Brenda Joyce (26 page)

Her heart lurched. She knew exactly what he wished. “Yes.”

He grinned at her. And then he swept her up against his chest and kissed her, deeply.

Margaret gasped for air when he was done and he had set her back on her feet. Then she realized that the Earl of Atholl was staring at her. He smiled slightly at her before turning to Scotland’s king and queen.

She tensed. He knew she and Alexander were lovers. If Atholl was still pretending allegiance to Buchan, would he tell him of Margaret’s betrayal? But he was with Bruce—he had betrayed Buchan himself—and she knew that. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so quick to share what he knew, then.

* * *

A
LEXANDER
PUT
HIS
arm around her and they approached Bruce, who stood with Elisabeth now. Isabella stood behind him, and he and the queen were surrounded with the noblemen and women of his court. Margaret saw Bruce take Elisabeth’s hand and kiss it.

And Robert Bruce said, very loudly, for a great many to hear, “From this day forward, you are queen and I am king of Scotland.”

His wife widened her eyes. “Really? For I think we are only playing at being king and queen, very much like small children.”

Margaret bit back a gasp.

Bruce darkened. “You are queen, Elisabeth,” he warned, “and I am king of the Scots.”

Elisabeth smiled and did not speak.

* * *

A
LEXANDER
GAVE
HER
such a promising look that she failed to breathe, and then he pulled her down behind a line of trees. Margaret seized his broad shoulders as he came down on top of her, and their mouths fused wildly.

As they kissed on a bed of grass and pine needles, she could hear the crowd atop the hill; there was so much happy laughter. Alexander’s tongue moved deep. Margaret kissed him back as thoroughly, briefly blinded by her need. How she had missed him during her time at Balvenie. In a way, she missed him still, for she was acutely aware that little time remained for them to be together now.

But the crowd that had just witnessed Bruce being crowned for a second time was beginning to disperse. The sound of their conversation and laughter was growing louder, as the noblemen and women, the farmers and their wives, the soldiers, began descending the hill. In a moment, the crowd would be walking just past them, unaware of where they lay hidden among the trees.

Alexander tugged her skirts up to her waist. “Ignore them,” he whispered.

His touch was deft and Margaret gasped. But then she heard the gentlemen who were walking so closely by them.

“The queen is furious with Bruce,” a male passerby said.

Alexander went still, listening now as she did.

“He has made her Queen of Scotland, she should be pleased,” a familiar voice answered. It was Atholl.

Margaret had frozen as Alexander held her closely. She could just glimpse the line of people walking past the trees that hid them, and she could see the three closest men—Atholl walked with Lennox and another nobleman whom she recognized but did not know. A part of her wanted to listen, a part of her feared discovery and part of her did not want Alexander to stop making love to her.

“Bruce will do as he pleases,” Lennox said. “And Isabella is very pleasing.” He laughed.

“I know Isabella well. I also know Buchan. I fear for her,” Atholl replied.

“The queen will not tolerate her for long,” the third man said. “But she will never harm Isabella while she is in Bruce’s favor.”

“And for how long will that be?” Lennox asked.

“She has risked her life to crown him—Bruce will never forget that,” Atholl said with vehemence.

And the three men were gone.

Alexander suddenly moved over her. Margaret’s gaze flew back to his strained face.

“How can ye be distracted now?” he asked softly.

“You were listening, too,” she managed to say.

He slowly smiled at her. Margaret lost her ability to breathe as he pushed slowly into her, watching her every reaction. She gave up all coherent thought, surrendering to the shocking pleasure. And she collapsed beneath him, trying not to cry out.

“Now that is better,” he said roughly, but low.

Sometime later, when Alexander had grunted in satisfaction, he held her, hard. Margaret held him in return, as he rolled to his side, taking her with him. She did not move, waiting for her pulse to subside. Alexander kissed her temple.

She took a long breath. Sanity returned. So did coherent thought. And the only sounds in the forest were the birds singing in the trees above them and their own labored breathing. Margaret could see through the trees to the path leading down the hill to the abbey. It was empty.

“Do ye have to worry about Isabella now?” he asked, his mouth moving against her temple.

