Brenda Joyce (23 page)

“Of course you wouldn’t! For some reason I could never fathom, you are so loyal to my husband.”

“He is my uncle. He and Will are all I have left!” Margaret made one last attempt to dissuade her from her suicidal course. “Have you considered that you will be committing treason if you place that crown on Bruce’s head?” They had yet to broach that subject.

Isabella lifted her chin. “Then so be it. I am the Countess of Fife!”

“You are the Countess of Buchan and the Earl of Buchan’s wife!”

A movement sounded behind them. Margaret turned, and saw one of Alexander’s men at the top of the stairs, signaling him. Alexander took her arm. “She made up her mind long ago, Margaret, and even if ye could change it, I’d take her with us—just as I am taking ye.”

Margaret met his hard gaze for a moment, knowing that his mind was made up. They started down the hallway, two of Alexander’s men in the lead, Alexander behind Margaret and Isabella. When they reached the great hall, Margaret saw that six knights lay unmoving upon the floor, and one was Sir Ranald.

She cried out, for most of those strewn on the stone were clearly dead. Blood had pooled beneath one soldier’s head. She rushed to Sir Ranald, who was terribly pale, and laid her fingers upon his throat.

It took her an instant to realize that his pulse beat there, sure and strong. Relief filled her. A shadow fell over her and she looked up. “This is Sir Ranald—and he is important to me.”

“I will remember it.” Alexander reached down and dragged her up. “Be silent now,” he said to her and Isabella.

They hurried from the hall, outside and into the night. The courtyard was eerily quiet, as if deserted. But a dozen of his men appeared, stepping out of the night shadows, as silent as wolves on the hunt. And there were no cries from above.

She glanced up. The watchtowers were deserted. She feared the watch lay dead.

And a moment later they were stealing out of a small south door, where dozens of horses and riders awaited them in the dark.

* * *

I
T
WAS
HIGH
noon when Alexander held up his hand, halting their cavalcade.

They had been riding at a rapid pace, away from Balvenie, ever since leaving the castle in the middle of the night. Margaret rode beside Isabella, between two of Alexander’s men. There were about fifty Highland knights in their group. Nine or even ten hours had to have passed. They were deep within a forest now, but they had been using deer paths that had clearly become roads for warhorses for most of the journey. Initially their pace had been as rapid as possible in the dark of the night, but at dawn, when it seemed that any pursuit would be far behind, Alexander had slowed the pace to a walk. Now, he turned his mount to face them. “We will rest here until dark,” he said.

Margaret was relieved. She was stiff, sore and exhausted—in fact, she was even more fatigued mentally than she was physically. Conversation had not been allowed. She had had hours in which to think.

She could not bring herself to feel genuinely dismayed over her abduction. But she remained terrified for Isabella. If she could, she still hoped to convince her not to participate in Bruce’s coronation.

She glanced at Isabella, who also appeared pale and exhausted, and they smiled grimly at one another. Margaret could not wait to dismount. She imagined Isabella felt the very same way.

Alexander had already leapt from his horse. Dughall was leading it away. He smiled at Isabella, striding to her. “How do ye fare, Countess?”

“I do not know if I can stand up,” she admitted. “My entire body hurts.”

He caught her around the waist and helped her down. When Isabella’s feet touched the ground she fell against him. Alexander righted her, but for a moment, Isabella was in his arms.

Margaret watched, feeling oddly annoyed, and her annoyance increased when Isabella smiled at him and murmured her thanks.

Margaret pretended to ignore them as Alexander led her toward a pallet recently put down; a tent was being erected for her. She slid from her horse with some difficulty, wincing. But Alexander caught her arm from behind. “If ye would wait, I would help ye down in turn.”

Margaret faced him, and then she pulled away. But his touch seemed to linger. His touch affected her as no other man’s could. She was so acutely aware of him now.

But hadn’t she been as aware of him all night? She had found herself staring at him as he led the way, time after time. And as frightening as the night was, there had been something reassuring about the broad set of his shoulders, the proud tilt of his head.

But she should not be reassured. Their disappearance had been remarked by now. Sir Ranald must be in hot pursuit. Word would have been sent to Buchan.

