow, I dinna think yer looking for me.”

She jerked out of her terrible reverie at the sound of Alexander’s voice. He leaned against the doorway of the hall, his posture casual—his expression too bland. His eyes, however, were hard.

It was a moment before she could speak, and even so, her tone was strained. “Good morning, my lord. Bruce has left?”

“I feel certain ye ken that Bruce is gone.”

“I saw him leave, yes.”

“Ye disobeyed me directly, Lady Margaret. I am vastly displeased.”

“I could not stand the rumors,” she whispered.

“What rumors? And what excuse is that?” he demanded, anger now crossing his expression.

“The rumors of war. The rumors of a coronation. Does he march to Scone? Will he be crowned there?” she cried, trembling. She realized her fists were clenched. “And do you go to war tomorrow?”

“If he will be king, he will be crowned at Scone,” Alexander said, more calmly. But his gaze was still searing. “I am leaving tomorrow.”

“To attack Dumbarton? To attack every ally of King Edward as you march to Scone?” she cried.

“So yer maids were spying on us last night.”

Tears seemed to arise. “Please leave Isabella alone.”

“Ye discovered too much, Margaret.”

“You already mean to punish me, do you not? Yes, my maids overheard you last night. But Bruce told me that you go to battle at Dumbarton. I can imagine the rest. God, Alexander—you go to war against King Edward’s army!”

He studied her and began to smile. “Lady Margaret—are ye frightened for me? Even more now than before?”

She could not breathe properly. “I should not care. I know that. I really do not care! But I cannot wish you ill!”

His smile widened.

“You’re amused? You think it amusing—to fight a legitimate king, to make an illegitimate one?” She felt like striking him, the way her mother had once struck Bruce! “This is not some silly blood feud over stolen cattle! This is a great war waged by a would-be king against a great king!”

“Scotland has been fought over before,” he said, still smiling.

“Why? Why ride with Bruce? Six months ago you were King Edward’s vassal.”

“Yer worried about me.”

She wanted to deny it. But she could not, not even to herself. “I did not wish you ill when you fought Sir Guy, and I do not wish you ill now. I may be your hostage, but you have been just.”

He emitted a short laugh. “The lengths ye go to, to excuse yer affections for me!”