“Yes. You heard them. She is causing gossip. Gossip that will surely reach Buchan. If Robert ever sends her away, I fear for her.”

“He is a man of great loyalty. He always rewards his allies. She may be his lover now, but Lennox is right, he will never forget what she has done for him.” He shifted to his side so he could look more directly at her.

How she wished she was as certain as Alexander and Lennox, but she had doubts. Now Bruce meant to reward Isabella. But what about a year from now—or even ten? “I wonder if Bruce’s ambition dwarfs even his loyalties.”

Alexander sat up. “That is a dangerous remark, Margaret. For it would mean that he would give up those who have stood by him, if ever his ambition demanded it.”

She had made her terrible point. Dismay claimed her. No good was going to come of Isabella’s actions, she was certain. Her marriage was in ruins, and her fate was uncertain. Then she recalled that terrible instant when she and Atholl had made eye contact at the coronation. “I think Atholl knows about us.”

“And if he does?”

“He has been friends with my uncle for years—since I was a child, at least. What if he tells him?”

“If he returns to the peel at Strathbogie he will hardly be inviting Buchan to dinner. And ye ken his secrets.”

* * *

“I
HOPE
YOU
are right,” she said. “What if he has told his wife? Isabella suspects us, as well. She is so naive—she might say something by mistake.”

His gaze turned searching. “I said I’d protect ye, Margaret. I mean to do just that. If ye stay with me, it will not matter what Buchan knows.”

Margaret stared into his unwavering gaze. He would not be able to protect her from Buchan’s wrath if she returned to Balvenie, and he was at war. “And for how long will I be with you? You are going to war with Bruce tomorrow.”

Alexander’s expression changed as he stood lithely up. He held out his hand and Margaret gave it to him, so he could pull her to her feet. “We march north, on Dundee,” he said in agreement.

She shivered, her mind suddenly filled with ghastly and bloody images of battle—all far too real—all with Alexander in the midst of the fighting. “God, I do not like it when you go to war.”

“I am a warrior.”

She wet her lips as they exchanged long stares. Her mind returned to the dilemma she faced. Where was she to go? Was she free to leave if she wished? She did not believe that Alexander would detain her against her will. Not now. “And what of me? Where will I go tomorrow?”

“Bruce sends his women to Aberdeen. In the north, they will be safe.”

“Does he fear that his enemies will capture his queen and her ladies?”

“’Tis possible. He must make certain to keep them safe. Ye could stay with Queen Elisabeth, Margaret.”

He had spoken as if he was making a suggestion. “Are you giving me a choice?”

He glanced aside. “Ye would not have to face Buchan if ye stay with the queen. Ye’d not have to face Sir Guy.”

He hadn’t answered her. But she did not believe that Alexander would keep her forcibly now. And that meant she did have a choice—to stay with the queen and her women, or return to Balvenie. “Even if the queen would allow me to join her court, how could I do so? Bruce doesn’t trust me. The women do not trust me. I am a Comyn—I am one of his enemies. Surely, I would have to pay homage to King Robert.” She recalled Christina Seton’s words—either that, or she could marry Alexander.

“If I speak fer ye, ye will be allowed to join Queen Elisabeth’s court,” he said flatly. “If ye stay with the women, ye could wait fer me.”

Margaret felt torn. She wanted to wait for Alexander to return to her. But then what? Was she to simply disavow her loyalty to her uncle, her brother and the entire Comyn family?

Was she to stay with Queen Elisabeth during this terrible war, while her family fought Bruce from its other side?

“Isabella will stay with the queen,” Alexander suddenly said. “She wishes to stay—as she cannot go home. Will ye stay at court to protect Isabella?”

Margaret was aware that Alexander thought to manipulate her. She hesitated. She was truly reluctant to go home to Balvenie. But the idea of staying with Queen Elisabeth was frightening—even if she wished to protect Isabella. God, what would her dear mother do in such a circumstance, in such times? “You are trying to convince me to choose to stay. Unfairly, you are using Isabella to do so.”

“Aye, I am trying to convince you to stay with the queen and her women,” he said. “I want ye here—waiting fer me.”