“You seemed occupied tending to Isabella,” she said, unsmiling.

“Are ye jealous? Because ye need not be, Margaret.”

“I do not wish to be jealous, Alexander, just as I do not want to have any care for you.” She then shrugged. Some feelings were simply impossible to control.

“But ye do care.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “Ye should eat and sleep. We’ll ride again at dark—through the entire night.”

His stare was unwavering, but she could not look away, for she had not seen him for so long. But she must rein in her affections. “There will be pursuit.”

“Do ye warn me?”

Was she warning him? “Sir Ranald is devoted to me.”

“Of course he is. I am prepared, Margaret. Six of my men ride far behind—if they discover pursuit, they will relay the news to me.”

“Is there any way that they can catch us?”

“’Tis unlikely. We turned all their horses out of the stables. They will have to catch them before they can chase us. And we rode very hard fer the first few hours, and I have taken an unusual route. We do not travel in the most direct manner.” He gestured, indicating that she should join Isabella, whose pallet was now beneath the open tent.

Margaret did not move. “How long will it be before we reach Scone, Alexander?”

“It depends on whether we are being pursued, and if I have to take an even more unusual route. It also depends upon ye and Isabella. I dinna think either of ye will be able to ride as long tonight.”

“Is he to be crowned on the twenty-fifth?”

Alexander started. “Why should I be surprised by anything ye say or do, Margaret? I already knew ye spied on us when Bruce came to Castle Fyne.”

“I was your prisoner—it was my duty to spy—to learn of what was happening in the country.”

“And will it be your duty now—again?” His eyes remained dark and hard.

“I wish not!”

“So yer answer is aye.” He turned away from her, anger and disgust in his strides.

She stared after him. She did not want to argue or fight! But what did he expect from her now? Her family was at war with Bruce. Of course she must spy!

But that did not mean she would relay everything she learned.

Margaret turned and slowly approached Isabella, whose eyes were wide. She sank down beside her, knees buckling.

“Are you lovers?”

Margaret flinched.

“You have kept my secret—I will keep yours.”

“That isn’t fair,” Margaret breathed.

“Why not? We are friends. You have helped me—perhaps I wish to help you, too.”

Margaret had no intention of telling Isabella the truth. She was afraid Isabella might inadvertently let the truth slip. “I need a privy moment.”

“I think I know your answer, Margaret,” Isabella said.

Margaret’s head ached now, along with her body. Alexander’s men all glanced at her as she veered away from the small camp, and she quickly realized that she was to be watched—and she would not be allowed to simply walk away into the forest, to attend to her own needs...or to escape.

Was she Alexander’s prisoner now? Somehow, she did not think that he would actually keep her against her will.

Dughall had detached himself from a group of men who were seated around a fire. He was following her, but at a discreet distance.

“I am not going far,” she said over her shoulder.

“Good.” He smiled at her. “But I must go with ye—I will turn away, Lady Margaret, so ye can do what ye must.”

She was somewhat angry, but she knew she must not blame Dughall—if she was to blame anyone, it would be Alexander.

And escape was not on her mind. Isabella needed her. And she and Alexander had to speak. It felt as if they had so much to say to one another. She just wasn’t sure how to begin, or what to say, or how to get through an entire conversation without anger and accusations.

She hurried into the trees. Dughall stayed back, and she found a private place to take care of her needs.

Then she paused in another small glade, Dughall not far from the camp, where he kept one eye upon her, leaning against a tree. She rubbed her temples tiredly, walked over to a flat rock and sat down on it. Then she hugged her knees to her chest and laid her cheek there.

What should she do now?

She remained terribly attracted to Alexander. She continued to care for him. When they had spent that one night together, nothing had really changed. Now, everything had changed.

She did not want to marry Sir Guy. Alexander had taken her forcefully away, so now she could not marry Sir Guy, and for that, she was grateful. But he had decided he wished to marry her himself, undoing her every conviction. If ever such a marriage came to pass, she would be giving up her every significant loyalty—all would be transferred to Alexander.

“Ye will not rest?” she heard Alexander ask.

