groan. Alexander shifted to face her. “Ye may go inside.”
She met his gaze, realizing she was filled with trepidation now. How could she face her men, now? Did they even know they would soon die?
Alexander suddenly said, “Margaret, ye need not do this.”
She stiffened, condemning herself for her cowardice—when she was hardly going to hang that day. And she did not like the way he had addressed her—so intimately. But she would not dispute him now. She stepped past him.
Instantly, her gaze turned to Sir Neil and Malcolm as she entered the cell. “Are you all right?”
“Lady Margaret, you should not be here,” Sir Neil gasped.
She rushed to him and seized his hands—he had been wounded, she saw, in his shoulder, but it had been bandaged and there was not that much blood. “What happened? You were hurt!”
“Lady—I failed you!” He gripped her hands tightly. “And I beg yer forgiveness, I was to keep you safe, I failed. I was to ride for rescue, and I was captured!” Tears filled his dark blue eyes.
“Sir Neil, you could never fail me,” she cried, meaning it. “You are the bravest knight I know. You fought tirelessly for me. I want to see your wound!”
“It is a scratch,” he said. “Lady Margaret, are ye all right? Have ye been hurt?” Eyes blazing, he looked past her at Alexander with fury.
She hadn’t realized that Alexander stood behind them, openly observing them and listening to their every word. Now Sir Neil was murderous, and if looks could kill, Alexander would be dead. “I have been treated well, Sir Neil, and you must not worry about me.”
He studied her, clearly assessing if she spoke the truth. When he was reassured, he said, “I will always worry about you. I am your vassal. And you are my lady!”
She wanted to hug him, but that would be entirely inappropriate. Instead, she clung to his hands and he kissed each one. “I beg your forgiveness, Lady Margaret. I must know that I am forgiven my failures, before I die.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” She released him now, glancing at Malcolm. “Are you unhurt?”
He nodded. “Ye should not be here, Lady Margaret. The dungeons are no place for a lady.”
She looked past him at the soldiers and archers in the cell. No one was hurt, and for that, she was thankful. “Of course I came to see you. I must speak with you all.”
She took a deep breath. “I have failed you all. I refused to surrender to the mighty Wolf of Lochaber, when I am but a young, untried woman. My pride as a MacDougall knew no bounds. Pride led me to believe we could achieve the impossible—that we could defeat a superior force, that we could defeat the great Wolf.” She fought rising tears.
“Lady, we all wished to fight,” Malcolm said grimly.
“We would do so again, if we had such a choice,” Sir Neil cried.
“Aye,” the others agreed in a chorus.
She shook her head and said hoarsely, “Had I surrendered, you would all be free now. Instead, you are the Wolf’s prisoners.”
No one tried to speak now. Everyone was intent, awaiting her next words, her direction. And it amazed her that they would follow her still.
“I am not worthy of you, and certainly, I was not worthy to lead you. The Wolf said he would spare no one if I did not surrender. I should have considered that far more carefully when I chose to fight him. But I did not.” She paused, but not for effect. She hated what she must now divulge.
“I have begged him to change his mind. He will not do so.”
No one moved, and no one seemed surprised. Sir Neil said, “You were the most worthy leader a knight could have, lady, and I would follow you into battle another time.”
“Aye, I would follow ye again,” Malcolm said. “Yer the great lady of Fyne!”
“I would follow ye, lady,” one of her archers said. “We would all follow ye, a great lady like yer mother, into battle—or anywhere ye might lead!”
Everyone murmured in agreement.
Margaret could not
She met his gaze, realizing she was filled with trepidation now. How could she face her men, now? Did they even know they would soon die?
Alexander suddenly said, “Margaret, ye need not do this.”
She stiffened, condemning herself for her cowardice—when she was hardly going to hang that day. And she did not like the way he had addressed her—so intimately. But she would not dispute him now. She stepped past him.
Instantly, her gaze turned to Sir Neil and Malcolm as she entered the cell. “Are you all right?”
“Lady Margaret, you should not be here,” Sir Neil gasped.
She rushed to him and seized his hands—he had been wounded, she saw, in his shoulder, but it had been bandaged and there was not that much blood. “What happened? You were hurt!”
“Lady—I failed you!” He gripped her hands tightly. “And I beg yer forgiveness, I was to keep you safe, I failed. I was to ride for rescue, and I was captured!” Tears filled his dark blue eyes.
“Sir Neil, you could never fail me,” she cried, meaning it. “You are the bravest knight I know. You fought tirelessly for me. I want to see your wound!”
“It is a scratch,” he said. “Lady Margaret, are ye all right? Have ye been hurt?” Eyes blazing, he looked past her at Alexander with fury.
She hadn’t realized that Alexander stood behind them, openly observing them and listening to their every word. Now Sir Neil was murderous, and if looks could kill, Alexander would be dead. “I have been treated well, Sir Neil, and you must not worry about me.”
He studied her, clearly assessing if she spoke the truth. When he was reassured, he said, “I will always worry about you. I am your vassal. And you are my lady!”
She wanted to hug him, but that would be entirely inappropriate. Instead, she clung to his hands and he kissed each one. “I beg your forgiveness, Lady Margaret. I must know that I am forgiven my failures, before I die.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” She released him now, glancing at Malcolm. “Are you unhurt?”
He nodded. “Ye should not be here, Lady Margaret. The dungeons are no place for a lady.”
She looked past him at the soldiers and archers in the cell. No one was hurt, and for that, she was thankful. “Of course I came to see you. I must speak with you all.”
She took a deep breath. “I have failed you all. I refused to surrender to the mighty Wolf of Lochaber, when I am but a young, untried woman. My pride as a MacDougall knew no bounds. Pride led me to believe we could achieve the impossible—that we could defeat a superior force, that we could defeat the great Wolf.” She fought rising tears.
“Lady, we all wished to fight,” Malcolm said grimly.
“We would do so again, if we had such a choice,” Sir Neil cried.
“Aye,” the others agreed in a chorus.
She shook her head and said hoarsely, “Had I surrendered, you would all be free now. Instead, you are the Wolf’s prisoners.”
No one tried to speak now. Everyone was intent, awaiting her next words, her direction. And it amazed her that they would follow her still.
“I am not worthy of you, and certainly, I was not worthy to lead you. The Wolf said he would spare no one if I did not surrender. I should have considered that far more carefully when I chose to fight him. But I did not.” She paused, but not for effect. She hated what she must now divulge.
“I have begged him to change his mind. He will not do so.”
No one moved, and no one seemed surprised. Sir Neil said, “You were the most worthy leader a knight could have, lady, and I would follow you into battle another time.”
“Aye, I would follow ye again,” Malcolm said. “Yer the great lady of Fyne!”
“I would follow ye, lady,” one of her archers said. “We would all follow ye, a great lady like yer mother, into battle—or anywhere ye might lead!”
Everyone murmured in agreement.
Margaret could not
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