Brenda Joyce by A Rose in the Storm

that God will bring some great cataclysm upon us, interfering with the executions.”
    Peg nodded. “I think ye should go to him. Maybe ye’ll enjoy being in his arms, even if he is the enemy.”
    Margaret did not want to even consider such a possibility, which was unlikely, in any case. She dipped another piece of bread in the soup. “Did you see William?”
    Peg hesitated, and Margaret was instantly alarmed. She set aside her food. “Peg!”
    “I saw him, Margaret, but we did not speak. They were bringing him food and water, so the door to his chamber was open.”
    “What is it?” Margaret tried to hold her anxiety in check.
    “He was badly hurt! His head is bandaged—the linens are red—and so is the bandage on his shoulder. He is as white as a corpse, and he was lying so still, I dinna ken if he was even conscious.”
    Margaret leapt up from the bed, pacing wildly. “Damn that Wolf of Lochaber! He said they had tended my brother! I must attend him!”
    Peg seized her arm. “If ye seduce him tonight, he will let ye do anything ye want tomorrow—I am certain of it!”
    How could she make love to Alexander, when he was keeping her brother prisoner, and denying him care? Oh, she was so angry!
    “Ye canna let him see how much ye hate him,” Peg warned.
    Peg was right. She had to control her emotions, as rampant as they were.
    Peg walked to her and clasped her arm. “I ken yer nervous and worried. I have more news, and some of it is good—I overheard William’s guards speaking. Sir Ranald was one of our knights who escaped after the battle in the ravine.”
    “Thank God for that!” Margaret cried. “He must be a day’s riding ahead of Sir Neil!” And she did not think Sir Ranald would try to reach Argyll or Red John—he had known she was sending word to them already. But he would never think to ride all the way to Buchan for rescue. He would probably ride for Fowliss; one of her aunts was married to the Earl of Strathearn.
    “Do ye want to hear the rest of it?” Peg asked.
    She flinched, for she did not like Peg’s tone—or her distraught look.
    Peg barreled grimly on. “Sir Ranald will not be a day ahead of Sir Neil.”
    “What are you telling me?” Sir Neil could not be dead!
    “Sir Neil is in the dungeons below—he was captured shortly after he tried to flee here.”
    Margaret walked to the bed and sank down on it. He wasn’t dead, and she thanked God for that, but he would die tomorrow with the others—if her plan failed.
    Peg came and sat down beside her. They hugged. Peg said softly, “Ye canna let Sir Neil hang. He is so young, so handsome, and so loyal to ye.”
    “No, I can’t.” And as they stared at one another, it truly struck her—she must seduce her enemy, in order to save her men. She heard the door open adjacent her room.
    Alexander had gone to his chamber. Apprehension filled her.
    She strained to hear—they both strained to hear—his quiet tones as he spoke with the guard. His voice sounded calm as he spoke.
    Margaret remained unmoving, thinking about how cold and ruthless Alexander MacDonald was. She thought about the battle they had waged against one another, and she thought about the legends about him.
    Would she really beguile, play and outwit the Wolf of Lochaber? Could she really go up against such a warrior and win?
    Hadn’t women seduced men for their own ends, throughout the course of time?
    And then she had the oddest recollection—of how dearly her parents had loved one another, and how they were so open about stealing off to make love.
    But their marriage had been an unusual one. Few married couples cared for one another. Although most were deeply bonded for political and familial reasons, love was a different matter. Love affairs abounded, and so often defied not just politics and family, but common sense.
    This love affair would be entirely political—a seduction meant to save the lives of the men of Castle Fyne.
    Margaret stood. “Wish me