A Rose in the Storm. Brenda Joyce

could she get him to change his mind?

      She somehow softened and glanced up. “My lord, forgive me. I am but a woman, and a weary woman, at that. I have never had to defend a castle before. I have never had to engage in battle, and I have never been in the midst of a siege. And I have never had to make so many decisions, decisions that should have been made by men.” Tears filled her eyes. She welcomed them. “I have never been so frightened! The last thing I would ever wish is to command a keep against a siege, much less against the Wolf of Lochaber!”

      “Ye refused to surrender,” he said softly, a potent reminder of her sins.

      “I was foolish, but then, I am a woman.”

      He slowly shook his head. “Dinna think to outwit me, lady, when we both ken yer no fool.”

      “My choice was a foolish one!”

      “And ye will pay the price for the choice ye made. Only a fool would allow his enemy to live to fight another day—they hang tomorrow at noon.”

      She had lost. His mind was made up. She began to shake, her fury erupting. “Damn you!”

      “Have a care,” he warned.

      “No,” she said, tears falling. “I will not have a care, you have stolen my castle from me, mine, and now, you will execute my people, mine!”

      “I have defeated ye, Lady Margaret, fairly, in battle. The spoils are mine.”

      “There is nothing fair about my having been attacked so rudely, by the mighty Wolf of Lochaber!” She knew she should not be shouting at him, but she could not stop now. “You may have won the day, Wolf. But this is my castle. This is MacDougall land. No matter what happened today, this will always be MacDougall land!”

      “War changes everything.”

      “I will never let you keep this place!”

      His eyes widened. “What do ye say?”

      She knew she should become quiet. She knew she must control her rage. She must not cry in front of him. But could not stop herself from doing any of those things. “If no one comes to fight you, MacDonald, then I will fight you!”

      “But ye have already fought—and lost.”

      “Yes, I have fought—and I have lost. But I have learned a great deal. The next time, I will be prepared. And there will be a next time.”

      “Ye dare to threaten me?”

      “I make a vow—to defeat you!” And she was so exhausted and so overcome, that shouting at him now caused her knees to buckle. And then the floor tilted wildly, the hall spun...

      And then there was only darkness.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      THE FIRST THING Margaret saw when she opened her eyes was Peg, who sat by her hip on the bed, holding her hand tightly. The next thing she saw was Alexander MacDonald, who stood in the doorway of the chamber, staring at her, his face hard and set. As she blinked, realizing she had fainted and been carried into a bedchamber, he turned and strode away.

      She trembled, so exhausted she sank back down into the pillows, instead of attempting to get up.

      “Ye swooned! Ye never swoon,” Peg cried. “Ye have fought a war today, as if ye were a man, but yer a lady!”

      Margaret felt tears of exhaustion and despair arise. He was gone, so she did not need to hide them. “Oh, Peg, what are we going to do? He will hang Malcolm and the others at noon tomorrow!” And their deaths would be her fault.

      Peg, who was so loquacious, now simply sat there. Her face remained pale with distress.

      Margaret realized that something of great significance was on her mind, and she sat up. “What is it?”

      Peg shook her head, as if in denial. “Ye fought him earlier with arrows and swords, but just now, ye fought him with words, Margaret, and that will not serve yer cause.”

      “He has attacked and taken my castle. Many of my men have died. I could hardly sing him songs and serve him sweetmeats.”

      Peg rolled her eyes. “Fer such a clever lady, yer such a fool!”

      “What does that mean?”

      “It means that he has been looking at ye all night long as if yer a tasty morsel and he’s truly a wolf. He wants ye.”

      Margaret stared, shocked. “What are you trying to say?”

      “If ye pleased him, lady, he would probably go to London and back for ye—or even Rome!”

      Her heart raced. “Are you suggesting...a liaison?” She could barely get the word out.

      But wasn’t seduction a ploy used by women since the beginning of time?

      Margaret stared as Peg got up. “I am going to bring you soup and bread,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard the question.

      “No, wait,” Margaret said uneasily. “Do you really think I could change his mind if I...slept with him?”

      “Aye, I do—as long as ye kiss and caress him wildly.” She gave her a look. “If ye spit at him, he’ll hardly wish to please ye tomorrow!”

      Margaret shuddered. She had to save her men’s lives. But could she use her body in such a manner? Would she even be able to tolerate his touch? But now, his proud image flashed in her mind, as she had seen him standing before her castle walls. Most women would find him attractive. She might even think him handsome, if they were not mortal enemies. “I am supposed to marry Sir Guy in June,” she managed to say.

      Peg shrugged. “So? Ye hate having to marry an Englishman anyway.”

      She grimaced. Peg was so brutally honest! “Yes, I dread having to marry an Englishman. But that is not hatred.” She added, “If there is a man whom I hate, it is Alexander MacDonald.”

      “I think it’s the same. And have ye noticed that he’s handsome?”

      Margaret gave her an incredulous look. “No,” she lied. She pulled a cover up, as it was cold. She now realized she was in a small chamber adjacent to the one she had claimed as her own upon her return to Castle Fyne. MacDonald must have taken the other chamber. “Buchan will be equally furious,” she said slowly. Was Peg right? Could she seduce the mighty Wolf to her will? Would he be so pleased with her tomorrow that he would change his mind about executing her men?

      “Aye, he will be angry—mayhap more than Sir Guy! But if ye want to save Malcolm and the others, what other hope is there?”

      She imagined her powerful guardian in a rage. She had seen it before, and she shuddered. She wasn’t sure what he would do, but he would consider her behavior treachery.

      “What will ye do?” Peg asked.

      “I don’t know—but I do not have much time to think about it.” But even as she spoke, she knew there was no decision to make. Doing nothing was not a choice. She had to make another attempt to persuade her captor not to execute her men.

      Margaret slid from the bed. “Peg, one more thing. Can you go to the entry tower and attempt to see William?”

      Peg nodded. “I will set a soup to boil first.”

      Margaret watched her leave. Then she walked to the door, and glanced into the narrow hall outside. It was lit by rushes set on sconces, against the walls. A big Highlander sat there on a stool, and he smiled at her politely when she saw him.

      She had a guard.

      Then she glanced at the adjacent chamber—her room. Alexander wasn’t within—he was downstairs still, in the great hall—but she stared at the bed in the center of the room, trying to imagine going to him that night.

      She couldn’t.

      *