She shifted to face him, suddenly a bit breathless, dropping her legs over the side of the rock. “I will gladly rest, after we have had a chance to speak.”

“I wish to speak with ye, too, Margaret,” he said, very seriously. “We shared a bed, and the morning afterward ye left me.”

She could not look away from his searching gaze. He was so solemn, and she felt guilty. “Will had devised a good plan. It seemed likely to succeed. In a way, I did not want to leave, Alexander. But Peg had heard of your plans for Isabella. I had to warn her.”

“I trusted ye.”

She flinched. “I had to escape. It was my duty, Alexander.”

“Did ye sleep with me to soften me fer the escape?” he asked, his gaze direct.

She gasped. “How could you think such a thing?”

“I would be foolish not to consider such a possibility.”

“I came to you because I was afraid you might go to war—never to return. I did not know we would make love. I came only to tell you that I had become fond of you, against my better judgment, in defiance of my loyalties.”

“When I heard ye’d escaped—that very morning—the news was like an ax striking my chest.”

“I am sorry!” she cried.

He tilted up her chin. “I believe yer sorry—I also believe ye’d escape again, if ye could.”

“From here? No. I can’t leave Isabella yet.”

He studied her. “Isabella was expecting us—ye warned her. But ye dinna warn Buchan. If ye had, I would never have been able to get inside Balvenie. Why?”

She flushed. “I could not betray Isabella, not once I realized how eager she was to aid Bruce.”

“So ye put her before yer uncle.”

She hesitated. “She isn’t my blood, but she is my friend.”

“Blood always comes before friendship.”

He was right. She had put Isabella first. “I was protecting her.”

“The way ye think to protect me?”

She started. Before she could ask him what he meant—afraid of what he meant—he said, “Ye ken Bruce will be crowned the twenty-fifth,” Alexander said, staring. “When did ye learn that?”

She flushed. “Eilidh thought she heard such a date, Alexander.”

“Did ye warn Buchan about that?” His gaze was searing.

“No. I could not bring myself to tell him of the date—which Eilidh was uncertain of, anyway.”

“Why not? The great Comyn family hates Bruce. Yer a Comyn. Why not, Margaret?” he demanded. “Or have yer loyalties finally changed?”

She slipped to her feet. “My loyalties haven’t changed! I wasn’t sure the date was correct!”

“Tell me the truth. Tell me the real reason ye did not tell Buchan when we will crown Bruce.”

She inhaled. “If I told him, he would ambush Scone on that date—and you would be there with Bruce. I am afraid for you!”

He reached out and clasped her shoulder, pulling her closer. “So yer loyalties
have
changed.”

“Don’t do this, Alexander. I do not want to be enemies, but that is what we must remain.” Yet how could they truly be enemies when she wanted to be in his arms?

“We ceased being enemies when we shared the same bed.”

He was so resolute. And she knew that when resolute, Alexander was impossible to move. “I’m your prisoner—again! And that makes us enemies.”

“Yer a prisoner here only if ye want to be one.” He clasped her other shoulder and pulled her entirely into his embrace. “I think yer loyalties have already changed, but as stubborn as ye can be, ye refuse to recognize it.”

If he was right, she had to warn him of all she’d learned. “Alexander, there is more. Buchan and his allies hope to divide your army from Bruce’s. They hope to isolate you and then destroy you.”

His eyes gleamed. She knew he was thinking that he was right after all—that her loyalties had changed. “Are ye certain?”

She nodded. “But I have no other details.”

He tilted up her chin. “See, Margaret? Ye think to warn me now.”

“Yes, I am warning you. Can’t I be loyal to my family, and try to keep you safe, too?”

He shook his head, an odd, tender light filling his eyes. “Mayhap for a day, or two, or ten. But in the end, ye will have to choose. In the end, it will be me—or them.”

She would never be able to abandon her family, she thought, feeling frantic. But she would never purposefully place Alexander in jeopardy. “Why can’t you understand? Buchan and Will are all I have left of my mother, my father, my other brothers!” But his hand was now caressing her back, causing desire to fist within her.

And he clasped her face in his large hands. “Buchan would sell ye to me fer the right price. And Will would understand—if ye told him that ye love me.”