She was so tempted to stay. But he was asking for so much. “You are asking me to change my loyalties—again,” she said slowly. “But if I stayed here, I would not remain as your lover. You are actually asking me to stay—and marry you.”

“I haven’t hidden my true desire,” he said harshly. “So what will ye choose, Margaret?”

She felt as if she approached the precipice of a dangerous cliff. One more step, and she would surely leap off—but to what fate? “It is probably best that I return to Balvenie, for now.”

“Fer now?” He was angry and incredulous at once. “Ye will stay loyal to yer damned uncle?” he exclaimed. “Ye will marry Sir Guy?”

“It’s not just Buchan,” she cried. “And I cannot marry Sir Guy now—you must know that!” And as she spoke, she faced her innermost thoughts and feelings. It was true. She could not marry the Englishman. “Maybe, just maybe, this damned war will end, sooner, not later!” She reached for him.

He dodged her efforts. “Buchan will never release ye from the union.” He was hard now. “Very well. If ye wish to return, ye shall.”

And before Margaret could thank him, he spun on his heel and strode away.

* * *

I
T
WAS
LATE
, and there was little revelry in the abbey’s great room now. The fires in the hall’s two hearths were dying. A great many soldiers were taking to their pallets upon the floor there. A few men and women remained at the tables with their wine, but most of the court had already retired, as had the king and queen.

Margaret was exhausted, and she had wanted to leave the celebration hours ago, but she had decided to remain because of Alexander.

Tomorrow Bruce would take his army north, while his women went to Aberdeen under his brother’s care. She would ride with them, and be given an escort to continue home once they had reached the city.

Tonight was her last night at Bruce’s court, and for that, she was relieved. On the other hand, it was also her last night with Alexander.

He had been in conversation with Atholl for some time, and she could not imagine what they were discussing. But he had not looked her way even once, and she knew he was very angry with her.

She wondered if he would signal her to join him later, so they could spend one last night together.

Her heart hurt terribly now. Leaving him this time was so much harder than before. She cared far too much.

And she was so worried now about her return to Balvenie—and the confrontation she must have with her uncle.

Isabella also remained in the hall, having drunk a bit too much wine. She now came over to Margaret, having unsuccessfully tried to converse with the queen’s women for some time. She sighed. “You have been staring at Alexander all night!”

Margaret felt herself flush. “I am returning to Balvenie, Isabella. I intend to try to convince Buchan that you were coerced into participating in the coronation.”

Isabella shrugged. “I would not waste my breath, Margaret, but you are a dear friend.” Her gaze now settled on Alexander. “Why don’t you admit that you are smitten? Why don’t you surrender to him? Why not marry a great warrior who can keep you and your lands safe?”

Margaret tensed. What would Isabella say if she knew just how tempting such a decision was? “I do care deeply for Alexander, but my mother raised me to be loyal. How can I forget her now?”

Isabella shook her head, confused. “Your mother is dead, Margaret, but you are very much alive!”

Margaret did not bother to tell her that her mother’s legacy remained very much alive—and that it always would. She glanced at Alexander again, now conversing with Sir Christopher Seton. He had drunk a great deal of wine, and he was finally smiling. But she was not deluded. He remained upset with her.

Suddenly a squire tapped upon Isabella’s shoulder. Isabella whirled, relief written all over her face. “Will you come with me, Countess?” the boy asked politely.

Bruce was sending for her, Margaret thought, amazed. Never mind that he was upstairs—as was his queen.

“I must go,” Isabella cried, hugging her. Her eyes were bright—shining. Then she dashed off, the squire behind her.

Dread began. There would be no discretion then, between the king and his lover?

Christina Seton paused before her, unsmiling. “You are a very fortunate woman.”

“It is late, Lady Seton. Can we spar another time?”

“My brother is a fool, to allow you to return to Buchan after you have been with us! But Alexander has somehow convinced him you will not harm us. I do not believe it, not for a moment!”

Margaret realized Christina wasn’t hateful, she was afraid. “I have no secrets to tell,” she said.

“I worry for my husband and my brother every day.” She whirled and hurried away.